Page 28 of Tempting Kat
Conrad
I've always considered patience a virtue, but waiting for Katarina makes me feel like a goddamn predator stalking prey.
I arrive at Euphoria forty minutes before her shift starts. Santiago nods as I take my usual corner spot at the bar.
The door finally swings open with enough force to rattle the hinges. There she is—my obsession in torn fishnets and combat boots, storming in twenty minutes late.
“Fucking perverts!” Katarina snarls, slamming her bag on the bar. “Some greasy asshole on the 42 bus had his hand on my ass the whole fucking ride. When I called him out, the dickhead pretended like he was innocent. Like, I know what 'accidentally' grabbing a handful feels like versus copping a deliberate feel, you know?”
She's talking to Mia behind the bar, not me, but my vision narrows anyway. My jaw locks so tight I taste metal. Some worthless piece of shit put his hands on what's mine. The glass in my grip is close to shattering.
“Then this bitch next to me had the nerve to tell me I should 'dress more appropriately' if I don't want attention. Like, sorrymy existence offends you, Karen. Not everyone wants to look like they shop exclusively at Boring Bitches R Us.”
My eye twitches. My free hand forms a fist under the bar, knuckles white. I could find him. It wouldn't be difficult. The 42 route, the time she takes it—I could have my driver follow it tomorrow, identify the man, and make sure he never touches another woman again.
But that's not enough.
Katarina shouldn't be on public transportation at all. The thought of her pressed against strangers, vulnerable to whatever filth decides to violate her space—it makes something primal and violent rise in me.
After tomorrow, she won't set foot on another fucking bus. I'll make sure of it. She'll fight me on it, of course. My little kitty kat always does. But I've built my reputation by taking what I want, and what I want is her safe, protected, and completely under my control.
She finally notices me watching her, her emerald eyes flashing with recognition. The corner of her mouth quirks up in that smirk that makes me want to take a bite out of her ass.
“Well, if it isn't Mr. Dark and Broody,” she calls out. “You planning on drinking that, or just glaring at it until it apologizes?”
“I was considering which is more entertaining—watching you make a scene or this watered-down excuse for bourbon.” I take a deliberate sip, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “Your mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Katarina.”
“Promises, promises.” She rolls her eyes and turns to Mia. “I got it from here. Go home to your cats or whatever.”
“They're dogs, actually,” Mia mutters, already untying her apron. “And maybe say thank you for covering your late ass again?”
Katarina flashes a smile that's all teeth. “Thanks, babe. I'll make it up to you.”
As Mia gathers her things, Katarina punches in her code at the register and she continues ranting.
“Seriously though, what is it with men thinking they own public space? Like their dick gives them squatter's rights to my ass?”
“Maybe they need a lesson in what happens when they touch what belongs to someone else.” My voice drops an octave, the threat unmistakable.
She snorts, grabbing bottles from the speed rail and rearranging them. “Right, because I'm property. Sorry to break it to you, but this ass—” she turns and slaps her own curved backside, “—is independently owned and operated.”
My cock stiffens at the display.
“That's what you think,” I mutter, tracking her movements as she works her way down the bar, starting to serve drinks to the other patrons.
For the next few hours, I nurse my glass, watching her like a hawk. Every smile she gives some other bastard feels like a personal affront. Every time she laughs at someone else's joke, my grip tightens on my glass. But she's deliberately avoiding me, making sure to serve everyone else first, only glancing my way when she thinks I'm not looking.
The bar gets busier as the night wears on. A group of college kids stumbles in, already half-drunk, demanding shots. Katarina handles them with ease. Her hands are small but confident, dexterous in a way that has me imagining them wrapped around my cock.
It's almost closing time when she finally approaches, wiping her hands on a bar rag. The place has thinned out, just a few stragglers and me.
“You planning on sitting there all night?” she asks, leaning her hip against the bar.
“Until you decide to acknowledge me, yes.” I take a slow perusal of her as she stands in front of me. “You've been avoiding me.”
“I've been working,” she corrects, but the flush on her cheeks tells me I'm right. “Some of us have jobs that don't involve brooding in corners. Another?”
“Please.” I slide my glass toward her, our fingers brushing.
