Catch a Mate (9 page)

I will not interrupt, I will not interrupt, I will not interrupt.
Did he truly expect them to sit at their desks, silent? Utterly still? Maybe raise their hands when they had a question? Robots who obeyed his every command? Her hatred for him intensified. Apparently the others had begun to dislike him, as well. They'd finally lost their air of excitement.

“Does anyone need a notebook?” he asked. “You might want to write all this down. Or is everyone following along?”

“We aren't stupid,” Jillian told him.

All eyes locked on her. “Well,” she said. “We aren't.”

Next, all eyes shifted to Marcus, gauging his reaction to her rule-breaking. Technically, though, she wasn't really breaking his rules. She hadn't interrupted him—there had been a slight pause as he stopped for breath.

What the hell, Jillian thought in the next instant. So what if she broke some rules. If he got the upper hand now, they'd never be able to get it back. They'd be forced to obey, always living in fear that he'd fire them. “Marcus,” she said, “you really are being rude. To, what? Teach me a lesson?”

“Do you like working here, Jillian?” he asked. He sounded casual, at ease.

She turned in her seat and looked up at him. “You know I do.” She matched his tone.

He didn't say anything more, but his threat was clear. Okay, so. Her defiance had done no good. She hadn't shamed him, embarrassed him or softened him. At least she hadn't been fired. Finally he moved away from her, circling the table. A hawk, a panther, ready to attack.

Selene kicked her feet up on the table. There was a glacial glaze in her blue eyes. Good. She wasn't fooled by his looks. “I'd like a notebook. I haven't doodled in a while.”

Jillian chuckled, bravado returning. “Me, either.”

“Ladies, I am perfectly willing to make an example of you. This isn't a game we're playing.” His voice was stern. His gaze returned to Jillian. “Much as some people might think so. This is my business and I want it to be a success. I'll be a bastard if I have to be to ensure things are done professionally.”

That sobered everyone. Selene lowered her legs, Jillian gazed down at her hands. She understood his need to make the business a success. She'd wanted to do that, too. Back when she'd planned to own CAM herself—which happened to be about ten minutes ago.

“Rule five,” he said. “Spa day is a thing of the past.”

The sober, somber air of the room was also a thing of the past.

“What?” Becky demanded, outraged.

“What!” Amelia gasped out, equally pissed.

“You can't do that.” Georgia banged her fist on the table, the picture of feminine pique. “We need to look our best or we aren't effective in the field.”

“Spa day is the only employee perk we have,” Danielle said.

“Are you trying to ruin our lives to make yours a success?” Selene demanded.

Taking away their day at the spa really was a low blow. Once a week Anne had paid for their trip to Body Image, where they were massaged, pampered, manicured, and oiled down. To take that away from them…Even Marcus's sexy face and bedroom body couldn't save him now.

He threw his arms in the air, the last sane man in existence. “I've worked in this business for a long time and, frankly, I've never needed a manicure, pedicure or hair highlights on company time, on the company's dime. Women in every profession manage to keep up their appearance without the aid of a spa day.”

“Cruel
and
cheap. Isn't this our lucky day,” Jillian said before she could stop herself. She didn't whisper, either. Self-sabotage at its finest.

A collective gasp filled the room.

Marcus stalked to her. He grabbed her hand and tugged her to her feet. “May I speak with you privately?” He didn't wait for her response, but jerked her from the room.

As she passed her friends, she saw that Georgia had gone pale, Selene winked, and the others mouthed
good luck.
Marcus was probably going to fire her. Good, she thought defiantly. She'd never have to see him again, never have to speak with him again, never have to
deal
with him again. So what that she'd have to start on the bottom of the ladder somewhere else and make new friends. So what that her paycheck would take a dive and her bills would pile up.

It would be worth it just to be rid of him.

Liar. About all of it.

He marched to Anne's—nope,
his
office now—and slammed the door shut. Bright light streamed in from the wide wall of windows, the blinds open and raised. He released his vise-like grip on her hand. She felt cold all of a sudden. Bereft. He whirled on her. “Do you want to take me on, Jillian? Is that what this is about?”

She straightened her spine, tilted her chin and strove for a strong, brave tone. But when he looked at her like that, she wanted to throw herself at him, rip off his clothes. Taste him. Despite everything. “Actually,
Mr. Brody,
this is about rule two. You want us to act professionally, but you can't seem to do the same. You called me last night, for God's sake, and asked me if I was turned on. Isn't that dipping your hands in the company cookie jar?”

Fury—at himself or at her?—blanketed his expression. “That was a mistake.”

“Yes, it was.” With barely a breath, she added, “Where's my cash? You didn't get out of my face in the conference, so
you
now owe
me.
”

He got in her face again, until they were nose to nose. His eyes flashed dark fire. Ominous fire. His color was high, his accent more pronounced. His warm breath fanned her cheeks. “You are the most infuriating woman I've ever met,” he snapped. “You're rude, obnoxious and cold.”

“Yeah, well, you're the most annoying man
I've
ever met. You're egotistical, a sadist and pure evil.” The more she spoke, the hotter her blood became, rushing through her veins, sizzling, blistering. “It's sad that my day would have been better if you'd been in a car accident on your way to the office.”

They stared at each other for a long while, each panting with the force of their fury. “I could shake you right now,” he said.

She stepped even closer to him, meshing their chests together. Her nipples pearled, the traitors. “Do it. I dare you. Shake me.”

“You don't think I will?” He wrapped his fingers around her shoulders, his grip firm, searing. He shook her once, and her breasts rasped his shirt. They stared at each other.

“That's it?” she taunted. “That's all you've got?”

He shook her a second time, her breasts rasped his shirt again and then they were kissing. Wild and untamed. His tongue plunged into her mouth. She was already open for him, totally willing—stupid, stupid—their teeth scraping together. His decadent flavor filled her mouth. Claimed her. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him captive.

He gripped her ass and jerked her pelvis into his erection, hitting her exactly where she needed him. Pleasure jolted through her. She moaned. He groaned.
I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe
—he tastes so good. Her thoughts tapered to total sexual enjoyment as he angled his head and took more of her mouth, feeding her kiss after delicious kiss.

“More?” he said on a harsh gasp of air.

“More.”

He backed her into the wall and her excitement spiked. When her back hit the cool stucco, she hissed at the ecstasy. Good, so good. One of her knees bent up, pressing Marcus deeper into her. She gave another gasp. Oh, God. He gripped her calf, spread it wide. Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God. And when he began rubbing against her, the long, thick length of him hitting the center of her world, when she began to edge closer and closer to orgasm, panic should have hit her. They were fully clothed. Inside an office that should have been hers, but instead belonged to him. He was her worst enemy—and her new boss. He shouldn't be able to excite her this much. Yet…she didn't care.

“I dreamed about you last night,” he said huskily. He ran his tongue over the rings in her ear. “The things you did…you should have woken up ashamed of yourself.”

She shivered. “What'd I do?”

“Bad things. Amazing things.”

The kiss became hard. Savage, just like his appearance promised. She yearned to bite him, to scratch him, to erupt, not in fury but in passion.
Don't,
she commanded herself.
Don't.
She'd never fallen apart for a man, and so easily. She couldn't—wouldn't—start now. Not with this one. Control mattered. Control was everything. Already she clung to a thin thread of it.

These needs, these desires were new, unwelcome. Kissing was fine. But to totally let go, giving him the sharp bite of her teeth, the passionate sting of her nails…he'd know just how much she wanted him. That, she couldn't allow.

“Stop pretending you don't like it,” Marcus suddenly growled, pulling away from her slightly. His lips hovered above hers. “You want more, you know you do.”

Come back. Kiss me.
She couldn't raise her gaze from his lips. “I can't stand you. Why would I want more?”

“You may not like me, but you want me.”

Want him…Oh, yes. Never had a man tasted so good. Never had a man made her so excited, stolen her common sense. Consumed her. Unable to help herself, she meshed her lips to his and his tongue thrust against hers without protest.

He tugged on her shirt, lifting it up. His fingers settled on her bare midriff. The contact was electric. Amazing. And her resolve faded to the background, to be indulged later. She pulled at
his
shirt, wanting all the pleasure he could give now, wanting skin-to-skin contact. Wanting to touch the ropes of his stomach.

Her hands coasted over him. Oh, the strength. So wonderful, almost drugging. She wanted to touch forever—there was a knock on the window—and never let go, never give up the excitement and passion she found in Marcus's arms—another knock—and take more, give more, so much more, not worrying about letting go completely—and there was another freaking knock on the window!

Someone wanted their attention.

Panicking, she flattened her palms against Marcus's chest and pushed. She didn't push as forcefully as she could—should—have, but he stumbled away from her. They were both panting. His eyes were glittering, alive.

She jerked her attention away from him and looked to the window. Her eyes widened. A man stood outside, staring in and grinning. She gasped. Marcus whipped around. When he saw the intruder, he stiffened and held up a finger. Not the middle one, she noticed.

“Damn it, I need a minute,” he growled.

The man nodded and turned away reluctantly.

What were you doing?
The rational part of her brain spoke up again.
What the hell were you doing?

Making out,
her body answered happily.

With Marcus Brody, you moron.

Her blood chilled as she realized the depths of her stupidity. Her clothes were in total disarray. Her shirt bunched under her bra, wrinkled from the press of him. The imprint of a button was visible on her stomach.

“Who's that?” she asked, hating how breathless she sounded. His taste was still in her mouth. She didn't mention the kiss. Avoided the subject entirely.

“A friend.” Marcus returned his attention to her and ran his hand down his face.

That was worse than if he'd said it was a stranger. “Don't you dare tell anyone what happened,” she said. And yeah, she knew the guy had already seen everything.

“Like I want to admit to something like that. And for the record, nothing happened.”

“That's right.” She straightened her chin. “Nothing happened. And nothing will ever happen again. Understand?”

“Oh, I understand and I'm grateful.” His voice was rough. “So…”

Get lost, was the unspoken command. “So.” She cleared her throat, turned away from him to right her clothing.
Idiot. Moron.
She wished she knew whether she was referring to Marcus or to herself. “There goes rule number two, I guess.”

W
HAT THE HELL
was rule number two?

Marcus couldn't remember. He'd been making them up as he'd gone along. Could be
no office relationships.
Could be
obey my every command.
He didn't know. All he could think about now was the perfect way Jillian had erupted in his arms. How her lush, perfect breasts had felt plastered to his chest, how perfect the juncture between her sexy thighs was—the perfect cradle for him.

How Jake had ruined it all. He gritted his teeth.

He and Jillian should not have felt so…perfect together. Nor should such a viper taste like perfect heaven. Perfect, how he hated the word. He'd known she was trouble the first time he saw her. He'd known she would bring about his downfall. He'd known, and yet he'd brought her into his office for a private “chat,” anyway.

Why not invite her over to his apartment for a night of wild sex while he was at it?

A heathen, that's what his mother would call him. And he'd deserve it.

His hands actually shook with need. For Jillian. Only her. He would have liked to tell himself it was because she was close enough to strangle, but…that would have been a lie. He knew it.
I have got to get laid.
That's why she affected him so strongly, because it had been so long for him. No other reason. He smoothed his fingers over his shirt, trying to brush away the wrinkles she'd caused by fisting the material.

He looked at her, even though it was a foolish thing to do. He was officially a foolish man, so the action didn't surprise him. Jillian was facing him again and her eyes glowed brightly. Her lips were red, swollen. Moist. He'd expected her to leave after she'd smoothed her clothes, but she hadn't. She'd raised her chin stubbornly.

“Why are you still here?” he said, more for his benefit than hers.

“You plan on firing me?” Her black brows arched and the spark died in her eyes. If not for the high, rosy color on her cheeks, she would have appeared totally unaffected just then. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I broke a rule and your employees only get one chance. Just one,” she said, mimicking him.

A muscle ticked below his eye. “I'll make an exception, but only this once. Next time you attack me, though…”

Her mouth fell open, giving him a glimpse of the tongue he'd just tasted. The tongue he wanted to keep tasting. “Me? Attack you? You practically swallowed me!”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, Dimples.” He had to get her out of here, couldn't be alone with her a moment more. Just looking at her was making him hard. Well, harder. Sparring with her was as stimulating as kissing her. “Go back to the conference room,” he commanded. “I'll be there soon.”

Her eyes regained their sparkle, snapping and crackling with heat. “Be a good little boy, Mr. Brody, and choke yourself.” She whipped around and stalked away from him.

Good thing, too. He might have kissed her again if she'd stayed a single second more.

Drawing in a deep breath—and catching an unwelcome hint of her exotic scent—he walked to the front of the building. Jake and the others waited just outside. He opened the door, letting in a warm breeze and light.

A few seconds later, he learned that letting his friends inside was a mistake, one of many he seemed destined to make that day. They filed past him, grinning wide, tooth-baring grins.

“Who was she?”

“How'd her lungs taste?”

“Do we get one of those, too?”

The rapid-fire questions pounded at him as they turned and faced him, still giving him those knowing smiles. He ignored them. “Just…wait in the hall. Quietly. Give me ten minutes, then come into the conference room.” He'd given them an after-hours tour of the building the day the lease had been signed over to him.

A few of them snickered.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Jake said. He pressed his lips together. “Nothing at all.”

Marcus shook his head. “Whatever. Ten minutes.” He didn't wait for their replies, but turned and stalked away. His friends scoffed and laughed behind him. They'd tease him unmercifully later, he was sure.

The office, he thought, striding past the bare blue walls, needed some fixing up. Something totally non-sexual. Religious statues, perhaps. Maybe some anti-women posters to replace the blatantly false anti-man decor he'd removed.

No, that would probably piss Jillian off and then she'd storm into his office…She'd be angry, so of course she'd be stripping off her clothes along the way. Anger—with him, at least—aroused her, no matter how much she denied it. She had too many tells. Shortness of breath, raised voice, hard nipples. Back to the fantasy. He'd be sitting at his desk, innocent, and she would approach him, chest heaving, push him back in his chair and straddle his lap. And, uh, there was no way he wanted that.

Was it hot in here? Had someone turned on the heater?

God, this day was so not going as planned. He'd wanted to tell Jillian he was her new boss, maybe gloat a little, but not enough to anger her. Well, he'd told her and he'd gloated. A lot. She'd gotten angry. A lot. They'd kissed—a lot—and it had been good. The hottest kiss of his life and better than most of the sex he'd had. Shit.
Shit.

She was his forbidden fruit, and he needed to do a better job of resisting.

Marcus wasn't sure what he'd find when he entered the conference room. He knew it wouldn't be Jillian, naked and on the table, a wicked smile on her face as she beckoned him over and demanded he swallow her again—which he would flat-out refuse to do, her being forbidden and all—so he kind of wished he could just go home and start over tomorrow.

Can't you think of anything besides sex?
He stopped just before he reached the turn, hidden from his friends, hidden from the conference room. He pressed his forehead against the wall and adjusted his pants. First chance he got, he was going to find a willing woman, take her as many ways and times as he could in one night and get sex out of his system. Maybe then he could look at, yell at and think of Jillian without becoming a perverted sex addict.
Hello, my name is Marcus and I'm addicted to sexual thoughts about an employee.

Yep, he definitely needed to find a willing woman outside of the office. But wouldn't you know, the thought of being with someone else fucking depressed him.
Well, hell.
He reminded himself that he couldn't fire Jillian and end his misery that way. No, as evidenced by that asshole Darren, she needed a protector when on assignment. And he was it. But he
could
continue to make her fetch his coffee. That had been fun. Her hips had swayed deliciously as she'd walked to the table.

Well, hell,
he thought again.

 

“W
HAT HAPPENED
?” Georgia asked the moment Jillian stepped back into the conference room. “Have you been…” She gasped. “Crying? Your face is red.”

“We're dying here,” Becky added. “Tell us!”

“Did he fire you?” Worry blanketed Danielle's pretty face; her blue eyes gleamed with concern.

“Should I put a contract out on him?” Selene demanded.

“Should I whip that naughty boy until he cries?” Amelia asked eagerly.

“Everything's fine,” Jillian replied. Her cheeks flushed with hotter color. If they found out she'd just kissed the boss…if they discovered she still wanted his mouth pressed against hers, his hands all over her body…God, her humiliation would know no bounds.

Damn it! Why had she given into temptation and enjoyed that (sexy) disgusting, (sexy) vile, (sexy) power-hungry egomaniac anyway? Now she'd have to get a tetanus shot. The man probably subsisted on one-night stands.

“Everything's not fine,” Georgia said. “Something happened. I can tell. Your clothes are wrinkled.”

“I twisted them. I was worried about losing my job, after all.” She forced a laugh, claimed the seat she'd abandoned and folded her hands over her stomach, the picture of demure. She'd act calm, prim, absolutely unaffected. “Thankfully, he didn't fire me.”

Georgia's eyes narrowed suspiciously, all concern suddenly gone. “Did you twist your lips, too? Because they're swollen.”

Her stomach rolled. “I, uh, bit them. From worry. Like I said, I was worried.”

“Did you lick them from worry, as well? They're awfully moist,” Danielle said, her tone dripping with amusement. Gone was her concern, as well.

Jillian sighed. “Yes, I licked them. End of subject.”

All the girls stood then and closed the space around her. “Please, girl,” Becky said. She rolled her eyes. “We've been worried about you and you were out there making babies, weren't you?”

“Or maybe she's been out there welcoming the new boss on her knees,” Danielle said, brows wagging suggestively.

“As if,” Jillian retorted.

“Have a seat, ladies,” a familiar male voice suddenly said, cutting through the speculation. Everyone stiffened. One by one, the girls plopped into their seats.

Marcus entered the room, the door snapping closed behind him. He strode past her chair, wafting a breeze of sin in her direction. Jillian's lungs constricted as memories flooded her. Lips, wandering hands, arousal. Attack him, indeed. The only way she'd attack him was if she were wearing brass knuckles and had razors attached to her boots.

Liar.
How could one man be so potent? So…lethal to her common sense? That kiss had been a moment of insanity, surely.
You stopped being nice to him, and that's when the trouble started. Stick to the plan, genius, and you just might make it out of this building with some dignity.

Well, what little dignity she had left, anyway.

“So.” Marcus clapped his hands together. His features were hard, unreadable, his tone even more so. He hadn't straightened his hair and the short locks were tangled together in disarray. “Let's get back to the meeting,” he said, glancing at her.

Jillian looked away from him. Cowardly, yes, but she simply couldn't face him right now. He'd had his tongue down her throat and she'd liked it.

Silence. Dead silence.

“You, uh…” Georgia paused, gazed around helplessly.

“You have lipstick on,” Amelia finished for her. With relish.

Oh, dear God. Jillian felt the color drain from her face.
No!
Her horrified gaze whipped back to Marcus and dropped to his lips. And there it was. A pretty smear of pink. Calypso Coral, to be exact—she should know, since she applied that exact shade every day. It rimmed the edges of his lips. Mortified, Marcus flushed a bright, bright red. The color was a lovely contrast to the coral.

Their eyes met in the next instant. She shook her head.
Don't tell them. Please don't tell them,
she beseeched silently. His eyelids slitted, low, so low she could barely see his dark irises. His mouth floundered open and closed.

He didn't have a ready response. Would maybe blurt out the truth if he couldn't think of a lie. She couldn't let him do it. They'd tease her; they'd ask her about him. Questions she wasn't prepared to answer.

“He's a cross-dresser,” she said, spewing the first answer that came to mind. What the hell, she spewed the second, too. “And he's gay!”

Another silence slithered through the room. This one heavier, a phantom reaching out and choking the life from them. Finally Becky said, “A gay cross-dresser. Huh. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen the lipstick for myself.”

“I never would have believed it, either,” Georgia said, and she didn't sound like she believed it now. “I mean, you weren't wearing lipstick before your
private meeting
with Jillian.”

“It was sweet of her to let you borrow her lipstick,” Danielle said, all innocence. “Pink is a good color on you.”

Jillian thought she saw steam curl from Marcus's ears.

“My personal life is my business, ladies,” he barked, grabbing a tissue from the tabletop and wiping his mouth.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of,” Selene told him. “I actually think it's cute. And if you ever see me wearing a shade of lipstick you'd like to try out for yourself, just let me know.”

Marcus pinned Jillian with a fierce stare that said
You'll pay for this.
“Let's get back to business. It's time for a little test. Who here remembers rule number two?”

Jillian's cheeks heated again. He was doing this on purpose. Rubbing it in, blaming her for what had happened.

Amelia raised her hand, the amber rings on each of her fingers winking in the light. Becky, too, raised her hand and even said, “I know, I know.”

Slowly Jillian raised her hand in the air, as well, unwilling to be cowed.

“You.” Marcus pointed to Amelia. His eyes avoided Jillian altogether.

“No relationships with anyone. Ever.”

“And specifically no relationship with a client, target or employee,” Jillian added pointedly.

“That's right.” Marcus flicked her an unhappy glance. “That rule still applies. In fact, for those of you who wrote it down, put a star next to it and circle it.”

“It's not like you have to worry about us laying the moves on each other,” Jillian said. “None of us are gay. Like you,” she added, just to be mean.

His left eye twitched. His irises swirled with velvety fury.
Those eyes of his are the color of mud,
she told herself.
Not rich, glossy wood. Not chocolate. Not gold. They are not sexy.
He
is not sexy.
“Don't make me pull you aside for another private meeting, Jillian.”

The moment he spoke her name, everyone turned to face her, watching her, gauging her reaction. She bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn't respond the way she wanted:
You'd like that, wouldn't you?
They'd end up kissing again, in front of everyone this time. She knew it, felt it. His chest was heaving, his nostrils were flared, his eyes dilated. Challenge radiated from him.