Catch a Mate (22 page)

That was more telling than he probably realized and she felt herself relax. He hadn't fallen for Kayla because of love. He'd fallen for the woman because he'd wanted a sure thing, certain success.

That the relationship had failed probably accounted for most of his distrust.

“I'm sorry it didn't work out,” she said.

He smiled lazily. “I'm not. First time I saw you, I thought,
get her naked.
I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it if I'd been married.”

She chuckled just as his stomach rumbled. “Hungry?” she asked.

“You depleted all my strength, woman.
And
I didn't even get to have dessert at your mom's since you wouldn't let me. Of course I'm hungry.”

“Yeah, and I still haven't heard a thank-you yet. So be a dear and fix me something while you're in the kitchen,” she added, grinning, her good humor somehow restored. How had he done that? With only a few words, he'd brought her from the brink of unhappiness.

He gave her a mock frown…and pushed her off the bed. She tumbled right onto the floor and landed on her ass, gasping and laughing at his audacity.

“You're up now,” he pointed out. “You can fix us both something.”

“Perhaps I'll make you
cookies,
since you missed out on them and all.”

He studied her grin. “You know, if it would have made you smile like this, I would have eaten your mom's cookies.”

She jumped to her feet and turned away before he could see the moisture that suddenly pooled in her eyes. Look at her. Acting like a mushy gushy girl.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked, as if sensing how uncomfortable and unsure she was and wanting to lighten the mood. “Your master has issued his command.”

This playful side of Marcus was…more than she'd ever imagined.

He was constantly surprising her today. First by asking her to have an affair with him, then going to her mother's,
then
by coming back to her house, fulfilling her most secret fantasy and sticking around after the loving was done. Now this—sweetness followed by playfulness.

Reaching out, she grabbed the white cotton sheet and jerked it off him. “Get up. If you want to eat, you help fix.”

He didn't move. “What are we having?”

“Sandwiches.”

“Off each other?” He wiggled his brows. “I bet that's another fantasy of yours. It is, isn't it?” He leapt from the bed in a single fluid movement. His penis was growing long and hard.

She stepped back, her heart already racing. “You better keep that thing away from me.” Her blood rushed hot and needy. She should be tired. She should not become aroused so soon after the last time.

“I'll stay away,” he said, “after I've had—”

Ding dong. Bang, bang, bang.

Marcus stilled, frowned. Both of them looked toward the bedroom door, as if they could somehow see outside.
Bang, bang, bang.

“Someone's at your door,” he said.

“I know.” Frowning too, she grabbed her robe from its wall hook and wrapped it around herself. “Stay here,” she said, walking out of the room. She didn't look back to make sure he obeyed. He was cursing under his breath, though.

Bang, bang, bang.
Whoever was out there was determined to get in. Those were hard, fast pounds. A battering of fists. She felt a little panicky at the thought of being caught with Marcus. Maybe she should ignore whoever it was.

“Jillian! Jillian, are you there? Let me in.”

“Georgia?” She quickened her step and jerked open the door. Her best friend stood on the porch. The small light hanging overhead illuminated her. Jillian gasped in shock.

Georgia's face was red and splotchy from crying, and her hair—Dear God. Her hair. Someone had cut most of it off to the scalp. What wasn't cut at the scalp hung in chopped locks. Her eyebrows were missing.

“Who did this to you?” she said on a strangled breath. Whoever it was, she'd kill him, take a knife and show the bastard how
she
liked to cut.

“I did it.” Georgia stormed inside, her entire body shaking.

Wait. What? “You did this to yourself?”

“You have to hide me.” Her green eyes were wild as she surveyed Jillian's home. “I can't let him see me like this.”

“Slow down. I'm having trouble understanding you.” Jillian wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders. “Georgia, what's going on? Why would you do something like this?”

“Don't let him in, okay?” She spun, leveling Jillian with a frantic gaze. “He'll come here when he realizes I'm not home.”

“Who?”

Before she could answer, Marcus entered the room, pulling on his shirt. “What's going on?” he demanded. Then he spotted Georgia. “Dear God.”

Georgia gaped at him. “What's he doing here?” But a second later, she was sobbing and trying to cover her head with her hands. “Don't look at me!”

Helpless, Marcus turned his gaze away and faced Jillian.

“I can't believe this,” Georgia shouted, her voice muffled by the hands still hiding her face. “You're sleeping with him.”

“Well…” Jillian's face burned.

“What about his rules? What about the fact that he's related to the devil? What about him being a gay cross-dresser?”

Jillian met Marcus's stare, silently begging for help. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She'd never seen a man look quite so out of his element.

Finally Georgia dropped her hands to her sides. “You know what? Don't answer. Maybe it's a good thing that you're here,” she said on a hysterical laugh, peering hotly at Marcus. “Now I don't have to worry how you'll react when you see me at work.”

“I—I—” he said.

“Calm down and tell us what happened,” Jillian insisted.

“Men,” Georgia spat. “That's what happened. Men!”

M
ARCUS
was completely out of his comfort zone. Crying women—Lord, he didn't even stick around when his mother turned on the waterworks. But he didn't want to leave. Georgia was his employee and he felt strongly compelled to make things right for her.

Actually, he felt strongly compelled to make things right because Jillian wanted them right.

“Georgia,” he began, but pressed his lips together when she whipped around to face him. Her face was swollen and red, her appearance ravaged.

Several tears slid from her watery green eyes and she roughly wiped them away. “You think I'm ugly, don't you? Well, guess what? I don't care anymore! If you want to look at me, go ahead. I won't try and stop you this time.”

“I don't think you're ugly,” he answered honestly. There was still something striking about her, even if most wouldn't see past the crazy hair and missing brows to notice it.

“You're beautiful,” Jillian cooed. She ran her hand over Georgia's decimated hair, then patted her back. “You're still beautiful, sweetie, but you have to tell us exactly what happened.”

“I'll get us something to drink.” Desperate to escape, Marcus strode into the kitchen and downed two beers, one right after the other. Sanity first. Feeling a little more relaxed, he filled a glass with water. He grabbed the hand towel that was hanging on the oven rail. With a prayer for fortitude, he headed back into the living room and handed both the towel and cup to Jillian.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, dabbing Georgia's face with one hand and holding the glass to her friend's mouth with the other. “Sip.”

Georgia pushed the cup away as the story began to pour out of her with a quiet rage that grew with every word. A boyfriend who'd dumped her, wine, a visit from Jillian's brother, wine, the realization that she didn't want to pretend to be perfect any more, wine, a pair of scissors.

“I'm sorry about Wyatt,” Jillian said softly.

“I never cared about him, not really. It was always Brent,” Georgia said, shuddering. She laughed bitterly. “We test men everyday and I finally decided to test him and prove that he doesn't really love me. He made me hope and hope is a terrible thing.”

“Oh, sweetie. There were other, less-damaging ways to ruin your appearance and test him,” Jillian said. “A wig. Makeup. Wash-off skin dye.”

“That would have proven nothing” was the tortured response.

“So why did you do this? I still don't understand.”

Marcus answered for her. “Desperate people do desperate things, Jillian.”

“I had to know beyond any doubt.” Georgia wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “I wanted to prove him wrong
now,
before I fell any harder for him.”

He prayed she wouldn't be sorry later, after Brent saw her. The man might not care about her appearance, but he might take offense at being tested. Marcus shook his head. Bait was never the type to give trust blindly and civilians often couldn't understand that.

Not knowing what he could say, Marcus plopped onto the recliner, content simply to watch Jillian. Wait. Maybe he should just go home. Hanging around wasn't something a casual lover did—especially in the midst of an emotional crisis.

“What am I going to do?” Georgia asked on a shuddering breath.

“Well, we'll get a stylist to fix what's left of your hair. You'll be adorable with punk rocker spikes. Don't worry,” Jillian said, but there was doubt in her voice.

Georgia again wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “What about my missing eyebrows?”

“You can pencil them in. Lots of women do that.”

“Yes, and lots of women look like clowns,” Georgia countered, more than a little hysterical now.

“Your brows will grow back,” Marcus offered when Jillian shot him a pleading look.

“I want to die” was the response. “Just die. Brent's going to leave me and you're going to fire me.”

Jillian shook her head. “He's not going to fire you.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No, he's not.”

“Yes, he is,” Marcus said firmly, ending their debate.

Both women faced him: Georgia with sad resignation, Jillian with astonishment. He wanted to snatch back his words, but couldn't.
Wouldn't.

Jillian uttered a forced laugh. “Now isn't a good time for jokes, Marcus.”

“Unfortunately, I'm not joking.”

A moment passed before she reacted, as if her mind needed time to process what he'd said. Then anger and disappointment darkened her lovely features. At one time, that anger would have aroused him. Now he felt only a sense of loss. He was beginning to prefer her softer side, the side that kissed and licked him with abandon. The side that whispered sweet, hot things in his ear while he was inside her. The side that asked him to taste between her legs.

“Why?” she demanded.

Marcus tangled a hand through his hair. He hated to do this, especially while Georgia was so broken. But he wouldn't lie to either of them and he wouldn't let Georgia carry false hope. That would be crueler than what he was about to say. “There's not a wife on the planet who would choose her as bait. Everyone in this room knows that.”

Jillian's eyes narrowed. “I believe I mentioned that she can wear a wig and pencil in her eyebrows.”

Marcus shook his head. “Wives will know,” he said. “Husbands will know, and neither will pick her. They want the fantasy of what they themselves can never be. They want perfection. The real deal.”

“Marcus—”

He cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “I'm sorry. No matter what you say, my decision will stand. Bait makes money when they're chosen. I'm not doing this to be cruel. I told you CAM is under financial pressure. We simply can't afford to employ bait that doesn't meet our clients' expectations.” He paused, then added, “Both of you signed a contract before you began working at CAM. Any drastic change in your appearance is grounds for termination.”

That wasn't what Jillian wanted to hear and he knew it. She wanted to hear him say that Georgia would be paid no matter what. Well, he couldn't. And he doubted Georgia would like being seen as a charity case. “I'll pay her severance, but that's all I'm willing to do.”

“I'm asking you to keep her on.” Her eyes beseeched him. “For me.”

He squeezed his lids tightly closed.
For me,
she'd said, as broken as Georgia, and he wanted to give her anything, everything. What next? he mused then. A relationship? Marriage? Those babies he'd secretly longed for?
Too soon,
his mind shouted.
Too much, too soon.
“No,” he found himself saying. “I'm sorry.”

A moment passed. An eternity. A heartbeat.

Jillian spun on her heel, giving him her back. “I'd like you to leave, Marcus.” Her voice wavered, as if she were speaking past a painful lump.

Don't let yourself care. Be glad for this.
They weren't a couple and ending things now, before they became any more complicated, was actually a smart thing to do. “Are you sure you want to do this?” The words left him before he could stop them. He remained in his seat. They'd only just come to a truce and he was loath to see it destroyed—despite his need for self-preservation.

Besides, he still desired her. More now than before.

For several seconds, she didn't speak. He knew if he walked out the door he would never be invited back. Things would return to the way they'd been before. They would be enemies. There would be no more kissing. No more sex. No more wacky meals with her family. No more poisoned chocolate-chip cookies.

“Yes,” she whispered, facing him once again. There was finality in her features. “I'm sure.”

He closed his eyes against a strong surge of regret and panic and need.
What's wrong with you, asshole? Act like a man and leave. You forgot pride once. Don't do it again.
But…

He suddenly felt such a sense of loss that he couldn't breathe. There was a crushing weight on his chest, smothering him.
Killing
him. Things were over.
Things were over.
His panic intensified, storming through him, opening a door in his mind and letting truth flood inside—a truth so palpable he wasn't sure how he'd ever denied it.

Jillian's beautiful, determined face flashed, the wild fall of her black curls and the delectable body encased in that white robe. Deep down he knew he wanted more from her than sex. Always had. She challenged him, excited him and wasn't intimidated by his anger. She met him heat for heat in every way.

She would not cheat on him. She knew the pain of betrayal herself, and there was a tell-it-like-it-is iron core inside her that wouldn't allow her to lie if her affections deviated.

She was the perfect woman for him. Too soon for such feelings? Not so. They'd been there from the first. He'd simply ignored them, then put a different name on them.

He might not have realized he was doing it, but he'd been edging them into an exclusive commitment. A relationship with all the strings he'd claimed he didn't want. They were both wary of romance, but he'd been subconsciously shifting them in that direction. And he wasn't sorry.

“Jillian,” he said, standing, meaning to go to her. To make her understand. What did pride matter right now? He'd given it up for Kayla for all the wrong reasons. With Jillian, it was right. So right. “I can't let Georgia keep her job. That's not good business and it's not fair to anyone involved. You have to understand.”

“I do understand.” For a moment, she looked like she would crumble. Then she stiffened and shook her head. “You still need to leave.”

“Jillian—”

“She said leave!” Georgia snapped, jumping into the conversation.

“We were only fooling around, anyway. Scratching an itch, right?” Jillian laughed, the sound strained. “It never would have lasted.”

Did she truly feel that way? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it cut him sharper than a blade because it meant he was willing to try and she wasn't. A muscle ticked under his eye.

“I wasn't just fooling around,” he said, but she wasn't swayed. She'd erected a wall between them and he didn't know how to tear it down. Not when he'd spent his entire life trying to build his own walls and keep them up. “I'll see you at work tomorrow.” With that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Jillian wanted to cry. Watching Marcus walk away from her without sprinting after him, yelling for him to stop,
something,
was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She had to remind herself that she was immune to men, immune to their charms and never wanted to get serious.

They were all pigs.

“Good riddance.” Georgia collapsed on the couch, burying her face in the cushions.

Jillian's chin trembled. Damn Marcus for showing her a tender, caring side in the aftermath of their lovemaking and causing her to desire all that he had to give, then reverting to the kind of cruel and selfish man that refused to take pity on her friend.

Worst of all, he'd ignored her feelings completely. Just like her dad had done. Just like her targets did to their women. He hadn't really cared about her—hadn't ever
claimed
to care about her. She'd just thought…hoped…Well, better to have seen his true colors now rather than later. Wasn't that what she'd always wanted to tell the women who hired her?

“What am I going to do?” Georgia uttered in a tortured whisper.

“I don't know.” Jillian forced her attention on her friend. Georgia needed her now. Marcus, she would think about when she was alone. No, maybe not even then. She felt too raw. “I'll call Brent. He'll—”

“No!” Leaping into action, her friend grabbed her shoulders and pinned her with a desperate stare. “I don't want your brother to see me like this. That's why I came here.”

“If anyone can convince you that you're still beautiful, it's Brent.” Her brother would not desert a woman simply because her looks had deteriorated.
He
wasn't like her dad or Marcus. He was sweet and kind and loving. Not that she'd ever tell him. He already had a big head.

“He'll walk away from me in disgust.”

“You can't know that for sure until he sees you. And isn't that why you did this? So he could see you this way?” As she spoke, Jillian wished the last few minutes had never happened; she wished that she were back in Marcus's arms, laughing with him and dreaming up ways to improve CAM.
Poor, pathetic me,
she thought then, disgusted with herself.

What kind of woman would rather have a man than the truth?

You're just like all the other women out there.

“I can't.” Green eyes stared up at her, beseeching her to understand. “I just can't. Not yet. I don't care if Marcus thinks I'm ugly, but Brent…”

“All right.” She pasted on a smile, knowing it probably looked shaky and false. It was. “We'll make this a girls' night. Why don't I get you a beer.”

Relieved, her friend nodded.

Jillian walked into the kitchen and secretly dialed her brother's cell without an ounce of guilt. Her eyes burned as it rang. Damn it! She rubbed at them to rid herself of the hated moisture.

“Now isn't a good time,” her brother's voice suddenly rushed out, slicing into her internal lamentations.

“Brent, it's me,” she whispered.

“Jillian, I'm at Georgia's. Something's wrong with her. I was talking to her on the phone, she screamed and I rushed over. But she's not answering her fucking door. I'm going to break it down.”

“She's here.”

Except for his panting, deadly silence slithered over the line. “What?”

“She's here. With me.”

“Is she okay?”