Page 9 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
My tirade loses a bit of steam when I realize he’s smiling. And—of course—he’s barechested and barefoot, wearing only a pair of shiny black athletic shorts that are so tight the bulge in front practically screams Look at me!
Holy cow. This beast is packing some serious heat.
“Starin’ at my baby maker again, lass,” says the Mountain with a low chuckle. “It’s becomin’ a bad habit of yours, innit?”
Steam pours from my ears. My entire face goes red. I clench my hands to fists to stop them from curling around his throat. “If you wouldn’t prance around half-naked all the time—”
“Prance?” he repeats, one eyebrow lifted. “Cameron McGregor does not prance.”
“—people wouldn’t have to be subjected to the sight of your body—”
“You make it sound like a punishment.”
“—accosted in their own homes while they’re trying to mind their own business—”
“When I know for a fact you actually enjoy it.”
My mouth hangs open. “Excuse me?”
He grins. “You heard me. I know when a woman wants me.”
I’m surprised he doesn’t explode into a million tiny caveman shards from the thermonuclear look I give him. “For your information, you’re the last man on the planet I’d ever be attracted to. In spite of your obviously overinflated opinion of yourself, you’re not my type.”
“Oh, really?” Still grinning his ridiculous, conceited, pearly-white grin, he props his hands on his hips. “Then why’re you always starin’ at me like I’m lunch and lookin’ at me through your peephole?”
“You’re insane,” I say flatly.
He jerks his chin at the tiny round window in the middle of my door. “It goes dark when your head’s there, blockin’ the light. I’d say you stared at me for a good five minutes while I was warmin’ up this mornin’, lass.”
Damn. He knew I was watching.
My face flaming, I glare at him. He grins back at me. This lasts for an uncomfortably long time, until a woman’s voice floats into the hallway.
“Cam, get back in here! We’re not finished!”
Without looking away from me, he says casually over his shoulder, “Aye, we are, sweetheart. I’ll call you a cab.”
“Wow. What a gentleman.”
He shrugs. “She knew the deal. You don’t go home with a stranger after one drink if you’re interested in a long-term relationship.”
This guy is a real piece of work. “Okay, number one? You’re disgusting. Number two? This conversation is over. Number three? If you keep up the noise, I’m not only calling the super, I’m calling the cops.”
He cocks his head, looks me up and down, then pronounces, “You’re tense. Guess your date didn’t go as
well as mine did, eh?”
I suddenly understand how otherwise rational people can lose their minds and commit murder in a fit of rage. “It’s been real, McGregor.” I swing the door closed. It slams shut in his face with a loud, satisfying thud.
Through the door, he says, “I’ll make you a deal, Joellen.”
“If it involves you swallowing a vial of poison, you’re on.”
“Bake me one of your shepherd’s pies, and I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Your pie for my silence.” A hint of laughter warms his voice.
“Pie. I get it. Hilarious. What are you, ten years old?”
For an answer, I get two short affirmative knocks on my door, as if we have an agreement, though I’ve agreed to nothing. Then his door closes across the hall, and I’m left standing there glaring at a slab of painted wood like an idiot.
