Page 54 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
“You said the sonnet you recited to him was called ‘Ode to Old Chicks.’ Was that about yourself?”
Heat ascends my neck in a slow, creeping flush. “I’m thirty-six, McGregor.”
“And you think that’s old?”
“Are you screwing with me right now?”
He shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair, and mutters something under his breath. “Never mind. Back to the big picture. Married boss. Single employee. An almost kiss in the company kitchen. The possibility of flushin’ your whole career down the toilet if your friend the wicked witch decides to report you to management.”
“Michael is management.”
“Aye. And you’re up for a promotion. How’s that gonna look?”
I hesitate, considering what he’s suggesting. Cam must not like my expression, because his voice comes out hard.
“Don’t be naïve. If that woman wants to, she can make big problems for you at work. There’s all sorts o’ ways she can make your life hell. Smear your reputation. Turn people against you. Undermine the legitimacy of your hard work by sayin’ the promotion is only ’cause you’re bangin’ the boss. Use your imagination, lass.”
I think of Ruth in HR and how she didn’t seem to like Michael barging in on our meeting, of how deep Portia’s hatred for me appears to go, and my stomach flips with anxiety. I guzzle the rest of my glass of wine. “Bummer. And here I was thinking I’d take you up on that offer to teach me how to kiss.” I laugh nervously. “That’s the least of my troubles!”
I pour myself more wine. It isn’t until I’m about to lift it to my mouth that I notice Cam has appeared noiselessly next to me once again. “Dude. Seriously. That’s freaky. Cut it out.”
“I just had a thought.”
“Another one? This is a record week for you.”
Cam takes the glass of wine from my hand and carefully sets it on the counter. Then he looks at me with shuttered eyes and an expressionless face. “Maybe I’m bein’ too hard on you, lass. I did offer you my help, after all.”
“Yes, you did.”
“So. Go ahead, then.”
I furrow my brow and stare up at him. “Go ahead and what?”
“Kiss me.”
The sound of Mr. Bingley scarfing his food is the only noise in the kitchen for a moment, until Cam prompts, “C’mon, let’s see what you’ve got. I have to know what I’m workin’ with if I’m gonna be any help.”
Heat spreads over my chest and up my neck, then my ears are burning.
Cam shrugs. “Or don’t. It’s no sweat off my back if pretty boy tries to kiss you and winds up with a face full o’ slobber.”
He starts to go back to the table, but I grab his shirt. “Wait!”
He slants me a look.
“Um . . . okay.” I take a deep breath. “But you can’t touch me.”
“I see,” he says drily. “So it’ll just be our auras kissin’, then.”
“Stop being sarcastic. This is serious!”
Cam sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “Lass. I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve kissed someone, but there are these things called lips involved? I’m pretty sure that counts as touching.”
“I meant with your hands!”
He holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
When I narrow my eyes at him, he chuckles. “Tell you what. I’ll stand here like this”—he strolls to the opposite counter, puts his hands behind his back, and leans his weight against them so they’re pinned—“and you can do your thing with no worry about stray hands.”
