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Male Call
HEATHER MACALLISTER
THE CITY: San Francisco, CaliforniaTHE SINGLE: Desperate but determined computer geek Marnie LaTourTHE SOLUTION– THE SKIRT!After the guy she thinks she's dating tells her she's not 'girlfriend' material, Marnie LaTour decides to make some changes. She's going to learn how to be a femme fatale– or else. Only, attracting guys isn't as tough as she thinks. Especially when she's wearing the skirt her landlord swears works like a man magnet.And it sure isn't long before rugged construction worker Zach Renfro finds himself under the influence…
Man, he had never had it this bad.
Zach knew nothing about her. Marnie could be a thief trying to break into the apartment. But he didn’t care. Zach forced himself to turn back to taking off the door hinges. He had to get a grip. Moments later the door was off and Marnie ran into the room.
“I am so cold!” Marnie raced over to the bed and pulled on the socks that lay rolled in a ball on the floor by a pair of ugly brown hiking boots.
It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
Before he could stop himself, he’d knelt down and taken one of her feet, rubbing it between both hands.
“That tingles.”
“Tingles are good.” He smiled up at her and switched to a slow, deep kneading, concentrating on her toes and the ball of her foot. And maybe her leg and the sexy curve of her calf and how her skirt kept climbing northward…
Marnie let out a tiny moan. “That feels so good. You could do this for a living.”
He could do this forever, Zach realized with a jolt.
HEATHER MACALLISTER
lives near the Texas gulf coast where, in spite of the ten-month growing season and plenty of humidity, she can’t grow plants. She’s a former music teacher who married her high school sweetheart on the Fourth of July, so is it any surprise that their two sons turned out to be a couple of firecrackers? When she’s not writing stories in which life takes a funny twist, Heather collects vintage costume jewelry, and also loves fireworks displays, Christmas lights (which are like frozen fireworks displays), commercial-free television and sons who answer their mother’s e-mail. You can visit her on the Web at www.HeatherMacAllister.com.
Male Call
Heather MacAllister
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Peggy Field and Sue Pellegrino-Wolf
With Alpha Gam love
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Prologue
MY DEAR MRS. HIGGENBOTHAM,
Greetings from sunny and windy San Francisco! I do hope you and Pierre are in the throes of connubial bliss. I want to hear all the details of the wedding, particularly in regard to the jewelry and gowns. I so wish I could have been there in New York, however it was time to move on. I do miss the city and the apartment building and your own dear self, though.
I cannot stress how much your friendship has meant to me during the trying times of late. Both Marlon and I thought we would be together forever and for my part, I did nothing to threaten that. I had invested all of myself. I’d spent my days looking after Marlon’s building and tenants only to have him…but that is water under the bridge, as you know. It is sad when courts must become involved to protect those of us who have given all to a relationship. One would assume there would be an equitable distribution of assets with the understanding that there cannot be a monetary value placed on some contributions. Apparently my contributions were only worth one modest apartment in San Francisco.
Yet, I am not bitter. At least I now have a home. Marlon’s apartment—former apartment, as I have recently received the deed—is one of four in a charming pink-and-green Painted Lady, which is what we San Franciscans call the Victorian houses.
This one and its neighbors survived the great earthquake, though since construction began on the house across the street, I feel as though I relive the quake daily.
The apartment is furnished in period style—Marlon always did have exquisite taste—with a bedroom, office where I can work on my script and a largish kitchen. Oh, and a balcony, a cozy place where I can sit and watch the activity on Mission Street as I answer the call of my muse.
And speaking of that, I cannot express my gratitude to you for the gift of the skirt.
As my muse appears to have remained in New York, I shall continue with my study of the effects of the skirt on heterosexual mating. I find the subject fascinating, if perplexing, and I do believe there is a story here. Urban legends are always popular in movies and plays. The very idea that this nondescript, though well-tailored, black skirt has some sort of power to attract men is preposterous and yet A.J., Sam and Claire, and even your dear self all swear it’s true. And have you heard from the girls? I do miss them. Is all well with them? Sam, especially, was a valuable source of gossip.
I have decided to put the skirt to the test. As it happens, I find myself short of cash. Not to worry! The residents of this building and the others on the block have never known the convenience of a doorman until now. For a small honorarium, I have offered my services to deal with repairmen and accept packages and keep an eye on the neighborhood. But until my talents as an actor and playwright are recognized, I must provide my own backing. Therefore, I have removed to the service quarters in the basement and am attempting to rent out the apartment on a daily basis to those who need a temporary base in the city.
No, do not feel sorry for me, Mrs. H. One must suffer for one’s art, though I seem to suffer more than most. But my plan is to rent to single young ladies who can make use of the skirt—and who will recount all their adventures to me. Perhaps my muse will be intrigued enough to help me incorporate these stories about the skirt into a small play.
So far, I have found two young women who are willing to take on a partial sublet and a third who is currently considering. I have seen her walk by here every day and feel she would provide the skirt with its most stringent test. Attractive women attracting attractive men, well, where is the challenge for the skirt in that? But this young woman practices none of the feminine arts and, indeed, seems unaware of them. Oh, to witness when she becomes aware…
In any event, know that I am well, of good cheer and no doubt destined for greatness.
Until then, I remain, ever yours,
Franco Rossi
1
AT THE SOUND of an old-fashioned wolf whistle, Marnie LaTour looked up from her laptop, which was currently sitting on the serving counter of the Deli Dally next to her cold meatball sub. Her three co-workers from Carnahan Custom Software—all male—had swiveled on their stools to stare out the window.
“Whoa, would you look at that?” murmured one.
Marnie looked. A long-legged blonde walked by in a flippy skirt that fluttered alarmingly in the San Francisco wind. Glued to her side was one of the men from Technical Support.
“All right, Gregie boy!” Two of the guys high-fived each other.
Marnie watched long enough to see that Greg was taking the blonde to Tarantella, the new Italian restaurant down the street, then returned to the screen full of code she was trying to debug. If she had written the code in the first place, there wouldn’t have been anything to debug.
“You think she’s wearing a thong?” This comment came from Barry Emmons, who was sitting next to Marnie since it was his program she was trying to fix. She assumed he meant that as a rhetorical question and didn’t answer.
The three men slid off the counter stools and walked over to the window.
“All I’m asking for is one really good gust of wind before they make it to the door.” It was probably Doug.
“Oh, yeah.” That was Barry again.
Marnie wished he’d stayed with her instead of heading for the window with the rest of them. She also wished she was dining alone with him at Tarantella instead of going with the guys to two-for-one Italian night at the Deli Dally. After all, she’d just spent three hours fixing the code for his animated oil-field tool instructional video. At least he’d bought her meatball sub.
Well, actually he’d paid for his and had given her the free one. Still. It was something. A start. And right now, Marnie needed a start.
She’d worked at Carnahan since graduating from college six years ago and had eliminated all the dating possibilities among her co-workers. Barry had been working at Carnahan less than a year and was still in the “possible” column. Word was that he’d spent time in a couple of women’s “possible” columns, but wasn’t dating anyone currently.
Marnie figured it was her turn, except that Barry was proving slippery to pin down. Thus, she’d volunteered her code expertise to help with his projects. Several times.
She glanced over her shoulder at the men. Clearly, he needed a nudge.
While they stood at the window, Marnie found and corrected a repeating error in a line of code. And that should do it. She brought up the animation of a rotating tool that did who-knew-what on screen and watched as it turned, opened, swiveled and let yellow arrows parade through it.
“Hey, you fixed it!” Barry and the others returned to the bar stools, the wind apparently not having cooperated.
Barry leaned one hand on the counter, blocking her from the others’ sight. “You’re a genius,” he murmured and looked down at her, smiling.
Marnie looked up at him and her heart gave an extra blip. It was a movie moment. Inches separated their mouths and if he’d wanted to, he could have kissed her, not that he would here in the delicatessen in front of their co-workers, but still, Marnie knew they’d made a connection.
He reached in front of her and typed on her keyboard—almost suggestively—so that the program ran again. “Man, I owe you, Marnie.”
She waited a beat. “Take me to Tarantella and we’ll call it even.”
“Tarantella.” He made a rude noise. “Good one, Marnie.”
“Hey, I’m serious!” She’d heard the restaurant was expensive, but it wasn’t that expensive. She’d even order spaghetti instead of the seven-layer lasagna.
“Come on.” He sat on the stool. “Tarantella is where you take your lady for a very special—” he raised and lowered his eyebrows “—evening.”
“I happen to think three hours of my time fixing your mess is worth a special evening.”
“What do you say I buy you a six-pack? You name the brand. I’ll even spring for imported.”
“Ooo, imported,” the others mocked.
Marnie extended her hands palms up, imitating a scale. “Let’s see…a six-pack of beer…dinner at Tarantella…helping Barry out of a jam…letting him spend all night trying to figure out where he screwed up in time for the client’s demo tomorrow. Gee, Barry, I dunno.”
“What, you want wine instead?”
There was general snickering.
Marnie glared down the bar. “No, I want dinner at Tarantella.”
The others looked at each other, then stared at their plates.
“Marnie, Tarantella is a date restaurant. You know, it’s dark, there’re candles, booths, tablecloths—all that stuff. There’s even a violin dude.”
“Yeah, chicks love that stuff,” Doug said.
Barry lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “It’s where you take your girlfriend.”
Marnie waited for Barry to connect the dots, but he was as bad at that as he was at writing code. “So?” she prompted.
He laughed as he picked up his soda. “You’re not the girlfriend type.”
Until a few nanoseconds ago, she’d kinda, sorta thought she was on her way to being his girlfriend. “What do you mean?”
Barry was still chuckling. “You know.”
“Apparently I don’t.”
As the tone of her voice registered, Barry stopped laughing and shifted on the bar stool. Marnie was aware that the other two guys had gone very quiet.
He cleared his throat. “Well…you don’t give off girlfriend vibes.”
Did he really think she’d helped him because she loved extra work? And she’d just asked him to take her to a romantic restaurant. Clearly she wasn’t vibe-literate. “Vibes how?”
“For one thing, you don’t dress…” He made a vague gesture at her jeans and baggy sweater. He, himself, was wearing Dockers and a golf shirt with a dribble of sauce from the meatball sub. Hardly the stuff of fantasies.
Marnie thought of the blonde. “Short skirts, stiletto heels, that kind of thing?”
“Hell, yeah,” Doug chimed in.
Barry made a slashing motion with his hand at others. “Not so much that, but there’s a certain attitude that lets men know you’re girlfriend material.”
“I see.” Marnie didn’t like what she saw.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. We like that you’re one of the guys.”
As if that weren’t bad enough, there were murmurs of agreement from the others. Marnie just stared at him.
“It’s a compliment,” Barry added.
She glanced from the green awning and the liveried doorman outside Tarantella to the partially eaten, cold meatball sub next to her laptop. “It doesn’t feel like a compliment.”
“Trust me, it is. You’re easy to work with ‘cause there’s none of that man/woman stuff going on.”
“Oh, the available-for-sex vibes. Right.”
