Catch a Mate (7 page)

The phone beeped and Jillian sat up straighter as a wave of excitement swept through her. “Hang on. I'm getting another call.” It had to be Marcus, and she could hardly wait to hear his voice—uh, could hardly wait to tell him off, the pig. Amid Brittany's protests, Jillian clicked over. “What? This had better be an apology.”

“Has Mom called you yet?” her brother Brent—Brittany's twin—asked. “And why would I apologize to you? I haven't done a damn thing wrong.”

She sighed with disappointment. “No, Mom hasn't called me, and don't worry about the apology. I'm on the other line with Brit, who's telling me all about the situation.”

“Mom never calls you with her problems,” he grumbled. “It's not fair. I think she likes you best.”

“She just wants someone to think of her as normal, and the someone she picked is me. Remember what the therapist said?”

“Wants someone to think of her as normal,” he mocked. “I just wish her revelations and breakdowns happened during the day.”

“Again, remember what the therapist said? She's alone at night with nothing to distract her.” Jillian paused. “Maybe we should buy her a dog.”

“She's allergic, dummy. So, have you talked to Georgia lately?”

Jillian fell back onto the softness of her mattress. God save her from her family. “She's dating someone else. You know that, so stop stalking me about her. You should have asked her out when we were teenagers.”

“How serious is she about the boyfriend? I asked her to a movie earlier today, but she said she had plans with him. What kind of plans?”

“She's practically engaged, so leave her alone. Now, goodbye, Brent,” she said and clicked over.

“—to bed,” Brittany was saying over loud giggles. “I'm serious, girls. This is your last warning. Steven! Steven, the girls won't go to bed.”

The giggling stopped and murmuring took its place, then Steven's deep voice drifted over the line. “All right, my little fruit pies, let's give your mommy some privacy.” Static, kissing noises. “Love you, bunnybear.”

“Love you, too, sugarbutt,” Brittany said.

Jillian gagged. Thankfully, her other line beeped again, saving her from having to hear the rest. She clicked over. “What now, Brent.”

Silence.

“Brent. Please. No heavy breathing or I'll have to hurt you.”

“Uh, Jillian?”

Everything inside of Jillian froze. Hatred filled her, as did longing and need and all the tears she hadn't shed over him these many years. “I told you not to call here, Dad.”

“Brent told me you were up. I just wanted—”

Hand shaking, she clicked over. “—cutest man I've ever seen,” Brittany was cooing.

“And you're—” Steven began.

“I'm here, I'm here,” Jillian said hastily. She forced her dad's phone call from her mind. Just like she always did. He would not affect her in any way. “Brent called me,” she said. “Mom called him, too.”

“Why does she always call us in the middle of the night?”

Instead of giving her the same answer she'd given Brent, Jillian said, “Here's a better question—why do you always call me in the middle of the night after she's called you?”

“Well, duh. If I have to suffer, so do you. So what are we going to do about Mom?”

“Let's buy her a cat.”

“She's allergic, silly.”

Sighing, Jillian gazed through the slit between the beige curtains draping the bedroom's only window and out at the moonlit night, soaking in the gently swaying trees. “Don't worry. I'll think of something.” Brent and Brittany got to hear about the problems and Jillian got to fix them. At least it would take her mind off Marcus.

She hoped.

 

B
ACK AT HIS APARTMENT
, Marcus sat in his recliner, staring at his magnificent poker table—the felt was the color of money and the base was intricately carved, high-glossed maple. It was his altar. His place of worship.

He glanced over at his weights and the boxes scattered across the living-room floor, each one filled with his stuff. Clothing, dishes and basically everything he needed to survive. He hadn't unpacked yet, though he'd had several weeks. He didn't think he would for several more. He'd been too busy trying to buy CAM and now he was too busy trying to make it a success. Not to mention, too busy annoying Jillian.

He should call her again.

He frowned. No, he shouldn't. He'd acted unprofessional all night, which was very unlike him, and it was time to put a stop to it. He blamed Jillian. He needed to stay away from her. Far, far away. That woman irritated and excited him on levels he'd never experienced before. Every time he was near her or heard her voice or thought about her, he became primed.

He needed her gone, out of the company. But…

She'd made him laugh. She'd gotten the better of him. He wanted her to get the better of him again.

Shit. Frustrated, he tangled a hand through his hair. Yes, he needed her gone, but if she went to another agency he wouldn't be able to control her assignments. Annoying as she was, the woman needed a protector. One day she was going to piss off some poor sap and the poor sap was going to snap, hurting her. At least Marcus could keep an eye on her if she worked for him.

When Darren had grabbed Jillian's arm to keep her in place, Marcus had nearly broken the man's nose. Of course, that wouldn't have been painful enough, so he then would have ripped off the man's arms and legs and beaten him over the head with them. But Jillian had shoved Mace in the guy's face before Marcus could make a move and all had ended well.

But what if it hadn't? Jillian could have been hurt, beaten.
That
was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Women were cheaters by nature, but they didn't deserve physical pain.

He'd never worried about female bait before, but he was worried now. Jillian was such a delicate little thing—okay, she was average height and probably packed a punch like a linebacker. She was self-reliant, tough and fearless. Still. Men
were
stronger. The fact that Jillian and the other female bait usually went on assignments alone, placing themselves in the line of fire without any true means of escape, froze his blood and he vowed then and there to make sure it never happened again.

Of all of them, Jillian would need the most protection. He didn't need a reason for that assessment, he just wanted it to be true. She had an appeal that drew all kinds of immoral attention. Just sitting at the bar, he'd watched man after horny man scope her out and contemplate making a play for her. She'd looked aloof, untouchable, yet still utterly willing to try any sexual act suggested, the more depraved the better.

He himself had wanted to do wicked things to her. Wild things. Illegal in thirty-two states things. He blamed her let-me-suck-you mouth. And if he, an upstanding citizen (when he wanted to be), had yearned to do such wicked things to her, what had the other men wanted?

Nothing good, that was for sure.

Yep, he was going to be her new partner. Whether she liked it or not. Whether
he
liked it or not. So much for staying far, far away from her.

He picked up the phone and dialed his best friend's number. It rang and rang and rang until—“This better be good,” Jake said in a scratchy sleep-rumble.

Marcus didn't bother identifying himself. “Can you and the others come to the new office tomorrow? I need you earlier than planned.”

“What the hell for?” Jake yawned. “I was looking forward to relaxing on a Saturday for once. You know I've always hated working weekends.”

“One, you know Saturdays are the best time to test targets, and two, that's the time when most clients are available to meet with us. Besides, you can relax at the office.”

“That's hard to do since my boss is an asshole, demanding I come in early.”

Marcus snorted. “Funny. I want to assign the female bait partners and you guys are it.”

“Partners. I like the sound of that.”

“Strictly business, my friend.”

Jake mumbled something under his breath that sounded like “you aren't any fun anymore.” As if Jake would develop a thing for one of the women. The man had been celibate for two years. “We still on for poker tomorrow night?”

Marcus hated to reschedule; he usually planned his life around their late-night poker games. “No, we'll have to do it the night after. Something's come up tomorrow. Don't be late for work,” he said and hung up. He tossed the cordless onto the nearest box. No way he'd explain about Jillian.
He
didn't understand the need to protect and guard her. Or argue with her. Especially since he hadn't even known her for twenty-four hours.

All he knew was that he was going to have to be nice to her from now on. That was the only time he felt halfway in control around her. Otherwise, he'd end up dipping his pen in the company ink because Jillian liked their fighting as much as he did, the little liar. She'd gone all breathy when he'd insulted her.

Thank God he wasn't the only crazy one.

He guessed that meant if she upset, snubbed or offended him, he'd smile and thank her. If she slapped him, he'd smile and thank her. If she chained him to a bed and stole all his clothes and money, he'd smile and thank her. Maybe he'd ask her to climb on top of him, too, but that would be a wait-and-see situation.

Dumbass.

Frowning, he pushed to his feet and strode into the kitchen to get a beer. No, two beers. In all honesty, being nice was starting to sound fun and deep down he knew that wasn't a good sign. Not good at all.

 

You're so beautiful, baby. I was looking forward to showing you off to all my friends tonight, but I'm working late,
Wyatt had said a few hours ago when he'd called.

Georgia hadn't been upset that Wyatt broke their date. Damn it! She should have been upset. She
wanted
to be upset—and that want was driving her crazy, making her brood and mope and worry about what the hell was
wrong with her.
They'd been dating for a year now. He treated her wonderfully. Not a day went by that he didn't compliment her appearance.
Let me look at you. God, if there's another woman more perfect, I haven't seen her.
Despite the way she'd complained to Jillian, she did like those compliments. Except…

I just want to be loved for who I am,
she thought, depressed.
I just want to be loved for the woman I am inside.
Once she'd thought Wyatt was capable of that, but lately she wasn't so sure…

What would Wyatt do if he saw her without makeup? Would he still want to show her off to his friends? What would he do if she wore sweatpants to dinner? Would he still claim there was no one prettier? The prospect might not have bothered her quite so much when they'd first started dating, but now just the thought of his reaction made sickness churn inside her stomach.

She could easily picture him running away from her the same way Brent had run all those years ago. Brent. Just his name made her shiver. She didn't have to wonder what would happen if
he
saw her as anything less than perfect. He'd run again, as fast as his feet could carry him.
And that'd be a good thing,
she told herself firmly.

She recalled how, several years ago, she'd had dinner with Jillian and her family. During the course of the meal, Georgia had managed to dump spaghetti all over herself, covering herself in thick red sauce and noodles. Brent had taken one look at her, jumped up and raced from the dining room. Even though the imperfection had been temporary, he hadn't been able to get away from her fast enough.

Maybe Jillian had had the right idea all along. Maybe men really
were
pigs and incapable of giving a woman—
her—
everything she needed. And yet, that didn't stop Georgia from longing for that elusive dream-come-true romance.

“I just want to be loved,” she shouted, throwing herself atop her bed. She cried until there was nothing left inside her.

“T
HE WAR IS OFF,”
Jillian said.

“What?” Georgia, whose eyes were rimmed with red, frowned at her. They stood in the CAM parking lot beside their respective cars as traffic whizzed past on Oak Street. The sun was high and hot, but a cool breeze wafted around them. Magnolias fragranced the air, sweet, so sweet. Mocking. “Why?”

For six years, five days a week, Jillian had come to this large, white building with its pristine, virginal-looking walls and emerald-green trees splashed along the border. She'd always loved those five days and would have lived here if possible. Now, though, she found no comfort. She only wanted to leave.

Marcus was inside.

“I can't deal with our new coworker right now,” she replied. Truth. The entire night had proven unproductive, which was totally and completely Marcus's fault. Even after all the phone calls about her mom, she hadn't been able to get him out of her mind and, in turn, hadn't figured out a way to deal with her depressed mother trying to score.

Yech. Mom…scoring. She shuddered.

“Why not?” Georgia insisted. Tendrils of dark-red hair swept across her eyes and over the elegant slope of her nose. She brushed the locks aside. The sunlight usually paid her creamy skin nothing but tribute. Today she looked like hell.

“What's wrong with you?” Jillian asked her.

“Nothing's wrong with me.” She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Now tell me why we can't go to war with Marcus.”

“Because,” Jillian said, switching back to the original subject without protest. Georgia would talk when she was ready.

Jillian leaned against the sedan she'd returned, her own car just a few spaces down, and looked away, toward the busy intersection. She mourned the loss of her uncomplicated, predictable life. No matter what happened today, she was going to talk to Anne about buying CAM or at least becoming partner. She'd borrow and beg for the money, if necessary—anything to get rid of Marcus and at last realize her dream. “Just because.”

“That's not really an answer, but it doesn't matter.
I
can deal with him.” Georgia crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm anti-man right now.”

Brow puckering, Jillian faced her friend. “Why?”

A glint of insecurity slid over Georgia's perfect features. “Wyatt stood me up last night. Said he had to work late,” she added, a sad, wistful note to her voice. Apparently she was ready to talk. “Do you think he did it to punish me? For not giving him an answer to his proposal?” She didn't wait for Jillian's response. “Well, he can punish me all he wants. I don't have an answer! I thought about it all night and still couldn't decide.”

“I'm sorry, I really am, but you can't leave him hanging forever.” Jillian wasn't sure how many more problems she could deal with. It seemed to her that if you couldn't decide whether to marry the man you were dating, then the answer was probably no—not that she'd tell Georgia that. She made enough mistakes in her own life and didn't want to be responsible for Georgia's.

“I know, I know.” Georgia chewed on her bottom lip. “I'll figure it out sooner or later. In the meantime, I need a distraction. Hurting the guy who hurt my best friend is a good place to start.”

Jillian sighed. “He didn't hurt me, not really.” Infuriated and excited her, yes. “Take your frustrations out on Marcus if you want. Just…don't expect me to help.” She couldn't. Not if she wanted to resist Marcus and his wicked, naughty mouth, his let-me-pleasure-you body.

“But why?” Georgia pouted. “And don't tell me you can't deal with him because I know better. Yesterday he called you incompetent and you hated him. Something had to have happened between now and then to change your mind. I want to know what it is.”

Yesterday I didn't realize how much fighting with him turned me
—him—
on.
She didn't tell her friend that, even though they usually discussed everything. She was just too…embarrassed by her feelings. “I've found religion, that's all, and I'm going to try something new. It's called forgiveness.”

She snorted. “
You
found religion? In one night?”

“Hey, I believe in God. It's just, well, now I've seen the depths of hell,” Jillian said dryly, “and I don't want to visit there ever again.” Truth.

Before Georgia could reply, Selene pushed open the front door of the building and peeked outside. Her long blond tresses floated around her temples like angel's wings. “Anne's called a meeting,” she said.

“We'll be right there,” Jillian told her. A meeting? About what? Wait, she knew the answer.
Marcus.
She turned back to Georgia and smoothed her jeans. “How do I look?”

Her friend gave her a once-over and frowned. “Honestly?”

“Always.”

“Like shit.”

“Oh. Good.” Jillian grinned. She'd purposefully dressed to un-impress in ripped jeans, a blue shirt and flip-flops. If being nice to Marcus didn't put a damper on her sex drive, she would need some sort of shield against him. Case in point: if he thought she was ugly just because she wasn't dressed provocatively, she could hate him forever. No problem.
Please let it be no problem.

“You
want
to look bad?” Georgia shook her head. “You are so bizarre sometimes.”

Jillian shrugged.

“I wonder what Anne wants.”

Together they walked toward the building. “She probably wants to introduce Marcus to the rest of the staff,” Jillian said and opened the front door. Georgia sailed past her. When she entered behind her friend, she frowned.

“Look,” she said.

Georgia stopped mid-stride and spun around. “What?”

“Look at the walls.”

Her friend did as commanded, and her mouth fell open. “All of our posters are gone.”

A few weeks ago, they'd designed and hung male-bashing posters along the walls—like the ones in her cube—laughing all the while. Her favorite had been the one that read, You Know a Man Is Lying When His Lips Are Moving.

Why had they been taken down?

“After working with us, the clients fell in love with those posters,” Georgia said with a frown of her own. “Anne even suggested we make more.”

“Marcus,” Jillian said through a clenched jaw. “If he thinks he can make this a man-friendly business just because he's now an employee, he can think again.”

Georgia scowled. “Bastard.”

“Who does he think he is, messing with our walls? Really, he's worked here less than a day. I'll…I'll—”
Be nice to him, that's what.
Jillian gnashed her teeth, fighting a tide of desire already working through her.

Georgia arched a red brow. “Still determined to forget the war?”

No. “Yes.” There had to be a way to punish him without outwardly fighting with him.

“Stubborn. Come on.” Georgia grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hall. They turned a corner and passed a table piled high with doughnuts and coffee. The scent of caffeine wafted through the air and made Jillian's mouth water.

“At least tell me you won the bet with Marcus last night,” Georgia said, not slowing her steps. “Tell me you proved to him that men are pigs and women are superior.”

“Let's just say I'm one step closer.” She hoped. Yes, she had won their bet about Darren Sawyer, but Ronnie with an
i e
had done a lot of damage to the girls' team.

Lapsing into silence, they swept past open glass doors and entered the conference room. CAM only boasted a handful of employees and every one of them was present. Except Marcus, thankfully. She wasn't ready to face him yet.

Each woman Anne had hired was lovely and desirable, but in different ways. Jillian had always thought that seeing them together was like looking at a painting come to life. There was something for everyone. A temptation for every palette.

While Georgia usually attracted the art collectors, the men who liked fine wine and sophistication, Jillian usually attracted the ones with innocent schoolgirl fantasies (Darren the bastard being one less-than-memorable exception). Selene, of course, was the quintessential blond goddess. Cool. Aloof. Untouchable.

Men who liked a challenge went crazy for her.

Then there was Danielle, the resident bubbly blonde. She was tanned and toned with a smile that said
let's jump into bed right now.
She was also extremely intelligent but loved playing dumb so her targets would feel superior and underestimate her capabilities.

Becky was a mocha-colored beauty with long legs and breasts any
Playboy
centerfold would envy. Amelia was the dominatrix. She had straight, dark-brown hair, always wore black and had wild, exotic features that appealed to men who wanted a spanking.

Currently, they were standing around the long, square table, sipping coffee and chatting. Jillian liked them all. Not many others outside this room understood her Pig Scale. Not many others eschewed love and marriage with such unmitigated determination.

Anne, leader of this sensual buffet of womanhood, sat at the head of the table, attention centered on a stack of papers. Jillian opened her mouth to get Anne's attention, to request a private meeting before she told everyone about Marcus, but Georgia's next words stopped her.

“The conference walls are bare, too,” her friend muttered.

Jillian looked and…yep. Plain-blue walls stared back at her, the posters gone, vanished as if they'd never been there. She ran her tongue over her teeth and clenched her hands at her sides. Marcus! Maybe, if God truly loved her, Marcus would have a heart attack and need to be rushed to the hospital.

Really, when did you become such a bitch?

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

Jillian felt every nerve in her body sizzle at the sound of
that
voice. Crisp. Slightly accented. Deep, husky. Lethal. No heart attack, then. (Maybe he didn't have a heart.) She bit the inside of her cheek in disgust. Disgust with him. And herself. The devil's favorite spawn shouldn't sound like an angel. Truly, if he kept talking like that,
she'd
have a heart attack.

Just then, Marcus brushed past her. On purpose? Their shoulders touched briefly and the contact singed her, all the way to the core of her cells. She pressed her lips together to hold in a gasp. Pinpricks of electricity dotted her skin, spreading, weaving together and forming a blanket of heat.

It's disgust,
she told herself.
Not lust.
Absolutely not. Uh-uh. No way.
He's mean and hateful and smug and egotistical and he took down our posters.

Everyone began to whisper.

Georgia squeezed her arm and sucked in a breath. “I hate him, but he's a decadent slice of cake, isn't he? How could I have forgotten that?” she asked softly. “Have you ever seen a more perfect specimen?”

“Honestly?” Jillian said, giving Marcus a once-over as he scooted around the table and eased beside Anne. He wore blue jeans and a tight white T-shirt. His sandy hair was in disarray, as if he'd plowed his hands through it repeatedly—or a woman had plowed
her
hands through it repeatedly. During sex.

First Jillian shivered at the thought. Then she frowned. Had he slept with someone last night after flirting with her? Pig!

He had a masculine, beaded necklace wrapped around his neck. Tight enough to choke, she hoped. “I've never seen a more perfect example of a human pig.”

Anne and Marcus shook hands and engaged in a quiet conversation. Jillian wanted to demand everyone be quiet so she could listen. Turned out, she didn't have to. Conversation throughout the room tapered to silence as every woman present feasted her gaze on the eye candy that was Marcus Brody. Speculating. Wondering. Hoping…

Despite the sudden hush, Jillian still couldn't hear what he and Anne were saying. Her hands clenched.

“Who is he?” Danielle whispered to Selene.

Selene shrugged. “He was here yesterday, remember?”

“I know what I'd like him to be,” Amelia said. Jillian didn't have to guess: her tied-up bitch with a racket ball taped inside his mouth and a chain replacing the necklace around his neck. Maybe Jillian wasn't the only one who wanted to choke him.

“Couldn't you just lick him up?” Becky asked. “Mmm, mmm. Vanilla ice cream.”

Their admiration was a little irritating. They didn't know him. If they did, they'd stop staring at him and break out their Mace. “Bastard,” Jillian muttered.

“What was that?” Georgia asked with a laugh.

Everyone turned and looked at her expectantly. Even Marcus. Jillian felt her cheeks heat. “Nothing,” she said sweetly, giving Marcus a saccharine smile. “Absolutely nothing.”

He blinked in surprise, confusion—desire?—in his eyes as he gazed at her grinning lips.

Anne clapped her hands, gaining everyone's attention. “Have a seat, ladies. There are some things we need to discuss.”

The girls milled to their respective chairs around the table, some of them hurrying to sit closest to Marcus. Most of them, Jillian noticed, had to wipe the drool from their mouths. Including Georgia, the traitor. Jillian claimed a seat at the end, as far from Marcus as possible.

He was still watching her, she realized when their gazes locked in the next instant. Brown against blue. Excitement against…damn it! Excitement. She felt it sparking to life, heating her blood. Felt it radiating from him. Great. Now he didn't need to insult her to turn her on. He just needed to look at her. Freaking great.

She raised her hand, intending to flip him off. Thankfully, she caught herself in time.
Don't make it worse. Stick to the plan. Be nice.
Jillian forced herself to wave at him, forced her features to relax. Forced her mouth to curve in another welcoming smile.