Catch a Mate (20 page)

M
ISERY,
that's what he should have felt.

But surprisingly, Marcus had a good time with Jillian's family. Well, except for Jillian's mom trying to poison him, something she'd apparently once done to her neighbor and ex-husband. Other than that little setback, the day had been a nice blend of fun, excitement and desire. A tad uncomfortable at times, but invigorating all the same.

The Greene clan obviously loved each other. They were a little quick on the emotional trigger, but then, who wasn't? They laughed, they teased, they argued. And Jillian adored the little fruit girls, Cherry and Apple. He'd felt a pang in his chest every time she had ruffled their hair or flashed them a smile.

That scared him more than anything else ever had. He'd experienced an inexorable urge to give her
his
children. And he'd reacted by snapping at Jillian a few times. When he'd realized what he was doing, being rude to her because he was afraid of what she made him feel, he'd begun to think that maybe she was doing the same thing. Maybe she, too, was afraid and was simply reacting to that fear.

That scared him, as well, but it hadn't stopped him from kissing her. Right in front of her mom, her nieces and anyone else watching. He didn't regret it, either.

Besides Kayla's, he'd never met a woman's family before. It took a relationship to a level he'd always resisted. But he'd been filled with curiosity about who—what—had raised Jillian. Now he knew.

Jillian's guarded yet fiery personality made a bit more sense.

He glanced over at her. She really was a beautiful woman, filled with passion and, of all things, sugar. Right now they were in his car on their way back to her place. She hadn't spoken since they'd left her mom's. Nerves? They both knew he'd be going inside the house with her and what would happen the moment they closed the door.

That's all it took to make his cock stand at attention. He could hardly wait to have Jillian again. To feel her softness. To taste her, inch by delectable inch.

His cell phone rang, dragging him from his thoughts. Jillian turned to him, curious, as he fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “This is Marcus.”

“We still on for tonight?” Jake asked.

“Tonight?” He almost groaned.

“Poker, asshole. Are we still on or not?”

He'd forgotten about their game. A quick glance at the dashboard clock showed it was five. If he went to Jillian's, made love to her the way he'd wanted—no less than two hours of foreplay before the main event—he'd have to leave immediately afterward. While she'd claimed before to want no cuddling, he thought she'd want it now, with their new arrangement.
He
wanted it now.

He wanted to savor her, before and after.

“Let's reschedule,” he told Jake. And he was startled to realize he wasn't disappointed. Poker was his game, his favorite hobby. His religion. The excitement of winning, the anticipation of the flip and discovering what cards his opponents held…he lived for it. Usually. Right now, Jillian was more important.

“This
is
the rescheduled game,” Jake pointed out, “and I've been looking forward to it all day. So have the others.”

“We'll reschedule again.”

“No, we won't. We'll play without you and you can wonder how much money you
could
have won.” A long pause ensued and the line crackled with static. Then, “You're with Jillian, aren't you?” Jake whooped out a laugh. “Finally decided to seize the day, didn't you, you dirty, perverted—”

Marcus closed his phone, hanging up on his friend.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Jillian asked, speaking up for the first time. Her tone held no hint of her thoughts.

“Only with you,” he said. He turned the ringer off and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. No more distractions.

Relief washed over her expression. “So,” she said, her voice unsure, “you met my family.”

“I won't try to deny it.”

“You're hysterical.” She rolled her eyes. “That was…odd for me.”

“How so?”

“Like my brother told you, I don't usually take men to meet my mom.”

“You mentioned she was a man-hater and she proved it. What I don't know is why?”

Jillian returned her attention to the window, as if the tall, green trees and brown flatlands were fascinating. After a long pause, she finally said, “When I was seven, she found my dad in bed with another woman. That pissed her off. But when she found out he'd taken me to play with the woman's cat, she went crazy. She tried to kill herself. I found her.”

“I'm sorry,” Marcus said softly, aching for the child she'd been. It helped explain her trust issues, though, and why she fought so hard to prove men were pigs. “You don't have to worry about me cheating on you. Not that we're dating,” he added, before she could protest.

Jillian bit her lip. “I think I know, deep down, that you won't go out with someone else. And that, too, is weird to me. Of all the men in the world I could trust, I never would have placed you on the list. Much less at the top.”

His heart kicked into a faster beat. “Why do you think you do?” he asked curiously. “Trust me, that is?”

Her head canted to the side, her cheek practically lying on her shoulder. “Maybe because you've seen the effects of cheating, from the business, from your own life. You know firsthand what it feels like to be betrayed.”

His fingers stiffened on the wheel. “I never told you I was cheated on.”

“You didn't have to. The look in your eyes when you mentioned your ex said plenty. Men don't like to admit when their lover picks someone else.”

“And I suppose women do?”

“No,” she admitted. “It hurts and it's embarrassing.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her pinch the fabric of her jeans, twisting. Several seconds of silence passed. “Why are we doing this, Marcus?”

He knew she wasn't just asking about their current topic of conversation, but also about their arrangement, their sudden ease with each other when things could end very badly, very soon and sharing such intimate details about their lives would only complicate matters. “Are we showing all our cards?”

“Why not?” She laughed without humor. “We're about to see each other naked. Again.”

“Fine. I don't hate you and I never have. I enjoy spending time with you. I've thought about you since I first clasped eyes on you. I feel like I've wanted you forever. I still don't want a relationship,” he rushed out, “but I do want you more than I've wanted anyone in a long, long time.”

Her mouth floundered opened and closed and a strangled sound emerged from her throat. He frowned. “Well?”

“Well, what?” she managed to squeak out.

“Show me your bloody cards.”

She gathered her composure and crossed her arms over her middle, stretching her T-shirt over her breasts. Her nipples were hard, he couldn't help but notice. He forced his attention back to the road.

“You really annoy me. You drive me crazy, and not always in a good way. I barely know you and for most of the last two days, I've wanted to kill you. But…”

“But,” he prompted, teeth clenched.

“I can't stop thinking of you, either. I loved being with you last night and I hate the thought of you with someone else.”

Satisfaction hummed through him. Satisfaction and possessiveness and desire. “Good,” he said.

“Good.”

“We'll take it a day at a time and we'll tell each other if it stops working.”

“Agreed.”

“It's all about respect.”

Her lips twitched in amusement. “And sex.”

“Respect and sex,” he said with a smile.

Jillian chuckled, and the sound was so warm and sensual his stomach clenched as an intense wave of desire swept through him. Finally her house came into view, and he eased the car into her driveway. Soon. Very soon he'd have her naked and under him, naked and over him.

He emerged and opened the passenger door for her. Her legs were shaky as she stood, he noticed. Without a word, she trudged up to her porch. Her neighbor was still perched on a rocking chair, watching them unabashedly from her own porch. As he followed Jillian, he waved to the older woman and winked. She blushed.

Jillian unlocked the door and held it open, not looking at him. He swept past her, but still she didn't glance in his direction.

Maybe he was perverse, but he liked her nervousness. It meant she was thinking about him, thinking about what he'd do to her, how he'd make her feel. He might just have to pick a fight with her to work her out of it, though, because he wanted her passion, her fire. Nothing held back.

Turning her back on him, she shut and locked the door. She stayed just like that for a long while, simply breathing in and out.

“You scared?” he asked softly, because he sure as hell was.

Her back stiffened. “Of course not.” She whirled on him, but didn't attack him as he'd hoped. Instead, she sashayed past him and disappeared around a corner. He stood in place for a second, once again surprised by the tidiness and beigeness of her home.

People probably told her she needed to brighten the place with colors. He liked the browns, though. The pristine setting made the things they did to each other seem all the more debauched.

“You getting naked and crawling in bed?” he called.

She snorted. “Hardly. I'm in the kitchen.”

Blood heating, he followed the sound of her voice. When he rounded the corner, he spied her in the equally beige kitchen, just as she'd claimed, leaning on the fridge door and pouring herself a glass of white wine.

“Would you like one?” she asked.

“No, thank you.” He closed the distance between them, took the glass from her, and placed it on the counter.

A frown tugged at her mouth. “I planned to drink that.”

“No alcohol,” he said.

Something almost…vulnerable flickered inside her eyes and his chest squeezed tightly. She cleared her throat. “So we're just going to hop right into bed?”

“Of course not.” He settled his hands on her waist, bunched her T-shirt until a strip of flat stomach showed. Lean, smooth. He hadn't spent enough time in that area last night and he ached to do so now.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “What are we going to do, then?”

“We're going to get naked,
then
hop into bed.” He eased the scarf she wore from her neck, letting the soft material caress her skin before he dropped it on the floor. He looked at the hickeys he'd exposed and experienced a primal satisfaction. “You excite me.”

Desire licked its way over her expression, chasing away her nerves. Her posture softened; she curled her fingers around the waist of his pants. “Same rules as last night?”

“What rules?” In three seconds, he was going to taste the pulse hammering at the side of her neck. One…two…He leaned down and flicked out his tongue. Delicious.

Moaning, she tilted her head backward. “No cuddling or…or…that feels good…snuggling after—oh, right there—you just leave.”

“I didn't do that last night.” He nibbled, biting down slightly.

“But you were supposed to,” she said breathlessly.

Normally he couldn't get out fast enough once the sex was over. But he wasn't going to let Jillian use him, then kick him out. “No deal. I'm staying, and you're going to cuddle with me for at least an hour.”

“An hour?” She pumped her hips against him.

He groaned deeply, his penis so hard he could already feel moisture on the rounded tip. “Two hours.”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Three hours.”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“Four hours.”

“Fine.” She grinned wickedly. “I'll give you an hour, but I won't like it.” Closing her eyes, she rubbed against him again.

He let her pleasure herself for a bit, letting his own need grow and intensify, as well. “You'll like it.”

“No, I won't.”

“Just for that, I'm staying for two hours. Want to push for three?”

“Fine. Two.”

He dropped the shirt's hem and palmed her stomach. Warm, soft. Sweet. She gasped at the first contact. “You turn me on, Dimples.”

She arched backward, which caused the juncture of her thighs to cradle his erection completely. He hissed in a gulp of air. The pleasure of that small caress was almost enough to make him come.

His hands slid down and around and cupped her ass. With a single fluid motion, he hefted her onto the counter. Spreading her knees wide, he stepped between her legs.

“Why can't I stop thinking about you?” he asked, the question more for himself. He didn't kiss her yet. He wasn't done talking with her—which was odd. He liked talking with her as much as he liked making out with her.

“Maybe for the same reason I can't stop thinking of you.” She grabbed the hem of his shirt and jerked it over his head. The material fell to the floor in a forgotten heap. She splayed her fingers over his nipples, down the ropes of his stomach.

Everywhere she touched, his skin prickled like a live wire. “Tell me your fantasies,” he said. One more taste. He needed one more taste before he could utter another word. Leaning down, he laved his tongue over the line of her jaw. Mmm, so good.

A shiver worked through her. “I—I don't know.”

“Yes, you do. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“I—I don't,” she said, and embarrassment laced her tone.

Oh, he knew she lied, but he wasn't upset. He realized in that moment that she'd never told anyone about her fantasies. Never admitted them aloud. He liked the thought of being the first to hear them. The first to do what she really, secretly wanted. “I know you like it rough and hard.”