Loving Ms. Wrong

Loving Ms. Wrong

By C.J. Ellisson

Red Hot Publishing

P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193

Smashwords Edition May 2014

Copyright 2014 C.J. Ellisson

Cover Design by Kim Killion, HotDamnDesigns.com

ISBN 9781938601309

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission
of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Katrina

“I don’t know, Gemma,” I say while teetering in the pink shoes with the zebra striped heel. “I’m not
really an animal-print type of girl. And these things are loud.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Ms. Namaste. It’s Carla’s birthday. Let loose, have some fun. Besides,

we’re all wearing zebra with pink trim. If you don’t do it you’ll look like a stuffy fuddy-duddy.”

I hide my grimace of distaste, uncaring what people think of me if I stand out for not dressing up.
Gemma shoots me a dirty look. “Katrina—I know what you’re thinking. And Carla will know,

too. Didn’t she help one of your customer’s daughters with Dress for Success when the young woman
needed clothes for a new job?”

Damn, guilt works on me every time. I’m such a sap that way. Especially when she’s right. Carla

has been a good friend to me, she even helped me move. The least I can do is not complain about the
silly party theme Gemma and Heather cooked up for her.

“All right. All right. I’ll wear them.” I sigh and take small mincing steps toward the mirror. It’s

been a long time since I’ve worn a short skirt and heels this high, preferring the long flowing skirts
and blouses I wear while working the herbal shop. I have to admit, the shoes make my legs look good.

Gemma smiles. “It’s about time you show off the body all those long hours in yoga helped

sculpt.”

I resist the urge to ignore her complimentary words and force out a low “thanks.” I don’t

practice yoga to look good. I do it to be strong enough to meditate for long hours after working in the
shop all day. Gemma, Carla, and Heather—the friends I met at the yoga studio over a year ago—do it
for the health benefits, so I don’t remind her of what they’ve collectively called my ‘eccentricities.’

They don’t know the real reason I meditate every day, and I’d rather keep it that way. Sometimes

it’s difficult to admit to a friend what you don’t even like admitting to yourself. Plain and simple,
meditating daily keeps me sane.

“Okay, chica, are we ready to roll?” Gemma asks.
I turn back to the mirror and check the new dark blue streaks in the bangs dangling over one eye.

The blue looks fun and hip. I’m glad I did it. “Yup. Let’s go.”

I lock the metal door to the mini-apartment located in the back third of my store. It’s totally

illegal for me to be living here, but my newly limited finances don’t allow for a business on this street
and a place of my own. Thankfully my friends don’t judge me, or maybe they just don’t know zoning
laws and decided to remain politely silent during my move last month. Besides, it’s temporary—only
until I get more funds in the store’s accounts. Taking on all the new pharmaceutical grade
supplements, which are used in conjunction with prescribed medication for various health concerns,
really wiped out my cash, but I have faith it was a wise move to upgrade.

We stride through the darkened aisles of well-ordered pill bottles, herbal tinctures, powders,

teas, and various homeopathic remedies. Closing time on a Friday night is eight o’clock, which was
thirty minutes ago, and the last customer left closer to seven.

“Did you get her a gift?” Gemma appears concerned. She and Heather were so cute with their

rah-rah emails and texts planning this party. I would have been a total shit if I’d forgotten or cheaped-
out due to my tight budget.

I make a detour toward the counter and grab the gift bag I set there earlier. “Yup.”
Her eyebrows rise in excitement. “What did you get?”
I laugh and motion her to precede me out the door so I can lock up. The moist humidity of

summer  wraps  around  us,  making  me  regret  leaving  the  air  conditioning  of  the  store.  Hopefully  the
predicted thunder shower will hold off ’til tomorrow. “I can follow directions, you know.” I twist the
key  in  the  lock  and  punch  in  a  code  by  the  door,  arming  the  store  alarm.  This  area  of  the  Village
doesn’t  need  the  roll-down  metal  screens  for  security,  but  then  again,  I’m  not  selling  high-end
electronics,  either.  “I  bought  her  gag  gifts,  as  instructed.”  I  smile  at  my  friend  and  loop  my  arm
through hers as we head to the subway one block down. “You’ll be so proud. Glow-in-the-dark penis
straws and penis candy necklaces.”

Gemma’s dimples appear with her huge grin. “Awesome! She’s going to laugh herself silly.”

She waves her gift bag in the air. “I got penis shot glasses and a funny girl’s only card game. Heather
has her place all decorated, the cupcakes, and a couple of other fun surprises I won’t spoil.”

I watch the ground carefully, unwilling to step in a sidewalk grating or rut with these heels on.

“You two surprised me with all the bachelorette-type stuff. She’s not getting married, right?”

“Nope. We thought it would be a nice change of pace. A girls night out theme rather than our

standard dinner and drinks out with friends.”

I like dinner and drinks out with friends, but hold back my thoughts as the two obviously had so

much fun planning tonight. “Isn’t she dating a guy from work?”

“Yes! A guy named Andy. I haven’t met him yet. Oh—and I don’t think you’ve heard the latest.”
“What’s that?”
“Heather told me Carla gave him a key to her place a couple of weeks ago.”
“Get out!” I stumble in my stride, surprised the self-proclaimed loner took such a big step.

“Good for her—I think.”

We navigate down the concrete stairs in our heels carefully, the sound and unpleasant smells of

the subway in summer rushing up to greet us.

“She’s happy,” Gemma says. “What’s there to think about?”
I shrug and look toward the train platform, unsure what to say. I am happy for her. Maybe even a

tad jealous if I’m honest with myself. I haven’t felt anything more than friendship toward a man in
years. And I’ve tried. Trust me.

But to give a guy a key to your place? I can’t even imagine doing something similar. Hi, care to

have a key to my livelihood and my residence?

I bet that would go over real well with a guy. Good thing I’m not looking for one.
The rest of the short trip is uneventful. The closer we get to Heather’s stop the more excited

Gemma becomes. She’s sweet, in an exuberant-puppy kind of way.

She grabs my hand and hustles out when the train halts at the correct street, and then pushes us up

the stairs, obviously in a rush.

I struggle to keep up, crowds can be difficult in heels. “Slow down, Gemma. I’d rather get there

without a broken ankle.”

“It’s almost nine! Carla is due to arrive at nine. I don’t want to be late.”
I quicken my pace, feeling more sure in the heels than I did at my place. “It’s not a surprise

party, right? Did I miss that detail in the dozens of texts?”

When we reach the corner, Gemma looks back and forth quickly, her long dirty blond hair

brushing her shoulders, then crosses against the light, dragging me with her. Panic seizes me for an
instant before a glance right and left assures me the street is safe. Jesus, she’s a woman on a mission.

“Not a surprise party, you’re right. But I want to be there before her.”
By sheer luck, and a heavy dose of female determination, we arrive at Heather’s place before

Carla.

Heather’s dressed in a zebra print top, a gauzy hot pink scarf belted at her waist, a short black

leather skirt, and the sexiest platform zebra shoes I’ve ever seen. I would have thought July in
Manhattan was too hot for leather, but Heather pulls it off well. It’s not like we’ll be partying on the
streets, so I’m betting the heat never came into account when picking out the skirt.

“You look fabulous, Katrina!” Heather gushes, a big smile on her face. “Look at those wild

shoes. Love them. Can I get you a drink?” She ushers us into her open floor plan apartment, the living
room on the right, and the dining room mostly open to the kitchen on the left.

I glance at the two other ladies already there and note their wine glasses are filled with a dark

liquid. Heather introduces us to the two women, one is Carla’s sister, Julie, and the other is a woman
Carla works with named Bekki. Heather informs us they’re all drinking sangria and moves to the
kitchen to get us glasses, too.

Heather’s apartment is decorated with streamers, pink and black balloons, and a few small zebra

accents. I spy other gift totes on the dining room table and deposit mine there. It’s a little after nine
and I’m sure the birthday girl will be arriving soon. Despite wearing shoes I normally wouldn’t pick,
I’m feeling good about tonight. A girls night is just what I need to get out of my current routine.

By ten-thirty we’re all a little buzzed and laughing so hard a few of us are wiping tears away. Julie
brought a game called “Who’s the Biggest Pervert?” And I’m not sure if I should be appalled or
proud that I’m the biggest pervert in the group so far. Heather and Carla toasted me twice, forcing all
of us to drink even more of the brandy infused wine laced with fruit. It goes great with the chocolate
cupcakes Heather made, so none of us complained. Then again, doesn’t everything go with chocolate?

I’m feeling no pain when Carla informs us it’s time to take the party on the road. Festooned with

tacky pink sashes that say Girls Night Out, wearing pink Mardi-gras beads and the candy penis
necklaces, and each carrying our glow in the dark straws in our purse, we’re ready to paint the town.
I’m glad there’s no mirror near the elevators or I’d probably have second thoughts about being seen in
public wearing this stuff.

“Oh, wait!” Julie shouts. “I have something fun for everyone to take home.” She wiggles her

eyebrows suggestively. “Might stir up a little ‘magic.’ You never know.” She reaches into her purse
while we enter the elevator and pulls out a handful of tiny plastic baggies. “Here,” she says while
distributing one to each of us.

Heather opens hers first. “Are these dice? The shape is odd. What are these little pictures?” She

gasps in understanding.

I look to mine and start laughing. “No way. Did you get us dirty gamer dice? These have pictures

of people having sex in different positions on each side.”

Carla squeals in delight. “So cool! I can’t wait to try this later with Andy.”
Conversation and comments swirl over each other as everyone checks out their die.
“Hey,” Bekki says as we leave the elevator. “I got a bum one. There’s two spots on here with

the guy getting head. Talk about unfair.”

“Lemme see,” says Gemma while she frantically searches her die, too. “Dammit. Mine is the

same way.”

We spill into the night, giggling like a pack of randy college girls. Julie’s laughing so hard it

takes her a second to respond. “Sorry, guys. Should have mentioned I think these things were designed
by men. All of them have the two blow job sides.”

A man in his thirties wandering by us on the sidewalk looks up at her words, checks out the lot

of us from head to toe, and smiles bright. We all laugh again.

“Seems unfair,” Heather says between gasps of laughter. “Maybe we should put white-out on

one of them and insert a question mark… like lover’s choice?”

I slip my die in my purse, glad again I came to Carla’s party. She loved all the gag gifts and

seems to be having as much fun as the rest of us.

We finally arrive at one of our favorite bars, The Parlor, located in mid-town, and teeter in on

our high heels. There are two bars upon entering, one to the right and one on the left. The left one is
more reserved and smaller, more of a place patrons wait to be seated in the back for dinner. And
there’s a downstairs, too. It’s all bar and empty floor space.

Some weekends they have a band, or a DJ plays for dancing. We saunter into the bar on the right,

listening for signs a band might be tuning up downstairs. One of the bartenders sees us and smiles at
our attire. His attention draws the eye of customers and half a dozen men turn to stare at us as well.
After all, we are all wearing pink sashes and some form of zebra striped item. I bet we look a sight.

A blush warms my cheek and I smile in surprise before I can stop myself. There’s something to

be said about drinking copious amounts of sangria and hanging out with friends. I feel like I’m on top
of the world. And considering I’ve had trouble feeling anything but ambivalence for the past few
years, I’d say that’s a very good thing.

A handsome guy with dark skin and dark brown eyes steps toward us, looking like he’s eager to

venture into our midst. He’s dressed in a suit, indicating he’s either traveling on business or he came
straight from work and has been at the bar ever since. God, if that’s the case he could be pretty drunk.

I step to the back of our group, unwilling to put myself out as available and interested. What’s

the point anyway? I may be the biggest pervert according to the questions and what I’ve done in my
life sexually, but ever since my sister’s trouble years ago, I haven’t felt anything but polite interest in
a man, or a woman for that matter. And I sure as hell have tried.

“Go on, Katrina,” Heather nudges me to step closer to the attractive, hopeful man standing in the

middle of our group. “You’re single. Live a little.” She snorts softly in amusement. “Although, after
hearing your answers earlier, I have a feeling you’ve lived more than the rest of us put together.”

I smile, but stay firmly where I’m standing. “If any of it had mattered, I’d still be with at least

one of the guys, don’t you think?”

Her face falls and I realize I’ve revealed too much. I’m not going to be the Debbie Downer of

tonight. I look into the sea of bodies surrounding us, hoping for a diversion so I can avoid her
rejoinder. One man is staring at us with an intensity he doesn’t hide.

He’s got wavy dark hair that’s a little too long for corporate life, a thick build and broad chest,

and a devastating smile. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him before.
He’s got a leaner, taller friend standing next to him, too. Both look like they work out or at least keep
themselves active.

“Hey, do you know that guy, the one with the dark hair?” I ask Heather, indicating the two men

with my chin. “He’s staring at us something fierce.”

Heather checks and her face brightens. “That’s my boyfriend Tony. I think you met him when we

went out a while ago. I didn’t know we were coming here so he must have come on his own.” She
cranes her head while looking, reaching out a hand to wave at him. “Oh, and his best friend Marcus is
with him. Want to meet him?”

Inwardly I cringe, but outwardly I smile and nod. His friend has a dimple in his chin, a

mischievous grin on his face, and light brown hair that looks like it’s been streaked by the sun. He
looks pleasant enough. “Sure.” After all, what harm can it do to talk to the guy?

Chapter Two

Marcus

Tony’s girlfriend Heather waves to us from her pack of giggling beauties. I see Carla, and there’s a
woman next to Heather I vaguely recognize. Maybe she was one of the women out dancing with her
and Carla a couple of months ago. That was the night I knew Tony had fallen hard for the long-legged
woman. I don’t think he knew it yet, though.

This time the other woman’s hair is different. Short, spiky, and I think I see blue bangs. Who the

hell wants blue hair? Maybe it’s just supposed to be for fun. I never know why women do half the shit
they do anyway.

Like you’re one to talk with your manicured nails.
They’re buffed and trimmed, not manicured.
I run a thumb over the nails on one hand. Nothing wrong with a man keeping up his appearance.

Well-tended hands mean my fingers won’t snag on a woman’s silky skin or stockings during the heat
if the moment.

Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Has nothing to do with a past of digging ditches you’re trying to

forget.

I stifle my inner bashings when the two ladies head our way. I straighten and clear my throat.

Heather’s focused solely on her man, and her friend has a questioning look on her face, like she’s
unsure if she should approach with her.

The woman is good looking. I would totally do her. Do I want another quick fling or should I

respect this is Heather’s friend and stick to polite but uninterested? No time to decide before they’re
upon us.

Heather launches herself at Tony like she hasn’t seen him for weeks. He responds in kind,

wrapping her into a huge hug and kissing her in front of the whole bar. Can’t misread that. Geez.

I tip my head toward the kissing pair. “Not sure when they’re going to come up for air, so I might

as well introduce myself. Hi, I’m Marcus. Tony and I have known each other since college.”

“Katrina,” the woman answers, offering me her hand. “Nice to meet you. I met Heather in a yoga

class over a year ago.”

Our hands meet and the warmth of her palm energizes me, sending a tingle of awareness up my

arm. Now that she’s closer, her unique blue-green eyes demand my attention. There’s a spark of
intelligence and experience I don’t normally see from a young woman in a bar on Friday night.

Like she knows things.
The impression is fleeting and gone once she drops my hand and moves her gaze away from

mine.

She has piqued my curiosity. I wonder what she does for a living. Hopefully she’s not some

deadbeat chick with enough outstanding student loans to choke a horse. God save me from another
woman hoping a guy will magically make all her debt problems disappear.

Heather and Tony finally disentangle their limbs and remember they’re in a public place. “Sorry

about that. I was so surprised to see him here.”

“Yeah,” I say, with a little edge to my voice. “We could tell.”
Tony shoots me a death look and draws Heather closer to him, perfectly content to look like a

Neanderthal staking claim over his mate. I ignore his pointed glare and shift my attention toward the
bartender, motioning for a refill when I catch his eye.

“Does anyone need a drink?” I ask.

Heather giggles. “We had plenty before we got here.” She looks toward her friend and nods.

“But one more won’t hurt, especially if we drink it slowly. I’ll have a white wine.”

Katrina hesitates before nodding. “Okay, I’ll have the same.” Her eyes flit to mine briefly and

she says, “Thank you.” Heather chimes in and thanks me, too. Nice to see they’re not so far gone
they’ve forgotten their manners. I hate it when I buy a woman a drink and she acts like it’s owed to
her.

Tony raises his full beer, indicating he’s fine, so I place the ladies’ orders when the bartender

drifts close enough to hear me.

“Are those penises around your neck?” Tony asks while leaning in closer to examine the

necklace.

“Why, yes,” Heather says proudly, straightening her spine a little. “They are.”
I check out Katrina, thinking Tony’s observation is a nice way for me to look her over without

appearing like a cad.

The baggy black shirt she’s wearing doesn’t reveal much, but the short sleeves end on the

tightest biceps I’ve ever seen on a woman. As my examination travels lower, I note well-defined
thighs and calves, too. This woman works out — a lot. If my workouts and hours at the gym have
taught me anything, it’s that women don’t look that toned without some serious effort.

I’m intrigued in spite of myself. My perusal ends at her shoes—hot pink with a zebra print on the

heel. Wild. And sexy as all get out. Those are some serious fuck-me pumps. A woman who wears
shoes like that must know something the rest don’t. I wonder what that could be.

“Nice shoes,” I say, raising my glass in a silent toast of approval.
Katrina tilts one foot out at an angle while looking down. “Thanks. They wouldn’t be my first

choice, but for tonight they were perfect.”

Damn, there goes any hope that she’s wild enough to wear shoes like that all the time. Then

again, I’ve never had a shoe fetish or anything before. On her they spiked my interest.

Heather mimics Katrina’s pose with her own zebra platform shoes. “They certainly are fun.”
Tony leans in and whispers something in his girlfriend’s ear, causing her to blush. Horny

bastard. Probably telling her how he’s going to bend her over later while she’s wearing the shoes.

I steal a glance at Katrina and can’t help the images that conjure at such a thought. I bet she’s a

moaner. It’s always the ones you never suspect that are the most fun in bed. All the yoga she
mentioned… I bet she’s super bendy, too.

The ladies’ wine arrives and I hand them their glasses. Katrina makes eye contact with me when

accepting her drink and I feel lucky. Like she doesn’t normally give a guy even that much attention.
Hmm… could she be interested? Damn the noise level in the bar. It’s going to be impossible to carry
a decent conversation.

“So, where do you work?” I ask, raising my voice to be heard.
Katrina glances from the crowd to our group, noting my attention on her and not the others. “Me?

Oh, I’m sorry. I own a health food store over near Washington Square Park.”

She owns her own business. That could be good or bad. More than likely she’s got a good credit

report or she’d never be able to open her own store. It’s hard to turn your mind off of money and
finances when that’s what you do all damn day. “Good for you. Was it a dream you always had?”

She looks at me funny, as if having a store would be an odd dream. “Not really. Well, at least,

not in the beginning.” She shrugs and glances away. Obviously this one isn’t much for conversation.
Crying shame, too as she’s got gorgeous eyes. I wouldn’t mind staring into them for a sweaty hour or
two.

A crack of lightning illuminates the room. Almost instantly a loud boom of thunder rumbles from

outside, vibrating through the floor to my legs, followed by the sound of rain pouring down on the
streets outside.

The lights on the wall flicker once and go out, casting the whole bar in darkness. Raucous, good-

natured cheers from the customers buoy the crowd, while the staff struggles to re-light small oil
candles placed at all the high tables and drink ledges. Soon the whole bar is lit with the small lights,
creating a softening effect on the drunken patrons. For some reason, the candles have a quieting effect
on conversation in the bar, and it’s not nearly as loud as it was just minutes before.

“Crap,” Katrina mutters. “This is going to be hell to get home in.”
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Heather asks. “We just got here.”
Tony takes out his phone and taps on the screen.
Katrina glances out one of the windows, a worried expression on her face. “I wasn’t planning on

it, but I’m worried it’s going to get harder to make it home as the storm progresses. I do have to work
in the morning.”

“The local news reports power outages all over Manhattan,” Tony says while angling his phone

for us to see. “Says most areas will be out for hours, maybe even the whole night.”

“Well, that settles it,” Katrina says, a determined tilt to her chin. “I better catch the subway

while it’s still running.”

Heather grabs her arm. “Wait, sometimes the subway stops working—with people still on it. I

read how commuters were trapped for hours a few weeks ago.”

Katrina’s pretty mouth twists in a scowl. “Dammit, that means I’ll have to take a cab.”
“Assuming you can find one,” Tony says. His face lights up and he points at me. “Marcus can

escort you home. He’ll help you get a cab.”

Before I have a chance to answer, she declines. “No, I’m fine, really. No need to go to all the

trouble.”

I look at Tony, wondering what the hell he’s thinking. Katrina cranes her neck to look outside

again and I catch Tony mouthing to me, “Payback’s a bitch.”

“Nonsense, Katrina. You’re not far from Mercer Street, where Marcus lives. He’d be happy to

see you home safely.”

Her face lights up, seeming to be more accepting of the offer now that she knows I’m not going

out of my way. Her look of hope is so sweet I don’t have the heart to say no.

I stifle my annoyance at my old college friend for ending my night sooner than I’d like and

gallantly offer my arm to the woman. Who knows, maybe she’ll give me her number.

She slips her hand in the crook of my arm and we weave over to Carla and the other ladies to

say goodnight. Her grasp on my arm tightens as we head out the front door and navigate the wet steps.

We pause under the green awning, glancing right and left into the hot, wet night. “Should we

even bother to check the subway?” she asks loudly, voice pitched to be heard over the driving rain.

A yellow vehicle approaches from the right. I raise my hand and step toward the curb to hail the

oncoming cab. “No reason to now. Our chariot awaits.”

I offer my elbow again as we hustle toward the waiting cab. Katrina stumbles once and I wrap

an arm around her waist instead, to prevent her from falling. The scent of her floods my senses as her
warm body presses to mine.

She smells of spice and vanilla, the aroma tantalizing and teasing me as I open the car door for

her. She slides in, revealing a long expanse of lean leg and muscle. Wow, she really is in great shape.
Wonder why she hides it with the long, baggy top.

I follow her in and close the door. Katrina gives the driver her address and we’re off, inching

down the crowded street overflowing with water.

“Look at those storm drains,” she says while staring out the window. “It must really be coming

down all over the city for them to be backed up so soon.”

She adjusts on the bench seat and her small purse spills, emptying the contents onto the seat and

the floor. I reach for the contents, trying to help, and my hand closes on a faintly glowing straw. It
looks odd, so I bring it closer for a better view.

“Is this shaped like a penis?”
A squeak sounds from Katrina and she grabs it out of my hand. “It’s a gag gift. From Carla’s

party.” She gathers up the rest of what’s on the seat as I bend down to help retrieve items on the floor.

“Sounds like you ladies had a lot of fun.”
She sighs. “We did actually. I haven’t let myself relax for a long time.”
My hand closes on a cold, roundish object. “Busy with work?” A hard-working woman is

always nice to see, but I don’t tell her that. She’d probably laugh.

“Ah… work is part of it, yeah.”
The cab halts at a unlit stop light, inching forward for a right hand turn. “Is this yours?” I ask,

holding up the white plastic. Lightning flash fills the car and her face freezes in horror. I glance at the
item, unable to make out what it is.

“Give me that!” she lunges toward me and I close my fist, curious what has her so riled up.
“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.”
“Seriously, Marcus. Give it here.”
I smile and take out my phone, using the convenient flashlight feature to illuminate what’s in my

hand. A multi-sided die sits in my palm, with what looks like naked people entwined on each side.
Heat blossoms in my chest and shoots straight to my groin.

“Holy shit, that’s hot.”

Chapter Three

Katrina

I scoot closer and snatch the die from his hand, shoving it back to the depths of my purse. “It was
another gag gift.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You can’t fool me, you sexy yoga

lady. I’m on to you.”

His off-hand words stir up a whirlwind of emotions in my gut. “Me? Sexy?”
Marcus’s lids lower as he leans back in the seat, staring at me. “It’s always the quiet ones who

surprise you.”

I scoff at his musings, but can’t deny I feel good at his words. For so many years I tried to enjoy

sex, attempting everything with just about anyone who was willing. All to no avail. I don’t seem to
feel the fascination with the act that others rave about.

“I’d like a closer look at that die.” Marcus smiles. “Strictly for research purposes.”
My cheeks heat and I feel a small grin stretching my mouth. “Maybe I’ll share it.” Could he be

interested in me? The admiring twinkle in his eye says he might. I falter in my thoughts. Would it
matter if he was? I’d be a major disappointment in the end with not enjoying sex.

Best to keep him at arm’s length and on friend’s-only terms. That way no one will get let down.

You know, like me. Again.

Thunder booms once more outside as the cab slows to a stop in front of my store. “We’re here,

Miss.”

“Hey, is that your place, Herb Appeal?” Marcus stares out his window. “It looks like you’ve

had some storm damage.”

I launch across the seat, practically throwing myself on Marcus’s lap, to see what he’s talking

about. A branch from one of the trees near the street is lying under the big picture window to the right
of the door. A spider-web of cracks indicates where it struck when falling.

“Oh no! What the hell am I going to do with that tonight?”
“Do you have any duct tape inside?” Marcus lays a hand on my back, patting my shoulder once.

“I can help you tape it up so the cracks might not spread. Could help prevent water coming in, too.”

All of a sudden I’m aware of my position, draped over the lap of a man I just met. I scramble

back to my side of the seat and frantically search my purse to pay the driver. “Uh… you don’t have to
do that. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

While I’m digging for cash, Marcus beats me to it and pays the man. I inwardly sigh in relief as I

mentally try and calculate the cost of repairing the window. Before I can thank him, he opens his door
to slide into the rain.

“Nonsense.” He reaches in and offers me his hand. “I’m happy to help you with the window.”
This man I just met is proving something I thought long past gone—that chivalry isn’t dead. I take

his hand and join him in the pouring rain, we race together to the narrow awning. “Thank you. And
thank you for paying for the cab. I’m sure that window won’t be cheap to fix.”

“You’re welcome. And you might want to check with your insurance. They might cover it.”
The cab pulls away, driving slowly through the water accumulating fast in the street. “Well?”

Marcus says loudly over the rain. “Shouldn’t we get inside and fix that window?”

I nod and hurry to the door. The alarm pad is blank, no doubt due to the power outage, and I dig

for my keys in the tiny purse. Having it dump all over the cab really messed up where I put
everything.

Marcus stands close behind me, possibly shielding me from the rain, or possibly hoping to get as

far out of the driving wind and rain as he can. Either way, I feel his presence and it unnerves me,
sending little bolts of awareness coursing through my veins.

My hand closes over the keys and I drag them out from a corner of the purse. Finally! I don’t

know what it is about this guy, but I seem to move through mud whenever he’s close. Like I can’t put
coherent thought behind my actions.

I rush inside, eager to get out of the rain and put some distance between us and the things I’m

feeling. My wet high heels slip on the glossy tile of the store, sending my feet flying out from
underneath me. I fall inelegantly on the floor, limbs sprawled and the breath knocked out of me.

I lay there with my eyes closed, stunned for a moment before the embarrassment hits me. The

door whooshes shut behind me and then Marcus’s steps hurry to approach where I lay.

“Are you okay?” He asks while touching my arm. I crack open one lid and see his worried face

leaning close. “Should I call for help? Do you think you broke anything?”

A groan spills from me as I struggle to sit up. “I’m okay. Think I just wounded my pride.”
His arm wraps around my back again, this time in concern. “Are you sure? I could probably…”

He glances around the dark interior, eyes flitting from aisle to aisle and then toward the back, behind
the counter. “I dunno… bring you a cool, wet towel… or something.”

“No, I’m good.” I kick off the shoes, depositing them near my dropped purse, wishing I hadn’t

raced in like a fool. He’s closer to me now than before, so that idea backfired. “Note to self: Don’t
try and move quickly in wet high heels.”

“Here, let me help you up.” He pulls me with him while rising, his hold on my waist a comfort

and an enticement at the same time.

There’s a slight twinge of pain in my back, but I’m too humiliated to say anything. I’m sure a

couple of Advil and stretching before bed will do wonders for relieving the strain.

The length of his body presses against my side, making me hyper-aware of him. A tiny part of me

wants to lean in and pretend I’m in need just so I can keep his heat near me a little longer. A shiver
runs over me, and I can’t completely blame it on the wet clothes and the shop’s cooler air.

“No twisted ankle? That was quite a fall.”
I’m standing solidly on both feet or I could have gotten away with pretending to have twisted an

ankle.

Do you hear yourself? And why would you want to keep him close to you? So you can have

another man look at you like you’re a loser in bed?

I step away from his hold, regret burning deep in my gut for what can never be. “I’m stronger

than I look. Thanks for helping me up.”

His eyes travel over me leisurely. “You look pretty darn strong to me already.”
I smile and turn away. Single men of a certain age are all the same. They see an attractive

woman and immediately make a play. Too bad it wouldn’t work out. “I’m going to go find that tape
you mentioned.”

Marcus’s phone is out and he’s using it like a flashlight again, lighting the way in front of me.

“Here, let me help.”

He’s certainly conscientious. I’ll have to tell him later he’s earned extra brownie points for

being a nice guy. Padding to the counter, with my boy scout trailing behind me, I open various
drawers, searching for the tape.

“This is a nice place. How long have you owned it?”
“Nine months. I know the previous owner and got a great price when she was ready to move out

of state.”

Finding no tape, I wrack my brain for where I saw the grey shiny roll last.
“What did you do before you ran the store?”
“Metal artist.” Wait for it…
“A what?”
I smother a smile while motioning toward the back. “Come on, shine that thing down the hall. I

might have left the tape in my workshop.”

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.”

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 behind 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.”

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.

“Oh, yeah you do. Here’s the plan: we’re going to roll the dice in a kind of ‘have you ever game’

and you have to tell the other person what your experience was like.”

Chapter Six

Marcus

She’s agreed to more talking—perhaps the long night stuck in her tiny bedroom-slash-living-area
won’t be bad after all. I can’t deny I’m starting to feel something for the woman with blue bangs.
She’s an interesting dichotomy of facts and hints. One that has intrigued me despite my best intentions
that she’s all wrong for me.

Maybe if I approach this like a casual fling everything will work out. She’s pretty damn hot and

it took every ounce of self-control I possess to not reach out and touch her ass while she was sticking
it up in the air stretching. Downward facing dog, my foot. That pose, looking at it from a guy’s
perspective, clearly screams come and take me from behind right now.

And yet, I sensed no intent on her part that she meant to drive me insane with desire. Thankfully,

she stopped after a few minutes and my boner subsided before she noticed.

We walk slowly back toward her personal space, still holding hands. Once we open the door

again, the accumulated heat is a stark contrast to the cooler interior of the shop.

“See?” She says while dropping my hand and heading toward the mini-fridge. “I knew it wasn’t

me. It was getting hotter in here. Let’s keep the door open for better air flow.”

“Okay.” I prop the door open with a chair from her table. The temperature is much higher than I

realized and I slip the robe off and drape it over the remaining chair. “Are you all right with me
wearing only my boxers, or do you have a pair of baggy shorts I can put on?”

Katrina whips around to look at me, eyes scanning me from head to foot and back again, her

throat working double time while she swallows. “Um… uh… I’m okay with it.” She pointedly turns
back to the counter, where she was placing things from the fridge. “I don’t think I have anything that
will fit you.”

I’m onto you, sweetheart. You definitely feel something for me. Thinking about what she’s

thinking about has my blood moving south again.

I stifle the urge to adjust myself, knowing she’ll see it and discover my secret. Best bet might be

to sit on the couch and pretend I’m not feeling anything so it will go away. Maybe that dice game isn’t
a good idea.

Grateful the boxer briefs aren’t particularly tight, nor thin, I settle back on the futon, bending one

leg to rest on the ankle of my other knee to hide my growing arousal. In a few minutes I’ve got myself
under control. She brings over an assortment of veggies and hummus on a plate and two glasses of
water and then lights all the candles we brought in from the store. Very soon the space is filled with
the warm glow of the minty-smelling candles.

“Do you like the food? I thought this would be smarter than hot soup.” Her behavior is hesitant

and shy again. Dammit, and we’d been making such great progress.

“It’s perfect, thanks.”
We eat in silence, sipping water every now and then.
“Marcus… what do you do for a living?” she asks, reaching for a carrot.
“I’m a contract lawyer at Apollo Industries, where Tony used to work. I work mainly with the

financial people and assist on big deals when needed.”

“I have no idea what that entails, but it sounds like you’re doing well.”
There go my grandiose dreams of impressing a girl with what I do. Nice. “Well enough. I like

it.” Hoping this is a good time to ask about what brought her to this point in her life, I venture into
unchartered territory with a question of my own. “You mentioned this business wasn’t your initial

dream. What made you decide to buy it?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure really. I was working here to have something to do between creating

my metal pieces and selling them. Got to know the owner and the business… had some money saved
from previous art sales… decided to take the plunge into respectability rather than keep living the
bohemian lifestyle of an artist any longer. The routine… it suits me.”

“Running the store or being more nine to five compared to an artist’s odd hours?”
She scrunches her nose while thinking, the expression looking adorable on her. “Well, the job

isn’t really nine to five, but I get what you mean. It’s more stable than when I was solely working on
my art, that’s for sure.

“Hmm…. If I really think about it, I’d have to say both. The basic daytime hours fit my current

life better, as does the ten o’clock open and eight o’clock closing. And I don’t mind the responsibility
associated with owning a small business.”

“Good for you. Why don’t you seem happier with the decision? Where you always an artist and

maybe you miss it?”

“Hardly. I kind of fell into that, too.”
My frustration at her lack of direction bubbles out before I can stop it. “What did you go to

school for? At your age you should have a better handle on your life.”

“Well, that’s awfully judgmental coming from a guy who’s still running from his humble

beginnings.”

My first reaction to her quietly spoken rebuttal is a defensive one. I open my mouth to retaliate…

Until I realize she’s right and I’m an ass.

“Good point. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t say I’m running from my past, but you’re right, I was judging

you when I had no right to.” I run a hand over my face, wondering why what Katrina thinks of me
should matter.

“Apology accepted. And I can see from the outside looking in, I may appear flaky, too.” Her

voice lowers to a whisper. “But I’m not… I was—”

I wait, giving her time to collect her thoughts. “Yes?”
“I was lost for years. Not caring where I lived, what I did, or who I slept with. I had a lot of

issues I needed to work out.”

Her meditation makes more sense now. “Your yoga and meditation helped you…er… find

yourself?”

She laughs, a soft sound rather than a full-on belly busting release. “Yeah, I guess you could say

that.”

Desperate to put her back in better spirits I grab the sex dice off the coffee table and roll it.

“Was part of finding yourself how you learned the names for sex positions?”

My tactic seems to have backfired as a frown tugs her mouth down. “No. I learned all those fun

facts when I was desperately trying to feel something… anything… again.”

I watch her carefully in the low light, hoping for some sign on what to say to get her to open up.

Her partially revealed half-truths are pulling me closer despite my intentions to keep this encounter
light-hearted. “What happened to you to stop you from feeling?”

I reach a hand across the space dividing us on the couch and hold her hand.
“It didn’t happen to me. It happened to my younger sister.”
Cold dread settles in my middle as I think of a few bad things that could have happened to a

younger sibling that would disturb anyone.

“Was she…? Did they catch him?”

She glances up at me, her heart and pain in her eyes. “How did you know?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Unlucky guess. Did she survive the rape?”
Katrina relaxes into the couch, as if a weight has been lifted from her. “Yes, she did. She went

through years of counseling and she’s doing fine. Better than fine actually. She seems to have put it
behind her and is even engaged now to a terrific guy.”

“Good for her.” I squeeze her hand. “But what about you? Are you fine?”
“God, I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I never talk about it anymore. It’s been almost ten

years.”

“I don’t think time should matter. I’ve never known anyone who was raped and I can’t even

begin to fathom what their loved ones need to recover as well.”

“I arrived home right after it happened. I found her and called for help. The anger and rage at

seeing what was done to my sister—it consumed me. All I could think about was revenge and killing
the guy.”

“Rightly so. I think that sounds pretty normal.”
She tries to remove her hand from mine and I don’t let her. “But what happens when the feeling

doesn’t go away? When you begin to plot his death and can’t close your eyes without seeing what was
done to someone you love… what do you do then?”

“I—I don’t know. What did you do?”
“After two years, I left the country.” She says it so matter-of-factly, I realize this is a common

retelling for her. Maybe it’s what she told her friends and family. But I have a feeling it’s not
everything. “I’d hoped a change of scenery would jar me out of the circle of hate.”

“And did it?”
“Not at first. It took a while. After a year of wandering, I found myself in India studying yoga and

meditation to diffuse the anger. I had odd jobs and lived simply. That’s where I learned to work
reclaimed metal into art. Eventually I was able to let the rage go, but only after a very long time—and
a lot of mistakes. Meditating has been the one thing in life to bring me peace.”

“Good for you! That’s something isn’t it? You should be proud. Others may have allowed the

hate and bitterness to infect the rest of their lives, without ever being able to move past it.”

What a remarkable woman. And here I was, thinking she was some lackadaisical meandering

fool, content to drift from one thing in life to the next. She’s a wounded soul who’s strong again. Her
achievement in combating personal demons far exceeds anyone I’ve ever met.

“Thanks, but I’m far from perfect.”
“I dunno,” I say with a rakish grin. “You’re looking pretty damn good to me.”
She takes a deep breath to steady herself, trying once again to pull her hand from mine, but I

won’t let her. “Except for one major flaw…”

I lean closer, eager to put my mouth on hers again but unsure how she’ll react if the timing is

bad. “What’s that?”

“I… I feel nothing during sex.”
My heart drops to my stomach. What the hell? I know she felt something when I kissed her. I saw

her reaction when I touched her hair. She feels, I know she does.

“That’s a bunch of bull. You’ve just had bad lovers.”
“Ha! I wish.” She tugs her hand again. “I knew you’d react this way.”
“Stop pulling away from me. You’re stuck with me for the night and I happen to like holding

your hand. It’s warm… and strong… and it feels sexy against my palm.”

She snorts in disbelief but stops trying to draw away. “How can my palm feel sexy?”

On a whim, I lift our joined hands and bring it to my mouth, kissing the back of her hand. “Don’t

you feel the heat between us? The spark of what might be?”

“It’s getting hotter in here because the AC is off and it’s July.”
I linger over another kiss while staring into her eyes. “That’s not it.”
“Trust me. I’ve tried it all. Men, women, both at once, two of one gender, toys… exotic

positions… nothing worked.” Hunger shines in her gaze… hunger and yearning. Her breath eases out
steady and slow, her attention never wavering from me as she sits in silence.

I gulp at the images racing through my mind. “You’re really good at dropping sexy conversation

bombs and then clamming up, you know that?”

“Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Nope. I don’t. You say things…”
“Yes?”
“They twist me up inside. Make me want to prove to you that you can feel.”
Her interest deflates a bit, like her own mind is talking her out of enjoying the moment. “I’ll just

let you down.”

“You won’t! Don’t say that shit.” I reach over and cup her face with my free hand. “You’re

letting your mind get the better of you.”

She pulls her chin away, easing my hand from her heated skin. “Easy for you to say, you’re not in

my head.”

I lean in and capture her mouth. The touch of our lips is gentle and brief. “So let me in. I can’t

claim to be Casanova in the bedroom, but I can promise it’s better when you let down your defenses
and allow the other person in.”

“Please. A guy who doesn’t think his magic wang is all I need to cure my ills? Sure. You’re too

good to be true.”

“Hiding your issues behind humor? Isn’t that more my forte than yours?”
She bends toward the table and grabs the die, examining the current face up side. “Weren’t we

going to play your ‘game’? Did you lose interest in quizzing me on my past sexual exploits?”

“What am I, dead? Of course I want to hear about sex. Lay it on me.”
She frowns at the image on the plastic. “Nothing I can really add to this one.”
“Really? What is it?”
She leans in closer to me, our thighs now touching on the couch. “Fellatio. Pretty basic, really.”
My cock surges, prompting me to cross my legs to hide the reaction. Uh-huh. That wasn’t

noticeable at all. Grown men often jerk and cross their legs all of a sudden.

My voice croaks out. “Pretty basic, huh?”
Jesus all this casual talk of sex mixed in with heavy emotional stuff apparently makes me a

bundle of quivering testosterone.

Her killer body and sultry looks don’t help, either. Just kiss her and get it over with already.
No way. Good things come to those who wait and I’m willing to play this as slow as she needs. I

don’t want to be another guy she felt nothing with.

She smiles, enjoying my discomfort. “Yeah, you know. Cock goes in, cock goes out. Lots of

suction and slippery good licking ensues…”

“Uhh…” Holy shit. What do I say to that?
“And then the inevitable happens… hot, sticky come shoots down your throat.”
Nice! That answers the inevitable question my dirty mind would have pondered for hours. “That

sounds about right.” My dark blue boxers hide my rock hard erection. “You’ve covered it all. I don’t

Chapter Seven

Katrina

I stare into the aroused eyes of the handsome man sitting close to me and wonder, what the hell am I
doing? Sure he’s good-looking, sure I’m attracted to him, but that’s happened to me in the past and it
came to nothing. Why do I think tonight it could lead to more?

Because of the way he’s looking at you, you fool. He wants to eat you up! Let go, enjoy. Stop

overthinking everything.

“Some men thrive on a challenge.” There’s an edge to his voice, desperate and sexy as all hell.
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? In all my various travels, I never would have encountered that

particular breed before, would I?”

He chuckles. “Oh come on… that just makes it even more tempting to try. To boldly go where no

man has gone before.”

A laugh bubbles out of me at his Star Trek quote. “I wouldn’t say that last part was true. I told

you, I’ve been with a lot of partners. Does that bother you?” Now there’s an edge to my tone, like I’m
trying to make sure he knows exactly what he’s letting himself in for. I never want to be with a guy
who throws my past at me later in an attempt to make me feel bad.

“No. Those encounters didn’t matter. None of your partners mattered or you would have felt

something. Can’t you see the inherent challenge in being the one? What man wouldn’t want to be the
one manly enough to make a beautiful woman enjoy sex again?”

A blush heats my cheeks when he compliments my looks. I admit, I know I’m attractive enough,

but I’ve felt like I’ve been defective the past ten years. Living an asexual life no matter who I invite
into my bed.

“I don’t want to disappoint you.” I finally give in to the urge and lay a hand on his thigh. God, it

feels so good to touch a man again.

Marcus practically jerks on the couch, obviously quite sensitive to my touch. He’s so

responsive. Nice. This could be fun.

“Who says you will?” he says softly. “Isn’t there a greater chance of me disappointing you?”
I mold my hand over the muscle above his knee, desperate to go higher but unwilling to tempt

myself into believing it might work with him when it hasn’t so many times before.

“Uh… about your past.” He stammers out. “How long has it been since you tried again? And

what exactly are we talking about — an inability to orgasm?”

“I haven’t been with anyone for two years. And no worries. I was able to orgasm, for the most

part.” I trace a fingernail over his kneecap, just like I ached to do earlier. “But it didn’t make a
difference. I felt empty afterward. Nothing for the person or the experience. Even the climaxes
weren’t stellar… just kind of meh. They happened and it was done.”

“Did you know your partner well?” His voice croaks out when my hand creeps back to his thigh.

“Like perhaps you need to get to know me really well for there to be any feelings involved?”

I remove my hand and twist to face him fully, resisting the urge to climb onto his lap and grind

over his erection. God, I want so much to enjoy sex again… “Is that what you want, Marcus? Rather
than what we’re experiencing in the here and now? Having ‘feelings’ for someone isn’t what I meant.
I meant enjoying the act fully, truly feeling it. Which is possible without the trappings of love and
commitment. Do you really want to get to know me? Do I fit into the perfect mold of who you want in
your life?”

“Oh God. That was a lot of questions. Are we going for honesty? And here I thought perhaps you

were looking for a roll in the hay to break your dry spell.”

“Nice one. Your poor attempts at humor to save face won’t work with me. I’m onto you.”
He sighs and runs a hand up my arm, sending little bursts of sexual awareness through me with

each stroke. “You caught that, huh?” He pauses a moment and I let the silence stretch between us,
content to wait. “You’re growing on me, okay? I thought I wanted a career woman, someone serious
in her job and driven to succeed—like me. A woman who dresses sophisticated and is put together in
every area of her life. But what do those traits really matter in the end? Would we have chemistry?
Would she be adventurous in the bedroom? Would she intrigue me and hold my interest past a week?”

I smile inwardly, thinking of all the crazy sex acts I’ve tried in my life, desperate for something

to matter. And yet none of it healed me and brought me happiness.

“Who knows? She might be all those things—and more. You never know what life has in store

for you.”

What the hell? Are you trying to talk him out of seducing you? Shut up already!
Marcus grabs my hips and hauls me to his lap. “Who says I want to wait for her any longer? Why

not enjoy what life has brought to me now?”

And with that he pulls my face to his, kissing me with a pent up passion I hadn’t known was

there. My hands find his bare chest, exploring the lean planes and tight muscles like I’ve been dying to
do since the robe came off. One firm hand holds the back of my head lightly, tilting my face for a
deeper kiss.

A low moan sounds deep in my throat, stirring up feelings and desires I haven’t felt in years. His

tongue pushes into my mouth and I open wide, gladly inviting him to plunder and take what he wants.
My breath hitches and my hips grind down on his lap of their own volition.

The pressure from his hard length strokes and rubs at my very center, despite the layers of pants

and underwear between us.

He inches up the hem of my baggie top and the warm air caresses my skin, reminding me of how

hot it’s become in the small room. Without pausing to analyze my actions, I reach down and draw the
shirt over my head, effectively breaking our kiss.

I toss the thin material aside and look into Marcus’s face. An expression of awe and wonder

awaits. His hands reverently skim my waist, circling the front and back at once.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an eight pack of abs on a woman

before.” His hands move upward, drawing a path of heat in his wake. “So smooth and tight.” He leans
closer and plants a kiss on my collar bone. “Delicate and yet incredibly strong. You’re amazing.”

His words open something inside me. I know I’m in good shape. I’ve been approached at the

yoga studio to be a fitness model, but never took the offer seriously. It also prompted me to start
wearing baggie shirts and forego the tanks and midriff shirts I used to wear. I was there to workout,
not draw attention to myself.

But when he notices me I feel cherished. Like he’s unwrapped a special gift and I’m it. “Thank

you.” My shyness comes through once again in my lowered voice.

His head pops up and he stares into my eyes. “Don’t go hiding back into that shell of yours. I see

you. The real you. The one who became strong enough to find peace from her inner demons. The
woman who released her anger with hard work and determination.”

Marcus’s hands drift to my back, where he traces lightly down my spine and then outward over

my tight skin. “You… you…”

“Yes?” I ask, a lump in my throat.
“You humble me.” He kisses me again, softly this time, with not as much passion as before.

“I’ve allowed myself to be the shallow jerk who fires out smart retorts, so I didn’t have to face how
empty my dating life had become. But you… you dealt with your past and what happened to your
sister, no matter how hard it was for you to overcome… no matter what you lost of yourself in the
process.”

“Lost of myself?”
He nods. “I think all the anger stifled the real you. And the meditation helped to release it all, but

it didn’t uncover what you had buried for so long—your passion.”

“You’re pretty deep for a shallow guy who jokes too often.”
“Shh… don’t tell anyone. Let it be our little secret.”
“I’ll keep yours if you keep mine.”
“What secrets of yours would I have to keep?”
This time I initiate the kissing, running my hands through his soft hair and sliding my lips over

his like we have all the time in the world. “That I’m starting to like you a lot.” My hips circle over
his, the delicious pressure teasing me higher.

“That’s no secret, sweetheart.”
I chuckle under my breath, moving my kisses to his neck. “Cocky jerk.”
“Hey, you’re the one grinding on me. It was pretty easy to figure out you like me. Unless, of

course, you grind on men’s laps all the time. Maybe in a second or third job as a stripper?”

“Good God. Stop talking. Unless you’re going to talk dirty to me.”
Quick as a wink, he picks me up and reverses our positions, laying me underneath him on the

futon. His broad chest looms over mine as his thighs brush against my own. My heart races as he
settles in between my legs, already my panties are damp with desire. He grunts in frustration, his
knees bumping me when he can’t stretch out. “I’m too tall for this thing. Doesn’t it open up to a bed?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak after that switcheroo he just pulled. I liked him pinning me

beneath him. It felt very, very good. Sexy… and strong… and holy hotness. It made me want him to
take me immediately, with no more foreplay. God, when did I become so horny?

What did you expect when you’ve denied yourself for so long?
He stands and swiftly pushes the coffee table to the left. He smiles at what I assume is a dazed

look on my face. “Can you help? I haven’t worked one of these since college.”

It takes a moment for my desire-addled brain to catch up. “Sure.” I haul myself up, aware of his

heated gaze watching my every move. Without too much effort, I lift the futon frame in the right spot,
releasing the mattress from its upright position to slide flat.

“Nice work.”
I don’t respond, unable to tear my eyes away from the tenting in his boxers. The material pulls

against his straining flesh, making my hands itch with the desire to slide the fabric away and let him
spring free.

His low chuckle draws my attention upward. “You look spell bound. What naughty thoughts are

running through your head?”

Unbidden the words spill out before I can stop them. “I want to strip off your boxers and explore

every inch of you. I want to watch your cock throb in time to your heartbeat and then I want to slick
the satiny flesh with my mouth, taking you deep. I want to hear you moan.”

His chest expands while his arms flex at his side. “Wow. That was more than I bargained for.”

His hands fly to his waistband, eager to fulfill my demands. “Hold up.” Marcus looks me over, a
glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I think we’re jumping the gun a little bit.” He motions with his chin
toward me. “You still have your pants on.”

Chapter Eight

Marcus

Katrina is a vision of sensuality and power as she closes the distance between us. The quiet shy girl
from the bar is gone, a lean mean sex machine in her place. If you had told me this afternoon I’d be in
the back room of a store with a woman who made my heart sing and my body scream with desire I’d
never have believed it. Especially if you’d told me right after I’d met her earlier this evening.

Where is the hesitant woman who struggled with small talk? Where is the embarrassed chit who

grabbed the sex die from my hand in the cab? She is here, without a doubt, but wrapped up in the
complex woman standing before me in a plain bra and exercise pants.

I drop to my knees in front of her, resting my hands on her waistband. “Are you sure? I know we

haven’t known each other long. We don’t have to rush into anything if you’d prefer to wait.”

She runs a hand through my hair, gripping the strands in a fist and releasing them. “How is time

relevant? I want you. I want to let go and be in the moment. Be there with me—please?”

I nod and eagerly work the tight fabric over her hips, careful to leave her panties in place. I have

no intention of rushing if I don’t have to. Her flat stomach dips between her slim hips, the scrap of
white cotton over her mound more of an enticement than any silk or lace I’ve ever seen.

Unable to resist, I lean forward, placing tentative kisses along the white elastic far below her

belly button. My hands slide the stretchy pants to her thighs, trapping them together while I explore the
parts revealed. I cup her tight ass, squeezing the firm globes gently, reveling in her body.

Eventually my hands venture lower, skimming over the taut skin on the back of her legs. I

gradually ease the yoga pants down past her knees, gratified in my actions by the gasps sounding
above me.

“Who knew you’d be such a tease, Marcus? You’re killing me.”
“Hush.” I mumble against her skin. “You love it.”
Once the fabric hits the floor, she steps out of the garment, crawling onto the futon. “Come up

here and join me.” Her voice a raspy purr in the candlelight.

I mirror her movements, walking on hands and knees until I cover her slender form. Without the

baggy clothes she’s tinier than I expected. Petite and yet not small. Just right. “You really are
stunning.”

She reaches a hand between us and strokes me through the thin layer of my boxers. “And you

really are well hung.”

I laugh at her bold comment. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
She tries to slip into the front flap and I move my hips to the side. “Not so fast, hot stuff. I want

to know what you’re feeling before we go further. This is supposed to be about you and your re-
awakening, not me rushing to the finish—which is exactly what will happen the second you wrap that
warm hand around me.” I ease down next to her, calming my racing urge to mount her like a untried
youth. “Talk to me, Katrina.”

A sigh of frustration escapes her, but she answers readily enough. “I feel turned on beyond

belief. My skin alternates between hot and cold. I think my nipples are hard enough to cut through my
bra.” I smile at her words. “Take pity on me and lick them, please?”

“As you wish,” I say, drawing the pristine white bra cup away. Her perky breasts are not more

than a handful, the hard cherry-colored tips pointing toward the ceiling. I lavish, lick, and suck on one
’til she moans, then repeat the process on the next.

“Damn, that feels so good.” Her breath hitches in her throat. “I never used to enjoy this part.

Always wondered why guys made such a big deal of breasts.”

I draw one tight nipple harder, deeper into my mouth, pulling the skin of her breast taut.
“Oh… nice.”
On a hunch, I bite down softly. Nipping her tender skin with my teeth.
“Oh! That was intense. Do it again.”
I fully remove her bra and feast on her breasts at my leisure. She’s squirming in place and urging

me further with her body’s encouragement. Slowly I move my attention south, trailing wet kisses and
gentle nips down her abdomen, finding it hard to bite the firm skin of her stomach unless I open my
jaw wider.

“Damn, girl,” I mumble against her belly button. “A man could never let himself go soft when

he’s with a woman in this good of shape.”

She gasps once and digs her fingers through my hair. “W-who the hell wants to be with a guy

who goes soft? Would make sex kind of impossible.”

I nip her flesh again and work my way downward to her panties. “That’s not what I meant and

you know it.”

Her hips rise off the bed, demanding in their need. “Whatever. Oh my God. Take these off

already.”

I comply to my lover’s demands, removing the last barrier to her sex in a flourish of movement.

The dark hair of her pussy is short, shaved completely off in some areas. “For a woman who’s had no
action in two years, you’re remarkably well-kept.”

She snorts at my observation. “I do it for me. Not for a lover.”
“Good to know,” I say as I trail one finger down her cleft. Her breathing speeds up, her

squirming, too. “Tell me what you’re feeling. I want to know.”

“Christ!” She throws her head back on the mattress. “I’m feeling hot.” I dip one finger between

her outer lips. “I’m feeling wet. Oh God, I’m feeling like I want to ride your hand until I scream.”

I slowly slide inside her, the tight wet walls surrounding my finger. The moistness spills out and

I drag it upward, hoping to find the tiny bundle of nerves at the top.

“Oh… yes… that’s it. Please…”
With a firm touch, I circle her clit, giving the aroused flesh the attention it needs. Her hips

follow my movements, and soon the only sound is her breath panting into the dim room. I decrease the
pressure and increase the speed, teasing the delicate area, drawing out her pleasure.

“Tell me what you need, Katrina, and I’ll do it.”
“I…I don’t know. I just want to come.”
I trace back down to her wet opening and plunge my fingers inside, knowing full well she’ll

need me working her clit to come. After a few dozen strokes she’s creaming all over my hand, wetter
than I ever imagined.

“Dear God… I can’t take much more. Make me come or I’ll do it myself.”
Loving the sexy rasp of her voice and the blatant need in her words, I tempt and tease her further.

“And how do you want to come, sweetheart? Do you want my cock inside you when you do?”

“Yes!” She shouts it like she’s having an epiphany. “That’s exactly what I want.” She shoves my

shoulder, pushing me to lay flat on the bed. Her hot hands latch onto my underwear and yank them
down my hips. “Do you have a condom in your wallet? I can’t wait any longer.”

“I do.” I start to rise to retrieve it, only to be halted by a firm hand on my chest.
“Is it in your jeans? I’ll go get it.” Katrina flies naked from the bed, scampers into the bathroom,

and shouts in glee when she finds what she’s looking for.

In a flash she’s back by my side, a wild look of lust on her features. “Don’t move! I got this.”
She rips open the condom wrapper and makes short work of encasing me in it. “So freakin’ hot

for you right now… you have no idea.”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” I want desperately to please her, to help her break

through the years of locking her passion away.

“I want you to stop talking for a moment and let me fuck you—hard.”
I smile at the feral look on her face and wisely refrain from commenting further. Katrina

straddles my hips and guides me into her waiting heat. “Oh… oh… yeah… that’s what I’ve been
missing.”

She slams herself down on my hips, her feet planted firmly on the futon while she crouches over

me. Her strong legs support her while she pumps up and down on my length, taking her pleasure
exactly as she wants it.

“Oh…” Her mouth then opens in a silent O, no sound escaping as she rides me for all she’s

worth.

I reach one hand to tickle my thumb over her clit, eager to help her reach completion. The

wetness and heat surrounding me increases. Her moans and groans gain in intensity as she continues
her relentless pace.

“Now… oh God… it’s happening now.”
No sooner does she say the words when I feel her body begin to ripple around mine, shuddering

with the strength and depth of her release. I never let up with my thumb, if anything going faster when
I know she’s cresting.

“Y-y-yesss! Fuck that pussy. Yes!”
I smile inside. Here I was hoping she’d be a moaner and it turns out she’s a hellfire who likes to

talk dirty, too.

The shudders in her body lessen and she collapses forward, falling to her knees and resting on

my chest.

“Holy hell. That was fucking fantastic,” she says while snuggling up to my neck.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask, lying tense beneath her with my own aching need. “Did you get your

mojo back?”

“Oh yeah…. I certainly did. It went on and on… very nice.”
I run a hand down her sweaty back, my length throbbing inside her. I wrap my arms around her

like she’s a fragile object and gently roll her underneath me.

“Good, because we’re not done yet.”

Chapter Nine

Katrina

Marcus’s words send a thrill up my spine, and his actions have me wrapping my legs around his hips,
ready to hold on for whatever comes next. His broad chest and slim waist feel incredible pressed
against me, and his lean muscular legs have me eager to see how flexible he is. Maybe I can talk him
into yoga sex. That might be fun.

“Is it your turn now?” I ask, a lazy smile forming on my face.
He slides out of me and gently unwraps my legs. “Not quite. You really think I’d settle for just

one orgasm from you? Now that I know what you’re capable of, I intend to make you scream.”

A tingle washes over me as he scoots down the mattress. His hot breath fans my thighs as his

lips kiss a trail to the juncture between my legs. My hips move in a slow circle, eager for whatever
delights he has in store for me.

“Oh no, you hold still.” He clamps down on my hips, pinning me to the bed. “It’s my turn to

drive you wild.”

And with those last words he dips his mouth lower, touching the sensitive skin with a soft kiss.

His tongue probes between the swollen lips, lapping at my opening and then moving higher to my clit.

His pointed flesh soothes, then teases, gradually taking me back up the hill toward another

orgasm. No matter my pleading and hair pulling, he won’t budge. After a few minutes he raises his
head and says, “Talk to me Katrina. Tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you inside me again.” His fingers push inside, pumping to match the teasing his

tongue is delivering. “More. I need something bigger. I want to rock my hips with yours and grind my
pelvis hard against you.” I try to wiggle but his hand pins me down. “I want your cock sliding back
and forth inside me until I come again.”

The pressure builds inside and all I can think of is wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted

anyone in my life. Whatever magic has befallen us during this storm, I never want it to end. I moan
and toss my head to the side, hoping he’ll take pity on me soon and get up here and fuck me.

He rises from my pussy, wipes his face on his arm, and crawls up the bed over me. “I think that

can be arranged.”

My legs splay to the side, open and offering myself to his attentions. In one deep thrust he seats

himself all the way in. This position allows deeper penetration than when I was on top and I relish
every delicious inch of him as he plunges over and over again. Back and forth, deeper and faster…
soon he adds a swivel to his hips, almost like a small circle.

Every rotation rubs my clit just right and soon I’m ready to soar back over the top.
“Jesus, Katrina. We barely know each other… and yet… you feel so right.”
I reach my arms around him, trailing one lower to grip his ass, and the other higher to force his

mouth down to mine.

I pour all the pent up passion I’ve held inside for years into the kiss, nipping, biting, sucking on

his mouth, tongue, and lips. The frenzied kissing ratchets up his movements, until I wonder how much
more I can take.

The emotions bubbling up force me to twist away from his kiss. They come tearing out of me in a

release so strong I hear myself scream into the candlelit room. Wave after wave of intense pleasure
cascades through me, lighting every dead, unresponsive cell I’ve ever had into life. Life, in its purest
form as energy, invigorates and pulses through me with each rising crest.

As my body hits its highest point, Marcus lets go, moaning into my shoulder as his peak rides

him hard. Shudders wrack his frame and his frantic pumping slows, drifting to a stop.

He stays inside me, letting his weight rest atop me while he catches his breath. I don’t mind. I

don’t want him to leave. It felt so good to experience all the sensations again, I have no desire to have
our encounter end just yet.

Thunder booms loudly overhead, reminding us once again of what drew us together tonight.
Marcus kisses my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at a summer storm quite the same way

again.”

“Me neither.”
After a minute, he rolls to the side and then rises, retreating to the bathroom. He returns shortly

and smiles shyly at me, as if he’s unsure where we stand.

I pat the mattress next to me. “Thank you. Tonight was incredible.”
He returns to the bed and pulls me close. “I feel like I’ve found a valuable treasure… and I’m

afraid I’m going to lose it too soon.”

I cuddle next to his chest and sigh, content for once without having to meditate for endless hours.

I bet I could even sleep like this, despite the lack of air conditioning and our sweaty bodies.

“You asked me enough times tonight, Marcus. Now it’s my turn to ask you: what do you want?”
One warm hand strokes my back, sliding up to gently cup my head where I’m lying. “I want to

see where this goes. I like you. And in case you couldn’t tell—I really enjoyed making love to you.”
He hesitates and his voice comes out higher, like he’s worried how I’ll answer. “But what about you?
Do you want to explore this new unleashed passion with other lovers? Maybe I’m not exactly what
you were looking for in a guy?”

I rise to look him straight in the eye. “Don’t you get it? I wasn’t looking for anyone. Haven’t

been for years. Sure, I’d often tell my friends I was on the prowl for the right guy, but my actions
spoke louder than my words. I never dated, never cared to be set up… just never really cared one
way or another.” I plant a kiss on his mouth, quick and light. “Until you.

“You made me open up with your silly dice game, cocky arrogance that hid the real you, and got

me to relax and enjoy the moment—and all the sexual goodness that it entailed. I want you, Marcus.” I
wiggle my eyebrows suggestively. “If you have another condom, I think I might want you again tonight
—very soon if you can manage it.”

Marcus smiles and tightens his hold on me. “If I’d known making love to Ms. Wrong was going

to feel so damn right, I’d have attempted it long ago. Thank you for helping me get my head out of my
ass.”

“What choice did I have? You’ve got a cute head and a tight ass. There was no room for such

nonsense.”

The power kicked back on around five a.m. And we did our very best to get as sweaty as possible
without having to use a condom (since we didn’t have any). Marcus ventured out in his damp clothes
at around seven to a deli a few blocks away for breakfast sandwiches and condoms. There was no
need to open the store as most of the city was suffering through clean up and sporadic power outages.

We used the time to talk and luxuriate in each other’s bodies. Neither one of us may know what’s

awaiting us next week, but we’ve both agreed we’d like to face it together. All in all, not a bad way
to end a night out with the girls—to wind up in the arms of a man who only has eyes for you.

~~*~~

About the Author

C.J. Ellisson lives in northern Virginia with her husband, two children, three dogs, and a fluffy black
cat who makes her sneeze. Unlike most full-time authors, she's also battling severe chronic illness.
C.J. works daily to put her Lupus into remission and continues to fight numerous bacterial infections
while her immune system slowly attacks her body. She turned to writing when she could no longer
work outside the home and claims the escape of penning contemporary erotic romance, urban fantasy,
and erotica has helped save her sanity

Loving Ms. Wrong is the fourth published book in the Walk on the Wild Side series and there are
currently five novels (three for Heather and Tony) and two novellas plotted.

Walk on the Wild Side Titles in reading order:

Heather and Tony’s Books:

Vanilla on Top

Vanilla Twist

Vanilla Spice (release date late 2014)

Best Friend Books:

Avoiding Mr. Right (Carla’s story)

Loving Ms. Wrong (Marcus’s Story)

Andrea’s story (no title yet) will be written after Vanilla Spice is completed and there may be books
for Tony’s brothers if there is enough reader interest.

Books in C.J.’s erotic urban fantasy, the V V Inn series:

Full Length Novels: Vampire Vacation, Book 1

The Hunt, Book 2

Big Game, Book 3

Novella: Death Times Two, Book 4 (A Grim Reality & V V Inn story)

Blood Legacy, Book 5 due out in 2014

The V V Inn eBook Bundle, Books 1-3 (best price!)

Prequel Novellas:

Death’s Servant, Book 1 (Jon’s tale)

Ceara’s Tales, Book 2 (An early Dria/Vivian story, due out Aug 2014)

Join C.J. Ellisson's Monthly Newsletter to Receive Notice of:

~ Contests
~ Free Reads & Sneak Peeks
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