Catch a Mate (23 page)

“She's fine. A little shaken up, but fine.”

His breathing became heavier, labored, and she knew that he was running. “I'll be at your door in five seconds,” he said. “Have it unlocked.”

They disconnected without another word. Softly Jillian placed the phone on the receiver. Looked like Georgia and Brent would get a happy ending. Unlike herself. She swiped a lone tear that had decided to fall.
I'll be okay,
she told herself.
Marcus isn't worth it.

But what if he was?

B
RENT RAN LIKE A
man caught on fire and the only extinguisher to be found was at Jillian's house. His heart pounded in his chest. Something was wrong with Georgia. He might even have heard her sobbing in the background when he spoke to his sister.

Five houses over, he arrived. His body was tense, his blood boiling with the need to help his woman, to fix whatever was wrong. To wipe away her tears. If anyone had hurt her…Jaw clenched, he flew up the porch. The front door was unlocked, as he'd requested, and he sprinted inside.

The first thing he saw was Georgia, lying on the couch. Her back was to him and a pretty beaded pillow was draped over her head, but he could tell she was shaking. Jillian was sitting beside her, patting her shoulder while staring sadly into the distance.

“What happened?” Brent demanded.

Jillian jumped, as if she hadn't realized he'd entered her home. Georgia gasped his name and scrambled closer to the edge of the sofa. “What's he doing here?” Panic radiated from her and she clutched the pillow tighter to her head. “Leave, Brent. Please!”

Frowning, Brent inched forward. He wanted to touch her, to soothe her, but didn't dare. Not yet. Not until he knew what was going on. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.”

Georgia didn't say a word.

Jillian stood, looking more vulnerable than she ever had before. “Last night, she cut her hair to test you.
You.
Not Wyatt. They're through.”

His first reaction: elation. Wyatt was finally out of the picture. His second reaction: confusion. “I don't understand how cutting her hair could test me.”

Bending down, determination falling over her features, Jillian jerked the pillow off of Georgia's head. Georgia didn't erupt, didn't scream, curse or cry. No, she drew in a shuddering breath and rolled to her back, letting Brent see her fully.

He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach.

Her face was a mess; red lines branched from her swollen eyes like a spiderweb. Her hair—mostly gone. Her eyebrows—totally gone. Watery green eyes stared up at him in agony and expectation.

Shit. Shit!
Cut her hair
was an understatement. Most of the silky red tendrils had been chopped to the scalp. There were a few locks remaining and those were in spikes. Gone was the beautiful facade he'd lusted after all these many years. In its place…was the vulnerable girl he'd wanted in school but hadn't been able to have.

You know you want to leave me,
her gaze seemed to say. Her chin trembled and she hiccupped.

“You did this to yourself?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” Her voice was tired, scratchy from tears. She closed her eyes, as if she couldn't hold them open anymore. “I did it.”

“For me?”

“Partly.”

Brent maneuvered around her and eased onto the edge of the couch. “Scoot over, sweetheart.”

“No,” she said weakly.

“Please.”

At first, she gave no indication that she'd heard him. Then, slowly, she inched to the side, giving him room. He scooted toward her, until his hip was touching hers.

“I'm going to bed,” Jillian said quietly. She walked away without another word, and he heard her bedroom door snick shut.

“Night,” he called. Something was wrong with his sister, but he could only handle one unhappy female at a time. He'd deal with Jill in the morning. For now, he kept his attention on Georgia.

What would drive a gorgeous woman to do something like this? To test him, Jillian had said. To test him…how?
Show me your worst,
he suddenly remembered telling her. His eyes widened as all the pieces of this bizarre hair puzzle locked into place. Testing him, expecting him to leave her.

Over the years, she'd told him countless times that he only wanted her because of her face, her
appearance.
The little nutcase had ruined her beautiful locks so she could know, at long last and beyond any doubt, that she'd been right.

He wanted to laugh, but didn't dare.

“Well,” she said, that one word muffled and defiant.

“Well what?” It was difficult, keeping the happiness out of his voice.

“Do you just want to be friends now?”
That
was sneered.

“Why would I want to be your friend
now?
”

“I knew it.” Her lower lip trembled. “I did. I knew you'd say that.” She tried to rotate to her side. “You're all the same. Jillian was right. You're all pigs.”

He gripped her arm, doing his best to remain gentle so he didn't bruise her, and held her in place. “Sweetheart, you're confusing me here. It's a bad thing that I don't want to be your friend? I've never wanted to just be your friend. I've always wanted to be your lover. And I still do.”

Her mouth fell open. “Wh-what?”

“You're beautiful to me, now and always.”

Refusing to believe him, she shook her head. “You can't mean that. You never tell me I'm beautiful and you're only saying it now because you're a nice guy. You feel obligated.”

He laughed, unable to stop himself this time. “I'm not a nice guy, Georgia, and I don't feel obligated.”

“Yes, you are and yes, you do.” She still didn't open her eyes. “This isn't funny.”

“It kind of is.”

“No. It's. Not!”

Maybe she was right—about the nice guy part. After all, he hadn't pursued this woman the way he'd wanted. If he had, he would have packed his bags and moved in with her—with or without her permission—a long time ago. Instead, he'd let her date Wyatt, the asshole loser he'd dreamed about killing over and over again. Painfully. Slowly.

“I never tell you that you're pretty because I don't care about the outside,” he said. “But yeah, I think you're beautiful inside and out. I always have. That doesn't mean I'm too nice to tell you that you look like shit right now.”

Her cheeks bloomed bright with color. “You don't have to be rude. I know I look like a mutant.”

“A cute mutant. Listen, sweetheart. You can't have it both ways. I'm either nice or I'm rude. Actually,” he said after a pause, “I'm neither. I'm just honest. You'll come to love that about me.”

“Come…to? So you want to stay around me? You really do love me?” Disbelief radiated from her and, if he wasn't mistaken, happiness, too. The emotion was muted, barely there, but that slight glimmer warmed him inside and out. “Still?”

“Well, yeah.” He wiped away one of her tears. “I told you how I love the sound of your voice when you're happy and the freckles you try so hard to hide. But did I mention that I love how you sing songs from
The Little Mermaid
when you think no one can hear? I love that you would die for my younger sister. I love the way you smell, like cotton candy. I love that you gaze down at your hands and twist your fingers together when you're nervous. I love the granny glasses you used to wear and, when I finally get you into bed, you better believe you're going to wear a pair. I've fantasized about you in them so many times I've lost count.”

A tremor moved through her, so intense the entire couch shook.

“Lean against the edge, sweetheart. I'm falling off.”

She obeyed without protest. Instead of settling deeper, he stretched out beside her. Her body was warm and soft, her scent salty-sweet. God, he'd wanted to be in this position for so long. Holding her. Soaking her in.

“I'm jobless,” she said. “Marcus fired me.”

“Good for him.” So Marcus was Georgia and Jillian's
boss?
Interesting…

“Excuse me?”

“I would have fired you, too. You shaved your eyebrows, for God's sake!” He chuckled, but quickly sobered. “I love you, sweetheart, but maybe it's time for a fresh start. With everything. The job. Your outlook on life. Me.”

“I think I'm in shock.” There was a layer of shame in her voice, as if she were finally coming to understand the depths of his feelings. As if she were finally realizing that she hadn't needed to go to such lengths to test his devotion.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed tight. “Listen up, Scissors. I love you, okay. Lack of hair hasn't changed that. I want to be with you. I love you.
You.
The woman you are, not the woman you look like.”

Trembling again, she burrowed her head into his neck. “I—I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't say anything. Go to sleep, sweetheart. We'll talk some more in the morning.”

“You'll stay?”

“There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

“Promise?”

He kissed her forehead. “Promise.”

 

J
ILLIAN LAY AWAKE
all night. Once she tiptoed into the kitchen to get a glass of water and saw her brother and Georgia snuggled together on the couch. That reminded her of what she'd been doing with Marcus before they were interrupted. Anger filled her and she'd returned to her room, to bed, huffing. Crying.

She wanted to strike at Marcus, to hurt him because she was hurting.

He hadn't chosen her, and that knowledge still hurt. He'd chosen duty and his job, proving beyond any doubt that she meant nothing to him. Just what she'd thought she wanted, but hadn't. Not really.

Once she'd thought to go to war with him, but then she'd discarded the idea because she'd feared becoming too attracted to him. She didn't have to worry about that now. She
was
attracted to him, but she was smarter now.
Now
she knew the consequences of giving in.

Eyes narrowed, she stood. She stumbled to her closet and dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black T-shirt. She jerked her hair into a ponytail, then tugged on a pair of sneakers. She grabbed her purse and keys and strode into the living room.

Georgia and Brent were still sleeping, still snuggled together. Chest aching, she shook Brent awake. He moaned and cracked open his eyelids. A moment passed, confusion fluttering over his expression. When he oriented himself, he frowned.

“Something wrong?”

“I'm going out,” she said.

Slowly he eased to a sitting position, careful not to jostle Georgia. “Everything okay?”

“There's something I have to do. I'll see you later.” She turned and headed for the front door.

“You shouldn't be mad at Marcus,” he called. “Georgia isn't.”

“You don't know the situation.” She closed and locked the door behind her. Outside, muted beams of sunlight fought for dominance with the dark. The air was cool and fragrant with pine and flowers. Blackbirds soared overhead. She had every right to be mad at Marcus. He'd shattered her illusions.

She was going to make him miserable. He could fire her, she no longer cared. In fact, she hoped he did. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of quitting or let him get out of paying her severance.

Jillian hopped into her car and drove to the nearest supercenter. In the hunting and fishing section, she found exactly what she needed. Her mom had taught her a little trick with some of the more aromatic items hunters used to attract their prey. For the first time in her life, she was putting that knowledge to use.

On the drive to the office—Anne had given her a key a few years ago—her cell phone belted out the song “Crazy.” She groaned. She didn't need this now. Still, she dug her cell out of her purse. “Hello, Mom.”

“How are things with your boyfriend, Jillian?” were the first words out of Evelyn's mouth.

“He's not my boyfriend.” He could have been. Maybe. One day. “I don't even like him.”
Yes, you do, liar.
He might have fired Georgia, but up until the end he'd been fun and tender with Jillian.

“I don't believe you.”

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, changing the subject before she started crying.

“Good. Happy.”

“Really?” Her mom
did
sound happy, and not the forced happy Jillian usually heard.

“You know I get…sad sometimes.”

“Yes,” Jillian answered hesitantly. Evelyn never spoke to her about the sadness. Never.

“Well, I—” she cleared her throat “—started taking my pills last night.”

Jillian almost swerved off the road. Her mom had seen many doctors over the years, had been given many prescriptions, but she'd never taken any. She didn't need them, she claimed. She was fine the way she was. “I'm ecstatic, Mom, but what changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Your lecture really got to me. And you said you would love me no matter how I acted, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, I want to act—be—happy.”

Wow.

Her mom sighed again. “I need to explain to you about yesterday. When Brittany married Steven, I was upset. But then I realized that she's not like me. She can be happy anywhere, with anyone, no matter what's going on around her. Her life isn't going to be destroyed by Steven, no matter what he might do to her. She's too centered to let a man's actions define her. So I got over it and accepted him as part of our family.”

“That's a good thing.”

“When I saw you with Marcus, I was more upset than I'd ever been about Steven. Did you realize that? It's just,” she said, not giving Jillian a chance to reply, “you're so much like me. You
can't
be happy anywhere, with anyone if things are going badly. Your life
was
destroyed by betrayal once already. I wasn't sure you could recover if it happened again. That's why I never wanted you to let anything—any
one
—into your life. I thought, for you, being alone was better than risking your heart.”

Maybe being alone
was
the right choice. And had she heard that first part right? Like her mom? Dear God. Say it wasn't so.