Catch a Mate

by Gena Showalter

  “You like it.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Kiss,” she breathed, unable to help herself.

  His lips swooped down on hers completely. Her nerve endings erupted into live wires of sensation. Of pleasure. He tasted good, decadent. Exactly how she remembered.

  “More,” he said. She tasted good, like fire, Marcus thought, plunging his tongue into her mouth. He couldn’t touch her enough, so he let himself touch her everywhere. His hands kneaded her breasts, so full they overflowed. Her nipples were rock hard. He even dipped a hand between her legs, rubbing. Rubbing.

  “Mmm,” she moaned, arching against him. She wound her arms around his neck and fisted several handfuls of hair. Only her seat belt kept her from his lap.

  He was hard and ready for her, as if he hadn’t indulged last night. The woman flat out turned him on, no matter what she did, no matter what she said. And when he’d realized she was seriously considering his offer, that she wanted more of him, he had almost come.

  He wasn’t psychic, but he predicted they were going to have lots and lots and lots of sex in the very near future. This arrangement would be good for both of them. They would have exclusive sex, not worry about emotions, not worry about cheating.

  It was odd, really, trusting someone he wasn’t sure he liked. But somehow he knew he could trust Jillian. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. Working at CAM, she had to understand the trauma of infidelity. She’d better—the thought of her with another man infuriated him.

  He pulled away from her, a difficult task since all he wanted to do was bask in her. Strip her. Take her. He had trouble catching his breath. “So,” he said.

  “So,” she repeated shakily. She straightened, righted her clothing. She looked away from him, out the window. Black curls tumbled down her back.

  I want those curls twined around my wrist. I want those curls caressing my chest as she rides me. I want those curls spilled over my thighs as she sucks me. His cock jerked and he had to adjust its position inside his pants. “You sure we need to go to your family’s?”

  “I’m sure,” she said, breathless.

  He pulled his focus off Jillian before he dove in for another kiss. Outside, cars surrounded them. In fact, the woman next to them was staring into their car with unabashed amusement. She flashed him a thumbs-up.

  Marcus twirled his finger tersely, motioning for her to turn around. He shouldn’t have kissed Jillian in public, but he’d been helpless to stop. Tasting her was a compulsion. A drug. A rush. “So you want to give this thing a try or not?”

  Jillian cleared her throat, but still didn’t face him. “We’ll give this thing a try.” And hope they didn’t kill each in the process.

  Eighteen

  Do you wash your pants with Windex? Because I can really see myself in them.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Jillian knocked on her mom’s front door, a towering maple with etched glass circling the center. Marcus stood beside her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, heat that had enveloped her only a short while ago. Try as she might, she couldn’t forget.

  He’d touched her and kissed her as if she were his entire reason for living. How tempted she was to blow off today’s lunch and go back to her house with Marcus—right now—for a round of sober, raunchy sex. Only a sense of self-preservation saved her—a sense that had deserted her quite often lately, she thought with a wry grin.

  “My mother is going to hate you,” she told him, keeping her gaze on the red and white roses climbing the walls of the house. “She’s currently looking for a man of her own, but don’t let that fool you. She almost killed herself when my sister, Brittany, brought home Steven.”

  “Wow. Your mom sounds…fun.”

  “Just…I don’t know. Be nice to her no matter what she says. She’s fragile and any little thing can thrust her into a depression.”

  “Like I’d be rude to your mother,” he said, offended.

  “You’re rude to everyone.” This was going to be a disaster. Unlike Brittany, Jillian had never brought a man to meet her family before. Why hadn’t she considered the consequences?

  “Are you trying to start an argument with me, Dimples?” He ran a fingertip down the ridges of her spine, then paused. “You’re nervous.”

  Her mouth fell open. “No, I’m not.”

  His lips lifted in a wide smile, as if he were supremely proud of himself. “You’re nervous and you’re lashing out. Nasty habit, that. Do you want me to kiss you again? That always gets your mind off things.”

  “Okay, I’m nervous. But for the love of God, no kissing!” With just the thought, delicious sparks branched from each of her vertebrae and trekked throughout her entire body. She really did not want to make out with him in front of her family. And where the hell were they? She rang the doorbell. Their cars were in the driveway.

  “This is a nice neighborhood,” Marcus said, gazing around. The white, five-thousand-square-foot monstrosity of a house formed a half circle around an immaculate lawn of lush greens and rich browns. Beside the door, twisted columns stretched high and emerald ivy climbed their lengths. Potted plants spilled from the archway, the porch swing and the large French windows.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  His brows furrowed together. “You grew up here?”

  “Yes. Not what you expected, I take it?”

  “No.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, she threw up her arms. “Well, what did you expect?” The sound of laughter floated on the wind and she straightened. Her ears perked. “They’re in the back. Come on.”

  She hopped off the porch and strolled to the side of the house, sweeping around blooming flowers and stone fairies caught in mid-flight. Marcus kept pace beside her.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “I guess I expected something less…expensive. You drink beer, curse and, well, you work for CAM.”

  She grinned. “And only poor people can do that?”

  “Not at all. I guess, in my mind, children who grow up in a neighborhood like this become doctors, lawyers or professional shoppers.”

  “Hey!”

  “What? It’s true.”

  She stopped at the end of the iron gate and faced him. Sunlight couched his features and crowned him in a delicate halo, giving him an almost angelic appearance. Her throat constricted. “What about you? What kind of place did you grow up in?”

  “Before my parents split, something very similar to this.” He lifted his shoulders in a stiff shrug. “After my mom brought me to the States, something quite different.”

  Unlike Evelyn Greene, his mother obviously hadn’t gotten a nice settlement. The thought of him enduring a childhood of poverty tugged at her heart. She could imagine the blond cherub he’d probably been, staring longingly at a toy his mom would never be able to afford. Her stomach clenched.

  Marcus tapped the end of her nose. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  She shook her head, pulling herself from the sad images. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m a beggar in the street and you have spare change for me. Feeling sorry for me, Dimples?”

  “No, certainly not,” she sputtered.

  Grinning, he tapped her nose again. “You are too cute. I never would have suspected a soft core lurked underneath that she-warrior personality.”

  Jillian, a she-warrior? She laughed with delight. “Look at us. We’re not drunk, but we’re getting along.”

  “That’s because you’re behaving yourself.” There was a twinkle in his dark eyes and a smile twitching at his lips.

  She found herself grinning, too, unable to stop. “You must have eaten your Nice Boy puffs today.”

  More laughter drifted on the breeze, then the sound of her sister’s voice. “No running, Cherry. The deck is slippery. You could fall, crack your head open and die.”

  Marcus made a face. “Cherry?”

  “My ten-year-old niece.
”

  “She’s named after a piece of fruit?”

  Jillian nodded. “So is her twin sister, Apple.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m serious. Their father is fond of fruit pies and thought it would be cute.”

  “And their mother didn’t protest?”

  “She thinks Steven’s cute, so she gives him whatever he wants.”

  There was an electrically-charged pause, then, “Do you think I’m cute?” He reached out and shifted one of her curls between his fingers before hooking it behind her ear. The action was so tender, so lover-like, she backed away from him.

  Thick silence wormed its way between them, different this time, a little uncomfortable.

  Marcus frowned and dropped his arm to his side. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment by getting too serious.”

  “You don’t have to be nice to me,” she said, not knowing what to make of what had just happened. “I already said I’d sleep with you.”

  A dark cloud descended over his features, and he pinned her with a lethal glare. “I’ll be nice if I bloody well want to be nice.”

  “So we’re going to argue about being nice now?” She breathed in a sigh of relief. This was more like it. When he was nice, when they laughed together, she felt horrible urges to hug him and never let go.

  She could justify sleeping with him as a direct result of her body’s overabundance of hormones. But she could not justify the strange pitter-patter of her heartbeat when his fingers had accidentally brushed her face to get to her hair.

  Her past relationships had ended in disaster, so she was beginning to like the straightforwardness of what she had, or would have, with Marcus. No surprises. No…affection.

  So why did she want to gnash her teeth?

  “We should, uh, probably let everyone know we’re here,” she said.

  “First, tell me what you want from me so there are no mistakes on my part. Do you want me to treat you badly? Is that it?”

  “Jillian?” she heard her mom call before she could think of a response. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, Mom,” she answered, never taking her gaze off Marcus. To him, she said, “I don’t know what I want from you.” And she didn’t. She was confused and scared and excited about what was happening between them. “I don’t know anything right now.”

  He nodded, his expression growing tender. “I don’t, either. We’ll figure it out as we go along, I guess, because I want you and I’ll do whatever it takes to have you.” He winked at her. “Now let’s go meet your mother so I can charm her.”

  Not knowing what else to say, Jillian pulled open the gate and sauntered into the backyard. Why was he so determined to have her? Because sex like theirs was rare and wonderful and for once neither of them would have to worry about a cheating partner. Marcus, she was sure, would simply tell her to her face when he wanted out. I don’t want you anymore, Dimples.

  Her hands clenched at her sides and her stride became clipped. “If you’re rude to anyone in my family, I’ll make you hold my hand,” she warned him.

  He intertwined their fingers. “There. Now I can be as rude as I want.”

  That almost made her laugh. Almost. His hand was warm and callused and dwarfed hers. He was total strength, yet he could be gentle when he desired. Danger zone! Danger zone! It was happening again, that pitter-patter of mushy gushy need. She tried to slip free of his grasp, but he tightened his hold.

  “You wanted to hold hands,” he said, “so we’re holding hands.”

  “I did not want to hold your hand.”

  “Please. I know a hint when I hear one.”

  “Whatever,” she scoffed, but she liked that he maintained the contact. Not that she’d ever admit that aloud. They rounded the side of the house, the scent of grilled meat making her mouth water.

  Clear, dappled water—no, rippled water—came into view. Cherry had done a cannonball and now came up giggling and spitting. Jillian spotted her mother off to the side. Pretty in a fragile sort of way, with dark-brown hair and pale-blue eyes.

  “Hey, baby,” she said with a too-bright smile.

  Jillian knew that smile well. It was the expression her mother reserved solely for her, so Jillian would never know she was depressed. When her mom spotted Marcus, however, her smile faded.

  “Who’s he?”

  “A friend,” Jillian answered. “Only a friend.”

  Her mother didn’t ask the “friend’s” name as her gaze dipped to their joined hands. She didn’t say anything. She simply jerked her attention to the pool.

  “Mom—” Jillian began, then stopped herself. Whatever she said would only make it worse. She did release Marcus’s hand, though, and this time he let her.

  Brittany sat under a large green umbrella and waved to her. Her hair was black and straight—something Jillian had always envied. Her legs were long and naturally lean—something else Jillian had always envied. She had to work out to keep her own shorter legs toned. A lot. Not that she’d done any exercise lately, though she needed to. Her T-Tapp program kept her mind alert and her body strong.

  Steven was cuddled into Brittany’s side. He was a tall, skinny man with thinning brown hair and a plain, undistinguished face that could blend into any background. He’d taken one look at Brittany, fallen hard and pursued her relentlessly. Brittany had been unable to resist. They’d married eleven years ago and were still madly in love—yet another thing Jillian envied.

  Sometimes, when she watched them together, she wished she could love like that, so carefree and sure. Then she’d think about her dad and all the targets she’d encountered and the longing would pass.

  Brittany frowned at her. “It’s hot out there. Why are you wearing a scarf?”

  Her cheeks heated and she reached up to finger the material. “Where’s Granny?” she asked, ignoring the question.

  “She couldn’t make it,” Brittany answered. “She’s attending a funeral.”

  “Did one of her friends pass?” Marcus asked gently, reclaiming Jillian’s hand and squeezing in comfort.

  Brittany shook her head. “Nothing like that. She planned to ask out the deceased’s husband.”

  Marcus sputtered for a moment before recovering with a polite “I see.”

  “That’s my granny,” Jillian said with a fond smile. “Always looking to nail some ass.”

  “If she’s anything like you,” Marcus whispered, “she’s good at it.”

  Brent peeked from around the grill, tall, dark-haired and frowning. Smoke billowed around him. “Where’s Georgia?” he asked.

  Jillian almost groaned. “She wasn’t home.” She didn’t mention that Georgia had probably spent the night with Wyatt.

  Her brother ran his tongue over his teeth, impassively absorbing the information. “Who’s the guy?” He pointed to Marcus with a spatula. “Don’t tell us he’s your friend again, because we won’t believe you.”

  “You can ask him yourself, you know.” With Marcus at her side, Jillian stopped in front of the patio table and eyed her family, one at a time.

  “I don’t mind if you tell them who I am to you,” Marcus said. He regarded her intently, waiting, as if he wanted to know her answer, too.

  Fine. But what should she say? Marcus wasn’t her boyfriend, wasn’t really her friend as they’d guessed, and she didn’t want them to know she was holding hands with her new boss. “His name is Marcus” was all she ended up saying.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Gr—Jillian’s mom.” Marcus held out his free hand to Evelyn.

  “She’s still a Greene,” Jillian muttered.

  “Ms. Greene,” he said.

  Her mother just stared at his hand as if it were a snake, poised to bite her.

  “I’ll only bite if you ask nicely,” Marcus told her, all smooth, polished charm.

  Evelyn recoiled further.

  Brent padded from the grill and reached out. The two men shook hands. “Nice to me
et you. I’m Brent, the older brother.” He tossed Jillian a you-are-going-to-pay-for-leaving-Georgia-behind grin. “You’re the first man Jillian’s ever brought here. You two planning on getting married or something?”

  She nearly choked.

  Marcus did choke.

  Her mom covered her mouth with her hands, as if she were about to vomit.

  Her sister clapped excitedly. “Ohmygod, are you?”

  “No,” she gasped out. “No marriage.”

  Brent mouthed, “You really should have brought Georgia,” before heading back to the grill.

  “She’s dating someone, you turd,” Jillian responded. “You are such a bad brother.”

  He turned and blew her a kiss.

  “I’m glad I’m not the only one on the receiving end of your tongue,” Marcus said. Then his gaze latched on to her mouth and he tugged at his shirt collar. He released her. “Never mind. Forget I said that.”

  Yes, she would. Or she’d attack him with said tongue, thrusting it past his teeth and into his mouth, where it would worship his taste for hours. She cleared her throat. “Marcus, that’s my mom, Evelyn, my sister Brittany and the man beside her is Steven, her husband.” Steven waved. “The little girl in the pool is Cherry and Cherry’s twin Apple is—where’s Apple?”

  “Inside,” Brittany answered, fanning herself with a napkin. “Mom bought doughnuts.”

  Ah. Apple would not return until every doughnut was consumed. They were her biggest weakness.

  “Hey, Aunt Jill,” Cherry said. She was as precocious as Jillian had been at ten. She had Jillian’s curls, too, and her big blue eyes. She ran to her and wrapped wet, dripping arms around Jillian’s waist. “I missed you.”

  Jillian hugged her back with a laugh. “I missed you, too, squirt.” Sometimes, when she looked at Cherry and Apple, she was reminded of a time when she’d wanted kids of her own. A family. Before she’d realized just how painful a family could be.

  “Your boyfriend’s cute,” Cherry said, smiling at Marcus.

  Jillian’s cheeks heated. Marcus took it in stride, smiling back and saying, “You’re the smart twin, I can tell.”