Irresistible? by Stephanie Bond Page A

relative at the picnic over the age of ten. His smile died and his mouth went dry as she whirled on the skates, causing her skirt to billow alarmingly high.
    â€œWhere did you snag her?” Mickey whispered hoarsely, admiration tinting his voice.
    Mark jerked his head around to find the eyes of his balding, chunky cousin riveted on Ellie. A strange feeling of possessiveness descended over him. “She’s an artist and my office commissioned her to do a painting.”
    â€œAn artist, huh? That explains it.”
    â€œThat explains what?”
    â€œWhy she’s not like every corporate female clone I’ve ever seen you with.”
    Mark frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œNot that you haven’t dated some beauties, cuz,” Mickey hastened to add. “It’s just that my tastes lean toward warmblooded creatures.” He exhaled heavily. “And that woman is hot.”
    Mark’s frown deepened. He hadn’t hired her to be hot. Guilt stabbed him in the gut when he remembered the money he’d paid her. The thought struck him that it might be nice if Ellie Sutherland had accompanied him of her own volition, instead of having to be bribed. Then she could have acted naturally and his family could have fallen in love with her...wait a minute—what was he thinking?
    His cousin let out a low whistle through his small teeth. Mark joined him in holding his breath when a particularly risky move revealed every square inch of her rock-hard thighs and the barest glimpse of white cotton undies. Mark licked his lips nervously and Mickey dragged a handkerchief out of his back pocket to mop his forehead.
    â€œI don’t think she hit it off with Mom,” Mark said carefully, attempting to plant a seed of dissent.
    â€œThat settles it,” Mickey said, nodding confidently. “Marry her.”
    Someone rang a bell to signal the meal being served. Ellie removed her skates and rejoined the adults, dutifully giving disappointing, but true, answers to repeated questions from Gloria’s sisters about what she did for a living and how she’d met Mark. Mark hovered close by, as if to verify she was doing what he’d asked of her. Every infant at the gathering squalled when she held them, and soon the new mothers were keeping their babies to themselves. Ellie slipped her camera from the bag and snapped two rolls of pictures, the women politely rigid when she focused on them, the men curiously hamming for the camera.
    Indeed, it seemed the chilly reception extended to her by the Blackwell women wasn’t a feeling shared by the Blackwell men. They buzzed around Ellie continually, laughing and flirting, elbowing appreciation to a silent Mark. Uncle Jerome, the marrying man, shadowed her every move, offering her lively, if suggestive, conversation throughout the afternoon. Even beating the men at horseshoes didn’t banish their smiles and winks. When it looked as if the female relatives were about to descend on her with tar and feathers, she rejoined the children. This time, she pulled out her sketchbook and drew caricatures of the ones who could sit still long enough for her to render a pastel drawing. The children gleefully took the sketches to their parents, and before long, an audience had gathered.
    The sudden attention made Ellie nervous and she noticed a frown on Mark’s face. He wasn’t paying her to make a favorable impression. She glanced at her tablet. “One sheet of paper left,” she said. “Gloria, how about it?”
    Mark’s mother suddenly turned shy and blushing, but smiling, she nodded and sat before Ellie, striking a regal pose.
    Ellie scanned the woman in front of her for a few seconds. The phrase queen bee kept going through her mind. Ellie looked at Mark, who gave her a slight nod. “Go ahead,” he seemed to say. “One last nail in the coffin.”
    Hurriedly, Ellie sketched, hardly looking up. Once