Loving Ms. Wrong Read online

  He obliges, and his rich baritone follows me toward the back. “Hey, you didn’t answer me.”

  I smile, aware he can’t see it. “I thought it would be easier to show you.”

  “Uh… okay.”

  I open the old storage room door, the one across the hall from my temporary new home, and step inside. Marcus follows close behind.

  “Holy shit,” he says while shifting his phone around the room to illuminate my equipment and worktable, strewn with various clamps, vises, metal files, snips… you name it. Everything needed to cut and work the metal to fit my vision. “You mean you sculpt metal into art pieces?”

  I nod, realize he can’t see me and say, “Yeah, but apparently not very well. It didn’t pay the bills. So I tried something new with this shop.”

  His voice sounds cool and kind of distant. “Talk about complete opposite ends of the spectrum.”

  I raise one shoulder. “Suck it and see.”

  Marcus sputters and starts to cough. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Shine over here, please.” I motion toward the table. That duct tape has got to be here somewhere. I think I used it to hold a shape before welding a piece last month. “It’s an Australian term. Kind of like, ‘you don’t know until you try it.’”

  “Most people I know wouldn’t apply that kind of logic to a new career path.”

  “A-hah! Found it,” I say while closing my hand over the elusive duct tape. I stroll back to the doorway feeling accomplished. “I’m not most people.” I stop in front of him and then scoot past him, brushing him lightly with my body in passing.

  “I’m beginning to see that.”

  I may not be able to find happiness in the arms of another person, but that doesn’t seem to stop my traitorous body from wanting.

  We spend the next twenty minutes drying the wet glass as best we can with paper towels and taping the outside crack and then repeating the process on the inside as well. By the time we’re done we’re both soaking wet, despite the steam I thought must be coming off my skin from standing so close to him while we worked.

  Marcus shudders in his wet jeans and soaked polo.

  “Can I offer you some hot tea in thanks?”

  The lean-hipped man glances outside. “Thanks, but how about I see you home so we can call it a night?”

  Well, guess I must be the only one here who thinks the other is good looking enough to continue the encounter. Nice. Or maybe he just wants to get home and out of his wet clothes.

  “Is your place in one of the units over the store? Where’s the entrance? Around back or the side?”

  Ah… here it comes. Where I have to tell him I live here, too. Loser.

  “I…er, uh… I li—”

  “Hey, do you see that?” He’s craning his neck to look down the street. “Looks like there’s a roadblock being set up to keep people from driving down this way.”

  Lightning flashes again, followed closely by more thunder. “The rain hasn’t let up one bit. Maybe they’re closing roads to keep cars safe.”

  “Great… just great,” he says.

  “How far away do you live?”

  He shrugs, his profile lit up by another flash of lightning. “Far enough that it’s going to be one hell of a miserable long walk.”

  I bite my lip. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Why don’t you stay here until the worst of it lets up? Can’t be long now ’til the storm breaks.”

  Marcus hesitates, then nods. “Okay. Let’s lock up here and make a dash to your place. It’s not like we can get any wetter.”

  I stare down at the puddle we’ve made by the front door. “We’re here.” I reach a hand out and turn the lock in the door, sealing us both inside.

  “You mean you live here, too? Is that even legal?”

  Leave it to a guy to say what even my girlfriends politely ignored. Let him judge me for being tight on money without knowing all the details. I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t even know him. Good-looking bastard. “Probably not. Do you want that hot drink, or no?”

  “Might as well.” He sighs and whips his soaked shirt off. “Do you have a sink back there I can ring this out in?”

  I nod, incapable of speech at the moment. The skin of his chest is puckered from the cold, beading his tiny man-nipples to stiff nubs sitting on the sculpted muscles of his lean build. A light dusting of hair trails down his torso and over his six-pack of abs. Holy hell, he looks good.

  The light from his phone starts to waver. “Shit. This thing is just about dead. Don’t suppose you have candles back there, do you?”

  I pry my tongue from the roof of my mouth and squeeze out a reply. “Uh… yeah. I do.” So worldly and smooth. Nice job, Trina.

  He gives a tiny bow and sweeps his arm toward the back. “Lead on, my lady.”

  I scoop up my shoes and purse as we squish our way to the back of the store again. The floors will need attention tomorrow morning before opening, I’m sure.

  Yeah, that’s what you should focus on when you’re leading a hot guy back to your windowless, college-student-like digs. The floor. Idiot.

  His phone dies completely when we’re in the hall. I almost jump when his hand rests on my shoulder. “Which way now, Katrina?”

  I hesitate and turn left, toward my small art studio. “I’ve got a blowtorch and a clicker to light it in here.”

  He chuckles softly behind me, pressing closer as I lead him through the doorway. “Now that’s not something you hear every day.”

  His hand drops to my waist, the other hand joining to land on my opposite hip, the position apparently easier for him to follow me in the pitch black. Sparks fly at the contact, despite the wet clothes making me feel like a half-drowned rat.

  We bump our way to the workbench and I feel around ’til I find the items I need, dropping my shoes and purse on the flat surface in the process. I open the gas valve just a little on the hand held tank and attempt to light it. After several shaky clicks of the metal igniter a sharp-tipped flame sparks into existence.

  “Score!” Marcus says cheerfully from behind me. “We have light.”

  I reach for my shoes and motion toward my purse. “Can you grab that and dig my keys out? There’s a lock on my room, too.”

  “Sure.”

  We make it back through my workroom and into the hall much faster with the added light from the blowtorch. He digs around in my purse, spilling a couple of items out to the floor.

  “Whoops, sorry about that.” He hands me the keys and then bends to retrieve whatever fell.

  His soft laughter greets me as I slide the key home. A grin a mile wide stretches his face as he holds up the sex die—again.

  “Looks like the universe is trying to tell us something.”

  Chapter Four

  Marcus

  Katrina stands frozen in place. I’d only meant my comment as an icebreaker, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. At least she’s not looking at me in horror like she did in the cab. Maybe after working together on the window she’s warming to me.

  “Hey, I’m kidding,” I say, trying to diffuse her distress. “We just met. I’m not some creep you have to worry about being stuck in a storm with.”

  Katrina lets out a breath and steps through the door. “Come on in. It’s not much, and it’s only temporary.”

  I can’t see much past the circle of illumination cast from the blowtorch. If she hadn’t said she lives here, I might have thought it was a really nice break room for employees. There’s a futon couch, a small table with two chairs, and a neat counter area with a microwave, a sink, and a tiny fridge underneath. There may be more to the space, but that’s all I can make out so far.

  My eyes have had a chance to adjust to the light and I head to the counter with my dripping shirt and her purse. She bustles around behind me while I set the purse aside and wring out my shirt in the sink, leaving it draped on the edge when I’m done. The hiss of the blowtorch cuts off and a faint glow lights be
hind me.

  I turn to see a round fat candle, with three lit wicks, sitting on the small table in the corner. Katrina holds another short candle in a glass container in one hand. “I’m going to change. I’ll be right back.”

  She enters a door in the back wall, which I assume must be the bath. “Hey,” I call after her. “Can you bring me out a towel when you’re done?”

  “Yeah.”

  I stand in place, shivering a little from the wet jeans. Would she totally freak out if I take them off before she returns? Probably, so I better wait.

  What an odd way to spend a Friday night. Tony got his payback and more, the bastard. As if a shy, reserved woman wasn’t bad enough. She also has no direction in life and lives illegally in her place of business. She’s good-looking enough, but wrong for me in every sense of the word. I want someone more like me. For conversation starters, you can’t beat chatting with someone you share similar interests—so far of which, we have none.

  This one seems like she may have issues. Who wants to save someone from themselves? Too much work. Not me. No thanks. I’d much prefer a frivolous woman who likes to shop. Much easier to figure out. A woman with a blowtorch and metal saws in the next room? Wouldn’t want to piss her off.

  Judgmental prick. Aren’t you the one who always preaches that you’re not looking for anything serious with a woman? What the hell do you care what her life is like?

  Okay, that’s true. I do say shit along those lines. But it doesn’t mean I’d turn down the perfect woman if she came waltzing into my life either.

  Perfect woman? They don’t exist. Get over yourself.

  I toe my shoes off and leave them by the door, glad I don’t have wet socks to add to my sodden pile of clothes. God, I can’t wait to get out of these jeans. I swear I haven’t been this cold in years. At least with the power out the building’s AC isn’t making it worse.

  The door opens and she walks in shyly, wearing tight exercise pants and a loose t-shirt, holding a fluffy towel in one hand. Her short hair is spiked up like she rubbed it vigorously with a towel. She looks less like a drowned street urchin and more like a woman fresh from the shower.

  “Do you mind if I hang my pants up in the bathroom?” I ask. “They’re a mess.”

  “No, go right ahead.” She hands me the towel in passing. This all feels a little surreal. I’m literally going to be down to my skivvies with a woman I just met and we’re not going to be getting busy. “There’s a robe on the back of the door. You’re welcome to it if you don’t mind pink.”

  I smile. “I’m so cold, I’d wear pink satin with hearts if it was dry and warm.”

  I shut the door, thankful she left the small candle, and strip out of the clinging material, leaving on my damp boxers. They’re wet, but not as bad as the pants. Just a guess, but going commando under her robe would probably not be well received.

  Thought you didn’t care?

  There’s nothing wrong with showing a little respect. She is letting me stay here until the storm passes.

  I hang the jeans over her shower rod, the die I pocketed earlier falling onto the floor. I scoop it up with a smile and shove it into one of the pockets on the robe. After toweling off I don Katrina’s pink fluffy robe. The sleeves are short and the hem stops above my knee.

  Uncaring if I look ridiculous or not, and grateful to be dry again, I emerge from the bathroom with a flourish of arms. “Ta-da! Dry and encased in this year’s biggest fashion trend: pink chenille.”

  Katrina laughs from her position by the counter. She’s lit the blowtorch again, adjusted it way down, and holds the wildly flickering flame under a glass measuring container. “You look good. The robe is cute on you. Not many guys could pull that off.”

  Glad to see her in good spirits, I join her by the sink. “Not many guys have the inflated self-confidence to try.”

  She smiles while moving the torch under the glass slowly. “And you do? You didn’t strike me as the cocky, arrogant type.”

  I shrug. “Wait ’til you get to know me. I put up a good front.”

  Her eyes seek out mine in the candlelight. “Meaning what?”

  “Nothing.” Eager to change the topic I nod toward her experiment. “You’re pretty industrious in a pinch. Good idea for heating the water.”

  “I like to think of it as indoor camping.”

  “Nice! All we need are marshmallows and we’d be all set.”

  “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ve got tea and hot chocolate. No instant coffee, sorry. Which would you like?”

  I move to the futon and take a seat, conscious to pull the robe closed so I’m not flashing her. Boxers can sometimes be more open than a guy might like. “Cocoa sounds great. Perfect for chasing off the last of the chill.”

  “That rain was pretty bad, eh? I’m really lucky you were here to help.”

  Her words warm me. How long has it been since a woman felt lucky to have me around? Granted, I’ve never actually had to pay for the pleasure of their company, but I’ve had a bit of a dry spell lately with the fairer sex.

  Could be because your standards are too high and you’re a bit of a dick.

  “All the thanks goes to Tony. I’m sorry to say offering to escort you home hadn’t even occurred to me until he suggested it.”

  She nods, accepting my honesty at face value and not making me regret it. Some women would use such an admission as an excuse to beat you down and make you apologize. Like you get no credit since the idea wasn’t yours even if the action was.

  “They seem happy.” She reaches for two mugs on a shelf over the sink. “What do you think?”

  I’ve let go of the minor jealousy I’d initially felt a few weeks ago, so I’m able to answer from the heart. “They’re good together. I’m happy for them.”

  Hearing something in my tone, Katrina turns off the torch and says, “I take it that wasn’t always the case?”

  I stare at the candle flame, uncomfortable admitting my immaturity. “He was my wingman. Hitting bars without him isn’t as fun. It’s hard, losing your best friend to a woman.”

  She doesn’t respond, preparing the cocoa in silence and then approaches with the steaming mugs. “Here.”

  I accept mine gratefully, wrapping my hands around the heated ceramic. She settles next to me and watches me out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t really ‘get’ the whole bar scene. Never have.”

  “Bars are great. Lots of people. Good energy for the most part. It’s not all about picking up women. Sometimes it’s just about hanging out with friends.” I take a sip of the sweet drink and smile. “Besides, it’s not like you’d have trouble finding a guy.”

  Interestingly enough, despite my previous comments about how wrong she is for me, I mean it. She’s a pleasant enough sort. And a guy would have to be blind to miss that killer body—even if she does wear baggy stuff to hide it.

  “Hmph… What difference does it make anyway?” The forced intimacy of the candlelight and our circumstances perhaps has made her bolder than she would normally be. “Guys just aren’t for me.”

  “Oh…” I say, a light going on inside. “Oh! So you prefer women? Okay, that’s cool. To each their own and all that.” I ignore the tiny bit inside that’s disappointed over her announcement.

  She chuckles softly and pulls her knees up to her chest. “Ah… no… that didn’t work either.” She takes a sip of her cocoa and then focuses on a spot on the floor.

  Fascinating… that’s what she is. Throwing out conversation bombs like that and then clamming up. She’s been with men and woman. I wonder if she’s ever been with both at once. I shift slightly in my seat, aware of the blood rushing to my cock. I bet it’s all some ploy to get me talking… and it’s working. I can’t see her as a long-term relationship, but she could be a lot of fun. If I can get her to relax.

  I move on the couch, turning to get a better look at her and something pokes me in the kidney. Digging into the pocket I fish out the sex die.

  �
�Maybe you needed to try something daring…” I say while twirling the little bit of plastic in two fingers.

  “Ah… no thanks,” she says, jumping to the wrong conclusion with my vague statement. “I’ve had sex with strangers. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Really? That’s not what I meant. But I didn’t take you for the type.”

  The flickering flames cast shadows over her oval face, the dark bangs hanging low over one eye. She appears lost in thought—or memories she’d rather not discuss. I wonder what drove her to wild behavior if she didn’t enjoy it.

  “I meant rolling the dice and seeing what position it lands on. Might make for a funny conversation.”

  She ignores me and takes another drink. Thunder booms loudly overhead, rumbling through the foundation of the building. It’s a nice reminder I’m going to be here for a while.

  Still no response from the woman sipping hot chocolate.

  On a whim, I grab the large candle off the table in the corner and set it on the low coffee table in front of the futon. I fist the die in one hand and shake it vigorously, trying to look silly. Nothing. I open my hand and the plastic rattles across the wood, settling on a side with a couple locked in an embrace.

  I pick it up and angle it toward the candle so I can discern the sexual position better. “Doggie-style. Good one.”

  I glance at Katrina to see if she’s shocked or bored…something—I’d like to see a reaction of any kind. She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop, unwilling to meet my eyes. I’d like to keep her talking if I can. What drove her to have sex with strangers? Could she have been a call girl or something? What would drive a woman to make such a choice?

  Despite my earlier claims of wanting nothing deep, she’s got my attention. I hadn’t realized what an attractive challenge a distant woman would make. Contrary to my past exploits, this one I’d like to get to know better.

  “It’s also called cow position, or the congress of a cow, in the Kama Sutra,” she says in a low tone. “There’s a few variations with legs open or closed while kneeling, supporting yourself on hands or elbows… that kind of thing.”