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 intellige
nt 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.
“Hey, Marcus,” she said in greeting. Gag. Someone kill her now. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Once more, he blinked in surprise. Once more, confusion darkened his velvety brown eyes. “Nice to see you, too,” he said, unsure.
Everyone looked from Marcus to her, her to Marcus. “You two know each other?” Danielle asked.
Unfortunately. “Yes.”
“Yes,” he echoed. Unfortunately hung in the air unsaid.
“Marcus,” Anne said. “Are you ready?”
He nodded, stood and anchored his hands behind his back, his mouth slightly curled at the corners. Suddenly he looked ready for battle. For a riot. Something. But he tore his gaze away from Jillian, walked to the back wall, leaned against it and remained silent.
“I want to begin by saying how proud I am of each and every one of you,” Anne said. There was an odd inflection in her voice. A hint of sadness.
Jillian frowned. Usually Anne began her speeches and lectures by telling them they were ingrates and should fall on their knees, thanking her for allowing them to work for her. Anne, proud of them? Possibly sad?
This can’t be good, she thought, tensing.
“There were times you wanted to kill me, I’m sure,” Anne added. Was that a tear in her eye? “But none of you ever did. Not many women would show such restraint.”
“Anne?” Becky said. Her voice was shaking. “What are you trying to tell us? Are you…dying or something?”
Anne wagged a finger at her. “I’m getting to that, you ingrate, and I’d like silence until I do.”
Finally. Anne sounded like, well, Anne again. Jillian expelled a relieved breath. Her attention veered to Marcus, to see how he was responding to the speech, the girls. Everything.
His gaze was locked on Jillian’s mouth. Again. Unbidden, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. Her lungs burned for air. Marcus raised his eyes, dark pools, and for a split second they stared at each other and she was drowning…drowning.
His eyes devoured her, undressed her right there in the conference room. Blistered her from head to toe. Anne’s voice faded from her ears and in that suspended moment, her entire world seemed to revolve around Marcus.
Her skin grew hot, her stomach flip-flopped. Look away, look away, look away. But she couldn’t. He’d trapped her. Held her captive. She didn’t want him. Really. She wasn’t attracted to him.
Thankfully, for whatever reason, he tore his gaze away from her and she was able to do the same. She focused on the far wall. Its bareness irritated her. At least, she wanted it to be irritation she was feeling. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, all of her pulse points like little drums. Boom, boom, boom, knocking against her ribs. She could breathe, could he
ar Anne again.
“—should just say it.” Anne paused, squared her shoulders. “Change was inevitable. Change is always inevitable. And I can’t say I’m sorry. It was…time.”
Change. How Jillian hated it. Marcus meant change, and she wanted things back to the way they were.
Treat him as a friend, she told herself. The attraction will go away if you’re nice. Yes. Nice. She straightened in her seat and, drawing on her determination, faced Marcus for the third time. For the third time, he was watching her. Pulled, perhaps, by the same invisible cord that beckoned her to take another look, no matter the excuse. She felt her body reacting as heatedly as before, but forced herself to smile sweetly, as if she hadn’t a care.
He frowned in return. Looked away.
What kind of game was she playing? Marcus wondered. Her sex-kitten features radiated all kinds of different emotions. Lust—his favorite, though it shouldn’t be. Hate—something he expected from her. Sweetness—a shocking development and surely a lie. Innocence—also a lie. Had to be.
The sweet smile was giving him a hard-on.
What didn’t, nowadays? He was really beginning to miss his sexual slump. He’d thought—hoped—only Jillian’s anger turned him on so potently. No such luck. Great. He’d have to be nice to her without making her smile.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. She sat a good distance away from him, but he could still smell her from when he’d brushed against her a few moments ago. Not her perfume, but her. She smelled too good, like a tropical, hedonistic island catering to the pleasures of the flesh. Stop breathing, he told himself.
His mind kept flashing images of himself and Jillian, in bed. Naked. Tangled together. Writhing. And he kept finding himself watching her, studying. Wanting. Okay, so, to recap: he’d have to be nice to her without making her smile while standing far enough away from her that he couldn’t smell her.
Totally doable.
Women like her should be caged. And thrown into a dark, never-ending tunnel. And then the tunnel should be permanently blocked from the rest of the world. A menace, that’s what she was. A menace to his piece of mind. His good sense. His work ethic. His sex drive.
Catch a Mate Page 9