Loving Ms. Wrong Page 4

  I hadn’t expected her to know historical names, or to chime in with fun facts. Good sign. “Really? I hadn’t known.”

  Her head whips to the side to stare at me, an incredulous look on her face.

  “Back up there, honey. I have had sex in that position.” I smile to diffuse the tension. “I meant the name. I’m well aware of the different ways to…er, uh… change it up.”

  “Oh.”

  Yeah, this is going well. I’ll try again. Smooth operator. Yeah, that’s me. “So… you… um… didn’t care for being taken from behind?”

  “Not really.” She averts her gaze again. “Maybe it was me.”

  “Maybe it was the guy.”

  “Whatever.”

  She fidgets on the couch, obviously uncomfortable, but still talking to me about it.

  “If it’s done right I think both parties can… enjoy it.” I adjust my growing woody. This is turning into an interesting conversation.

  Katrina squirms and lowers her feet back to the floor. “Hey, is it getting hot in here? The AC is off. I bet it was bound to happen.”

  I hide a grin and help her out. “Could be the hot drink, too.”

  I roll the dice again, eager to see what she says about the next position. This is more fun than I thought it would be. I examine the side facing up. “Sixty-nine. Always a crowd pleaser.”

  “Hmph… leave it to a guy to say that.” She pulls her toned legs up to sit Indian style on the futon and glares at me once before looking away.

  “What? I am a guy.” I pick up my cocoa and relax back on the couch. “What’s wrong with good ole soixante neuf?”

  “The French name sounds so much nicer. Nothing’s wrong with it, per se. It’s just hard for a woman to really enjoy it with the guy shoved down her throat.”

  I’ve known women who prefer the position to straight oral, but I wisely refrain from saying anything. She does have a point. Could be why when I’ve been in a situation where we’re both mutually enjoying the position, and the woman has her peak, she’s not trying to deep throat me. I cringe at the thought of the teeth-scraping-skin injury that could induce—you know, with all the spasms during a good orgasm. Yikes.

  “You’re turn to roll,” I say.

  “What? Me?” She sits up quickly, spine straight and a frantic look on her face. “How is it my turn? You just started rolling the dice on your own. I didn’t agree to play a game with you.” Her anxiety level has shot through the roof. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Relax, Katrina.” I reach out to touch her knee. “I was just trying to have some fun.” I remove my hand and motion to the room with the mug in my other hand. “There’s no power—which means no movies, no TV, no Internet, no music, and no way for you to tune me out. It’s all in fun. No pressure.”

  We sit quietly for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. When she clears her throat, I can tell she’s calmed down. “You really think I’m tuning you out?”

  I set my empty mug down, no longer as cold as I was before we started taking about the positions on the die. “Why does it matter what I think? You’re a self contained woman living on her own…doing exactly what she wants… shouldn’t matter what I think.”

  She slumps in her corner of the futon and mumbles, “Shouldn’t. But it does.”

  I caught what she said. She had to have wanted me to hear it, right?

  “Why does what I think matter, Katrina? We just met. After the storm lets up you could choose to never see me again.”

  “Because… once upon a time… when life was simpler… you were everything I’d ever hoped for in a man.”

  It’s my turn to sit up in surprise. “Me? You don’t even know me.”

  She hugs her arms around her middle like she’s cold, when a little bit ago she claimed of being hot. “I know enough about you… and it’s more about what you represent.”

  I raise an eyebrow in speculation, which she doesn’t see because she’s staring into the candle flame. “And what is that?”

  “Steady career, and the solid sense of self a secure job brings. You’re a handsome, put-together guy. Confidence to talk to anyone—and a goodness in you that didn’t allow you to walk away when I needed help.”

  Her words trigger something in me. I’m not sure what but it has my pulse pounding, my heart racing to leap out of my chest. “You make me sound like a boy scout.” I sit up in frustration, a scowl twisting my mouth. “And trust me. I’m not.”

  “Oh, really?” she says with a challenge in her tone. “And what’s so bad about being called a boy scout?”

  “Would a boy scout do this?” I lean over the space between us and plant my mouth on hers.

  Chapter Five

  Katrina

  Marcus’s warm lips mold to mine, smelling faintly of chocolate. He’s staring straight into my eyes, the candlelight flickering across his face. Tingles of sensation cascade away from where our mouths meet, the gentle pressure increasing slightly with every second.

  My gut reaction is to push him away, after all, what’s the point when I’ll just disappoint him later? But I hold off, resisting the urge.

  His supple, soft lips draw sensations from me I haven’t felt in years. My eyes drift close, allowing me to lose myself in the moment. This is what it was like years ago… before. I hear a low moan in the dim room and it takes me a moment to realize the sound is coming from me.

  Apparently, the noise was all the encouragement Marcus needed. His tongue ventures out, tracing the slight opening in my lips, as if he’s asking permission to enter.

  I feel warm all over, with my heart beating faster with each breath. What do I want? I don’t know this man well. Nothing good could possibly come of allowing this to go further.

  Ignoring the pull of my body, I draw away, gasping for air.

  “Would a boy scout do that?” he says with a whisper.

  I open my eyes, Marcus’s intense gaze still focused on me.

  “Uh… what?”

  He reaches a hand toward my face and I pull back, drawing deeper into my corner of the couch. He lowers his arm and smiles, seeming content for now with sitting closer to me than he was before. I’m not feeling threatened by his closeness—oddly enough, I’m excited by it.

  Oddly? That’s how you’re supposed to react, idiot.

  Yeah, in a perfect world, sure. But my world hasn’t been perfect for a very long time.

  “You accused me of being a boy scout. Would I have done that if I was?”

  His reaction to whatever I said that upset him before is kind of amusing, but I doubt he’d appreciate it if I said so. A grin stretches across my face despite my best intentions. “How else would there eventually be little boy scouts in the world if they didn’t kiss girls?”

  He laughs, long and loud, tipping his head back on the futon. “Touché. Good one.” He turns his smiling face toward me. “You have a sense of humor when you want to.”

  “Haven’t had a lot to laugh about recently.”

  “Oh.” He looks lost for what to say. “You mean having to move in here?”

  I stand and move a few feet from the couch, eager to stretch out my muscles and lose some of the tension knotting me up inside. “The move was the last in a string of shitty breaks.”

  Marcus sits up and watches me. “What are you doing?”

  “I plan on stretching, do you mind? I think I may have pulled something when I fell in the store.”

  His gaze roams over me, igniting sparks deep in my middle. “Not at all.” He smiles, a wolfish grin if there ever was one. “Please proceed.” Heat seeps into my limbs—brought on, I’m sure, by knowing he’s watching me. “If you’re really in pain I could rub your back for you.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, facing away from him. “I’ll keep the offer in mind.”

  I raise my arms over my head and feel the twinge in my back from earlier. Dammit, I should have done this right away instead of allowing my unease in his presence to make me immobile. />
  Lowering my hands to the floor, I stretch slowly and gently, easing away the tightness with each breath. Once my palms lay flat on the floor, I slide them to wrap around my ankles and bend deeper into the move.

  “You’re really in great shape. How many days a week do you work out?”

  “Uh… Every day?” I turn my head to where he’s seated. “I can’t sleep if I don’t meditate.”

  “What does meditating have to do with working out?”

  I return my palms to the floor then jump my legs back to position myself for downward facing dog.

  “Hey now. Look at you, sexy yoga lady. That pose certainly conjures some nice ideas.”

  I hear the smile in his voice, so I ignore the comment and answer his previous question. “Yoga was originally developed to strengthen the body for long hours of meditation.”

  “Really? The things you learn from a hot girl with her ass in the air…”

  I laugh, sinking deeper into the stretch. “You think I’m hot? Thanks.”

  “Oh come on… you ladies always pretend you have no idea when you’re attractive. But seriously, you do own a mirror, right?”

  A quick glance under my arm reveals he’s still sitting casually on the futon, my robe opening up slightly to expose his well-muscled chest. “Couldn’t the same be said for guys? Some of you seem to relish in pretending you’re not attractive.”

  “That’s not me.” He stretches out his long legs and crosses his arms behind his head, the perfect epitome of confidence and arrogance. “I know I’m good-looking.”

  I snort. “And so modest, too.”

  “Am I supposed to play dumb and pretend to think I’m ugly? Life is too short for that kind of BS. You might not be able to tell while wearing this fluffy concoction, but I like to dress nice. That’s not a crime, is it?” He shifts his arms to cross over his stomach, lending a defensive air to his lounging. “Are you going to tease me and call me a metrosexual now, too?” His tone turned snarky at the end. I’m guessing this is a sore spot for him. I wonder why.

  I lower from the pose and jump my feet forward, already feeling better from the stretch. Raising my arms to the ceiling, and my left foot to my inner thigh in tree pose, I say, “Why would you think I’d say such a thing to you?” I lower my hands to rest palm to palm in front of my chest. “Who am I to judge you?”

  His breath whooshes out in a loud puff of air. “You surprise me when I least expect it.”

  I let him relax on his own for a moment, enjoying the calm the pose is bringing me. After a minute or so I return to my place on the futon, my back already feeling better.

  “Who said those things to you?”

  Marcus watches me intently. “You mean the metrosexual comment?” He shrugs. “Tony says that kind of shit to me all the time.”

  “And he’s supposed to be your best friend?”

  “It’s hard to explain. Guys can be real shits to each other when they want. Sometimes I think he says it to put me in my place.”

  “Put you in your place? What the hell is that? And you think women can’t be cruel, too? That’s a laugh. Most of them just learn to hide the barbs better than men do.”

  Marcus drapes an arm across the back of the couch, opening his body to me and drawing me closer mentally without ever touching me. “Why do you think people do stuff like that?”

  I stare at his exposed thigh, wishing with all my might I could reach out and touch the soft hair… what I wouldn’t give to trail a fingernail over his warm flesh. The candlelight plays on his skin, accenting the ridges of muscle I long to explore. “My best guess is people are unhappy and unconsciously lashing out at those around them… unawares of the damage their casual words cause.”

  “That’s a kinder assessment than most people would offer. News flash, Katrina: some people are just assholes.”

  His fingers brush the short hair dangling down my neck. Lightly and without pressure of wanting more. The sensation triggers awareness inside me and I can’t decide if I want to risk trying something with him, or letting it go so we both don’t wind up disappointed in the end.

  “You don’t think that’s the case with Tony, do you? I can honestly say I don’t hear crap like that from Carla, Heather, or Gemma.”

  “Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other for so long. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been jealous of him in the past.”

  “Why did you say it was him putting you in your place?”

  His hand withdraws from touching my hair and I instantly regret the words.

  “Maybe because he’s right.” His body language says he’s had enough of the topic.

  This conversation is more than I’ve shared with any one in years. Do I push him to share more, or accept that he’s said all he will for now?

  Don’t know unless you try….

  “And why would he be right?”

  Marcus remains quiet and I rip my gaze from his legs to seek out his eyes. His expression holds the remnants of an old pain, a look I’ve seen in my mirror many, many times.

  “Because all of this is an act. I came from nothing and fought for everything I am. He knows I used to dig ditches, dig graves, plant trees… pretty much anything you can think of that required a shovel and a strong back. It’s what got me through college—and because I had to pay my own way in everything took me two years longer to finish than he did.”

  My heart swells with indignation. “And what’s so bad about manual labor? A lot of people work physically hard jobs their whole life. I’ve met good people in other countries who would love a job, no matter what it was, that helped them provide for themselves or their family.

  “I think your friends busting your balls about your past is petty and stupid.”

  “Maybe it’s me.”

  “Them teasing you is your fault?”

  “Maybe I’m the one who can’t let go. Ever get the feeling like you’re your own worst enemy?”

  “Oh please, I’m the master at that shit. That’s why I—” I abruptly snap my mouth closed, aware I almost revealed more than I’d like.

  “What? That’s why you do what?”

  “Uh… nothing. I just know what you mean, that’s all.”

  “You’re done talking about it is that it? All right. Whatever. Suit yourself.” Marcus slumps back on the cushion, then looks toward the door. “I’ll go see if the rain has let up.”

  Regret gnaws at my gut. Would it be so bad to tell him what’s eating me? It’s not like we’re anything more than two ships passing in the night.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” he asks before I have a chance to muster the courage to speak up. “My phone is dead.”

  “No, sorry. How about you take the candle from the bathroom?”

  “Okay.” He disappears into the tiny bath and reemerges with the small light. “Do you have anymore candles?”

  I bite my lip. There are, but they are specialty ones for sale in the shop. And expensive. “Uh… there might be some in the store.”

  “Might be? Shouldn’t you know your stock?”

  “Yeah, I do. We do have candles—they’re here on consignment from the individual who made them, and pricey. I’m tapped for cash right now. Can’t we make due with these two for now? The storm has got to let up soon.”

  Marcus stands, a look of purpose coming over him. “Let me buy them.”

  “What are you going to do with a bunch of candles designed to heal a person? I doubt they’d be needed in your life.”

  “You’d be surprised. I think everyone needs a little healing once in a while. Come on.” He reaches out to pull me up from the couch. “Help me find them. Let’s see how bad the rain is.”

  We meander slowly through the aisles, Marcus making astute observations about the high-end products that leaves me proud of what I’ve collected here for customers. He grabs five of the specialty candles that cost well over thirty dollars each, and we eventually end up near the front door. The rain is still coming down in buckets and a
small stream looks like it’s flowing down the opposite side of the street.

  “Do you think we’ll need to worry about flooding?”

  My heart seizes in my chest, the fear of losing everything I’ve invested in this place causing a physical ache. “I—I have no idea. What the hell would I do then?”

  Marcus wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Hey now. Don’t borrow trouble before you need to. I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

  His words sound reassuring, but his tone lacks the necessary ring of truth to set my mind at ease. If I lose the inventory it will take weeks to recover, and money I don’t have to reinvest until insurance would pay up. If this act of God goes overboard I could be seeing the end of this latest dream before it ever really has a chance to succeed.

  Marcus’s stomach growls. “Do you have any food in your… apartment? Dinner was hours ago.”

  I smile at his kind description of my sleeping quarters in the back. “I bet we could heat up a can of soup. I may have cold leftovers in the fridge, too.”

  “Considering the state of the streets, you might be stuck with me for the night. Are you okay with that?”

  A flutter of interest stirs inside me. Anticipation and excitement war for the top spot. I haven’t had anyone sleep in the same room with me for at least two years. I bet it will be hard to ignore him and drift off to sleep, especially without meditating first. He’s way too cute and vulnerable for his own good.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think I can handle it. Although I might not get much sleep.”

  Marcus squeeze’s my shoulder once and chuckles. “I should only be so lucky.”

  Embarrassment flares in my cheeks as I realize what I said and how it could be misconstrued. “I… uh….”

  “Let it go, Katrina, before you give yourself a heart attack.” He trails one warm hand down my arm to clasp my hand. “Come one. Let’s get these candles lit, cook some soup… and play a game.”

  My heartbeat increases at the touch of his hand. And then his words sink in. “A game? All we have is the…”

  “Yup. The sex dice. Want to hear the game?”

  “I’m not so sure.” He pulls me gently toward the back and I feel no fear. No instinct warning me off from this man or that danger is near. But there’s plenty of heat between us to make me think I have other concerns to worry over besides my own paranoia. “Do I?” There’s a light teasing in my voice, something I haven’t allowed myself to feel for a long time.