Catch a Mate (16 page)

“Right.” She cleared her throat and continued. “That doesn't mean I should treat you like dirt. After all, you're as miserable as I am about this.” She paused. “Aren't you?” A part of her hoped he'd deny it and tell her that he was glad it had happened.

He didn't speak for a long while, then said softly, “Right. Miserable.”

Something inside her chest plummeted.

“Thank you for the apology,” he added.

“You're welcome.” Would she ever understand herself around Marcus? He constantly tied her into knots and beat against her resolve, all with a look, a word. One moment she hated him, the next she wanted him, and now she wanted…what? A relationship? Promises? No, no. Of course not.

But she'd gotten a taste of him and, God help her, she only wanted more.

M
ARCUS HAD JUST MADE
the biggest mistake of his life, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Which made him a stupid asshole, but there it was. He was a stupid asshole, in a cab with a woman who was all wrong for him. She'd given him the best sex of his life and he only wanted more.

And
he'd forgotten to check to see if the birthmark on Jillian's ass had faded or gotten darker. That's what he regretted.

Oh, yes. He'd liked making love to Jillian. Rough and wild, uninhibited, nothing-held-back, crazy sex. And yet, she'd tasted so sweet, so innocent, a combination of the Sunday School teacher and sex kitten he'd so admired when they'd first met. Right now, he could smell her. Soap and woman.
His
woman—no, no thoughts like that. Yet…

So badly he craved another sampling. His mouth watered for it, in fact.

Gravel crunching under tires, the cab eased to a stop at the place of his doom. The darkly paneled building appeared abandoned; there was no else in the parking lot, no traffic nearby.

Marcus paid the driver and exited the cab. Jillian followed suit on her side and the taxi sped away. They were suddenly alone. Again. Not a good thing for them. They stood in place for several uncomfortable seconds, not glancing at each other, the only noise between them the occasional tweet of a bird, the gentle sway of wind.

“Well,” Jillian said. “Goodbye.” She walked to her car, only a few feet away from his Jag.

“Goodbye,” he said curtly. He strode to the driver-side door.

They faced off. She stared at something beyond his shoulder. The sun caressed her lovingly. She was breathtaking. She wore no makeup, yet she appeared prettier than ever. Her cheeks bloomed a bright pink and her eyes were glittering, her lids heavy, sated.

“I'd say thank you for last night,” she said, repeating his earlier words, “but we both know that'd be a lie.”

Last night…He couldn't stop picturing her as she'd been. Sultry, seductive. Passionate. Naked in his arms, she'd come alive. She'd been wet and hot and for several hours she'd been the center of his universe. Only she had existed.

Last night, it had seemed that he'd given a checklist to God and the big guy had granted his every wish. Nipples that tasted like berries—check. Legs that were long and lean and wrapped around him tightly—check. Silky hair that twirled around his fingers—check. A primal fragrance that roused the beast inside him—check. Feminine walls that squeezed and milked him—check.

“Well, goodbye. Again.” She palmed her keys and rocked back on her heels.

“Yeah, goodbye.” Except he wasn't ready to leave her. Things had ended badly between them and he wanted to fix it. A part of him wished they'd woken up, wrapped in each other, smiled, talked, laughed, then made love again. Perhaps slowly this time, lingering.

She wants to forget it happened, moron. Just let her go.
It was hard, though. So hard.

She cleared her throat. “I think we should forget about the bet, too. We're even, no money owed.”

“Good idea.”

She looked down at her feet. “Good.”

He didn't respond, because the words he wanted to speak were not words he
should
speak.

“Okay, then. Goodbye for real this time.” She slid into her car.

He did the same, then waited until she'd eased out of the lot before keying the ignition. “Damn it!” He slammed a fist into the wheel.

Already he wanted to chase after her.

But he forced the car into motion, purposefully driving in the opposite direction of her. One hand on the wheel, an elbow propped on the door, head resting in open palm, Marcus sighed. It irked his pride that she'd kicked him out this morning. It also irked his pride that she wanted to forget their night together, a night he would never be able to burn from his mind.

Most of all, it irked his pride that he'd wanted to start anew and she hadn't.
We probably shouldn't talk about this
had been her first words to him. There'd been desperation in her voice, as if she feared he
would
bring it up.

Last night should have gotten her out of his system, but he desired her more now than before. He banged another fist into the wheel. Weren't women supposed to go all soft and mushy after sex? So far, Jillian had proven to be different from every woman he'd ever met.

He needed a hobby, something besides work and thinking about Jillian. Poker wouldn't do anymore; he'd just think of Jillian and how much he liked to gamble with her. Maybe he'd start gardening or knitting or some other shit like that. He was acting like a woman, wanting more than his partner was willing to give, so he might as well have a hobby a woman would, too.

Grim, Marcus exited the highway and turned onto the service road that led to his apartment. Two more turns, another block and he spied the building, a brown-and-white stucco, expensive, pristine, with windowed porches on every story. Jillian would appreciate the color coordination of the place, he thought, then frowned.
Stop thinking about her, you ass.

Maybe he just needed a girlfriend. He'd thought about sleeping with someone else, but maybe he needed an actual relationship to protect him from Jillian. A soft and feminine woman he could lose himself in, over and over again, until he forgot everything else.

Nah, no relationship. That was too drastic. Relationships were too close to marriage and he never wanted to relive that disaster again.

He didn't wave or speak to anyone milling about as he strode to his apartment, where he showered—mourning the loss of Jillian's scent on his skin—changed and left again. If he stayed, he'd sleep. His head still hurt, but he didn't want to lie down. If he slept, he'd dream of Jillian.

He wanted that woman out of his mind. Finally. Once and for all.

Jake lived just down the hall, so he went there. If anyone could distract him, it was Jake. His best friend answered on the second round of banging. Jake was wearing a red kimono…thing. His hair was in spikes and sleep lines marred his face.

“You're wearing women's clothing now?” Marcus greeted him.

“It's for men, asswipe. You want to tell me why you're waking me up at ten in the morning?” Jake asked with a yawn. “That's just barbaric.”

Marcus brushed past him. Like Marcus, Jake had only been in Oklahoma City a few weeks, but unlike Marcus, he was already unpacked, his apartment decorated to perfection. Framed pictures of his wife, Claire, covered the walls, her plain, happy face smiling down on everyone who entered. She'd been dead for two years, but Jake had not yet gotten over it. Maybe he never would. The pair had been married four years and Claire had totally trusted Jake to do his job and not cheat. And Jake hadn't cheated. Not once.

They'd been in love. True love.

Marcus had never had that with Kayla, his ex-wife. She'd left and he'd wanted her back for pride's sake. Not because he missed her or couldn't live without her. What he felt for Jillian was already more intense than anything he'd ever felt for his wife.

That scared him. Everything fucking scared him lately.
Big baby!

He moved his gaze over the plush furniture, for the first time noticing that each piece was a different color. The couch—navy blue. The love seat—dark red. The coffee table—forest green. What would Jillian say about the place?

His jaw clenched. “I messed up,” he said. Rubbing a hand down his face, he fell on top of the couch.

As Jake settled across from him, the entire story poured from Marcus. The club, Jillian, drinking, sex. Incredible sex. Jake's expression flashed concern, then amusement, then incredulity. A few times he even muttered, “You are so dumb.”

“What should I do?” he asked, tortured. If anyone could help him wade out of this mess, it was Jake. As teenagers, Marcus had been the muscle and Jake the brains. Marcus had beat up the kids who'd made fun of skinny Jake; Jake had convinced their teachers not to punish him.

Since then, Marcus had grown a brain (kind of) and Jake had developed muscles. But habits died hard.

“First, let me recap.” Jake massaged two fingers over his slightly stubbled chin. “You screwed an employee—”

“Don't talk about her like that,” he found himself growling.

Jake blinked. “Then you didn't screw her?”

“No, I didn't screw her. I made—slept with her.” He'd almost said
made love,
but managed to stop himself in time. That was so
not
what they'd done.

“O-kay. You
slept with her
and now you're looking for a girlfriend so you won't be tempted to scre—uh, sleep with Jillian again.”

“Yes.”

“Well, it's official. You're a dumbass.”

“Why?” He popped to his feet and paced in front of the wide bay window that looked down onto the pulsing heart of the city. Tall buildings. Redbrick roads. A few people strolling down the sidewalks.

“Do you know nothing about women? I haven't dated in a long time, but even I can tell you're headed straight for trouble. If you date someone else now, you'll only be using her. She'll get hurt and Jillian will see you as the pathetic, slobbering fool you're becoming and—are those bite marks on your neck?”

Marcus felt his cheeks heat. Blushing like a goddamn schoolgirl. He scrubbed at his neck, wishing the marks would just fade away. “Stay on track. You were calling me a pathetic, slobbering fool.”

Jake's eyes widened. “Sweet Christ, they are!” he said with a laugh.

Defeated, Marcus fell back onto the couch. He lay down and stretched out, staring up at the ceiling. “Your humor is uncalled-for.”

“No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it's not.”

“Yes the fuck it is.”

Jake snorted. “I've never seen you this worked up over a woman. Even Kayla.”

His stomach clenched with a familiar knot of anger when he heard his ex-wife's name. He'd married her when he'd been young, stupid and vulnerable, wishing for the fabled happily-ever-after his parents hadn't gotten.

He hadn't gotten it, either. In the beginning, Kayla had loved him. He believed that much. After all, he'd tested her with bait and she'd passed. But a year later, seemingly for no reason, her entire demeanor toward him changed. She became withdrawn, moody, even hateful. He still wasn't clear on the details; all he knew was that twelve months after they'd pledged to love, honor and cherish each other, she'd left him for another man.

Not just any other man: their family physician. A man who had a belly paunch and thinning hair. He'd made the same kind of money as Marcus, so Marcus had never—even to this day—understood the man's appeal to a beauty like Kayla.

When he'd asked, Kayla had said, “I don't expect you to understand. I love him. He's kind and gentle and…sweet. Things you've never been and will never be. He makes me feel cherished.”

Marcus had vowed to be those things for her. He'd even begged. Fucking begged her to stay with him. Just the memories mortified him. Pride was a bitch.

Soon afterward, Kayla had left without ever looking back. After their divorce had been finalized, he'd heard that she had married the ugly doctor and they now had two kids. But Marcus wasn't bitter. He just hoped they both rotted in hell for all eternity.

Women—they didn't know what they really wanted and they were never satisfied with what they had. He'd learned that lesson well.

But then there was Jillian. If she ever fell in love, he suspected it would be forever. She was just too passionate, too honest, and no kind, gentle,
cherishing
doctor would be able to turn her head. She'd knee a man like that in the balls.

While Marcus didn't want her love, he still wanted her ripe little body. If only she would have asked him to stay this morning…He was still upset that she'd been in such a hurry to get rid of him.

“You look ready to kill someone,” Jake said, breaking into his thoughts.

Marcus blinked. For a moment, he'd forgotten where he was and who he was with. He glanced down and saw his hands were fisted on his pants. He released the material, forced himself to relax.

“Why don't you ask her out on a date?” Jake suggested.

“Who?”

“Your mother, dummy. Who do you think? Christ, did I mention that you can be such an asswipe sometimes? Ask Jillian out and save yourself this mental anguish.”

“I have two very good reasons for not dating Jillian. One—” he held up a finger “—she'd say no and two—” he held up another finger “—I don't want to.”

“Bullshit. You want to do more than scr—sleep with her. You want to spend time with her, talk with her, laugh with her and all that crap.”

His body jerked in agreement, even as his mind shouted a denial. “No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do. Here's a news flash. It's not really crap. It's actually…nice.” Jake sounded wistful.

“If I tried to talk with her, we'd snip and yell the entire time.” And then have the most amazing sex of his life, he thought, trying to dismiss the longing pouring through him.

Jake waved a hand through the air. “The snipping and yelling is foreplay, apparently.”

“No,” Marcus grumbled, “it's premeditation for murder.”

“You're dumb and I'm tired. Look. Life is short. You're wasting yours. You never know when someone's going to die and you won't get to see them anymore. Take my word for it.”

Marcus wished he could cover his ears and block the sound of his friend's regret.

“If you want Jillian, fight for her. This might be your only chance. If she's not here tomorrow…” Jake cleared his throat. “So stop treating her like she's a fungus growing on your favorite shoes. Play nice and I guarantee she'll stop hating you.”