Catch a Mate (25 page)

B
RENT SPENT THE ENTIRE DAY
and night proving to Georgia that the person inside her was all that mattered. He took her out to eat (in public), to the movies (where he actually watched a girlie chick flick, just as he'd promised days ago), then to the Bricktown walkway, where they were now strolling hand in hand in the moonlight. Redbrick buildings rose on both sides of them and cars meandered along the road. The air was cool, the night fragrant.

While she discovered that a man could appreciate her for the imperfect woman she was, he discovered that he truly was in love with her. That it hadn't been a fantasy he'd built up in his mind all these many years. Every time she laughed, he felt like a god. Like he'd conquered a mountain.

She was witty and warm and so kindhearted she made him want to be a better man. Actually, she just plain made him
want.

He wanted her so badly that he trembled. He wanted to kiss her and wipe away the rest of her upset. Continually he had to remind himself that she'd just gotten out of a relationship. Taking things slow was smart. She wasn't ready for another man yet. Still…

“People are staring,” Georgia said.

“So what? If it doesn't bother me that they're staring at my ugly face, why should it bother you?”

She snorted, but a smile hovered at the corners of her lips. Slowly, however, her expression sobered. “You used to run from me in high school.”

“Sweetheart, I wanted you even then. Haven't I explained that to you? You were too young for me and I knew it. I also knew that if I was around you at all, I'd make a move.”

“Yeah, but you left your own house that night I spilled spaghetti on myself at dinner. That seems a little extreme if you were just afraid of wanting me. We weren't even alone in the room—your whole family was there.”

He laughed, he just couldn't help himself. “That's why I ran. I had a goddamn hard-on the size of the Empire State Building and I didn't want my mom to see. Do you know how embarrassing that would have been? Having to explain I was turned on by a girl covered in tomato sauce?”

Georgia's cheeks colored—with pleasure?—as she stopped and faced him. She released his hand, only to reach up and cup his cheeks. Her lips were soft and moist and so kissable….

“I'll never push you away again,” she swore. “I love the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. I love the humor you find in the most bizarre things. I love that you don't let anyone beat you at board games, even if you have to cheat. Most of all, I love that you see me for who I really am—and you like me anyway. And if, say, you were to make a move on me today…”

Relief and joy swept through him, potent, pure. He closed his eyes against the amazing surge of emotion. Finally! Finally, she was willing to give him a chance. He'd waited so long for this moment, it was surreal in actuality. Like a dream. “Baby, I'm
dying
to make a move. But are you sure you're ready?”

What the hell, he thought before she could answer. He swooped down and claimed her lips. She opened immediately with a needy moan. His tongue swept inside, taking, giving. Enjoying. Blood rushed straight into his shaft. Hard, so hard.

The rest of the world faded away. There was only Georgia, her luscious taste, her soft body pressed against his hardness. Her arms wound around his neck as a tremor slid down her spine. He felt it vibrate into him.

Before he took them to the point of no return, he pulled back. “No more,” he said. “I've been waiting for you my entire life, I can wait a little longer.”

Her eyes peered up at him, so green they sparkled like freshly washed emeralds. She moistened her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. “I don't want to wait, Brent. I want you in my bed, in my life. Now. Today. Take me home and make love to me.”

He experienced another rush of joy. Joy so intense he almost crumbled to his knees. “I'll take you home,” he told her fiercely, “and make you mine. Now. Always.”

And he did.

 

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS
passed in a daze for Jillian. She saw her brother and Georgia several times, but she couldn't stand to be in their presence for long. They were too mushy, too gushy, too much in love. Even Anne was in love. The wily bitch was getting married. Again. She'd sent Jillian an e-mail saying she was flying to Vegas to make an honest man of her “young stud.”

“How many times do I have to tell you it's time for you to live?” she'd added. “You're so stubborn, you're probably home alone when you could be out having fun. Life is too short. Let's live it with no regrets.”

It wasn't fair. Jillian wanted happily-ever-after for herself, too, she realized; she wanted to forget her fears and grab hold of Marcus, but even though he seemed to want her, too, they both flirted with people for a living. How could she live with that?

While she planned to find another line of work—yep, she was going to move on, no more helping men cheat for her—he couldn't. He owned CAM. He would always be coming on to other women and Jillian didn't think she could stand that, even though it meant nothing. Temptation always,
always
got to a man and Marcus would be tempted on a daily basis.

Still, for the first time in her life, she was truly in love—another realization. Ugh. What a terrible and beautiful and wrong emotion. She didn't know when or how it had happened, only that it had. What she also knew was that love—the cranky bitch—did not conquer all. She might want to forget her fears, but she couldn't seem to do it.

“I hate my life,” she moaned to her ceiling. She was lying in bed, and she didn't think she'd get up today.

Her dad had called a few times, complicating things further. She hadn't answered and he'd left her several messages, asking to meet with her. He wanted to get to know her again, see her, hug her, he'd said. He missed his baby, he'd said. He was sorry, he'd said. If her mom could get over the past, why couldn't she?

His wedding was approaching and he wanted her to be a bridesmaid, just as Brittany had claimed.

If she met with him, would she be sending a message that his infidelity was okay? She just didn't know. The little girl inside her, though, wanted desperately to see him again. So many years had passed since she'd even glimpsed his face. How wonderful would it be to let go of past hurts and simply live in the moment?

All Jillian knew was that she was lonely and it was driving her crazy. She was so unsure about everything in her life. Nothing had gone as she'd planned. She hadn't bought CAM. She hadn't remained detached from the men in her life. She wasn't having fun anymore. She was miserable. And she still wanted Marcus.

She sighed. Maybe she
would
see her dad.
You know you want to.
If anything, it would keep her mind off Marcus. Yeah. Right. Like she'd ever stop thinking about him. But if she were to patch things up with her dad, if she were a part of his wedding, maybe she'd finally begin to heal.

Heal…how wonderful that sounded.

The wall clock chimed the hour. Noon. She should be at the office by now. She was too raw, though, and couldn't face Marcus. Not now. Not yet. Another cowardly action, but she didn't care.

Hoping to get his voice mail, she dialed his number. She got the man and his rich timbre made her shiver. It was a voice that would haunt her dreams. “I'm still sick,” she told him.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

She heard concern in his voice and it disconcerted her. “I ate poisoned cookies. I'll talk to you later, okay.” She hung up before he could respond and dropped the phone on her mattress. It bounced onto the floor and landed with a smack. She half expected him to call back, but the minutes ticked by and he didn't. That…saddened her. And it shouldn't have.

God, she was beginning to act like her mom. Maybe Evelyn had been right when she'd compared the two of them.

“I'm pathetic,” she muttered.
He's off-limits.
If she had to remind herself a thousand times a day, she would.

The phone rang in the next instant and she yelped. She practically jumped off the bed in her haste to grab it, but her heart plummeted when she saw it wasn't Marcus. It was her dad. Again.
Ring. Ring.

Should she answer?

Ring.
Pause.
Ri—
She jabbed the “talk” button before she could stop herself. “Hello.”

There was a heavy pause. “Jillian?”

“Yes.”

“I—I didn't expect you to answer. This is—”

“I know who it is,” she said, her voice shaky. He sounded just like she remembered him. A deep, calming baritone that had once soothed her little girl hurts…before he'd brought about the biggest hurt of her life.

“I—how are you?”

“I'm good.” Lie. “How are—” she gulped “—you?”

A full minute passed before he answered, as if he couldn't believe she'd asked him that question. “I'm good.”

Silence. Obviously, they didn't know what to say to each other.

He cleared his throat. “I, um, well…”

“I hear you're getting married.” As she spoke the words, she realized she wasn't upset. Yes, he was starting a new family. But that didn't mean he'd forget about her and stop calling. That didn't mean he was once again choosing someone else over her.

“Yes.”

“How's your…fiancée?”

“Christy's wonderful. Her boys are all grown up now and in college. It's just Christy and me in the house and everything's quiet. Too quiet.” He drew in a breath, let it out. “I'd really love for you to meet her.”

For the first time in her life, Jillian heard desperation in her dad's voice. He even sounded as shaky as she felt.

Her stomach lurched. She'd hated him for so long, but…That silly little girl inside of her was eager, so eager. “I—I would rather meet you first.” They were strangers now, so it
would
be like meeting for the first time.

Again, silence. Until she realized he was crying. Quiet sobs, much as Mr. Parker's had been. His tears brought forth her own; they streamed down her cheeks, hot and, she hoped, healing.

“Can you meet today?” he rushed out.

“Yes, actually.” Now that she'd decided to do it, there was no point in wasting time and drawing it out. “Can you be at Brandywine Park at…one o'clock?”

“Yes, yes. I'll be there. I can't wait to see you.” They hung up and Jillian stared down at the phone. Suddenly nervous, she dialed Brittany's number and asked her sister to bring the twins. Brittany was a stay-at-home mom and eagerly agreed, since the twins often drove her crazy during summer break. Jillian didn't know what she'd say to her dad when she finally saw him.

“You're doing the right thing,” her sister said happily.

“I hope so.” God knows, all of her other decisions lately had ended in disaster.

M
ARCUS KNEW
Jillian wasn't really sick, but he didn't call her on it. It was probably for the best that she wasn't in the office. He was tied in knots. Painful knots. Seeing that woman every day and not being able to touch her was driving him crazy. She made him feel possessive, needy, on edge. And the longer he was around her, the worse it became. She wasn't even sparring with him now and that sucked, too.

He'd told her he would wait for her, but he wanted her
now!

He'd taken a risk on a woman once and it hadn't worked. For the first time, he was willing to risk again. For Jillian. Anything for Jillian. Everything for Jillian. His heart. His freedom. His life. Just for a chance at happiness. For that brief moment in her arms, after they'd made love, he'd been given a glimpse of something precious. Something his life desperately needed—but he'd been too afraid to pursue. Then.

He loved her. He did. He'd been a gambler all his life, but he'd been afraid to gamble on that. The stakes had been too high and it had happened too quickly; he hadn't even known her a full week. That didn't seem to matter. He loved Jillian with everything inside of him.

This
was why Kayla had left him. She'd felt this…love and intensity and willingness to do whatever was necessary to be with that one person. The person who—God, this was corny—completed you. He hadn't been that for Kayla and she had known it. He'd shut her out because he'd known it, too. He just hadn't wanted to admit it and be a failure at marriage like his dad.

Jillian made him step up and be, well, a man. She never backed down. She gave as good as she got. He smiled slowly, thinking of the deer urine. Kayla had coasted, going along with everything he said until the day she finally snapped and left.

“What's wrong with you, man?” Joe asked.

Marcus blinked and straightened in his chair. His friend was peeking past the door. “Come in.”

Joe entered and eased into the chair directly in front of the desk. Jake, Rafe, Matt and Kyle were right behind him. They circled the desk, each one of them frowning down at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You've been an ass for days,” Jake replied. “More so than usual.”

“I can't stand to be around you.” Rafe.

“The girls hate you and that makes
me
hate you.” Kyle.

“Thanks a lot. Traitors,” he muttered.

The guys shared a look.

“What?” he demanded again, spreading his arms wide. Then, before they could respond, he said, “Each of you now has a case. Go type up your notes or study the photographs. Just get the bloody hell out of my office.”

“See. That's exactly what we're talking about,” Jake said. “You used to like hanging around us.”

“Get. Out.”

They shared another look, shook their heads in exasperation and filed out, shutting the door behind them. Marcus dropped his head into his hands. What the hell was he going to do? There had to be a way to convince Jillian to give him a chance, to take a risk on him and stop running.

There had to be a way to catch her, once and for all.

 

T
HE PARK OVERFLOWED
with children. They flew down the slides, climbed the monkey bars and threw rocks at each other. Sunlight shone proudly overhead, curling fingers of light in every direction.

Brittany had arrived a few minutes before and was pushing Apple and Cherry on the swings. The girls loved it, laughing and begging to go higher. Jillian sat in a swing across from them. It was 1:07, and her dad wasn't here. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe—

“Is this seat taken?”

The familiar voice made her gulp. She stopped swinging and slowly looked up, almost afraid of what she'd find.

There was her father, bathed in the sunlight. He'd changed. A lot. Deep lines bracketed his eyes and mouth. His blue eyes weren't as bright as she remembered. His curly black hair was now completely gray.

He motioned to the swing next to her and she nodded. “It's yours,” she told him, hating how unsure she sounded.

He eased into the black strap. They both looked straight ahead. “Thank you,” he said. “For seeing me, that is.”

“You're welcome.” Suddenly
she
felt like the one who should be thanking
him.
God, she was confused.

“It's, uh, been a long time.”

“Yes.”

“Too long, I hope.” He laughed nervously.

“Yes,” she said, surprised that she meant it. Her insides were weeping at the sight of him, at being near him again. When she'd been a little girl, he would sing her to sleep, push her in the swing like Brittany was doing to the twins. He'd loved her, hugged her often. She'd kind of forgotten about those things over the years. But maybe they were the reason she'd felt so betrayed by what he'd done to her mom. To her.

She thought of all the things she'd missed: her dad watching her graduate, his dark looks (maybe even the cleaning of guns) when boys picked her up for dates, a dance at her sister's wedding. He'd been there, but she'd pretended he was invisible. Longing bubbled up inside her.

“I'm sorry,” he said suddenly, as if unable to hold the words back a moment longer. “I never meant to hurt your mother and I certainly never meant to hurt you. I loved you. I
love
you. You're my baby.”

A hot tear cascaded down her cheek. “Why did you do it?”

He shook his head. “The reason doesn't matter.”

“Yes, it does. You picked Mrs. Prescott over your own family.”

His eyes darkened with remembered pain. “That wasn't how I saw it at the time. Your mother and I were having problems. Her depression was getting out of hand. She never let you see it because she wanted to be perfect for you, but I had to deal with it every day and I was tired, Jillian, so tired of the fits and the tears. When she left to visit your aunt, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Jennifer—Mrs. Prescott—always made me feel important. Like a man. Not a doctor or a therapist or a burden. But a man.”

Hearing the torture-laden tone nearly undid her. And hearing his side, she could kind of maybe almost understand why he strayed. Cheating was never okay. After all, he could have just left. But maybe sometimes there were two sides to the story. Everyone made mistakes. Look at
her
life. She'd blamed her dad for her mother's depression, thinking it had all stemmed from him and what he'd done. Not so, she realized now. Her mom had always been troubled.

“I've regretted my behavior all these years,” her dad added. “I've wanted to go back and fix it, but…”

Not knowing what to say, Jillian stretched out her arm. She waited, just waited, without saying a word. Tentatively her dad reached out and wrapped his fingers around her palm.

They sat there, holding hands and simply absorbing each other for a long time. Jillian wanted to sob for all the years she'd pushed him away, but she held back her tears. Later, she'd cry later. Right now, she was going to enjoy her father. A man she'd tried and convicted—then sentenced—without ever really listening to the full story.

“I'm so sorry, Dad. I never should have treated you like a criminal.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. You were—”

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” Apple had spotted him and raced over to him, catapulting herself into his arms. She laughed.

His hand was torn from Jillian's as he wrapped his arms around the little girl. “Now which one are you?” he asked with a watery smile. “Peach or Mango?”

She uttered another carefree laugh. “You know who I am.”

Cherry raced over, too. She shouldered Apple out of the way to get in on the hug. “I'm glad you're here. Did you bring me a present?”

“Cherry,” Brittany admonished. She anchored her hands on her hips. “We've talked about that.”

“What?” the girl said innocently. “It wasn't the very first thing I said to him. I told him I was glad to see him.”

Her dad barked out a laugh. “She's got you there, Brit.”

Seeing them together—so happy and at ease—nearly dropped Jillian to her knees. She could have had this a long time ago. This love and affection. This
family.
Because of her stubbornness, she'd lost so many years.

She pressed her lips together to cut off her moan.

Glancing over at her, her dad set the girls aside. He leaned toward Jillian and wrapped his arms around her. She vaguely heard Brittany gasp, foggily saw her sister cover her mouth with her hand, thought she heard the twins giggling about something, and then all she knew was her dad. His smoky-cigar scent. His strength. She hugged him back for all she was worth.

“I love you, Jilly.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“Well, I so did not expect this to happen,” Brittany said with a smile.

He kissed the end of Jillian's nose. “You're invited to the wedding. Christy would love it if you'd agree to be a bridesmaid. But if you'd rather not, I understand. Hell, I'd even love it if you were best man,” he said.

She laughed, a genuine laugh.

They stayed at the park a little longer before bidding each other goodbye. She received another bear hug and a request to stay in touch—which she promised to do and
would
do. She was also going to take him up on his offer to stand up in his wedding.

Healing felt as nice as she'd dreamed.

She managed to remain calm the entire drive home. No tears, no wild thoughts. She parked and emerged—still no reaction. Mrs. Franklin was outside, saw her,
hmphed,
and strode inside her house, evidently still upset over the sex-in-the-backyard incident. Jillian's chest ached as she climbed up the porch, unlocked the door and stepped inside. When the door closed behind her, she walked into the living room.

She made it to the glass coffee table before her knees gave out and she cried. Her entire body shook with the force of her tears. They were hot, scalding. Her stomach clenched painfully. She'd given up so much, and for what? So she could hold on to fears? Hurt? Pain? Yes, all of those. And she was doing that again now, with Marcus. She hadn't even tried to win his heart.

She was stupid, so very stupid.

The tears continued to pour until she had nothing left. Her nose was swollen and she had trouble breathing. Furious with herself, she banged her fists onto the glass. It shook and there was a small satisfaction in that. She banged again and again and again, releasing all the emotions pent up inside her, unable to stop until they were drained completely.

With her last hit the glass shattered, tinkling like bells in her ears. A sharp pain radiated up both of her arms. Her eyes were swollen as she glanced down at them. Red droplets ribboned from her wrists to her elbows. Flowing, flowing.

The first thought that flooded her mind was that she wanted Marcus. He'd take away the hurt. She pushed to shaky legs, went into the bathroom, and grabbed two hand towels. She wrapped one around each wrist, then she picked up the phone and dialed.

He answered on the third ring. “Marcus Brody.”

“Marcus?” She loved him. She did. She hadn't wanted to, but there it was, in all its awful glory. She loved him. Yes, he was infuriating. Yes, he had a smart mouth. Yes, he was as jaded as she was. But he was also tender and passionate and she wanted him in her life, no matter what.

How could you have let this happen? And so quickly?
Too late for recriminations now.

“Jillian?” At the office, Marcus straightened in his chair. The client across from him, a young woman who wanted to test her boyfriend of four months, frowned. “What's wrong?”

“I love…my wrists,” she said, sniffling.

His eyebrows furrowed together. “You called to tell me that you love your wrists?”

“No, I—” sniffle, sniffle “—cut them, but I can't tell you over the phone. Want to tell you in person.”

“You cut your wrists?” Panic hit him and hit him hard.

“I'm bleeding, but that's not why—”

“Fucking hell.” How much blood had she lost? “Hang on, baby. I'll be right there. No, hang up and call 911. I'm on my way.” He threw down the phone, but it missed the cradle and bounced off the desk and onto the floor.

The girl's frown deepened. “Hey, what's going on? I haven't told you—”

He was already at the door, yelling for Jake. His friend bounded around the far corner, expression concerned. “Take care of her,” Marcus instructed, pointing to the girl.

“Where are you going?”

He didn't stop to answer, but sprinted outside and into his car. He made the fifteen-minute drive in six, weaving in and out of traffic. It was a miracle he wasn't pulled over.

Why would Jillian try to kill herself? Why? Was she following in her mom's footsteps? He blamed himself. He should have been more careful with her feelings. He shouldn't have pushed her so hard to accept him. He'd told her he would wait for her, and he would. For however long she needed.

He didn't bother shutting his car door as he emerged, he just raced onto the porch and into the house. When he didn't see her in the foyer, he stalked into the living room. Gaze wild, he looked left and right. “Jillian!” God, where was she? Had she passed out? Concern and fear washed through him in sickening waves. The coffee table was shattered. Had someone attacked her? What if she were—

“Right here,” she said softly.

He almost collapsed in relief. She was curled on the recliner, her feet tucked up to her chest. White towels were twisted around her arms. No, not fully white. He could see the crimson stains.

“What happened, baby?” He closed the distance between them and knelt in front of her. She was pale—except for her swollen, red-rimmed eyes.

“I accidentally broke the table.”