Irresistible?

“Not yet.”

“Oh, you’re one of those,” she said knowingly, then turned her eyes back to the painting in front of her, immensely relieved.

“One of those what?” he said defensively.

“You’re a Peter Pan man. No wonder green suits you,” she said, indicating his slacks.

His mouth opened, then closed. Pointing with his index finger, he said, “I don’t believe this—you are psychoanalyzing me? And what is all this Peter Pan nonsense? Let me guess—Cosmo’s feature this month, right?”

“There have been volumes written on men like you,” she said, sashaying past him into the hall.

He caught up with her in a few seconds. She thought he’d be angry, but surprisingly, he seemed to concede defeat. “Do you by chance know my mother?” he asked. “Gloria Blackwell sent you here to torment me, didn’t she?”

Ellie laughed as she reentered his office. “No, I don’t know her, but I know someone just like her in Florida—Gladys Sutherland.” She shrugged. “It’s universal. It’s what mothers do.”

One corner of his mouth went up. “Is your mother a matchmaker?”

Ellie snorted. “She’s Chuck Woolery in a girdle.”

He laughed. “Mine, too. The last woman she set me up with brought a book along to read.”

Ellie threw her head back and laughed. “The last guy my mom set me up with informed me over a fast-food dinner that women were getting way out of hand and needed to be put in their place.”

“Oooh,” he said. “A real charmer.” Their laughter peaked, then petered out as they looked at each other and realized they’d just shared a friendly moment.

“Well.” Ellie cleared her throat, and moved toward her supplies. “I guess I’d better get to work.”

“Just tell me where you want me,” he said, hands on hips.

Ellie looked up and saw the implication in his eyes. He was tempting, all right. She measured her response. “How about in that straight-back chair by the table?” Which has always been a personal fantasy of mine.

“Suits me,” he drawled.

To her horror, a stab of desire knifed through her as she watched him swing his coat on, grab a tie and walk to the chair. She stood mesmerized as he efficiently tied a tiny knot at his throat, Watching his nimble fingers move was suddenly the most sensual thing she’d ever seen. Ellie moistened her lips with the tip of her shaking tongue. Few men could be this sexy putting on clothes.

The celibacy was making her behave this way. She’d gone too long without a man’s body next to hers. And now, the first time a man with the physique of an exotic dancer came along, she fell to pieces. She wiped beads of perspiration from her forehead. “Turn the chair sideways, and have a seat.” She picked up the camera and busied herself attaching the lens, willing her pulse to slow.

At this rate, she’d be jumping his bones by lunch.

Mark eased into the chair and exhaled deeply. She was doing it again, throwing him sexual crumbs—and he was gobbling them up like a starved man. He clenched a fist to steady his nerves, but his traitorous eyes sought her out. How was it possible this woman could turn screwing on a camera lens into foreplay?

He had steeled himself against her this morning, but he hadn’t counted on her wearing skintight elastic neon clothes. And little white crew socks with pom-poms on the heels. And for her hair to be so...mussed. He groaned.

“Are you okay?” Ellie asked, walking toward him, concern on her pert little face.

“Uh, sure,” he said, sitting straighter.

“First I’m going to rape you,” he heard her say matter-of-factly.

Lights burst behind his eyes. “Excuse me?” he croaked.

“Drape you,” she repeated. “I’m going to drape you.” She held several different-colored cloths over her arm and, picking up a navy one, shook it in front of him for emphasis. “See? I need to decide what color background would be the most flattering.”

Disappointment shot through him and he fingered his collar a fraction looser. “Whatever you say,” he said, laughing nervously. Get a grip, man.

Using small, capable-looking hands, she placed the navy fabric over his right shoulder. Her fingernails lightly nipped the back of his neck, and a gray swatch suddenly appeared over his left shoulder. Ellie stepped back to observe him, stepped forward to adjust the drapes, and back again, studying. She reached for her camera and snapped five or six pictures at lightning speed.

With eyes narrowed, she walked toward him and leaned forward. Suddenly her face was mere inches from his. He could see a freckle centered perfectly on the end of her nose, and for one crazy second, he thought she might kiss him. He parted his lips and waited. She grabbed his chin and adjusted his head, sharply, to the right. “Don’t move,” she ordered, then started snapping more pictures.

“I can’t,” he said testily. “I have whiplash.”

If she heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. If fact, her next adjustment to his head was even more severe than the first. “Ow!” he yelped. But she was busy focusing and clicking. More drapes appeared, this time red and burgundy, then dark green and gold. To pass the time, he’d been halfheartedly keeping track of the number of rolls of film she’d used. But as she draped him in a deep plum color, he’d gotten a chinful of soft breast, and the blood rushed from his brain to more urgent parts of his body. She reloaded. Did that make twelve rolls? Or twenty-one?

Ellie Sutherland turned into a different person when she worked. She was a study in concentration, utterly efficient.

“Smile,” she ordered.

And she was devastatingly beautiful. He could imagine sliding those bike pants off and pulling her onto his lap, her straddling him wearing those delightful pom-pom socks.

“There’s a good smile,” she said. Click, click. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, keep thinking it.” Click, click, click.

He could reach under that ridiculous yellow tank top and push it up to expose her to him. She’d have great tan lines, her breasts outlined perfectly, surrounded by sun-kissed skin. And her nipples—

“Hey,” she said, lowering the camera. “The lurid grin suits you, but I don’t think it’s what you want for posterity, is it?”

Mark recovered with a start, and reined in his wayward thoughts. “Are you almost finished?” he asked somewhat brusquely.

“Just a few more,” she said, bending down on one knee for a different angle. When she stood up a few seconds later, Mark breathed a sigh of relief. Finished at last, he hoped. Then she would leave. Out of sight, out of mind.

Ellie, however, reloaded again. “Now, let’s try the white shirt and a different tie,” she said without looking up.