Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(42)

“I meant with your hands!”

He holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

When I narrow my eyes at him, he chuckles. “Tell you what. I’ll stand here like this”—he strolls to the opposite counter, puts his hands behind his back, and leans his weight against them so they’re pinned—“and you can do your thing with no worry about stray hands.”

He looks completely nonchalant. I, meanwhile, am a whirling vortex of emotions.

What I haven’t told him is that the last time I went on a date—eons ago—the good-night kiss was so disastrous I cried myself to sleep that night. The guy pushed me away by my shoulders, gasping for air, and said, “That was my lung you just licked!”

I guess I was being pretty aggressive. A long enough dry spell can make a girl desperate, and apparently I had my tongue so far down the poor guy’s throat I was examining his internal organs with it.

Needless to say, I never saw him again.

My heart pounding, I smooth my hands down the front of my dress. Cam watches me silently, looking bored.

“Promise me it won’t be weird after.”

“Well, you’re obviously gonna fall instantly in love with me, lass, but it won’t be weird on my end.”

I roll my eyes, relieved a little that he’s teasing. I take a step toward him, then stop. “Do you have any STDs that can be passed through your saliva?”

He sighs, closing his eyes.

“I’m just being safe.”

“No, you’re just bein’ chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken!”

His look of dry disbelief challenges that statement, and now I’m mobilized. I put my shoulders back and lift my chin. “Fine. We’re doing this. If you get handsy, I’ll crack your skull.”

His long exhalation is that of an exasperated parent dealing with a fussing child.

A few more steps and I’m standing right in front of him. In heels, I’m four inches taller, and he’s a few inches shorter because he’s leaning against the counter with his legs spread, but I still have to tilt my head back to look up at him.

“You have gold flecks in your eyes,” I blurt.

He chuckles. “Maybe you should write a sonnet about my beauty.”

I slap him on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“C’mon lass, you’re makin’ too much of a production of this. Just get it over with. I don’t have all night.”

I scowl at him. “Sorry to be taking up so much of your precious time, prancer!”

“You’re forgiven. Now lay one on me so I can give you some helpful tips for your quest to land Mr. Perfect.”

Extremely nervous, I blow out a breath and give myself a little mental pep talk. “Okay, but . . . when you give me your tips, please be gentle.”

Cam’s brows slowly lift, and the heat spreads into my cheeks. “I’m not exactly talented in this area. The last guy I kissed was left with permanent emotional scars.”

His voice is soft when he answers. “I promise I’ll be nice.”

Okay, Joellen. Be brave. It’s not like either one of you is going to enjoy it. This is purely educational. And God forbid you screw it up if Michael ever tries to kiss you again.

“Close your eyes.”

Cam obediently closes his eyes. There’s a faint smile on his lips, which is encouraging because I take it as evidence that he’s amused by this whole exercise.

My hands shaking, I take a fortifying breath, then I lean in and press my mouth against his.

His lips are surprisingly soft. Also surprising is how much heat is emanating from his body. He could be running a fever he’s so hot. He smells like clean skin and male musk and something indefinable, dark and earthy, secret and magical, like a midnight walk in the woods.

Delicious.

I break away with a gasp and stand there blinking at him, my heart going a million miles an hour.

He opens his eyes and frowns. “Was that it?”

“Yes!” I shout, on the verge of a meltdown. “Why? Was it that bad?”

“No, it was perfectly fine, lass. If I were your grandma.”

His lips curl up, and I realize he’s laughing at me.

“Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

I whirl away, but he grabs my arm and gently drags me back. “You were just nervous, lass. It was a good first effort, nothin’ to be embarrassed about. But if I could make a suggestion . . .”

I stand in front of him vibrating with embarrassment, my cheeks so hot they’re glowing. “What?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Oh. I was doing that, wasn’t I?”

Cam nods. “Just try to relax into it. Also . . .”

His pause terrifies me.

“A real kiss includes tongue.”

I grimace. “To be completely honest, I’m afraid my tongue has a mind of its own. You might find yourself in a wrestling match to the death with it.”

He tries to suppress the laughter shaking his chest by clapping a hand over his mouth but isn’t successful.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s hilarious, and you know it!”

I look into his sparkling eyes and have to admit he’s right. I groan. “Oh God. I’m so pathetic.”