Page 20 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

I lie there long enough to feel the tremor leave my thighs. We are a wreck with sweat, dust from the trench, the faint mineral smell of the lake still clinging to his skin. I start laughing before I can stop it.

Marc lifts his head. “That is not the sound a man hopes for.”

“We are filthy.” I poke his shoulder. “You inspected my service, dug up my lawn, and then did that in my clean bed. There are health codes.”

“I don’t work for the county.”

“Lucky you.” I slide out from under him. My legs argue about it. I win, barely, and catch his wrist. “Come on.”

“Kelsey …”

“You threw me in a lake two days ago. The least you can do is wash the dirt off before you get any more ideas.” I tug. He could stop me with one planted hand, but he doesn’t. He sits up, glorious and disreputable, and I watch his mouth change when he realizes I am serious.

I snag his jeans off the floor and toss the wallet onto the quilt. “Bring what you need. I’m not done with you.”

His eyes darken. “You’re in a mood.”

“I’m in my house, Decker. I can be in any mood I want.”

The bathroom is small enough that he has to turn sideways in the doorway. I twist the shower on and hold my fingers under the spray until it runs hot. Steam lifts against the mirror. I look at him over my shoulder, naked and still marked from his mouth, and I let him see that I am not shy about this.

“Well?” I step in first. Water hits my shoulders, my breasts, the ache he left between my legs. I hold out my hand through the steam, playful on purpose, because if I am not careful I will say something I cannot take back. “I hear you’re good with wet conditions. Prove it.”

Marc picks up the wallet, extracts another packet, and sets it on the shelf inside the shower like a man laying out a tool he intends to use. Then he takes my hand.

His gaze drops the length of me as the water sheets over my skin, and the look on his face is no longer careful at all.

Chapter Eight

Marc

The water is hotter than I expect. Kelsey pulls me under it anyway, laughing when I hiss, and the sound punches straight through what little composure I have left.

She is slick already. Dirt runs off her shoulders in pale streams. I get my hands in her hair because I have wanted to since I watched her water those damned geraniums at dawn, and I tip her head back under the spray. She lets me. Her eyes stay on mine while I work the water through the length of it.

“You’re being very thorough,” she says.

“Occupational habit.”

“Do you rinse every job site like this?”

“Only the ones that kiss me first.”

Her smile is wicked and soft at the same time. She takes the soap from the dish and starts on my chest with both hands, but without hurry. I brace one palm on the tile behind her head and let her. The stall is too small for a man my size. But I don’t care. We’re making it work. Her breasts brush my stomach each time she moves. My cock is already rising again between us, obvious, and she glances down as if she has won something.

“Hello,” she murmurs.

“You dragged me in here.”

“I did.” She wraps her soapy hand around me, one slow stroke that nearly takes my knee out. “I’m very organized. I like to finish what I start.”

I catch her wrist before I embarrass myself against her stomach. “Turn around.”

She does it without argument, which does nothing to calm me down. I wash her back, the dip of her waist, the generous curve of her ass. I take my time on purpose. When my hand slides around and cups her, she drops her forehead against the tile and makes a sound I am going to hear in my mind for a long time.

“Marc.”

“I know.” I kiss her wet shoulder. “Still with me?”