Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(56)

“Oh for fuck’s sake, McGregor!”

He looks taken aback at hearing me curse. “I’m just tryin’ to spare you a broken heart, lassie. I’m agreein’ with you, it’s a terrible idea.”

“I’m not going to fall in love with you, McGregor. Not from kissing you or from anything else.”

Unmoved by my outburst, he casually consumes more ice cream while looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Oh, aye, now I remember. You said I’m not your type.”

“Exactly.” I say it emphatically, unsure if it’s him I’m trying to convince or myself.

Cam nods. “Exactly. So then there’s no problem.”

I sigh, remove my glasses, and scrub my hands over my face. I go into the kitchen, run the tap, splash water on my face, dry it with a dish towel. Then I put my glasses back on, turn, and look at McGregor on my sofa with his feet up on my coffee table, eating ice cream like he’s on friggin’ vacation at a seaside resort, and sigh again.

“Fine. But this is purely . . . educational. And I don’t want to talk about it after tonight. Deal?”

Cam doesn’t even turn around when he shrugs. “Whatever you say, lass. I’m just here to help.”

It’s the nonchalance in his aspect and voice, the total indifference, that finally convinces me. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t budge from the sofa.

“Are you coming in here or what?”

“I’m comfortable right where I am.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.” I return to the living room and perch on the edge of the sofa with my hands folded between my thighs. I never know what to do with my hands when kissing a man, so it’s safer to have them trapped.

Cam says, “Well, hop on, then.”

“What?”

He gestures to his lap with the spoon.

“Dude! No way! I’m not straddling you!”

He smirks. “Afraid you’ll get too hot and bothered and rip my shirt off, lass?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, so you’re worried I’ll get aroused.”

Visions of his monster manhood swim into my brain. I sputter, “W-what? No! Geez!”

“Good, because I won’t. Stop stallin’. I’ve gotta get to bed soon. I’m meetin’ someone for a run early in the mornin’.”

I’m irrationally hurt, both by the implication I’m not boner worthy and that he’s made plans to work out with someone other than me. “Who?”

Cam inspects my expression with one corner of his mouth quirked, a strange look of satisfaction in his gaze. “You.”

“Oh. Right. I mean . . . I know.”

The other corner of his mouth lifts, and now he’s smiling at me. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

I gasp, loudly and with vigor. “I am not jealous!”

Cam leans forward, sets the bowl of ice cream on the coffee table, grasps my upper arms, and drags me onto his lap, where I gasp again, because how could I not?

It isn’t every day a girl gets to straddle Godzilla.

Cam says gruffly, “Good. It’s sorted. You’re not jealous, I’m not your type, and you don’t have eyes for anyone but pretty boy Michael. Now quit yammerin’, woman, because I’ve got other plans for that mouth.”

And oh God, does he.

He takes my mouth almost angrily, one hand around the back of my neck and the other curled around my upper arm, his lips hot and demanding. When his tongue breaches my lips and touches mine, a shudder of electricity runs through me, like I’ve stepped on a live wire.

My hands flattened over his broad chest, I shove him away. “Wait!”

He stares at me with a hard jaw, breathing erratically. “What?”

I remove my glasses and set them on the cushion beside us.

This time he comes at me slower. More deliberately, more controlled. He slides his hands into my hair and bends me to him, hesitating with a hair’s breadth of space between our mouths.

“Remember to breathe,” he whispers.

“Just kiss me already,” I whisper back, surprised by how much it sounds like a plea.

“Your eyes are still open.”

I immediately shut them.

His soft laugh sends a thrill up my spine. “If only you were that obedient all the time, lass.” He lightly nips my lower lip, a dark, delicious little promise.

My hands. What do I do with my hands? They’re flattened against his chest again, but that seems lame, so I slide them up around his neck . . . and discover his hair. Good Lord. Thick, glossy strands of hair slide like silk between my fingers. His hair is longer than any of the men’s at the office, much longer than Michael’s, past the collar of his shirt, dark and waving, exquisitely soft.

As his tongue slowly begins to probe my mouth, I tug on all that gorgeous hair, forgetting I’m not supposed to be enjoying this.

I arch against him, softening, expanding, breathing deeply through my nose as the kiss deepens and begins to burn. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was experienced. He knows exactly what to do, how to get my blood sizzling and my heart hammering and all the pornographic images of him nude and splayed out like the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received pulsing like neon signs inside my head.