Loving Ms. Wrong Read Online Free PDF Page A

when
you’re leading a hot guy back to your windowless,
college-student-like digs. The floor. Idiot.
    His phone dies completely when we’re in the
hall. I almost jump when his hand rests on my shoulder. “Which way
now, Katrina?”
    I hesitate and turn left, toward my small
art studio. “I’ve got a blowtorch and a clicker to light it in
here.”
    He chuckles softly behind me, pressing
closer as I lead him through the doorway. “Now that’s not something
you hear every day.”
    His hand drops to my waist, the other hand
joining to land on my opposite hip, the position apparently easier
for him to follow me in the pitch black. Sparks fly at the contact,
despite the wet clothes making me feel like a half-drowned rat.
    We bump our way to the workbench and I feel
around ’til I find the items I need, dropping my shoes and purse on
the flat surface in the process. I open the gas valve just a little
on the hand held tank and attempt to light it. After several shaky
clicks of the metal igniter a sharp-tipped flame sparks into
existence.
    “Score!” Marcus says cheerfully from behind
me. “We have light.”
    I reach for my shoes and motion toward my
purse. “Can you grab that and dig my keys out? There’s a lock on my
room, too.”
    “Sure.”
    We make it back through my workroom and into
the hall much faster with the added light from the blowtorch. He
digs around in my purse, spilling a couple of items out to the
floor.
    “Whoops, sorry about that.” He hands me the
keys and then bends to retrieve whatever fell.
    His soft laughter greets me as I slide the
key home. A grin a mile wide stretches his face as he holds up the
sex die—again.
    “Looks like the universe is trying to tell
us something.”

 
     
     
     
     

Chapter Four
    Marcus
     
    Katrina stands frozen in place. I’d only meant my
comment as an icebreaker, but it seems to have had the opposite
effect. At least she’s not looking at me in horror like she did in
the cab. Maybe after working together on the window she’s warming
to me.
    “Hey, I’m kidding,” I say, trying to diffuse
her distress. “We just met. I’m not some creep you have to worry
about being stuck in a storm with.”
    Katrina lets out a breath and steps through
the door. “Come on in. It’s not much, and it’s only temporary.”
    I can’t see much past the circle of
illumination cast from the blowtorch. If she hadn’t said she lives
here, I might have thought it was a really nice break room for
employees. There’s a futon couch, a small table with two chairs,
and a neat counter area with a microwave, a sink, and a tiny fridge
underneath. There may be more to the space, but that’s all I can
make out so far.
    My eyes have had a chance to adjust to the
light and I head to the counter with my dripping shirt and her
purse. She bustles around behind me while I set the purse aside and
wring out my shirt in the sink, leaving it draped on the edge when
I’m done. The hiss of the blowtorch cuts off and a faint glow
lights 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