Irresistible? (18 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Bond

BOOK: Irresistible?
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“No way you're getting out in your condition. Look at you.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean, look how sick you are. You're hanging on to the vanity to stand up, for Pete's sake. I'll get whatever you need.”
“Okay. I need tampons.”
He blinked. “T-tampons?”
Ellie raised her hands. “Forget it, I'll go.”
“No,” Mark said hurriedly. “That's all right, I'll be glad to.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Anything else?” he asked, swallowing.
“While you're in that section, could you grab some panty shields?”
 
MARK SAT IN HIS CAR, scoping out the parking lot of the convenience store. He'd run into neighbors and colleagues here on more than one occasion. He closed his eyes and tried to remember which aisle held feminine-hygiene products. He'd bought painkillers once in the middle aisle and figured those two things should be pretty close. After all, it was all kind of...medical, wasn't it?
The object was to get in, get the goods and get out. If he waited until the cashier's line dwindled to one or two people, he figured he could buy what he needed and be safely back in his car within three minutes.
He watched two people pump gas and then walk in to pay for it. They were the only two customers in the store. He pulled a ball cap low over his forehead, and entered the store. He kept his eyes focused on the medicine aisle, but came face-to-face with a rack of picnic supplies. He glanced over at the beer case and saw milk instead. They'd rearranged the entire store.
A woman in a striped smock was sweeping up a spill a few feet away. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “Can you show me to the aspirin?”
“Follow me, sir.”
She walked slowly to aisle two and swept her arm at the array of painkillers as Mark scanned the shelves for the items he'd really come to purchase.
“We have regular, extra strength, buffered, childproof caps, nighttime—”
“Buffered will be fine,” he said, then took the bottle she gave him.
The clerk stood with her hands on the broom, looking at him. “Anything else, sir?”
“Uh, I'll just look around.”
“Go right ahead.” She turned and shuffled toward the front of the store.
Mark walked up and down each of the eight aisles, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that said Personal or Feminine. Nothing. He made a second pass, this time more slowly. Nada.
He glanced around nervously and spotted the same clerk watching him closely, this time from behind a counter. She elbowed the cashier, a sour-looking teenager, and whispered something, nodding toward him. The cashier carefully pushed a button on her console, her eyes glued on him.
Mark grunted in frustration.
They think I'm stealing something.
Within a few seconds, a jacketed, severe-looking older woman appeared. Her badge said Store Manager.
Great
.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, keeping his voice low. “My...wife sent me out to pick up some personal things.”
The woman frowned in confusion. “Personal things?”
“You know,” he said, making vague gestures with his hands. “Woman stuff.”
“Woman stuff?”
He sighed. “You know,
pads
and stuff.”
“You're looking for menstruation products?”
He smiled tightly and nodded, admitting defeat.
“Right this way.” She took him to an end cap in the front of the store which held a mind-boggling array of colored packages.
“Did you need pads or tampons?” she asked, her face serious, her voice rigid.
“Uh, tampons.”
“Will that be deodorant or nondeodorant?”
“The pink box will be fine,” Mark mumbled, heat rushing to his face.
“Slim, regular, plus or super-duper?”
“She's snug—I mean, small...she's a small lady.” He reached up to rub his hand across his mouth.
“That has no relevance in this case, sir.”
“Uh...regular, I guess.”
She sighed. “Twelve count or twenty-four?”
“I'm not sure.” Mark looked around, then leaned forward and whispered, “And I'm supposed to get some panty things, too.”
“Panty shields?” she asked loudly. The clerks giggled openly, as did a few onlookers.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
“Regular or winged?”
Mark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb. “Just give me two of everything.”
She stacked his arms full, and carried a couple of packages toward the counter, herself. Except now the cashier's line had grown to about a dozen. Mark swore under his breath and inched his way forward, careful of his cumbersome load.
He maneuvered around a beer display, but his knee accidently nudged the mountain of twelve-pack bottles. The seemingly unending sound of crashing bottles was superseded only by the security alarm triggered from the shattering glass.
By the time the cops arrived, the clerks had most of the mess cleaned up and tallied.
Mark used his credit card to pay for two hundred thirty-eight dollars and fifty-nine cents' worth of “woman stuff” and beer.
 
“BLACKWELL!”
Mark jarred awake, his eyes flying open, his head jerking back. The men around the table chuckled as Mark shook his head to clear it, then repositioned himself in the conference-room chair. He'd fallen asleep in the middle of a staff meeting!
Ray Ivan frowned. “Are we keeping you up, son?” “No, sir, sorry.” Mark ground his teeth in frustration. Between frequent kitten feedings and Ellie's bouts of vomiting, he wasn't getting much rest. Two sleepless nights in a row had taken their toll.
When the meeting ended, Specklemeyer said, “Keeping late nights, Blackwell? I wonder what you could possibly be doing.” He flashed a knowing smile, then trotted out when Mark's hands tightened on the chair arms.
Patrick walked out with him. “Why don't you take the afternoon off, Mark? You look beat.”
“Ellie's got the flu,” Mark explained, rubbing his eyes. “And the kids—I mean, the kittens... never mind. That's a very good idea. I'll see you tomorrow.”
On the drive home, Mark berated himself over the predicament he'd gotten himself into. In just two days, he'd had his fill of domesticity. He breathed a quick prayer of thanks he'd broken it off with Ellie before all this mess. At least she'd been feeling better this morning, so he'd be rid of her and her cats soon. No more sneezing, no more litter boxes, no more heating pads. Good riddance! He'd probably have to take a nap in his car when he got home, just to have some peace and quiet.
Mark wheeled into the driveway and pulled into the garage, already dreading the melee that awaited him inside. He sighed, pushing open the kitchen door, waiting for the scents of cat milk and chicken soup to hit him. His nose wrinkled. Disinfectant?
“Ellie?” he called, walking through the kitchen. A note on the counter stopped him. Ellie's feminine writing curled across the page.
Great news! We have a new landlord who lifted the no-pet rule. Manny and a friend came over to pick us up today and take us home. I took the painting, too. It's not much, but I did a little cleaning to help repay you for all the trouble. We can't thank you enough. Ellie and Esmerelda.
A paw print in—lipstick?—stood out by Esmerelda's name. The extra key lay nearby.
Mark stood stock-still. Not even a goodbye? Who's to know she wouldn't have a relapse once she got home? And she didn't know the kittens' feeding schedule the way he did. Or that BowTie ate better when his little ears were rubbed. The kittens' eyes weren't even open yet, for heaven's sake! What was she thinking?
Wadding the note into a ball, he stomped upstairs. Not a sign of them anywhere. Every room sparkled, smelling clean and fresh. Not a cat hair in sight.
Mark sneezed.
 
“SAY CHEESE,” Ellie said to the furry group squirming on the love seat. She snapped several pictures.
“What are you doing now?” Manny asked, walking into the living room.
“Just finishing up a roll of film. I thought I'd send out birth announcements for Esmerelda.”
“I think your fever must have risen higher than anyone realized.”
“Oh, stop. It'll be fun,” Ellie insisted. “And a great way to find homes for the kittens. I'll send them to everyone we know.”
Manny stooped to catch a wriggling kitten before it rolled off the cushion. “How soon can they be weaned?”
“Well, they're not quite two weeks old yet, so maybe another four weeks, possibly five since Esmerelda only started nursing yesterday.”
“Have you heard from Papa Blackwell?”
Ellie's heart stirred. “No,” she said brightly. “Why?”
“I was hoping I'd underestimated him. Unfortunately, it seems I was right again.”
“He did take good care of us,” Ellie said, practically to herself. The way he'd watched over them in his home did more to tangle her heartstrings than his previous wild lovemaking. While he'd held the trash can for her to empty her stomach, she'd felt herself sinking deeper in love with Mark. At that point, she'd vowed to leave as soon as she was physically able. That she'd been able to take the cats with her had been a bonus.
“I suppose you'll see him when you deliver the portrait.”
Ellie glanced over at the twin portraits leaning against the wall, waiting to be framed. “I was thinking of having it couriered over when it's ready.”
“Why don't you get dolled up and deliver it in person?”
“Manny, do you honestly think a cute outfit is going to erase the memory of him seeing my partially digested food?”
“Okay, I see your point. What are you going to do with the nude?” he asked, his voice wistful.
“Hmm.” Ellie frowned. “I'm not sure. Harry will give me a better deal on the framing if I have them done at the same time. Afterward, maybe I can alter the face enough to Sell it.”
“You're welcome to use mine.”
She grinned. “I might take you up on that.”
When Ellie rewound the film and put away her camera, she discovered the two undeveloped rolls from the Blackwell picnic. Adding them to her backpack, she then changed into riding togs and grabbed her helmet.
“Back in a few minutes,” she yelled.
It was a beautiful day for a ride, and Ellie hadn't been out much since recovering from her bout of the flu. She'd avoided it since she tended to think too much while cycling. And she hadn't been ready to face the sad thoughts until now.
She loved him. With all her heart. She'd seen glimpses of the kind of partner he would be. They could have made things work.
If only he loved her, too.
Mark Blackwell might have been fooled by the pheromones in the beginning, but now that he'd seen her at her worst and without the influence of the love chemicals, she didn't have a chance of moving his heart the way he'd shaken hers. So she'd grieve for a few months, then pick up the pieces and start looking again. Maybe she'd give Steve Willis a call.
Ellie dropped off the film at a one-hour developing center. then went in search of dried fruits and herbs for her latest perfume brainstorm. One good thing about being finished with the pheromones, she could wear her customized fragrances once again.
But, she decided as she rode by the sexy traffic cop without garnering so much as a second glance, it was the
only
good thing about not taking the pills. Her sex appeal had apparently nose-dived to its normal basement level.
She took a few moments to study the photos when she picked them up. She ordered lots of reprints of the best group picture of Esmerelda and the kittens. The photos of the picnic resurrected bittersweet memories. She'd gotten several good candid shots, especially one picture of Mark with his arm around his mother. Gloria was smiling, looking flushed and pretty.
A thought struck Ellie, and she checked her watch, gauging the distance to Gloria's house. Just far enough for a good ride, she decided, and she'd be back in time to pick up the reprints.
Ellie pumped her legs furiously, enjoying the rush of adrenaline. After several blocks, apartment buildings and commercial property gave way to small older homes, with tiny picturesque yards. She slowed her pedaling to check the street signs, then turned down the road where Gloria Blackwell lived.

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