Page 22 of Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door

“Yes.”

“Then yes,” she says. “Very with you.”

I grab two towels off the bar, wrap one around her first, and kiss the corner of her mouth.

“Come to bed,” I say.

“My bed,” she corrects, soft and teasing again. “Try not to get it dirty this time.”

“No promises.”

Chapter Nine

Kelsey

Iwake before the alarm with one of Marc’s arms beneath my neck and the other heavy across my waist. For several seconds, I do not open my eyes. The lake moves softly beyond the cracked window, water touching the shore with the same constant rhythm. But everything inside my bedroom feels different.

Marc’s chest is warm against my back. One of his knees is wedged between mine, and his breath moves the hair near my temple. I am tender in several interesting places. My shower is going to require cleaning, my quilt may never forgive either of us, and the electrician next door is sleeping in my bed as if he has been doing it for years.

I should be panicking.

Instead, I turn carefully inside his arms so I can look at him. Sleep softens the sternness from his face. His dark hair is a mess, and a faint red mark crosses one shoulder where I held on in the shower. The sight of it sends a satisfied tingle through my stomach.

His eyes open. There is no confusion in them, no instant when he has to remember where he is or who is beside him. His hand slides from my waist to my hip beneath the sheet.

“Morning,” he says.

His voice is rougher after sleep. I like it far too much.

“I have a professional question.”

One eyebrow lifts. “At this hour?”

“Was that AC or DC that happened last night?”

Marc’s smile opens up. “Does it matter?”

“Only if one of them means you can do it again.”

He rolls me beneath him before I finish the sentence. “Around you, Kelsey, I’ve always got a current flowing.”

His kiss is deep enough to prove his point, but the alarm begins chirping from the nightstand before either of us can conduct further research. Marc reaches across me to silence it. The movement presses every hard part of him against every soft part of me, which is a terrible way to encourage responsible behavior.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Four forty-five.”

I groan. “That is not morning. That is a clerical error.”

“My crew starts at six.” He kisses the side of my neck, then makes himself pull away. “I need a shower.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Mine. If I get in yours with you, I’ll be unemployed by breakfast.”

He stands and begins gathering his clothes. There is something startlingly intimate about watching a naked man search beneath my bed for one missing sock. I have had lovers. I have even lived with one, briefly and badly. None of those experiences prepared me for how deeply ordinary this moment feels or how much I want to keep it.

Marc finds the sock and catches me watching him. “What?”