Catch a Mate

by Gena Showalter

  “Jillian?” he said.

  “What?” she repeated, breathless this time. Her nipples pearled and her stomach quivered. The (seemingly never-ending) ache between her legs intensified.

  “You did make it home okay, didn’t you?”

  “You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

  “Sounds more like snapping to me,” he pointed out. He sounded happy about that. Too happy. Excited, even.

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you turned on?”

  “Maybe,” he said after a long pause. “You?”

  “How dare you ask me something like that, you don’t even know me.”

  “You asked, I answered. I asked, so you had better answer. Are you turned on?”

  “Hell. No.”

  He chuckled. “Liar.”

  Yes, she was. “You called me a cock hater and you’re right. You’re a cock and I hate you.”

  “You want to know something?”

  “No,” she said, breathless again. What was he going to tell her? Something sexy, judging by his tone. “No, I don’t.”

  “I’ll tell you anyway. Arguing with you turns me on. It’s stupid, but there it is.”

  Dear Lord. Their arguing affected him the same awful way it affected her. They were doomed. Doomed! Unless…No, no, no! But there was no help for it. She had to be sweet to him. So sweet he’d gag from a sugar high. She’d do it, though. Anything to stop the madness.

  Tomorrow, she’d tell Georgia to forget the war, to forget doing horrible, mean things to Marcus. In Jillian’s current state of insanity, that might seem like foreplay. She did not need more foreplay. She might jump him.

  “Did you and Ronnie with an i e have fun tonight?” she asked in a syrupy tone. “She seemed like such a nice girl.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Please. You’re such a—” egotistical pig, I can see why you’d think so “—nice boy for helping her with her obvious self-esteem issues and being nice to her. Yep, we women love it when men are nice to us.”

  “So what are you?” he asked, confusing her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You aren’t really a cock hater, since you’re lying about being turned on right now. Are you a junkie or a teaser?”

  “You’ll never know,” she gritted out.

  “Great. A teaser.” He sighed. “What a pity.”

  Her blood boiled. “This conversation is boring and so are you. Next you’ll be asking me about the weather forecast. Goodbye.”

  “Wait,” he said in a rush. “Don’t hang up. I have to tell you something.”

  She paused, stupidly happy that he wanted to keep her on the line. “What?”

  “Double or nothing, remember? You didn’t dance with me. Don’t forget to bring my two hundred dollars to the office tomorrow,” he said. “Like you, I don’t take checks.” Click.

  Openmouthed, she stared at the phone. Then, scowling, she pressed *69. Marcus answered right away. “I won the first bet and you owed me one hundred dollars,” she said. “You won the second, so you just keep your money. I owe you nothing. If you need me to use Happy the sock puppet and explain it in simpler language, just let me know.” Click.

  A second later, her phone rang. “What?”

  His drugging laughter caressed her ear. “We aren’t playing the American way, baby. We’re playing British. The right way. You owe me two hundred dollars.” Click.

  Again she found herself staring at the phone. Unethical, that’s what he was. No way the British rules for gambling were different than the American rules; he’d made that up.

  The phone rang again a second later and Jillian grinned. She was tempted to let it ring all night, but found herself eager for round four. She pressed talk and said, “Don’t ever hang up on me again or I’ll—” stab you in the heart “—bake you chocolate-chip cookies and bring them to you in a pretty, decorative basket.” There. That was sweet. Well, sweet as long as it wasn’t Jillian’s mom doing the baking…but that didn’t bear thinking about right now. “Now admit it. I don’t owe you a cent.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t hang up on you, and I know you don’t owe me any money. And why are you threatening me with chocolate-chip cookies? What’d I ever do to you?” her sister, Brittany, said. Without waiting for Jillian’s response, she added, “Listen, Mom just called me. She’s having one of her breakdowns.”

  “What? Why?” Suddenly serious, Jillian jolted upright. Dark curls cascaded down her temples and back.

  “She’s decided to try the dating scene.”

  “No, no, no,” Jillian groaned. “Why would she put herself through that again? Why would she put us through that again?”

  “Because she has needs,” Brittany said, her tone dripping with disgust.

  “Gross. Don’t ever, ever, ever say that to me.”

  “Hey, I’m just repeating what she told me.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  Brittany sighed, loud and long and frustrated. “What are we going to do? We—” Pause. “Apple, Cherry, what are you doing up? It’s way past your bedtime.”

  Jillian heard giggling and pictured her ten-year-old twin nieces running around Brittany’s bedroom. They might look like angels with their sweet, round faces but they were devils in their souls.

  The chance of Jillian settling down and having kids was very remote, so she lavished all her attention on her nieces.

  “Go. To. Bed. Or I’ll tell Daddy you misbehaved.” Pause. “Thank you.” Pause. “She refuses to take her antidepressants,” Brittany said, picking up their conversation as if it had never stopped, “so she’ll end up crying on the shoulder of every man who approaches her, those men will drop her and then she’ll become even more depressed because no one wants her. I feel a suicide attempt coming on—and it won’t be Mom’s!”

  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.

  BACK 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. D
espite 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.

  Seven

  You’re so beautiful, I’d never kick you out of bed…unless you wanted to do it on the floor.

  “THE 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?”