Page 120 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
“Joellen! What happened? Why’re you back already?”
Unable to speak without bursting into a fresh round of tears, I shake my head. My whole body trembles. I’m so upset it’s like a bomb went off inside my stomach and ripped a huge hole right through me.
Everything I’ve been fantasizing about for the past ten years has been just that: a fantasy. Michael isn’t a knight in shining armor coming to rescue me on his trusty steed. He’s the apple the witch offered to Snow White—perfect, shiny, and filled with poison.
“Easy. Take a breath, lass. Come inside and talk to me.”
Cam’s shushing me with soft words, his arms strong and protective around my back. He kicks the door shut with his bare foot. “What happened to your hair? And why’ve you been cryin’?”
“Michael,” I whisper. “He . . . he . . .”
Cam goes stiff. His voice comes out low and dangerously hard. “He what, lass?”
I’m afraid to tell him exactly what happened, because I suspect by his tone, posture, and expression, he’ll march right out the door, find Michael, and make him wish he were never born. I go with a generalization instead. “He’s an asshole!”
Cam takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him. He growls, “If he got fresh with you, I’m gonna break his bloody knees!”
Though I feel like crying, that makes me smile a little. “Got fresh with me? That’s cute, grandma.”
“I swear to God, woman, you better tell me what he did to get you into this state or I’m gonna assume the worst, hunt that bastard down, and divest him of his testicles. Talk.”
In a small voice, I ask, “Why is it so hard for you to wear a shirt, prancer? This conversation would be a lot easier on me if I didn’t have to pretend you’re not half-naked.”
Though his expression is hard with worry, a glint of humor shines in his eyes at my words. He sweeps his thumb over my cheek, probably wiping away smeared mascara. “All these muscles are distractin’ you again, aren’t they?”
The truth is, they are. He’s huge and muscular and covered in tattoos, the exact opposite of Michael in pretty much every way.
And he’d never “get fresh” with me. He’ll joke and flirt and tease me mercilessly, but I know this man Michael once described as “an absolute animal” would rather cut off his own hands than do anything to hurt or disrespect me.
Like force himself on me in a ladies’ room in return for a promotion.
“Lass,” says Cam, watching me think with a furrow between his brows. “I dunno what’s goin’ on inside that brain of yours, but—”
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I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
He sucks in a startled breath, but I steal it back from him and kiss him harder. He allows it, taking my tongue into his mouth with a small groan, but almost immediately takes control back from me, twisting his head to break the kiss. We stand there for a moment, breathing raggedly, the silence yawning wider with every tick of the clock.
“What was that?” he asks, his voice rough edged.
“That was a kiss.”
My arms are still around his shoulders. His arms are still around my back. Our chests are pressed so tightly together I feel his heart thudding like mad against my breasts.
“You mean a revenge kiss? Because I don’t think that was really about me.”
Groaning, I close my eyes and drop my head to his chest.
“Just answer me this: Did he hurt you?”
“Only my ego,” I admit, miserable. “And maybe my faith in humanity.”
And my poor, stupid heart, of course, which is weeping at the death of a beautiful dream. Not only have I lost Michael, my career is over. Even if Michael doesn’t fire me, Portia will report me for fraternizing with the CEO, and that will be that. She’s already interrupted us together in the kitchen and probably made written notes of every time she saw us together at the office. Even if I deny any involvement with him, all they’ll have to do is a search of my email to find enough evidence to put my head on the chopping block.
My job is toast.
“Your instincts were right about him, Cam. He was at the party with his wife. I’m such a fool.”
