Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(17)

My jaw unhinges and lands somewhere in the center of my chest. Cameron McGregor has . . . ethics?

No. I’m hearing him wrong. This is the man whore we’re talking about. He’s just playing devil’s advocate.

The oven timer dings. For seconds that feel like eons, Cam and I stare at each other in bristling silence, neither one willing to back down first. Finally I can’t take the tension anymore and turn away, cursing under my breath.

As I don a pair of oven mitts, Cam sits down again, which is the opposite of what I want him to do. “Here.” I remove the bubbling dish from the oven and set it on the stove top with a clatter, then rip off the oven mitts and toss them on the counter. “Here’s your stupid shepherd’s pie. Now go back to Kellen’s apartment and leave me in peace with my pathetic one-sided love story.”

“Never said it was pathetic, lass.”

His voice is gentle, which only pisses me off more. “But that’s what you think. It’s pretty obvious you think I’m dumb as dirt for feeling the way I do.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” Cam says, watching me steadily. “But sometimes what you think is love is just a beautiful form of self-destruction. The worst thing in life is to give yourself away in exchange for nothing.”

He’s surprised me again with his eloquence. I’d have bet my life this swaggering, skirt-chasing beast didn’t have it in him.

Then it hits me: this is exactly how he’s so successful with women. Pretty speeches and dazzling smiles, parading around in his underwear with his muscles on display, all of it designed with the goal of getting girls on their backs with their feet in the air.

My heart hardens against him like a pond freezing over in a bitter winter frost. The entire population of Manhattan could skate on it, it’s so cold.

“Well, my life is mine, and what I do with it is my business,” I say stiffly. “Now please leave. I’m exhausted. I worked all weekend, and I have to get up early to go back in the morning.”

Why am I explaining anything to him? Why am I not hurling the burning-hot dish at his head? And why, oh why am I letting this blunt instrument of a man upset me? His opinion means nothing!

Cam’s face darkens with that strange tension again, but then he breaks into a grin, and the moment passes as if it never happened at all. He rises, stretches his arms overhead, then yawns as if this entire conversation has bored him to tears.

“Tell you what, lass. I’m gonna do you a huge favor.”

“If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with your penis, I will kill you where you stand.”

“Just hear me out before you go all doo-lally on me now, darlin’.”

That growl echoing through the kitchen is emanating from inside my chest. “I don’t know what doo-lally means, but what did I tell you about calling me darling?”

“You can tell what it means from the context. And I’ll call you whatever I want. Darlin’.”

The smug, grinning bastard. I oughta knee him right in his balls.

“You make me feel violent, McGregor. I wish I were a man so I could kick your ass.”

He laughs like I’m being silly. “Cute. But there isn’t a man alive who could kick my arse.” He flexes his arms, causing his ridiculous biceps to pop out and shine.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine coming on.

“Listen. While you were tellin’ your sad story about your unrequited love for pretty boy Michael, a thought crossed my mind.”

“Must’ve been a long and lonely journey,” I mutter.

“I’m gonna help you get him.”

Startled, I look up at Cam. He’s standing there smiling like he’s just said the most intelligent, amazing thing ever spoken by a person in the history of humanity.

“You’re . . . what?”

“I’m an expert at two things, lass.” He holds up two fingers for emphasis, as if perhaps I’m unable to count that high. “Rugby, and the art of seduction.”

A disbelieving laugh breaks out of me. “Did your parents ever ask you to run away from home?”

“Stop insultin’ me for a minute and listen. If you really want this bloke, you’re gonna have to play your cards right. You can’t come at him too hot or too cold. It’s like Goldilocks and the three bears.”

“Yeah, you lost me there.”

“The first bowl of porridge was too salty. That’s you, by the way—very salty.”

I murder him with my eyes.

“The second bowl of porridge was too sweet. Not you.”

I sigh and prop my hands on my hips. “Just get on with the damn story, McGregor.”

“The third bowl of porridge was just right. That’s what you have to be for him. Just right.”

I stare at him, waiting for further explanation. When it doesn’t come, and he only smiles at me like he could stand there doing it for hours, I say, “You’re a profoundly strange person.”

“I can teach you how to be what he wants.”

“Pfft! You don’t even know him! How could you possibly teach me to be what he—”

“I know men even better than I know women,” he interrupts, his voice hard. “And I know exactly what makes pretty rich boys tick.”