To Catch A Cheat Part 12

Chapter 11.

Wow, this is really nice," Amy said, entering Marissa and Trent's temporary residence Monday morning. She carried Marissa's computer bag and walked around the southwestern-themed living room, with its distinct palette of peach and turquoise, and nodded her approval. "I bet it's not as masculine as your roomie would prefer, but I think it's cool."

"Mom, look, a dog," Bo said, pointing to the painting above the sofa. Like the room, the colors were definitely southwestern, with the moon a brilliant peach, the desert shades of orange and flesh, and the howling coyote brilliant turquoise. "Look, Petie," Bo said. He picked up the dog and held him so he had no choice but to look at the painting. "See?"

Petie looked, for a moment, then squirmed in Bo's chubby arms until he turned completely around, then thoroughly licked the boy's neck. Bo giggled. "I like you, Petie."

"He likes you, too," Marissa said, lugging in another box of computer supplies. Why had Gary agreed to let her work from here? And if she could work away from the office, why had he turned her down, every time, when she asked to telecommute?

Because allowing Marissa to work from home didn't get his company's name mentioned on the radio each morning, that's why.

"Where do you want me to set up your computer?" Amy asked.

"In there, I guess." Marissa pointed to the cozy dining room. A round gla.s.s-top table with a bra.s.s stand was centered in the room, with four white chairs around its perimeter. "Since it looks like my roommate has already taken over the living room." The s.p.a.cious desk in the living room was covered with numerous files and stacks of papers, several notepads, a cell phone, a cordless phone, a fax machine, and a computer with the DieHardAtlanta logo floating across the monitor as the screen saver.

"Okay," Amy said, unpacking the computer, while Bo chased Petie around the apartment. "So what did Mona say about you moving in here?"

"Believe it or not, I haven't had the chance to tell her. She's only called once since she left for Branson, and I was in the shower when she called. I tried to call her back, but got her voice mail." Marissa shrugged. "I didn't think I should leave a message that I'm now living with a guy I hate."

Amy snorted. "Yeah, you probably should tell her that one in person." She turned on the computer. "I wish Candi could have come. Seems like she's always working."

"She managed to go to Landon's baseball game with you yesterday, though, didn't she?" Marissa asked. "She told me when she called last night with her ideas about this week's s.e.xiest smile poll. I'm a.s.suming she talked to Keith Parker while she was there?"

"Hmph," Amy said. "He couldn't do diddly squat on the field yesterday, because he kept staring up at the stands at her, and there she was, ogling right back. It was a downright embarra.s.sment for the team." Watching the computer whir to life, Amy concentrated on the monitor and didn't look up.

Marissa knew why. "You loved it, didn't you? Candi losing her head over this guy, and the guy doing the same over her? I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't already given her some of your toys, just in case."

Amy's green eyes glittered with mischief as she peeked over the top of the computer screen. "They were so cute! He's crazy about her, I can tell."

"Uh-huh, Miss Matchmaker. Just remember that Candi's heart has been trampled before, so she doesn't need to rush into anything." Marissa took her attention from the DieHardAtlanta logo to the two bedrooms branching off the living area. She peeked into the one that Trent had already claimed. A king-sized bed took up the majority of the s.p.a.ce, with a plush turquoise comforter and overstuffed pillows covering a span of s.p.a.ce in front of the bra.s.s headboard.

"You sure we're not talking about your your heart?" Amy asked, her voice eerily close to Marissa's left ear. Marissa's face reddened, guilty not only of checking out the enemy camp, but also of wondering whether the enemy slept in the buff. heart?" Amy asked, her voice eerily close to Marissa's left ear. Marissa's face reddened, guilty not only of checking out the enemy camp, but also of wondering whether the enemy slept in the buff.

"My heart is fine, and getting used to guys who love their tubas, or their mothers, or their other girlfriends, or their other men, more than me."

"Right. Ever wondered if you didn't pick those guys on purpose?" Amy asked. "Some people have a fear of success in business, you know. I learned about that when I was working. Maybe some people also have a fear of success in love. And maybe you're one of those people."

Marissa's jaw dropped. "Why would I-" She stopped midsentence when the door to the apartment opened and a sweaty Trent Jackson entered. He wore a black sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt, black running shorts with a red Nike swoosh at the lower left corner, and a whole lot of muscles. Everywhere.

"Morning," he said, grabbing a towel from a table near the door and wiping his face. He gave Marissa a crooked half-grin, then turned his attention toward the other female in the room. "I didn't know anyone else was coming."

"I'm Amy Brooks," Amy said, obviously not as disoriented as Marissa by the hunk in the doorway. Then again, Amy was used to being around her own heavenly hunk. Marissa wasn't as adjusted to the scene before her, and she needed to figure out what to do about that liability, before she jumped his sweaty bones, and then then remembered that she hated him. remembered that she hated him.

"The s.e.x advice columnist on AtlantaTellAll," Trent said, and Amy beamed. "And you're married to the guy on Keith's baseball team, right?"

"Not bad," she said, nodding, then winking. "It's smart to know your adversary. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, that's what Wanda Campbell, my mother, always says."

Trent grinned, and the effect of that grin on Marissa was disarming. "You're not the enemy," he said, then added, "and neither am I. Marissa just hasn't realized it yet."

"You know, I'd love to stay and chat with you about that comment," Amy said, apparently having loads of fun, "but I read the rules, and I know that when you two are here, no one else is allowed. And there's no way I want to cause Marissa to miss out on her part of that prize. In fact, I think the rules also said you can't leave the apartment alone after you arrive."

"That's close," he said, "but the rules say we can't leave the apartment alone once both both of us have moved in. Since Marissa wasn't here when I arrived, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to go for my morning run." He checked the coyote-shaped clock on the wall. "We don't have anything on the schedule until Coleman and Speedy call at nine, and I got here pretty early, so I figured I was safe." of us have moved in. Since Marissa wasn't here when I arrived, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to go for my morning run." He checked the coyote-shaped clock on the wall. "We don't have anything on the schedule until Coleman and Speedy call at nine, and I got here pretty early, so I figured I was safe."

But am I safe? Marissa wondered. She should have had s.e.x, or at least a good o.r.g.a.s.m, before moving in with this ma.s.s of testosterone for five days. What was she thinking? Then again, having s.e.x required two people, and she didn't have anyone in mind for the other half of that equation. Well, okay, she did, and she was looking at him, the conceited jerk. An o.r.g.a.s.m, on the other hand, could have happened fairly easily, with Pinky's help, but she'd been so nervous about the move and so busy making sure she didn't forget to pack anything . . . Marissa wondered. She should have had s.e.x, or at least a good o.r.g.a.s.m, before moving in with this ma.s.s of testosterone for five days. What was she thinking? Then again, having s.e.x required two people, and she didn't have anyone in mind for the other half of that equation. Well, okay, she did, and she was looking at him, the conceited jerk. An o.r.g.a.s.m, on the other hand, could have happened fairly easily, with Pinky's help, but she'd been so nervous about the move and so busy making sure she didn't forget to pack anything . . .

Trent moved to the kitchen, withdrew a bottle of water from the fridge, and started downing it, his throat working in a magically s.e.xy way with every swallow.

Marissa's knees decided to stop working correctly, and she promptly sat in the desk chair in the living room. Who was she kidding? A A s.e.xual release? As in-one? It'd easily take a couple, or a few, or heck, a whole night of them, to leave her unaffected by s.e.xual release? As in-one? It'd easily take a couple, or a few, or heck, a whole night of them, to leave her unaffected by that that.

"Well, in that case," Amy said, "I guess we should be going."

"We?" Trent asked, twisting the cap back on the bottle and leaning out of the kitchen to scan the living area.

As if on cue, Bo darted out of Marissa's bedroom with Petie at his heels. Petie wasn't barking, however, because his mouth was full.

Marissa's eyes bulged at the bright pink, oddly shaped object hanging out of her tiny dog's mouth and bigger than any of his chew toys. "OhmyG.o.d."

"Is that a-" Trent started, then stopped when Amy held up her palm.

"Don't say another word," she warned. "There's a child present." Then she audibly took a deep breath and, wearing a smile, she turned to her son, grinning at her as though Marissa's dog hadn't just entered the living area, in front of Trent, with a misshapen vibrator hanging out of his mouth. At least the thing wasn't switched on. If it had been, Trent would also have learned that the sucker lit up like a rainbow strobe light when activated.

"Bo," Amy said calmly. "What are you and Petie doing?"

"Playing fetch." A reasonable answer, if the dog were toting a bone, or a stick, or anything but Pinky.

Marissa wanted to die.

"Where did you find that-toy?" Amy asked.

"I jumped on Aunt Rissi's bed and knocked her bag off. Then that pink bone fell out, and Petie liked it," Bo said, with his trademark toothy grin.

Pink bone. Have mercy.

"I did not not pack that," Marissa said emphatically. pack that," Marissa said emphatically.

"No, you didn't," Amy said. "I did." She grabbed the "pink bone" from Petie, then took it to the sink and promptly washed it with soapy water. Only Amy would have no qualms whatsoever about removing a vibrator from a dog's mouth and proceeding to clean it up in the sink, while a sweaty, s.e.xy hunk watched in bewilderment.

"You've never seen one of those before?" she asked, when he continued to look at the thing.

"I've seen my share," he admitted. "But I've never seen one so pink, or so crooked. And I'm wondering why you packed it for Rissi, since she obviously didn't even know it was in her bag."

"Ma-ris-sa," Marissa said, glaring at him.

"He called you Rissi," Trent said, pointing to Bo, watching his mother wash the pink bone. called you Rissi," Trent said, pointing to Bo, watching his mother wash the pink bone.

"He's three," Marissa said. "And he's cute."

Trent c.o.c.ked a brow, and Amy had the audacity to shake her head, as though she knew Marissa had messed up with that one, but Marissa continued, nonetheless. "And when Bo first started talking, he couldn't say 'Marissa' so he called me 'Rissi.' That's it."

"I see," Trent said, but he wasn't looking at Marissa. His attention was on Amy, drying the vibrator with a paper towel before leaving the kitchen and carrying the thing back into Marissa's bedroom.

She returned within seconds, no sign of Pinky.

"Amy, why did you pack that?" Marissa asked.

"And why is it crooked?" Trent followed up.

"Bo, will you go clean up the rest of Aunt Rissi's things that fell out? Just stuff them all back in the bag for me, okay?"

"Okay," he said, trotting back into the bedroom with Petie happily following.

"First of all, it's crooked because it's designed to hit the G-spot, every time. I know because I designed it, and it was the top-selling novelty item at Adventurous Accessories last year."

Marissa opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. What would she say to that, anyway?

"And second"-Amy twisted on her heel to face Marissa-"I packed it in case you got tempted." She shrugged as though this admission wouldn't horrify Marissa, or intrigue the guy in the kitchen.

"Tempted?" he coaxed. "Tempted to do what, may I ask?"

"No, you may not," Marissa said, turning toward Trent. "And would you mind giving us a chance to talk, alone?"

"No problem." He put the bottle back in the fridge, then smiled as he pa.s.sed the two of them to enter his bedroom. "I have to shower anyway," he called from the other side of the door.

Marissa stared at the closed door.

"You know you're gonna need it," Amy said.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks for packing it," Marissa whispered.

"You have to still hate him on Friday if you want to quit the day job," Amy reminded with a grin. "It's gonna be hard to hate a guy that looks like that and drives you as crazy as he does. I should know; Landon drove me crazy, too. He still does, but in a good way. Oh, I put an extra eight-pack of batteries in the side pocket of your bathroom bag."

"Gotcha," Marissa said, fighting the impulse to laugh. "Tell me something. Is he really that hot, or have I just been too long without s.e.x?"

"Oh, you've definitely been too long," Amy said, while Bo emerged from the bedroom.

"We finished," he said, grinning.

"Good job," Amy said. "And we've got to go now."

"You coming?" Bo asked Marissa.

"Aunt Rissi is going to stay here this week."

"Like a vacation?" he asked, his green eyes alight with excitement.

"Kind of," Marissa said.

"I guess you noticed there's only one bathroom, and it adjoins the two bedrooms," Amy said.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Use Pinky, often," Amy whispered. "I put her in the nightstand drawer, under a People People magazine." magazine."

"Don't worry. I will."

"Petie's tired." Bo squatted next to Petie's doggie bed, where Petie had already curled up with the majority of his head hidden beneath a front leg. Petie fluttered one eye open at Bo's words, then promptly closed it again.

"Yeah, Petie's tired," Marissa said. Either that, or he was pouting over having his pink bone taken away.

Amy gave Marissa a tight squeeze. "Now, we've gotta get going. Tell Aunt Rissi bye, Bo."

Bo left Petie sleeping and ran to Marissa to get in on the hugging. "Bye, Aunt Rissi."

"Bye, sweetie." Marissa tousled his blond curls as he opened the door.

Amy followed her son, but stopped long enough to state the obvious. "Marissa?"

"Yeah?"

"About what we were saying, you have been too long, but he really is that hot. Even so, if you don't hate him at the end of the week, you can kiss that ad campaign good-bye."

"I know." Marissa waited for the door to close, then hurried to her room. Listening to the shower water running, she opened the nightstand drawer, pushed the magazine aside and grabbed the crooked vibrator. Then she pressed the on on switch and prayed that Trent Jackson took a long, very long, shower. switch and prayed that Trent Jackson took a long, very long, shower.

While the ultimate cure for s.e.xual tension is s.e.x, fifteen minutes with Pinky isn't far behind.

-MARISSA K KINCAID

Chapter 12.

Trent dressed in a black T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans, not his traditional business attire, but then again, his work agenda for the week wasn't anywhere near traditional. And enticing Marissa Kincaid into his bed was a much more intriguing goal than determining how to make the most of a Jackson Enterprises acquisition. Much more intriguing.

He'd spent a lot of time trying to win at business, on his own, without help from his father and grandfather. Thanks to all of the publicity generated by his feud with Marissa, he'd won the battle for DieHardAtlanta. As a matter of fact, after their radio broadcast Friday morning, he'd spent the remainder of that day making the finis.h.i.+ng touches and inking the contract to put the print format of his magazine in motion. And if everything continued on schedule, the first print issue of DieHardAtlanta would hit Atlanta newsstands in January. Not bad for a guy who, merely two weeks ago, couldn't get approval for the venture from his financial advisor.

Undoubtedly, he was on the right path to making his mark and winning the game in his business life, but he'd yet to reach the same goal in his personal one. This week, that could change, but not without effort. He didn't care about the seven-figure media campaign; he'd already generated the equity he needed. Winning the DieHardAtlanta battle wasn't the goal anymore; he now had a new objective . . . winning Rissi Kincaid.