Page 6 of Shock to the Heart

She sighs with relief. "You understand."

I look up at her again. "I think so. Assuming you even play guitar. For all I know, it's flute and accordion music. Or maybe the triangle?"

Her giggle rings out like a bell. "It's kind of mellow rock 'n' roll, with grungy, processed guitars, ambient background keyboards, and… Well, I was hoping for crystal clear vocals."

The outlet snaps into place, and I go to the panel to click the breaker back on. The meter confirms that the wiring works; the current and ground are perfect. I set the tool down and turn to her. "And since they're gone this weekend, this was your chance to be here in the studio alone, and to do everything your way."

"Exactly."

My hand reaches out of its own accord, and my fingertips drag along the back of her palm. "I'm sorry that Murphy's Law kicked in and ruined your plans."

Her bottom lip trembles. Am I making her nervous? I step back and remove my hand. "Sorry," I murmur.

Her tongue dashes across her bottom lip, and her luscious mouth stretches into a smile. "It's okay," she breathes.

I wipe my hands on my jeans. "Hey, how's your lip?"

Her chin tips up as her mouth falls slightly open. "You tell me."

I'm not imagining it. She's asking for a kiss. My heart pounds as she stares at me expectantly. Stepping closer, I keep my movements very slow as one hand circles her hip, the other cupping her face as I run my thumb gently across her lower lip.

"I don't think it's swollen. But then, I didn't see you before it happened." Her long lashes move slowly as she blinks, her breath unsteady as she moves her mouth slightly toward mine. "The only way to know for sure, is…"

Electra stretches up the last quarter inch to press her mouth to mine.

It's not an electrical shock, rather a series of slow, gradual explosions flooding my bloodstream and setting my nerves on fire. I pull her body to mine, clasping her firmly against me as the kiss deepens. She kisses me back with just as much passion, as her fingers caress the close-cropped hair at the back of my neck.

This is it. This is the connection I've been looking for my entire life.

Grounded so deeply that the current flows right through me.

5

ELECTRA

In all my years of singing, I've never perfected a throaty, breathy sound like this.

My moan makes Trey smile, as his huge, strong hands keep my body tightly against his. Wow, can this man kiss. Our mouths mold together as we breathe each other in, lost in each other, every subtle movement slow and dreamy.

Clutching the back of his hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other, I can feel how solidly this man is built. Nothing like the skinny guitarists or slouchy intellectuals that my parents have pushed on me when they invite their friends' sons to visit occasionally. They're not the slightest bit subtle about it – they want me to end up with an artsy type.

I didn't know my type until now. It's Trey. Solid. Capable and strong.

There's a slight growl in his throat as he kisses me even harder, then gently pushes me away. "I don't want to stop," he pants. "But I did promise to get the studio done. Which means patching the wall right away so the first coat of plaster has time to dry."

I stick my bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, and he kisses it again. "You're incredible, gorgeous. But you're going to have to let the workman do his work."

"Fine." He laughs at my bratty eye roll.

My heart flutters every time he smiles. His large hands are so efficient, and it's fascinating to watch him as he works at his craft. Especially when I wonder if those incredible hands might be working on me later.

He traces a template of the square he cut out of the wall, then goes outside to cut a piece of drywall to fit. Luckily, it's right over a stud…tee hee, stud…so he can easily screw it in place.

He hands me an empty large yogurt tub. "Can you fill this with very cold water, please?"

"Sure." By the time I come back, he's ready to mix the compound. "It's just like icing a cake!" I laugh, watching him work the putty knife swiftly around the edges of the hole.

"Well, I haven't tried making fancy roses yet. Maybe next time." He fills in all of the edges, then scrapes them as flat as possible. Then he smudges over the nail holes. The repair is obvious, but at least the wall is repaired.

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