Catch a Mate

He gazed down at the papers. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Anne told me to make myself at home.”

“I can guarantee she didn’t mean at her desk.”

He leaned back and stretched out his legs, anchoring his ankles on the surface. He met her gaze. “Were you here? Did you hear the conversation?”

“No,” she gritted out.

“So you don’t know what she meant, do you?”

Smug bastard. More than puzzles, more than this man, she hated being bested. She wanted Marcus out of this office so she could go through Anne’s desk. She wanted to read his employee file, like he’d read hers. And what the hell had Anne put in her file to make Jillian seem of questionable morals?

“Well?” he prompted. “How long do you plan to sit there?”

Fine, she decided in the next instant. Let him stay. It might piss Anne off when she found out, and Anne might (please, please, please!) fire him. Besides that, arguing with him was still arousing her. More so now than before. Her skin was heating and hot blood was flowing through her veins at an alarming rate.

“Leave the door open on your way out,” he added smugly.

Eyes slitted, panting a little, Jillian stood. Better to leave now, before he called her a bad name—a worse name, anyway—and she jumped his bones. What’s wrong with me? she wondered for the—what?—thousandth time?

She strode toward the door, calling with mock breeziness over her shoulder, “I’m going home to purge myself of your nastiness. I’ll see you at the club, Markie. Make sure to bring that hundred dollars you’re going to owe me. I expect payment the moment you lose.” She slammed the door behind her, making the glass vibrate, and sauntered down the hall.