Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(41)

Embarrassed, I go with sarcasm, my usual first line of defense when called out.

“Yes, McGregor. I’m having an episode of intestinal gas. And I’m not wearing my charcoal panties, so stand back or be blasted.” I give him a little shove in the chest, which is like trying to shove a brick wall and exactly as effective.

“Ach, I’m sure your farts smell like rose petals, luv.”

I burst out laughing. “Please don’t talk to me about farts! There’s a guy at work who tells me fart jokes 24-7. I don’t need anyone else bringing up the subject!”

Something flickers over McGregor’s face—a flash of tension, there then quickly gone. “There’s another guy at work you’re interested in?”

“No. Ew. Denny is like seventy years old. And fart jokes aren’t exactly the thing to make a girl swoon. But speaking of work . . .”

I set my wine on the counter and clap, hopping a little because I’m so excited to share the news. “Michael almost kissed me today in the company kitchen.”

After a pause, Cam strolls over to the kitchen table and sits in one of the chairs. From under lowered brows, he levels me with a look. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh my God. You’re already ruining it!”

He ignores me and goes straight to the point. “If you had a girlfriend who told you her still-married boss almost kissed her at work, what would you say?”

Some of the air leaks from my Michael love balloon. “It sounds bad when you say it.”

He makes a gesture with his hand, like Because it is.

I pour myself more wine. “Okay, but you haven’t heard the whole story.”

He quirks his lips. “I’m breathless with anticipation.”

I launch into the entire explanation of what happened, including all the details, what I said, what Michael said, how Portia walked in on us, then the phone call where Michael admitted he was about to kiss me. When I’m done talking, Cam looks disturbed.

“What?” I chew my thumbnail in anxiety.

“You think you’re old?”

Utterly confused, I stare at him.

“You said the sonnet you recited to him was called ‘Ode to Old Chicks.’ Was that about yourself?”

Heat ascends my neck in a slow, creeping flush. “I’m thirty-six, McGregor.”

“And you think that’s old?”

“Are you screwing with me right now?”

He shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair, and mutters something under his breath. “Never mind. Back to the big picture. Married boss. Single employee. An almost kiss in the company kitchen. The possibility of flushin’ your whole career down the toilet if your friend the wicked witch decides to report you to management.”

“Michael is management.”

“Aye. And you’re up for a promotion. How’s that gonna look?”

I hesitate, considering what he’s suggesting. Cam must not like my expression, because his voice comes out hard.

“Don’t be na?ve. If that woman wants to, she can make big problems for you at work. There’s all sorts o’ ways she can make your life hell. Smear your reputation. Turn people against you. Undermine the legitimacy of your hard work by sayin’ the promotion is only ’cause you’re bangin’ the boss. Use your imagination, lass.”

I think of Ruth in HR and how she didn’t seem to like Michael barging in on our meeting, of how deep Portia’s hatred for me appears to go, and my stomach flips with anxiety. I guzzle the rest of my glass of wine. “Bummer. And here I was thinking I’d take you up on that offer to teach me how to kiss.” I laugh nervously. “That’s the least of my troubles!”

I pour myself more wine. It isn’t until I’m about to lift it to my mouth that I notice Cam has appeared noiselessly next to me once again. “Dude. Seriously. That’s freaky. Cut it out.”

“I just had a thought.”

“Another one? This is a record week for you.”

Cam takes the glass of wine from my hand and carefully sets it on the counter. Then he looks at me with shuttered eyes and an expressionless face. “Maybe I’m bein’ too hard on you, lass. I did offer you my help, after all.”

“Yes, you did.”

“So. Go ahead, then.”

I furrow my brow and stare up at him. “Go ahead and what?”

“Kiss me.”

The sound of Mr. Bingley scarfing his food is the only noise in the kitchen for a moment, until Cam prompts, “C’mon, let’s see what you’ve got. I have to know what I’m workin’ with if I’m gonna be any help.”

Heat spreads over my chest and up my neck, then my ears are burning.

Cam shrugs. “Or don’t. It’s no sweat off my back if pretty boy tries to kiss you and winds up with a face full o’ slobber.”

He starts to go back to the table, but I grab his shirt. “Wait!”

He slants me a look.

“Um . . . okay.” I take a deep breath. “But you can’t touch me.”

“I see,” he says drily. “So it’ll just be our auras kissin’, then.”

“Stop being sarcastic. This is serious!”

Cam sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “Lass. I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve kissed someone, but there are these things called lips involved? I’m pretty sure that counts as touching.”