Catch a Mate (17 page)

His eyes narrowed. Being told he'd treated Jillian like shit cut deeply.

“Don't look at me like that,” Jake said. “You know you've treated her badly.”

“Yeah,” he admitted with no small amount of guilt, “but she liked it.”

“Did she really or do you just think she did? Wait. Don't answer that.” Jake shook his head in disgust. “We're acting like women, discussing all your problems like this. Next you'll ask me to paint your toenails or buy you some of that lipstick you like to wear.”

Marcus flipped him off. “I'm not the one wearing a kimono.”

Jake barked out a laugh. “Listen. You're overcomplicating things. You slept with her and, whether you admit it or not, you want to sleep with her again. Treat this day like it's your last and go get her.”

Yes, he did want to sleep with her again. Badly. She'd awakened something inside him, a beast that had been caged all these years.

He'd tried to be kind and gentle for Kayla because that's what she'd wanted, but he wasn't either of those things. Not really. And Jillian seemed to like—or rather,
desire
—him just as he was.

The two women were different in every possible way, he mused. Kayla had been all smiles, a social butterfly who fluttered from party to party. She smiled even when she was pissed. Well, she smiled to your face then cut you up behind your back. Jillian didn't seem to give a damn about the social scene. She was more likely to flip you off than smile at you. She always spoke her mind, no matter how harsh her opinion.

Kayla had frustrated the hell out of him. Jillian…delighted him.

“Thanks,” he said to Jake, standing.

“Anytime. Except in the morning. And maybe not at night either.”

“Funny.” He strode into the hall and dug his keys from his pocket. Jake's advice played through his mind. Should he push Jillian out of his life as she seemed to want—or try to develop something with her before it was too late?

A few steps from his door Marcus stopped and leaned his forehead against the cool wall. The fact that Jillian was his employee had ceased to matter last night. But if he made a play for her, she'd probably reject him. How humiliating, letting her know just how badly he desired her when she didn't feel the same way.

Why did she have to be so sexy?

Why did her body have to be so responsive to him?

Damn, but he needed something to do, something to get his mind off her until he figured this out. The office was closed on Sundays, so he'd have nothing to keep him occupied if he went in. Maybe Jake was wrong. Maybe he
did
need to turn his attentions to another woman. He could find a woman who
wanted
to be used.

Suddenly determined to do just that, Marcus unlocked his door and strode into his kitchen. It was modern, mostly silver, and Jillian would probably want to paint it beige.

He picked up the phone and dialed a former lover's number. She lived in Dallas, but he'd make the three-hour drive to see her. They both liked sex and easily said goodbye afterward. No tears. No “I love you's.”

She answered, though, and her voice wasn't Jillian's. His determination drained.

“Sorry, wrong number,” he said and hung up. Bloody damn hell! He tried again with an older woman he'd taken to dinner a few weeks ago, hoping to end his slump. She was gone and he didn't leave a message. He couldn't work up a single ounce of excitement about her, either.

Only Jillian would do, it seemed.

How did you get yourself into this mess? First you did everything you could to make Jillian hate you, then you slept with her, and now you're actually thinking about dating her.

He didn't do serious, he reminded himself. He preferred short, no-strings relationships where everyone knew the rules of the game and no one wanted more than the moment. Jillian was obviously as cynical about relationships and as slow to trust as he was, so she probably wouldn't want to do serious, either. Maybe they could continue sleeping together, an affair without emotion, without ties.

Life is short,
Jake had said.
Live this day like it's your last.

Marcus strode to the fridge and poured a glass of apple juice. He popped two painkillers and chased them with the cold liquid. The hangover was messing with his brain. Surely that was the reason for his stupid thoughts, his stupid desires and his stupid cravings. Jillian. In bed. Naked. Now. Grrr.

But he looked at the phone again. Hangover or not, he still wanted the woman. There was no denying it. Employee or not. Rules or not. He didn't want anyone else. Deep down, he knew only she would do and that scared him. He'd admitted to fear earlier but hadn't confronted it. If he did confront it, he'd give Jillian power over him and he hated,
hated
giving a woman any type of hold. They took advantage. Extorted. Yet…

He wanted Jillian.

You're going to do it, you know you are.
Yes, he was.
Don't waste any more time.
He was going to propose a sexual relationship. At work, they'd be boss and employee, nothing more. But after hours, when either of them had a need, they could help each other out. Friends (kind of) with benefits.

If she'd agree…He had to get her to agree. He'd go crazy otherwise.

Ready to see her—and begin—he grabbed his keys and strode outside. He was grinning for the first time that morning.

J
ILLIAN SPENT THE MORNING
sitting on her couch and staring off into space, trying to rid her mind of Marcus. But he was there, refusing to leave. Naked, beckoning. Seemingly a part of her DNA, like there was no Jillian without Marcus.

It was beyond frustrating!

What's worse, she suspected he'd be an even better lover when he was sober. Any better, though, and she would have died of pleasure. She sighed. When they'd stood in the parking lot, just looking at each other, she'd felt the urge to throw herself at him, to keep him with her and try for something more than sex.

“That's just craziness,” she muttered as she toyed with the ends of the decorative scarf she'd wrapped around her neck to hide the bruises.

Think of something else, damn it! Think of Anne.
The woman had called about an hour ago to see if they were square. In lieu of an answer, Jillian had asked what chance Anne had given her, the one she'd alluded to yesterday. Anne had replied, “I gave you a chance to find happiness, girl. You're not chained to CAM. You can break the cycle of mistrust and rejection.”

But happiness was far from what Jillian felt.

Thankfully, the clock chose that moment to chime the noon hour,
forcing
her to forget Anne…and Marcus. Jillian grabbed her keys and purse and headed to the front door. It was time to visit her mother and her granny and her brother and her sister and her nieces. Last time they'd all gotten together, they'd nearly killed each other. She'd mentioned a work case and the next thing she knew, they were arguing about infidelity. Her mom had run away to cry in private, Jillian had yelled at Brent, Brittany had yelled at her and Granny had slept with the pool boy to escape the volatile scene.

Ah, good times.

The phone rang, startling her. She paused, hand on the doorknob, about to lock up. Heart picking up speed, she rushed forward and grabbed the phone from the end table. Was it…could it be…“Hello.”

“You bringing Georgia?” her brother asked.

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. No—relief! “No. Sorry.”

“Why not?”

“You'd just bother her.”

He snorted. “I never bother her.”

“Puh-lease.”

“Okay, I bother her, but she likes it. Whether she admits it or not. Just…call her and ask her to come.”

“No.”

“You're a bad sister.”

“I'm not your pimp,” she told him.

“I drove over to her place last night, okay, and she was upset about something.”

Jillian frowned. “Upset? About what?”

“I don't know. Just bring her,” he said and hung up.

Jillian rolled her eyes. She phoned Georgia, but there was no answer. She walked to her house, saw Georgia's sedan in the driveway and pounded on the door. Still no answer. Most likely, Wyatt had picked her up and Georgia had stayed the night with him. Jillian sighed, knowing Brent would be upset about that.

As she walked to her own car, the sun glared hotly. For a moment, only a silly, wistful moment, she wanted to talk to Marcus about the weather again. How was it possible that she missed him so soon? Scowling, she pressed unlock on her key pad and the driver-side door snapped open.

“Headed out?” a husky male voice said.

Gasping, Jillian whirled. There he was, standing on her porch as if she'd conjured him. The sight made her feel like she'd fallen flat on her face, the air knocked from her lungs. Her heart drummed in her chest, a fluttery rhythm.
Marcus.
He'd changed his clothes and now sported a faded pair of jeans and a muscle-hugging black T-shirt.

She knew what he looked like underneath those clothes and the knowledge teased her mind and body. Her nipples hardened; her stomach quivered. Shit. What was he doing here?

“Headed out?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she answered on a wispy catch of air. He looked good. Too good. Blond hair slightly damp, brown eyes darkened with…something unreadable. Determination, maybe. Desire? Hope? Why hope? Perhaps that was simply a reflection of
her
eyes.

A slight breeze swirled between them. The lush emerald trees that were sprinkled around the front of her house provided the perfect frame for him. Both were gifts from Mother Nature, she thought wryly. Outdoors suited Marcus's ruggedness, made him appear all the more savage.

His gaze slid over her, lingering on all the places he'd licked and pinched and nibbled. “You look nice.”

Surely that hadn't been a compliment. Surely she had misheard. “I'm sorry, what?”

“You look nice, Jillian,” he said softly, genuinely. “Very pretty.”

Nope. Hadn't misheard. “Th-thank you.” What was going on? Why was he being so…sweet? A long while passed. They were staring at each other, she realized, silence thick between them. Her gaze was hungry, she was sure. His was now blank.
Say something, idiot!
“Uh, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“There's something I need to say to you.”

“Okay.” Like what? Fighting an intense surge of curiosity, she hefted her purse strap over her shoulder.

Wait. Better to be curious than to spend more time with him. Already her mouth watered. Already her fingers itched to tangle into his hair. “Unfortunately,” she said, “now really isn't a good time to chat.”

Break the cycle of mistrust
…. Anne's voice filled her head.

“Where are you going? Maybe I can, I don't know, come with you.”

Her eyes widened with incredulity. “You want to come with me?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“No, I'm sorry.” This entire conversation was a dream, right? It was too surreal. She turned back to her car. “I'm having lunch with my family.”

With five quick steps, Marcus was at her car and grasping the rim of the door, his fingers smudging the window. Suddenly she felt his heat, so much more potent than the sun. She smelled his sinful aroma and the memories she'd fought all morning flooded her. Her ears filled with the sounds of his moans; her mouth tasted the salty flavor of his skin.

“I doubt they'd mind if you brought a guest,” he said, his breath fanning her ear. He might have licked the shell of her ear, riding the ridges of her earrings, but she couldn't be sure.

Jillian stilled, frowned. A curl blew in front of her eyes and she brushed it back. “They might not mind, but I would.” All she needed was for her family to see how she reacted to this man.
Break the cycle….

“I need to talk to you, Jillian. It's important.”

He sounded grave, as if it were life and death. Her death, more specifically. “What's this about?”

“I'll tell you inside the car or inside your house, but not out here.”

She didn't want to go inside with him, not with a bed (and a couch) nearby. More than that, she simply didn't have time. If she were late, her mom would freak or sink into a depression because Jillian didn't love her enough to rush over—not that she'd ever say that to Jillian, but Brent and Brittany would call her all night long, complaining.

Shit. It was either take Marcus along or agonize until tomorrow about what he had to say.
Break the cycle….
“You drive,” she told him, shutting the door to her car. Let him pay for the gas, since he'd insisted on coming.

A look of relief flashed over his features and he nodded. He turned on his heel and practically skipped to his silver Jag. What did he have to be so happy about? She frowned. The news must be freakishly terrible if he was
that
happy to give it to her. Her stomach knotted painfully, a perfect mimic of the pain she'd felt the first day she'd met him, when she'd stepped into Anne's office thinking she was going to be fired. Had that really only been two days ago?

Jillian tentatively walked to Marcus's car and settled into the plush leather passenger seat. Buckled. Breathed. Gave him her mother's address. To distract herself, she looked around. Everything was clean. Not a speck of dust on the dash, not a blade of grass on the floorboard.

“And you called
me
a clean freak,” she said.

He grinned wryly. “I guess we're more alike than either of us wants to admit.” He started the car. Surprisingly, classical music blared from the speakers. Sheepish, he turned down the volume. She would have expected rock from someone so in-your-face masculine (the time he'd worn her lipstick not withstanding).

“Since opposites attract, I guess that means we're safe.”

“Opposites aren't the only ones who attract,” he admonished.

True. “So…what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Give me a moment to collect my thoughts.”

They lapsed into silence. Not wanting to seem too eager, she waited until they were soaring along the highway and headed toward Rivendell, an exclusive neighborhood for those with money to burn. Her mom had grown up middleclass, but married Jillian's very wealthy father. In the divorce, her mom had gotten the house and a huge settlement.

The neighbor who had spent more time in her dad's bed than her mom did had long since moved. For a while, breaking the woman's windows, keying her car and poisoning her plants had been Evelyn Greene's only joy.

“So…” she prompted for a second time. Her hands were sweating.

“We're both jaded,” he began, then paused.

O-kay, not how she expected him to start.
I lied to you earlier and I haven't had a checkup in years.
Maybe something like that. Or,
I'm still married and now my wife wants to meet you and show you the gun she just purchased.
“That was so important you crashed my family lunch to tell me?”

He tossed her a frown. “Give me a moment.”

“I've given you plenty of moments, Mark. You don't go to someone's house, tell them you have a matter of life and death to discuss, then take an eternity to sort through your thoughts. It
is
a matter of life and death now because I'm dying of curiosity.” So much for not seeming too eager.

“I never said it was a matter of life and death, Dimples, and the name is Marcus.”

“You let Ronnie with an
ie
call you Mark,” she pointed out.

“Because she was nothing. Not even a blip on my radar.” Pause. “Jealous?”

“Hardly.” She snorted, felt her cheeks burn brightly and turned toward the window.

“Tell you what. When you're naked, you can call me anything you want.”

Oh, that was…that was…“Just—tell me what you came to tell me. If you're waiting for Happy the sock puppet to help you explain, don't. He'll just confuse me.”

“Now you're pissed about Happy.” Exasperated, he shook his head. “Go ahead. I don't mind. Insult me. Hit me.”

“No. You'll like it too much,” she muttered.

“Probably,” he agreed with a heavy amount of self-deprecation.

Her blood pressure spiked. Not with fury, but with that damn desire she couldn't seem to shake. Hearing he might become aroused if she beat on him…her nipples hardened. An ache throbbed between her legs. Damn, damn, damn! “What. Do. You. Want. To. Talk. To. Me. About?”

His hands tightened on the wheel and his breathing was choppy as he said, “I hope you're ready for this.”

“Just say it!”

“Fine. Here it is. You're single and I'm single. I think we should start sleeping together.”

“What!” Incredulous, she turned in her seat, the belt buckle pulling tight around her middle. “Would you mind repeating that? I think I had a brain aneurysm while you were speaking.”

“It makes sense. Neither of us wants a relationship, so we'll never have to worry about the other hoping for more than sex. And the sex was good, you can't deny it.”

Shock held her immobile. He was serious. He wasn't smiling. Lines of tension bracketed his mouth and his back was ramrod straight with…hope? Dread?

“We work together,” she managed to get out.

“I considered that,” he said with a nod, a lock of pale hair dancing at his temple. He didn't face her. “I think we're mature enough to act professionally at work.”

“And sleep together afterward?” Her voice was barely audible.

“Exactly.”

Her nipples tightened eagerly. She ached at her very core. “This is a joke, right?”

“No joke.”

“I thought…” Dear God. “I thought we'd agreed to forget last night happened.”

“I can't,” he admitted sheepishly.

Neither could she. When he'd entered her body, he'd become a permanent part of her. An image that would haunt her for the rest of her life, a sizzling reminder of the one time she'd let go completely. The one time the pieces of her life had clicked together and formed a cohesive whole, no thoughts of infidelity, no thoughts of emotional pain.

“This is the perfect solution,” he rushed on, as if he feared she was gearing up to reject him. “Both of us have needs and like I said, we don't want to have to deal with commitment. And we obviously have similar…passions.”

“Marcus.” She paused, not really knowing what to say. Her body wanted to agree, right now, no hesitation. Her mind had yet to jump on board. “We're barely able to tolerate each other.”

“Yes, but we're perfectly compatible in bed.”

“That was the alcohol.”

“I highly doubt that. But,” he said, shrugging, “there
is
a way to find out for sure.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. She already knew the answer, but she said, “How?”

His lips twitched into a smile. “We'll have to sleep together again. Sober, this time.”

Tempted, but still fighting it, Jillian scrubbed a hand down her face. “Do you realize how insulting this is? You're basically asking me to whore for you anytime you get the urge.”