Amy sorted through her small collection of clothes and gave a sigh. She would be wearing jeans again today, but she didn't want to wear a sweater again as she had been far too hot in it the day before. The problem was that she didn't have anything else that she deemed large enough to sufficiently cover her up. She hated her figure, feeling like she was too full in places and far too fat in others and, besides, she didn't like attracting attention. She stopped what she was doing and stared blankly at the wardrobe. So why then did she let Mark kiss her? It was so unlike her to allow a man any sort of liberties, but just one look from his beautiful green eyes and she had turned to jelly. She supposed she should be feeling ashamed of her actions, but all she felt was a warmth inside that she had never experienced before. No-one had ever really been interested in her in that way, except for a couple of lowlifes and her ex-boss, and that had nothing to do with romance. Mark had romanced her. Even after only knowing her for a couple of days, he had actually romanced her.
She shook herself out of her musings when there was a knock at the door and Stephanie walked in. "Hi, Amy. We're leaving in a few minutes, aren't you ready yet?"
Amy looked down at the huge towel she was currently wrapped in and grimaced. "Not yet. I can't decide what to wear."
"Is that all?" Stephanie said, raking through Amy's clothes before she could stop her. "Here, this is perfect. Comfortable and casual. Put it on and we'll see you downstairs in a few." Stephanie grinned at her and left the room, leaving Amy staring at the clothes she had handed her.
Jeans, they were okay. But the top she had selected was one Amy had been given by her mother before she died, an attempt by the older woman to make Amy dress more alluringly. It wasn't much, really, just a T-shirt style top, but it was cropped and had a v-neck that would show her midriff and cleavage.
She swallowed down her doubts and put the clothes on, staring at herself in the mirror. Okay, she thought, it isn't that bad. It doesn't show too much. The only thing showing was a smooth strip of her stomach barely visible above her jeans and her cleavage was only just peeking out of the v-neck. She sighed and wondered whether to just put on a big old T-shirt that covered it all up again, but Stephanie burst into the room and grabbed her arm before she could even think about it.
"You look great, come on, we've got to get to work!"
Amy found herself dragged downstairs and bundled into an enormous Limousine with the rest of the McMahon family, listening idly to their conversation as they drove towards the Arena. She wondered what Mark would think of her outfit and sighed again. He probably wouldn't even notice, not with the extremely skimpy outfits the women wrestlers wore into the ring. Compared to those women she felt like a dowdy old frump, despite her youth.
Before long they pulled up at the Arena and everyone rushed off in their separate directions to start the day, leaving Amy with Vince in his office. Tammy, the wardrobe mistress, came in as Amy was sipping at a cup of coffee, holding a huge basket in her arms.
"Hi, Vince," she said, turning to smile at him as she sat next to Amy. "Hi Amy, how are you today?"
"I'm fine, thank you. What's all this?" she asked the other woman, motioning towards the basket she was holding.
"This," Tammy said, pulling out some tops, "is a basket full of mending. I thought we'd start you on this for now, see how good you are and all that! See the small rips in the fabric and also, here, the seams are splitting? If you could just repair all these and then bring them back to me, I can assess what you'll be ready for next. Besides, you'll be saving me a ton of work. I have so much to do today that I don't think I'll have time for all this as well!"
Amy smiled. It felt good having something to do. "No problem. I'll start now and hopefully it won't take me too long."
"Great. Well, take your time, everything you need should be right there and you know where to find me, okay?"
Amy nodded and immediately started pulling out the bundle of colourful clothing that had been worn by one wrestler or another, selecting one piece and threading a needle with the appropriate coloured thread. Vince turned on the TV and slid a video into the VCR.
"Here you go, something to watch whilst you're busy," he said, giving her a quick grin before leaving the room.
Amy hardly glanced up, until she heard the unmistakable sound of a bell tolling and then The Undertaker's music began. She fixed her gaze on the screen and watched a very old film of Mark wrestling. It was much the same as when she had watched him wrestle when she was 12 and she found she couldn't tear her eyes away. After the short match had finished she suddenly remembered what she should be doing and tried to get her mind back on her work. Another match began, this one also featuring Mark, but obviously a little more recent as his outfit and basic look had changed. Amy soon got the hang of sewing and watching TV in turn, and managed to see most of the video whilst also working.
It seemed that Vince had made a compilation tape of some of Mark's matches, showing how his appearance had changed over the years, up to the present day. She didn't have the faintest idea what the time was, for all she knew she could have been sitting there for hours. She fished the last piece of clothing out of the basket and found it was a pair of black leather trousers with the crotch ripped open. After all the clothing she had already fixed, she didn't even stop to wonder who they had belonged to and merely went about fixing them with small neat stitches. Her attention was drawn once again to the screen when Mark had control of the microphone and was promising the cheering crowd that he was going to destroy some other poor wrestler the very next night. She was so transfixed by the sound of his voice when in 'Undertaker mode' that she didn't hear the door open.
Mark walked in the room and saw Amy staring at the television, watching a recent video of him whilst holding onto what appeared to be a pair of his trousers. He walked up behind her and looked down to see what she was doing, noting her fingers were sticking through the hole in the crotch of his leather pants, ones he had recently torn in a match with The Big Show.
"You know, if you wanted to get your hands in my pants, you only had to ask!" he said, leaning down to growl the words in her ear.
Amy shrieked in fright and instantly stabbed herself deep in the finger with the needle as she struggled to jump out of the chair. She whirled around to see Mark standing there, looking half amused and half concerned at her reaction. "I didn't hear you!" she gasped, holding her hand up and wincing as she pulled the needle out of her finger.
"I noticed," he said, walking around the chair and taking her hand. "Sorry, honey, I didn't mean to make you hurt yourself like that. Let me see," he said, tugging her closer to him so he could inspect the damage.
"It's nothing," she murmured, trying to tug her hand away.
"You've punctured yourself," he said softly, frowning. "The least I can do is kiss it better, don't you think?" He lifted her hand up and slowly drew her finger into his mouth, sucking away the tiny drop of blood and swirling his tongue around the tip before pulling it out again, equally as slowly.
Amy stared at him open mouthed as he did this, thinking that in all her life she had never felt anything quite as erotic. Her cheeks heated under his intense stare and she suddenly realised that last night hadn't been some dream or illusion. It had really happened. He really thought she was sexy.
"I love the outfit," he said, holding her arms out at the sides so he could examine her more closely. "Very nice."
"I didn't choose it," she admitted, grimacing as she looked at how tight the top was. "Stephanie picked it out. I wouldn't normally wear something like this..."
She stopped when he put a finger over her mouth. "Whoever chose it, I'm very grateful. You look gorgeous in it. Now," he said, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. "Come with me, my lady, and we shall have some lunch!"
"Lunch?" she asked, confused.
"Yes, lunch. You have lunch in England right?" he said, grinning at her at he led her from the room, guiding her through the maze of corridors.
"Well, yes," she said absently as she tried to follow the path they were taking, completely getting lost after the first two turns. "Where are we going?"
"Well, seeing as how I have to be here all afternoon, I thought we could have something to eat here," he said as he pulled her along with him. When they stopped outside a plain door, Amy suddenly realised where they were.
"This is your dressing room," she said, staring dumbly at the door.
"Mmm-hmm. Your lunch awaits you, my lady," he said, smiling as he pushed the door open and gave her an elegant bow.
Amy gasped as she saw what he had set up for her. A large blanket had been laid out on the floor of his dressing room and the couch had been pushed back out of the way. On the blanket was a picnic hamper, plates, knives, forks, wine glasses and a bottle of champagne. She was so overwhelmed that he had gone to so much trouble for her that she couldn't manage to say anything. At her continued silence, Mark straightened up and frowned worriedly.
"It's okay isn't it? I mean, if you don't like it we can order something in, or maybe go out a bit later." He stopped talking when she gazed up at him, unable to define the emotion he could see in her eyes.
She couldn't believe that he thought she didn't like it. He actually sounded worried. "I love it! Thank you!" she said softly, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around his chest as far as they would go.
Mark was stunned for a second, but he instinctively closed his arms around her and hugged her back, breathing a sigh of relief that his instincts hadn't been wrong about her. He thought she would like simple things like this, just as he did, but he hadn't been one hundred percent certain. Before he could say anything, she pulled back and grabbed his arm, dragging him into the room with her and dropping down onto the blanket, forcing him to follow.
"This is great! What's to eat?" she asked, opening the hamper and laying out the food he had put in it. There was a vast selection from a bowl of salad to a still warm roast chicken, and she made herself busy sharing out the food onto the plates.
"You need more than that!" he said, glancing at what appeared to him to be a tiny plateful compared to the mountain she had heaped onto his plate.
"This is plenty! Here, get eating," she said, thrusting his plate in front of him and handing him a knife and fork. "Oh, and pour some champagne!"
He gave a salute. "Yes, ma'am!"
She grinned at him and he found himself grinning right back at her, wondering vaguely if he looked like a huge, hulking moron.
"Sorry, am I being bossy? I don't mean to be, but this is all so nice and...I've never had champagne. Is it nice?" she asked, rambling on.
He blinked at her sudden change of subject and looked blankly down at the bottle he was holding. "It's okay. I prefer beer myself, but this seemed better for a picnic," he said, shrugging.
"Oh, well you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble just for me, you should have bought yourself some beer, I wouldn't have minded. I don't drink as a rule, so it really..." his finger stopped her talking again.
"It was no trouble. I wanted to do it, and I'm glad I did. And I quite like champagne, so that's fine too. The only words I want to hear from you are 'thank you Mark' or 'this is delicious' or even 'Gee, Mark, you're the best looking man I've ever met and I would just love you to put your hands on my...!" This time it was her hand that covered his mouth and he chuckled behind her small palm, his eyes glinting wickedly down at her.
"You're dreadful!" she said in a hushed voice, as if someone was listening to them.
"Yeah, I am, and I make no apologies for it. You'll just have to get used to it, darlin'. Now then, what are we hanging around for? Let's get eating!" He grabbed his knife and fork and happily tucked into his meal, closing his eyes and giving a very theatrical 'mmmm' as he chewed a mouthful of well-cooked chicken.
Amy giggled at his expression and his eyes popped open, twinkling with amusement. "Something funny? And be careful how you reply, or you may find yourself pinned by The Undertaker, especially if I don't like the answer!"
She narrowed her eyes as she contemplated him, a small mischievous smile touching her mouth. "I think I'll wait until I've eaten, if that's alright?"
Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes. He looked at her suspiciously. "Why wait?"
"Because you're bound to hate my answer, and I'm starving. So I'll eat now, before you can stop me."
"And what makes you so sure that I'll hate your answer?"
She rolled her eyes at him, making him smile at how much more confident she was becoming, even though she had only met him a short time ago. "I can hardly tell you that, can I? If I told you, then I'd be giving you an answer, and I've already said I won't do that until after I've eaten." She put a forkful of salad into her mouth and eyed him coolly, swallowing before she spoke again. "And you better get some food inside you, as well. Who knows what moves I might have picked up from watching your matches? You could be in big trouble!"
Mark choked on his food as he laughed at her statement. "You think you can beat me?"
She shrugged, feeling her heart trying to beat her to death at her own boldness. "I think I could give it a try. Why, scared?"
He held one big hand out in front of him, making it shake. "Yeah, I'm just terrified. Look, I'm shaking and everything." He grinned as her expression changed from one of forced nonchalance, to genuine amusement. She was incredibly easy to read, and he could see that some of her confidence was forced. He felt pleased that she was trying to come out of her shell for him. "I think you're right about eating. I may need all my strength to fight you off!"
She smiled at him and they both continued their strange carpet picnic, eating their fill of all the savoury food before turning to dessert. Amy pulled out a huge bowl of fruit salad with cream, looking for individual bowls and finding none.
"There isn't anything to serve this into," she said, still searching even though it was obvious that there were no other bowls anywhere. All she came up with were two spoons.
"Well, that's because this is my bowl. But if you're real nice to me, I might be persuaded to let you have a couple of mouthfuls," Mark said, grinning as he took the bowl off her and lifted the lid.
"You couldn't handle all of that! It's huge!"
He gave her a very wicked grin. "Thanks for the compliment darlin', but I believe we were talking about the dessert?"
She blushed furiously as she got his meaning and slapped his arm, making him raise his eyebrows with indignation. "You struck me!" he accused her, pointing to the faint red mark that could barely be made out under the tattoos.
"You deserved it! You have a filthy mind!" she said, handing him a spoon.
"Indeed I do! Here, want some of my hugeness?" he asked her, grinning unrepentantly as he held the bowl out.
"What am I going to do with you?" she asked, shaking her head in defeat at his continued smuttiness.
"I could give you some pointers, if you'd like?" he offered eagerly, and she glared at him.
"I bet you can, and I think I know just where they'd point, you pervert!"
He laughed at her outraged expression and continued to demolish the fruit salad, allowing her a spoonful every now and then and watching her avidly every time she licked her lips. Amy wrinkled her nose up at her first taste of champagne, not liking the taste at all. She didn't want to offend him however, so she forced herself to drink half the glass, trying not to grimace at the sharp taste. Mark watched her, amused that she was forcing the sparkling wine down her throat, despite the fact that she looked as though she were drinking vinegar.
"You don't have to drink it, you know. I don't mind," he said, taking the glass from her and leaning back to open the small refrigerator. He pulled a cold can of coke out and handed it to her. "Here, I think you may enjoy this a bit more."
"Thank you," she said, taking the can from him with relief. "I'm sorry, I know it must have been expensive..."
"But you think it tastes foul, right?"
"Well, yes. I much prefer soft drinks. Have you got any beer in there? You could have a beer and enjoy yourself a bit more."
"There are lots of ways I could enjoy myself a bit more," he murmured, staring fixedly at her mouth. He blinked and looked up into her eyes as a thought occurred to him. "You haven't told me what was so funny, yet. And, if I remember correctly, you said you could beat me in a wrestling match."
"Oh. You haven't forgotten about that then, huh?"
"No, I rarely forget about things like that. Not trying to back out are you?" he asked, moving closer to her and starting to clear everything up. When he had put the last of the things into the hamper and moved the hamper itself to the side of the room, he sat down next to her and raised his eyebrows. "Ready?"
"For...for what?" she gulped, shuffling back a short distance.
"Well, first, you've got to tell me what was so funny earlier, Second, I have to decide whether it bothers me or not and, if it does, then I have to pin you. Of course, you said that you could beat me, so we have that to try out too!"
She stared at him warily and he closed the distance between them again, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands. "So, come on, tell me what was so funny. What were you laughing at? And don't lie, I'll be able to tell."
"You," she said, swallowing down the slight apprehension she was feeling.
"Me? Me what?"
"I was laughing at you," she admitted.
"Mmm-hmm. I thought as much. Now, does that answer offend me?" He put one hand on his beard and stroked it thoughtfully, frowning. "You know, I think it does. You want to make the first move, or you want me to?"
