Page 138 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
Cam groans. “Bloody hell. She’s early.”
I try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. “Sweetie. I have to get that.”
He flops onto his back with a dramatic sigh and flings an arm over his face. I clamber off the bed, plant a quick kiss on his chest, and head for the phone, saying over my shoulder, “You’d give Mrs. Dinwiddle a run for her money in the theatrics department, honey.”
He’s still muttering under his breath about the interruption as I leave the room. I snatch my cell from the coffee table in the living room where I left it last night when Cam picked me up from the sofa, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me into the bedroom, bitching that he’d had enough of TV and needed to get his fill of me.
I’m still waiting for him to be filled, but so far it hasn’t happened.
“Joellen Bixby speaking.”
“Happy Monday, Joellen. It’s Portia. How are you?”
Her voice is warm. Over the past month and a half we’ve forged something that might actually qualify as a friendship, speaking on the phone several times a week, and not always about work. As it turns out, the ice queen has a really wicked sense of humor.
I sit down on the sofa and prop my feet on the coffee table, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Cam’s downtown Edinburgh flat to a panoramic view of Edinburgh Castle, the Meadows—a miniature version of Central Park—and the city center. “I’m great, Portia. How’s everything at the home office?”
“Nothing interesting to report since we last spoke, except Denny has launched into some new seasonally themed fart jokes.”
“Oh God. Valentine’s Day fart jokes? I can’t even imagine.”
Portia laughs. “Yes. Apparently farts are the screams of trapped—”
“Stop!” I say loudly, waving my free hand in the air. “I left the country to escape fart jokes—I don’t need you telling them to me over the phone!”
“I know for a fact you left the country for a different reason altogether, Joellen. And how is your Scottish baller?”
I have to laugh at the term and the innuendo in her voice. “Don’t let Ruth in HR hear you talking like that or you’ll get a black mark on your employment record. And he’s great, thanks for asking.” I sigh in contentment, dreamily twirling a lock of hair through my fingers. “He’s amazing.”
Portia says sharply, “If you’re about to tell me you need time off for a honeymoon, I’m about to tell you there are very few places on earth without Wi-Fi—”
“Nobody’s getting married! We’re not even talking about that yet!”
There’s a brief silence after my outburst, then Portia goes all practical on me. “Forgive the impropriety, but you’re almost forty. You’ve probably got about half a dozen good eggs left.”
“Whoa! We went from getting married straight to infertility! Have you been talking to my mother?”
“No,” she says, “but I think you?
?d be a wonderful mother. No time like the present. So how’s Beth Addison’s book coming along? I can’t wait to get that sucker to market. She’s such a fantastic writer.”
“You’re giving me whiplash here, Portia.”
“Keep up, Joellen. Just because you’re not in Manhattan any longer doesn’t mean I’ll accept any slack in your mental pace.” She pauses. “Or has all the haggis gone to your head?”
I watch as Cam ambles into the room, gorgeous in only a pair of white briefs. He strolls over to where I’m sitting, leans over the back of the sofa, sweeps aside my hair, and kisses my neck.
“I wouldn’t eat haggis if you paid me a billion dollars. Let’s get back to Beth Addison before this conversation completely goes off the rails.”
Against the back of my neck, Cam murmurs, “We should talk about marriage, though. Considerin’ I already talked to your parents about it.” He stands and casually walks into the kitchen, as if he hasn’t just dropped a grenade into my lap.
He’s already talked to my parents about marrying me? Am I having a heart attack? Is this what a heart attack feels like? Oh God, I can’t feel my face.
“. . . on track with the dev edit?”
“What? Huh? What’d you say?” I twist around on the sofa so I can look at Cam. He’s rummaging around in the cupboard for something, his back to me.
Portia’s sigh sounds aggrieved. “I’m glad I didn’t already patch the rest of the team in—you’re hopeless today.”
