Free Catch a Mate by Gena Showalter Page A

he slinked away. If he hadn’t been wearing a ring, she would have felt guilty for insulting him. Am I becoming cruel and heartless like Marcus said?
    â€œGinger ale,” she told the bartender, a stacked little bleached blonde with bright orange streaks in her hair. Jillian would have liked a beer, but drinking on the job only caused mistakes, so she never indulged.
    Her drink arrived a moment later and she sipped from the straw. The coolness wet her too-dry mouth, the sweetness teased her tongue. God, would this night—
    â€œScrewdriver,” a sexy voice said, suddenly beside her. The speaker didn’t touch her, but she felt his luscious heat, smelled pure sin. Wanted. Yes, she wanted.
    Marcus.
    She shivered and sipped again at her soda, the sugary carbonation now like acid in her throat. She forced her attention to remain straight ahead—even though she felt Marcus’s eyes on her, burning bright, burning…burning…Time to concentrate and find her target.
    â€œMake it two,” he added, his accent suddenly thick and richly erotic, as if he’d just gotten off a plane from England. “One for me and one for the special lady next to me.”
    Obviously they didn’t share the same beliefs about drinking on the job.
    â€œAren’t you just the prettiest thing,” he said then. Gone was all hint of his earlier disdain and in its place was smooth charm. Seduction. Persuasion. His warm breath caressed the back of her neck and she once again found her nipples hardening in his presence, her blood sizzling. Her heart even skipped a beat as provocative tingles moved over her skin.
    Jillian pressed her lips together. What did he think he was doing, talking to her like this? After the way he’d treated her today, she had expected him to arrive with a pitchfork and a one-way ticket to hell with her name on it. This had to be some sort of game to throw her off guard, to make her lose their bet.
    Yes, that’s exactly what he meant to do, she realized, hand clenching on her drink. Well, she would show him.
    Drawing in a deep breath, she turned toward him and, starting at his feet, gradually moved her gaze up his body. He hadn’t bothered changing, was still wearing those butt-hugging, erection-showing jeans and that muscle-kissing T-shirt. The only difference in his appearance was the very masculine, black stone necklace he now wore, which she suspected was actually a camera.
    His eyes were dark and luminous, at half-mast, radiating a single word: orgasm. His hair was disheveled and fell over his forehead. His lips were lush and slightly parted. Kiss me, they said. She loved—hated!—the way the strobe light surrounded him in a bright multicolored halo. An angel. A fallen angel.
    â€œIs that the best pick-up line you’ve got?” she asked, her voice more breathless than she’d planned. “Because it sucks.”
    â€œOh, sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.” He grabbed his drinks, swirling the ice, and moved around her, only to skirt up to the woman on her left.
    Jillian’s jaw dropped open and she gasped. Why, that rat bastard! He’d done that on purpose. Payback for telling him she’d rather kill herself than talk to him? When she took over CAM, he was soooo fired.
    The woman’s cheeks bloomed with a pretty blush as he leaned over and whispered in her ear. Her ash-blond hair was teased and sprayed, her makeup just a little too thick. Her look-at-me dress could have earned her the title of Whore of Babylon if Jillian hadn’t already held that title herself.
    â€œWhat’s your name, love?” Marcus asked her, his back to Jillian. His accent was even heavier than before. And he’d called the woman “love.” She suspected his soft, lush lips were curled in a devastating smile. And he’d called the woman “love.” She had no doubt his brown eyes were glowing with a knowing, wicked intent. And