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“It’ll be here before you know it. Promise me you’ll come.”
Usually, it was possible for Ellie to blow people off if she didn’t want to commit, but not with Rosemary. Once her mother had decided on something she wanted, she didn’t give up. First the phone calls started, and then came the packages of home-baked cookies. But it was the threats of her mother coming to plead her case in person that would finally wear Ellie down. Sighing deeply at the thought of palm trees and sand instead of evergreens and snow, Ellie finally gave in, knowing her mother would hound her until she did.
“All right, I’ll come. But you should know that sometimes they make me work during the holidays. I can’t always get the time off.”
“You’ll ask your boss. He’ll understand the importance of family and will let you come home.”
“Mr. Moody’s not married, Mom. He doesn’t have a family, and I doubt he’d give a rat’s ass about anyone else’s.”
Herbert Moody was a prick. Ellie lived for the day when the man retired and was replaced with someone of this century.
“What is he, an atheist?”
“No, just a crotchety old man who should have retired years ago. I think Moody’s been at the U.N. since the day it opened.” There’d been talk of letting him go, but so far it hadn’t happened. Ellie figured the man had dirt on anyone who was anyone, like J. Edgar Hoover, only she didn’t think Herbert Moody was gay.
“There’s a lot to be said for older people. You shouldn’t discount them, Elinore. You could learn a lot from them, if you would just listen.”
Rosemary always called Ellie by her given name when she had a point to make, as if stretching Ellie into Elinore could somehow emphasize the importance of what she was saying: Elinore don’t ignore.
“Normally, I don’t, but Mr. Moody is hard of hearing and has a very sour stomach. His breath could knock down an elephant from a mile away.”
“I’ll let your father know you’ll be coming. Maybe it’ll cheer him up, get him interested in something other than that computer of his.”
“Maybe you and Dad should think about going on a cruise, or taking a romantic vacation somewhere. A change of scenery would be good for both of you.”
A moment of silence ensued as Rosemary digested this suggestion. Then she said, “You know, Ellie, that’s not a bad idea. Most of the cruise ships leave from Miami or Fort Lauderdale. We wouldn’t have to pay extra for airfare. I’m going to look into it.”
“You can get some really good fares online.”
“Good. I’ll check. I’m not as good at the Internet as your father, so I rarely use the computer, but I think I can find my way.”
Ellie felt hopeful. Her mother rarely took her advice. Actually, she never took it, and Ellie gave very good advice, if she did say so herself. But Rosemary was of the opinion that she knew everything. Pearls of wisdom spewed forth from her mouth like an uninterrupted lava flow. And like lava, which hardened when it cooled, her mother’s opinions were of the etched-in-stone variety.
“It’ll give you and Dad something in common that you can talk about,” Ellie added. “And cruises are very romantic. I think you should go. But make sure you book a good line, splurge a little. You both deserve it.”
“Thank you, dear. I’m glad I called. I feel so much better.”
Breathing a sigh of relief that Rosemary wouldn’t be purchasing a plane ticket for the Big Apple any time soon, Ellie smiled to herself and replied, “Let me know what you find out about the cruise.”
“Of course I will. Did you think I wouldn’t discuss every detail with you? You’re my daughter; this is an important decision I’ll be making.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. The woman was going on vacation, not having brain surgery! “Okay, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“And Ellie—”
“Yes?”
“Be sure to spray your toilet bowl and seat with Lysol before using it. You never know who was living there before you. And it wouldn’t hurt to scrub your floors with Murphy’s Oil Soap, and then—”
“Someone’s at the door, Mom. Gotta go. ’Bye.”
As Ellie hung up the phone, she looked heavenward or, in this case, at her ceiling, which was slightly soiled with soot. “Please, God, let the cruises be available.”
“If you want to meet men,
go where the men are.”
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS SATURDAY and Ellie was taking the big plunge.
She had enrolled at Gold’s Gym for a three-month trial period. Exercise not being her thing, she didn’t want to commit to any time period longer than that, just in case it didn’t work out. Although, she was fairly certain—okay, pretty sure—well, if not pretty sure then relatively hopeful—it would.
And there was method to her madness.
Not only was she planning to lose weight and get in shape—that’s what she told herself, anyway—she decided that going to the gym would be an excellent way to meet men. Hanging out where the guys did made perfect sense to her.
Ellie didn’t play golf, racquetball or frequent those sports bars with the big-screen TVs. But she could exercise, if she was so inclined.
And now that Brian was out of her life, she was definitely inclined.
Ellie didn’t intend to remain celibate any longer than she had to. Sex by mechanical means was the pits. Not to mention that she’d gotten a shock the other night, and it wasn’t of the pleasant variety. In fact, it had given new meaning to the phrase “tickling your fancy.” Unfortunately, her fancy had almost fried.
She would never confess to her mother that she liked sex. Rosemary preached that sex before marriage was immoral and that intercourse should be solely for procreational purposes.
Yeah, right!
Sex was a great way to release tension, it curbed her appetite—well, she wasn’t one hundred percent certain about that; her lack of hunger could have been due to exhaustion—and it made her skin glow.
Yes, having sex on a regular basis with someone who knew what they were doing—translation: orgasm proficient—was definitely a goal to strive for.
But first, she needed to get back in shape. Cellulite and sex didn’t go well together, despite what her mother claimed—this, from a woman who probably hadn’t had sex in the last ten years, not that Ellie wanted to think about such matters. Parents having sex was at the very top of the ick factor scale. A child could go blind if she thought about such things.
“You must be Ellie Peters,” the brawny man with the clipboard pronounced as he approached, interrupting her disturbing thoughts. “I’m Will Travers, your personal trainer.”
Wow! Her personal trainer was a major hunk. The man had pecs and abs to die for and pretty green eyes that were warm, friendly and made Ellie’s tummy flutter.
Should she give him her phone number now, or wait until they became better acquainted?
“I’m Ellie.” She smiled her cutesy Meg Ryan smile.
He pinched her upper arm and the cellulite bunched like warm chicken fat around his fingers.
Meg Ryan did not have upper arm fat, she thought, wanting to scream, “It’s baby fat!” figuring everyone under the age of thirty-five should be able to claim baby fat, if no one called them on it.
Unfortunately, he had called her on it.
“Looks like we’ve got some work to do.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here.”
“Excellent! Then let’s get started.”
Mr. Gorgeous proceeded to weigh her, take her measurements and body fat, and then he put all of the information into a folder with her name on it, no doubt making a notation about her extreme obesity in big red letters: “BABY FAT PHONEY!”
Normally, Ellie would have told an insensitive Neanderthal like Will to go “F” himself, but since the man had arms like tree trunks, a chest the size of a small country and no wedding ring, she decided to suck it up and remain friendly.
There was no telling what other large “attributes” Will might possess, and he was definitely a dating possibility.
Size mattered, regardless of what anyone said. Whether you were talking male genitalia, female breasts or brain matter, size was definitely important—the bigger the better! Let’s face it, and she wasn’t trying to be mean, but a teeny, weeny weenie wouldn’t be able to hit the A, B, C or G-Spot.
“I’m sure I’ll be in good hands,” she said.
After all, only King Kong had meatier palms!
Will looked her over from top to bottom, scribbled something else on his clipboard, and pronounced, “You’ve got a good body, Ellie. It just needs a bit of toning. Go change and meet me at the treadmills in ten. We’ll go over your dietary plan and workout program as soon as you’re ready.”
Fearing demerit points if she was late and wanting to impress him, Ellie changed quickly and was at the treadmills in the allotted time, garbed in black Nike shorts and a cropped top to match that did nothing to hide the lump that was sadly called her stomach.
She could almost count every candy bar, bowl of ice cream and piece of bread as she grimaced at the rolls of dimpled flesh. The moon had fewer craters.
Will, the cellulite slayer, would not be pleased.
“I CAN’T WALK another step,” Ellie admitted after only ten minutes on the treadmill. She was breathing heavier than an obscene phone caller and sweating like a pig on Prozac. “I have no idea how mice do it.”
The little bastards got to eat cheese, that’s how they did it.
“My seventy-five-year-old grandmother walks faster and longer than you do,” he said, softening the chastisement with a grin, which was damn sexy and gave Ellie the impetus to go one more lap, though she was positive a heart attack was imminent.
What if the flutter in her chest wasn’t caused by Will, but by heart disease?
“Your grandma obviously has better genes than I do.”
“Maybe. Gran smokes, drinks vodka martinis and still has sex. Claims it keeps her young.”
Ellie’s brow shot up, but she remained silent, wondering why an elderly woman could find male companionship while she was having so much trouble.
On the other hand, did she really want someone who kept his teeth in a glass at night?
“Come on. We’ll do weights next. That’s the only way you’re going to firm up those biceps and triceps, and it’ll help burn fat. I’m sure you want to look good in tank tops next summer.”
Ellie shook her head. “Actually, I’m committed to wearing long sleeves. No sunburn, no mosquito bites…”
“The reps will help firm your breasts, too. They’ll be nice and perky when we get done with them.”
Glancing down at her chest, she frowned deeply. “What’s wrong with my boobs? They look perfectly respectable to me.” Actually, she thought her breasts were one of her better features, but obviously Will wasn’t impressed.
“You’ve got a bit of sag going on there, Ellie. You don’t want to turn a 36C into a 42L, now do you?”
“Ha, ha, ha! You should be shot. I don’t know why I decided to come to this gym. It’s like a torture chamber. And the insults…I’m going to ask for my money back.”
Nevertheless, Ellie plodded behind Will as they made their way to the weight room. She had no energy left to argue and no idea how she was going to find the strength to walk Barnaby this afternoon.
The weight room was crowded, the smell of sweat and testosterone filling the air. Will indicated that she was to lie on the bench and lift the weights he handed to her over her head. They were only three pounds each, but they might as well have been three thousand, as difficult as it was to hoist them up.
The only pumping iron she’d done before today had involved pressing her shirts for work.
“You’re doing good. Keep it up. I’ll be back in a sec. I’ve got to go talk to someone. Just keep lifting. And no cheating. I’ll be watching.”
“I hate you!”
“I know, but you’re going to be in the best shape of your life when I get finished remolding you, and then you’ll thank me.”
Ellie had never considered herself a quitter, but as she lifted the weights up and over her head and the muscles in her arms screamed in protest, she felt like quitting, crying, or both. She hadn’t been in this much pain since the fourth grade when she’d fallen off her bike and dislocated her shoulder. At least then, her mother had given her ice cream for bravery. Now she got bupkis!
Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on lifting her arms one more time.
“Hello, Ellie.”
That voice! She would recognize that deep, sexy voice anywhere. It was like chocolate smoke and it had haunted her dreams—er, nightmares—for years.
But how could it be?
Cracking one eye open, she gasped, dropped the weights to the floor with a loud thud and nearly cracked her head on the pulls overhead as she bolted upright.
DAMN IF ELLIE Peters didn’t still look hot!
She wore her dark curly hair a bit shorter now and was maybe ten pounds heavier since he’d last seen her, but she was still the Ellie he remembered.
The Ellie he’d been engaged to.
The Ellie he’d dumped.
The Ellie who now hated him.
Michael thought back to the first time he’d seen her. She had been pounding furiously on a Coke machine, cursing and kicking it, claiming it had stolen her dollar.
For Michael Deavers, it had been love at first sight.
Like Ellie, he had majored in language at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. where they’d met, dated and fallen in love. But unlike Ellie, he’d gone on to get his doctorate in linguistics in the hope that someday, when he grew tired of the rat race, he’d be able to teach at the university level.
He’d stayed in D.C. after graduation, working first in the private sector for an international pharmaceutical company, and then with the State Department, which finally led him to his present job with the United Nations, Director of Translation and Interpretation, a job that had been a lifelong dream.
A job likely to become a nightmare, once Ellie found out about it.
Most women would have forgiven and forgotten by now, but not Ellie. He knew without a doubt that, even though almost seven years had passed since he’d last seen her, she had not let bygones be bygones. She was too Italian for that.
Ellie had sent him a voodoo doll shortly after they’d broken up, complete with pins stuck in the groin area and a note that read: A prick for a prick.
