Page 13 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

"Leave them," he says.

"I don't leave dirty dishes overnight."

"It's eight-thirty."

"They don't improve with age."

"Kelsey."

Something in his voice makes me turn. Marc stands close enough that the front of his shirt brushes my breasts when I breathe. His hand remains on my back, broad and warm, while the other comes to rest on the counter beside me.

"I have been thinking about kissing you since yesterday," he says.

"Only since yesterday?"

"I didn't know you before then."

"Fair point."

"I came over here determined to take this slowly."

"How is that going?"

His thumb moves against my back. "Badly."

I could let him make the next move. The hunger in his eyes promises he will. But I am tired of standing in my own kitchen wondering how his mouth will feel, and I have never believed a woman must wait to be chosen. I place both hands on his chest, rise onto my toes, and kiss him.

Marc goes still for half a heartbeat. Then his arm closes around my waist and lifts me against him. His mouth takes over the kiss, firm and hungry, parting mine with a low sound that vibrates through his chest and into my palms.

Every thought I have had about this man proves inadequate. He tastes like wine and the sweet pastry we shared. His beard scrapes my chin, and one large hand spreads over my hip before sliding lower to cup my ass through the soft dress. The possession in that touch sends heat racing between my thighs.

Marc backs me against the counter, careful even while he kisses me as if restraint is becoming painful. I feel the hard length of him against my stomach. My fingers move into his hair, tugging the dark strands until another rough sound leaves him.

"Kelsey." He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to mine. His breathing is as uneven as mine. "Tell me what you want."

I look at his mouth. "I want you to stop asking practical questions."

"Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because wanting you doesn't give me the right to decide for you."

His answer is admirable, but he has no idea how deeply I desire him. Marc could easily overwhelm me physically. He is strong enough to lift me onto the counter and broad enough to block out the rest of the room. Yet beneath every demanding kiss is the certainty that my choice matters to him.

I slide my hand behind his neck. "Then I want you to kiss me again."

He does. This kiss is slower and somehow hotter, his tongue moving against mine while his hand explores the curve from my waist to my thigh. When his fingers reach the bare skin beneath the hem of my dress, I open for him without hesitation.

The ring of my phone cuts through the room, and Marc's hand stills high on my thigh. I close my eyes, tempted to ignore it, until the special ringtone sounds again. Only registered guests reach me through that number after eight.

"I have to answer," I whisper.

He releases me immediately, although every hard line of his body protests. "Answer it."

The call is from Mrs. Lawson. Harold cannot find the television remote in Cabin Two. It takes me less than a minute to explain that it is inside the basket beneath the coffee table, but the interruption has returned enough sense to the room for me to recognize how quickly we were moving.

Marc watches me set down the phone. "You all right?"