Catch a Mate Page 14

  His jaw clenched. Okay, so it did matter. He didn’t like the thought of her with another man. In fact, every possessive bone in his body seemed to stretch, awakening from a lifelong slumber. Mine, they said.

  Stop, he commanded. Not mine. Never mine.

  As he fought with himself, she eyed him, trying to appear bored, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was a sharpness to her gaze that she couldn’t hide. “Didn’t work out, I take it.”

  “Hardly,” he said.

  “I’ll never take the marriage plunge.” Her voice was strong with conviction. “It’s just too risky.”

  “Hear, hear.” He lifted his water glass, and she did the same. They clinked them together.

  She settled back in her chair and gazed at him as if he were the only person in the room with her. Something almost—dare he say it—vulnerable clouded her eyes. In the next instant, both of them seemed to realize that they weren’t shouting at each other, bickering or hurling insults. Shock blanketed her pretty face, probably a mirror of his own expression.

  “Truce?” he asked. “For now?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Truce.”

  He wondered how long it would last.

  “Do you think people like us ever have a happy ending?” she asked softly.

  His brows furrowed. “What do you mean, people like us?”

  She thought about it, shrugged. “People who know exactly what the opposite sex is capable of.”

  He thought about it, too, rolling the question through his mind. “No,” he finally answered. “I don’t. People like us are destined to grow old alone. Wise, but alone.” Funny, the thought of being alone had never depressed him until now.

  “Yeah,” she said wistfully, turning back to her lunch. “You’re probably right.”

  Eleven

  Do you live on a chicken farm? No? Well, you sure do know how to raise cocks.

  AFTER SHE FINISHED UP at the office, Jillian drove to Anne’s. It was a thirty-minute commute and she wouldn’t be able to stay long since she had to prepare for tonight’s assignment. But she only had one question.

  Why?

  The drive proved surprisingly smooth, relaxing, with lush-green trees scattered along the sides of the road, climbing toward the darkening sky. Pink, purple and yellow flowers bloomed prettily, swaying with a slight breeze. Jillian listened to rock music pound from the speakers, tapping her foot as she drove. At least she was able to keep Marcus from her mind. Kind of. Sexy bastard.

  He’d once been married. Shock. They’d shared a lunchtime truce. Shock. You’re keeping him from your mind, remember? Oh, yeah.

  Anne’s house finally came into view, a spacious cabin made from both light and dark woods. White shutters adorned the windows; knowing Anne, they should have been black. The driveway was gravel and the small rocks crunched beneath her tires. Overall, it was a place of tranquility. She’d been here before, but was always surprised that the serene home belonged to no-nonsense Anne.

  Jillian parked. Outside, warm air enveloped her. A fragrant bouquet of roses and crisp lake water filled her nose. Having heard her approach, Anne waited in the open doorway. She was puffing a cigarette. “I know I told you to visit, Greene, but damn, girl. Not even I expected it this quickly.”

  “Maybe I missed you,” Jillian said, stopping just in front of her former boss. Just say it. Get it over with. “I would have bought CAM from you, Anne.” There. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I knew.” Anne’s tone was unrepentant.

  She tried not to show any emotion. “Why didn’t you offer it to me?”

  Anne remained silent for a long while, returning Jillian’s searching gaze with one of her own. Then she turned, smoke wafting around her. “Come in. We’ll talk.”

  She didn’t want to; she wanted to go home and curl up and hit something and maybe cry. But she followed Anne. The doorway opened into a clean, breezy room where white drapes swayed from gaping windows. Stiff but pretty furniture in dark browns and off-whites formed a circle in the center.

  “Sit,” Anne said, motioning to a barely padded chair.

  She sat. Anne claimed the couch across from her. For the first time, Jillian noticed her appearance. She wore a black silk robe and her gray hair was brushed to a shine. Expecting company?

  “You want to know why.” Anne took a drag of her cigarette, then smashed it into an ashtray. “Nasty habit,” she said. “I’m trying to stop.”

  “Yes. I want to know.”

  “What if I told you that you weren’t right for the job?”

  Jillian’s eyes narrowed. “I’d know you were lying.”

  Anne’s lips twitched with humor. “Fine. I’d be lying.”

  “Why?” Jillian insisted. “I deserve the truth.”

  “You want the truth? I’ll give it to you, but you’re not going to like it.” Anne settled deep into the couch and with a sigh, peered up at the slatted ceiling. “You would have ended up like me and I didn’t want that for you.”

  She blinked in surprise. She didn’t know what she’d expected to hear, but that wasn’t it. “So what?” she said, incredulous. “That’s not for you to decide.”

  “Your bitterness toward men grows daily, Jillian. If you don’t do something about it while you’re still young, you are going to end up alone and miserable, more so than you are now. You’d always have wondered what could have been. You’d always have wondered where the years had gone.”

  To mask the fury in her eyes, Jillian gazed down at her hands. “Is that what you do?”

  “Not anymore. I’m living now. Finally living. You should try it.”

  “My future isn’t your concern, Anne.” Her lashes swept up of their own accord, and she pinned her former boss with a fierce frown. “At the very least, you owed me a chance. I helped make CAM what it is, getting us ads in all the local papers, placing fliers around town, expanding our client base. You owed me a chance,” she repeated. Her chin trembled. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t fucking cry.

  “Maybe I gave you one,” Anne said softly.

  “What? When?” she demanded. She would have remembered; she would have pounced on it. “Every time I tried to talk to you, you told me we’d discuss it later.”

  Anne rolled her eyes. “Obviously, we’re not talking about the same kind of chance. But I don’t feel like explaining myself at the moment. You’re not ready to hear me yet. Hopefully, you’ll come to understand on your own.” Her voice was dry, a little scolding. “The other girls, well, they aren’t as closed off as you. They, at least, take chances.”

  I take chances, Jillian thought, hurt. Sure, she couldn’t think of one at the moment, but that didn’t mean anything.

  A knock sounded at the door, saving Anne from further explanation. She straightened and smoothed the crinkles from her robe. “My date is here.”

  Jillian’s eyes widened. Her date? Anne’s? Anne, who hated men more than anyone Jillian knew? “You’re seeing someone?”

  “Seeing…debauching…whatever you want to call it.”

  O-kay. She shook her head. God, had she ever really known her boss? Anne had sold the business to Marcus when she could have sold it to a woman, someone she knew and trusted. Why not have a lover, too, even though she’d often claimed there was no better partner than a vibrator (it couldn’t talk and would never betray).

  “Come in,” Anne called.

  The door creaked open and a young, lean and very handsome man—a boy, really, when compared to Anne—strolled inside. He appeared eager, happy to be there. How old was he? He didn’t even have a shadow beard to prove he’d hit puberty. He saw Anne and gave her a sexy, come-hither grin. “Hey, baby.”

  Ew. My cue to leave.

  But Jillian found herself looking at Anne, trying to see what the man-child saw. Pretty hazel eyes that were a perfect blend of green and brown. Intelligence in every line of her face. Gray hair that appeared soft and thick. A compact body. And…zest. It radiated from her. Sh
e fairly pulsed with life and vitality.

  Had she always looked that way and Jillian just hadn’t noticed?

  The man-child slid his arm around Anne’s waist and kissed her neck. “This is Hugh,” Anne said. “Hugh, Jillian.”

  “Hey,” he said, barely able to tear his gaze from Anne long enough to greet Jillian.

  “Hey.” Oddly jealous of the pair, Jillian pushed to her feet. She didn’t have the answers she craved, but she was done here. The diabolical woman and her cryptic “I gave you a chance” would probably haunt her for days. Weeks. Hell, the rest of her life.

  How? Damn it, how had she given Jillian a chance?

  “I have an assignment tonight. I’d better go.” She strode to the front door, giving the couple a pondering look over her shoulder. Maybe she needed to take a lover, too. Maybe that would finally get Marcus out of her head. The idea of getting naked with anyone else was abhorrent to her, though.

  “Jillian,” Anne called, stopping her.

  She didn’t turn, just stood where she was and waited.

  “You’ll thank me one day. I promise you.”

  “No, I won’t.” Nothing good would come of her time with Marcus. How could it? They might have called a truce, but they were bad for each other. “Goodbye, Anne. Have a nice life.”

  “Oh, I will. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  It’s you I’m worried about.

  As Jillian dressed for the night’s assignment, Anne’s parting shot echoed through her mind. There was no reason to worry about her; she’d be just fine, her life would be just fine. All she had to do was get her hormones under control.

  Desperate to at last shove Marcus out of her mind, she flipped through the mental file she’d compiled about their case. A thirty-three-year-old male, married for less than a year, had found several handwritten phone numbers in his wife’s purse—not in his wife’s writing, either. He feared she was flirting with men to get them.

  Tonight, the wife supposedly planned to sing karaoke at Mary’s Bad Idea, a bar a few miles from Jillian’s house. Sometimes—okay, a lot of times—a client’s spouse wasn’t where he claimed to be, so CAM usually tried to run into him at his office building. A lost and lonely woman in need of a strong man to help her find her way. But lately, people were so blatant with their cheating. So…unconcerned. Was there something in the air? Was getting caught the new black?

  Jillian was simply supposed to show up tonight at the bar and observe, not speak with anyone at any time or leave Marcus’s sight, even to go to the bathroom. The only time she was to approach him was if he signaled her over and then she was to extract him from a clinger.

  Marcus had told her all of this on a Post-it note he’d attached to the inside of the folder. She’d been oddly pleased that he’d written such a chauvinistic message. It had helped wipe away the memory of the truce they’d shared at lunch. A truce that, she admitted, scared her. It made him irresistible. Almost likeable.

  But she did not want to like that man. She couldn’t. To do so even for a moment was to remember their passionate kiss. To think about their passionate kiss was to desire him. To desire him was to make a complete fool of herself. Again.

  Sighing, she withdrew a tight black dress from her closet. It had thin silver straps and a choker collar. Perfect. Not too flashy, but just sexy enough that she would blend in with the crowd. Blend…it was odd. She usually had to dress to stand out.

  She quickly shimmied into the material, anchored her curls haphazardly atop her head, letting several tendrils escape, and tugged on her knee-high boots. She pinned a silver flower to her right strap; the camera hidden inside its center would capture the night’s escapades and catch anything Marcus’s didn’t.

  Finished, she glanced in the mirror. Not bad. But as she studied her appearance, she couldn’t help but wonder what Marcus’s wife had looked like. Blonde? A redhead like Georgia? Beautiful, no doubt. A man like Marcus would want a stunner by his side. Had he loved her?

  From there, Jillian’s thoughts spiraled, spreading poisonous branches. What had the wifey-poo been like personality-wise? Why had they divorced? Infidelity? Most likely. If so, the wife’s? Or his? Definitely the wife’s, judging from the tone of Marcus’s voice when he’d spoken of the marriage. What kind of woman would cheat on a guy as magnetic as Marcus? A smart woman, she forced herself to answer. He was a pig. Had he cheated, too?

  Her wall clock chimed the hour, saving her mind from having to produce an answer she knew she wouldn’t like. If he hadn’t, he was a better man than she wanted to give him credit for being. As Jillian gathered her purse and keys, her phone rang. Groaning, she rushed to her nightstand and glanced at the unit. There was a flashing red light because her dad had left a message the other day. Call me, please. I miss you. And she hadn’t erased it yet.

  Caller ID showed this call was from Greene, Evelyn. Guess it was finally Jillian’s turn to hear firsthand about her mom’s (mis)adventures in the dating world. She was glad, she’d always wanted honesty from her mother, but she didn’t have time for this. Still, she answered. If she didn’t, her mom would call her cell all damn night, maybe even sink into a major depression that Brittany and Brent would have to deal with.

  Jillian picked up the phone and tried to sound happy. “Hello, Mom. How are you?”

  “Hi, sugar. I’m good. I started missing you and decided to call so I could hear my baby’s sweet voice. How are you?”

  Okay, no mention of dating. She wasn’t surprised; in fact, she didn’t know why she’d expected her mom to spill. Mom cried and moaned to Brent and Brittany, but only ever showed Jillian her happy side. She and her siblings had spent countless hours with a therapist, learning how to deal with their mother’s depressed personality. They’d been told to expect denial, but Jillian hated the happy facade.

  “I’m good, too,” she said, being dishonest herself. Hypocrite. In her defense, her mom couldn’t even deal with her own problems. No way she could deal with Jillian’s.

  But she loved the woman, she really did, and even understood where the depression and mood swings had originated: her dad’s affair. “I hear you’re dating again.”

  “Yes,” her mom said hesitantly.

  “You want to talk about it?” Jillian eased onto her mattress and rested her elbow on her knee.

  “Nothing to tell, really.” She laughed, and there was a nervous edge to the sound. “No one has responded to my profile, but I’m totally okay with that.”

  No, she wasn’t. She’d cried to both Brittany and Brent. Wanted to cry again now, Jillian was sure. “Men are pigs, Mom, you know that. But sooner or later someone will recognize how special you are.”

  “Yes, men are pigs. Except your brother, of course. He’s actually a decent human being. Almost a woman,” she added as an afterthought.

  “I’m sure he’d love to hear that,” Jillian said dryly. Brent was actually total man. A little chauvinistic, a lot wild, but he was the one male Jillian loved and could always count on. He never lied, never let her down. He’d kick Marcus’s ass if she asked him to.

  Hmm…Food for thought.

  “Brent told me I was too emotional,” her mom suddenly burst out. “You don’t think that, do you, baby? You love me, right? You think I’m perfect just the way I am, right?”

  Lord, how was she supposed to answer that? Jillian gulped. “I do love you.”

  “Brittany told you about the man I e-mailed on that dating Web site, didn’t she?” Her mom tried to laugh. “He was my perfect match, you know, because we liked the same things. Golfing, sailing, Cajun food.”

  “Mom, you don’t like golfing and you don’t like sailing. You don’t even like swimming. And you hate spicy food. It gives you indigestion.”

  “But I could have liked those things! He didn’t e-mail me back, he didn’t even give me a chance, so I e-mailed him again.”

  A chance! How she was coming to hate that phrase. Jillian covered her eyes with her hand, blocking out the l
ight. “How soon did you e-mail him again?”

  “I don’t know, ten minutes. It seemed like an eternity.”

  “Mom,” she groaned.

  “I might have called him a bastard for ignoring me, I can’t remember. Then he finally e-mailed me back and told me to leave him alone. Then he blocked me. That was cruel, right? I cried a little, but just a little. You would have done the same, right?”

  And she’d wanted honesty. More fool her. “Mom, maybe Internet dating isn’t for you.” Jillian could remember a time, as a little girl, when she herself had been fascinated by love and romance. Cinderella and her prince. Her favorite bedtime story.

  Reality had a way of destroying those illusions, though. Hurt had a way of obliterating everything else. She’d thought her mom was long past the need for such things. She’d thought her mom was smarter. “The men on the market are no prizes,” she added.

  “Brittany says there’s a man out there for me. Just waiting for me like Steven waited for her,” her mom said. “I’m a woman and I have needs, you know.”

  “Please.” She almost groaned. “Don’t tell me about your needs.”

  Her mom drew in a shuddering breath, probably trying to get herself—and keep herself—under control. She uttered a forced laugh. “Of course I won’t, baby. I didn’t call to whine. I truly did just want to hear your voice. Everything always seems better when I talk to my sugar. You think I’m wonderful, right? Right?” she insisted, desperate, when Jillian didn’t respond right away.

  “Of course I think you’re wonderful. I love you. Just…rethink the dating thing. Okay?”

  “Okay,” was the still-forced, still-happy reply.

  “I’d love to see you tomorrow afternoon, as well as Brent and Brittany and Granny,” Jillian said. “We can have a little party. Will you call them?” That would give her mom something to do. “You took that cooking class and I haven’t had a chance to test your new skills.”

  “Oh, I’d love to cook for you! We could all get together and talk and laugh. No one comes to see me anymore.” She clapped after the guilt-inducing words, her happiness no longer forced. “I’ll cook your favorite, roasted pork chops and corn bread dressing.”