Page 82 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
So are my panties, sir. “I’m a little . . . this is all a bit . . . surprising.”
I worry that’s the wrong thing to say, because his smile fades. He drags a hand through his hair, props both elbows on the table, and looks at the tablecloth. He’s wearing a jacket that matches the color of his eyes, a white shirt open at the collar, tan slacks, and a huge chunky gold watch that glitters under the lights. I think it has diamonds.
Cam would probably snicker at a man who wears a watch with diamonds.
Why am I thinking about Cam?
I sit up straighter, push McGregor out of my head, and focus on Michael. Beautiful, elegant Michael, who now looks like he’s about to cry. “Michael? Are you all right?”
He clears his throat and turns to me with a smile that looks forced. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive me—it’s been a rough couple of weeks. This divorce . . .” He makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “Enough about me and my problems. Let’s talk about you.”
I don’t want to talk about me because I’m boring, but mostly because his show of emotion has made me bold. On impulse, I touch his arm. “It’s totally normal to be upset when you’re going through a divorce. You don’t have to pretend everything’s okay.”
Who am I now, Dr. Phil?
Michael gazes at me with a look of intense concentration, a little furrow between his brows. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you. I’ve always liked that about you, Joellen. You’re kind.”
He lightly rests his fingers on the back of my hand, and I have to force myself not to suck in a breath at the jolt of lust that zings through me.
We stare at each other in silence until the waiter reappears, then we break apart like we’ve been caught having sex in public.
I fan myself with my napkin while the waiter opens the bottle and pours two glasses of wine. This is hell on my nerves. If I get out of this club tonight without having a total mental breakdown, I’ll count myself lucky.
When the waiter leaves, Michael lifts his glass. “A toast.”
I lift my glass, too. “What are we toasting?”
Michael’s lips lift into a small, seductive smile. “New beginnings.”
A faint wheeze passes my lips. I repeat, “New beginnings,” in a strangled voice, and chug my wine in a few short gulps.
He doesn’t look at all disturbed by what most people would consider strong evidence of a drinking problem. He simply takes a sip of his own wine and refills my glass.
“You’re nervous.” He looks at me from the corner of his eye as he pours.
I exhale hard and close my eyes. “It’s that obvious?”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered.”
I open my eyes and stare in disbelief at his handsome profile. “You’re flattered?”
“That,” he says with a chuckle, like he’s pointing something out. “I really like that.”
Now I’m confused. “What?”
He sets the bottle on the table and turns to me, blasting me with the full paralyzing effect of his baby blues. “You’re oblivious to how charming you are. It’s very appealing.”
It’s all I can do not to fall over dead. I swallow more wine and whisper shakily, “Thank you.”
After a moment where I refuse to look at him because I’m too afraid of what he might see on my face, he asks, “Do you find me attractive?”
I honk out a laugh that would sound at home coming from a goose. “Attractive? Are you kidding? I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen!”
Except for Cam.
I’d like to slap whoever that little voice belongs to inside my head, but I don’t have time to dwell on it because Michael has settled his hand on my knee, causing my leg to erupt in flames.
I wore a skirt, one of the few I own. It’s a simple black thing, but it fits well. I did end up shaving my legs because I thought what the hell, if we end up shagging in the bathroom at the Liquid Kitty, my life will be complete.
