Page 62 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
He drags a hand through his hair and shakes his head like he’s shaking off a bad memory. “Ten. You got anything planned for today?”
“Nope.”
“Good. We’re goin’ sh
oppin’.” He turns around and disappears, and now I’m worried.
“Shopping?” I hurry after him into the living room. “We already bought enough food for a month—”
“Not for food, lass. For a dress for the holiday party.”
When I stand there blinking at him in surprise, he shrugs. “Unless you don’t want a man’s opinion on the matter. I’m sure whatever you pick will be nice.”
I think of what I wore to the last holiday party and cringe. I thought ruffles would help hide my girth, but in photos I looked like a demented pirate who’d consumed his entire crew. “I mean, if you don’t have anything better to do, that would be great.”
His eyes—damn hazel eyes!—burn right through me. “I don’t have anything better to do.”
Now I’m feeling shy. Also weirdly guilty and ashamed, like he caught me masturbating or something. “Um. Okay. I need to take a shower.”
“I’ll go change out of my sweats. How much time d’you need?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“That’s it?”
“Why do you look so surprised?”
“Nothin’. Just in my experience women usually take a lot longer than that to get ready.”
Right. In his “experience” with women, which, if made into book form, would encompass several thousand pornographic volumes.
Inspecting my face, Cam says, “You’ve got that intestinal gas look again, darlin’.”
“I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready.” Scowling, I go back into my bedroom and close the door firmly behind me, pushing aside my curiosity at why I’m suddenly so mad.
It must be because he called me darling.
Jerk.
If I thought going with Cameron McGregor to a grocery store was an education in the collective lust of women, going with him to a mall filled with holiday shoppers turns out to be an education in the collective lust of the entire human race.
Everyone stares at him. Everyone. Women, men, children, dogs. Heads swivel in his wake like weather vanes in the wind. Mouths hang open. People stop in their tracks and gape.
It’s so creepy that after a few hours of it I’m ready to jump out of my skin.
“God, how do you stand it?” I ask under my breath, edging closer to him as a pair of goggle-eyed women move nearer. They’ve been circling like vultures for the better part of twenty minutes, whispering to each other as they follow us from rack to rack in the dress department of Saks.
“Stand what?” asks Cam, browsing through the rack with an expert eye. Every once in a while he’ll pull something out, then put it back after a brief inspection and move on. Apparently he has a very specific idea of what he’s looking for.
“The ogling.” I nudge him with my elbow.
He looks up and sees the women. When he smiles at them, they freeze. Then they perform a hilarious about-face and dart away, giggling hysterically like a pair of silly teenage girls, though they’re obviously both over fifty.
“I hardly notice it anymore,” he says with a shrug, then withdraws a red dress from the rack with a little growl of pleasure. “This one.” He tosses it at me and keeps going.
I drape the dress over my arm and watch him continue his quest. “Seriously, though, it must get annoying! The amount of attention you get doesn’t bother you?”
“Comes with the territory, lass. This kind of rare, extraordinary beauty has a price.” He sends me a wink and I roll my eyes.
