Catch a Mate Read online

  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.

  Seventeen

  What do you say we go back to my room and do some math. Add a bed, subtract our clothes, divide your legs and multiply.

  JILLIAN 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.”

  “It’s not like that,” he growled. “However, I’d be willing to whore for you anytime. Anywhere.”

  Marcus at her beck and call, naked, doing anything and everything she desired…Her skin prickled with need. What a heady, powerful thought. You’re crazy to consider this. There were so many complications.

  Break the cycle….

  Would they be exclusive, which was tantamount to the relationship neither of them wanted, or would they be free to date other people? Not that she dated anymore, but every muscle in her body clenched at the thought of Marcus taking another woman out, buying her—fat, lazy cow that she was—dinner, then dropping her off, driving to Jillian’s and sleeping with her.

  She told Marcus as much, leaving out the part about the fat, lazy cow.

  “I agree,” he said, surprising her with hi
s easy compliance. “That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. While we’re…together, we won’t see anyone else.”

  Hearing him agree just added massive amounts of fuel to an already blazing fire. “This is crazy! Would you call me? Would I call you? Would we see each other on holidays? How long would our arrangement last? What happens if you meet someone else? What if I meet someone else? How do we end things? How often would we sleep together? What if one of us decides the arrangement isn’t working?” She paused, a single thought slamming into her. “What if one of us does, despite everything, want more?” What if she wanted more and he didn’t?

  Sighing, he tangled a hand through his hair. “This seemed so simple when I was alone.” There was accusation in his voice.

  “That’s because men think about sex but never consequences,” she told him dryly.

  “As if women are innocent of that crime.” He steered the car off the highway and onto an exit ramp.

  “Hey, what are you doing? Where are you going?” She straightened in her seat and frowned. “This isn’t our exit.”

  He whipped into the parking lot of a strip mall and threw the car into park. He unbuckled and pinned her with a stare. “Enough arguing. You want me, and don’t even try to deny it. You don’t like how you feel. Well, guess what? Neither do I, but at least I’m willing to do something about it.”

  “What happens if one of us wants out of the arrangement?” she reiterated. What happened if he wanted out, but she fell hard? What a nightmare that would be.

  “I think we’re big enough to handle it,” he said.

  She met his gaze, desire and anticipation washing through her. “You are so irritating, you know that? You have an answer for everything.”

  “No more stalling. Say it, Jillian. Agree.” He leaned forward, placing them nose to nose. “I’m waiting.”

  His warm breath mingled with hers, both shaky, both raw. “I’m thinking.”

  “Think faster.” He inched forward a little more and their mouths almost touched.

  “You’re crowding me,” she said, the sound of her voice so smoky it was barely audible.