Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(61)

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.

But now that Michael has his hand on my bare skin—hopeful slut that I am, I didn’t wear panty hose—I think it might have been a bad idea, because the effect of his warm palm on my knee is what I imagine the three wise men felt when they first glimpsed the baby Jesus in the manger.

Namely, rapture.

“Thank you,” says Michael, his voice husky, his gaze on my lips. “I find you very attractive, too.”

He leans in until he’s so close I can smell his breath, sweet and aromatic with the dry spice of wine. He’s going to kiss me. Oh God. Oh shit. It’s really going to happen!

But then it’s not happening, because I’ve flattened my hand on his chest and held him back.

He stares at me. I stare at him. We’re both not sure what’s happening.

“Um . . . you’re technically still married, right?”

He blinks. Frowns. Shakes his head. “We’ve filed for divorce.”

Right! He’s a free agent! Get in there, girl!

My inner slut seems to have no conscience, but apparently I do. “I mean . . . it only just happened. Like, last week. Maybe you should . . . give yourself a minute to . . . adjust.”

His heart thuds hard and fast under my palm. I find it exquisitely erotic. Also I’d like to punch myself in the face.

“You’re probably right,” he says reluctantly, as if he doesn’t think I’m right at all. He pulls away slowly, looking confused.

I’m sure the man has never been denied anything in his life, but for some reason, here we are, in an alternate universe where it makes sense for a girl like me to turn down a man like him.

“No, you’re absolutely right.” He shakes his head as if clearing it, and now he looks appalled. “Good God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I keep putting you in these terrible positions. Next you’ll probably think I’m some kind of lecherous creep, expecting favors for advancement in the company!”

The thought had never crossed my mind, but now I’ve got Cam in my head, standing there staring at me with his arms folded over his chest, tapping his foot like I told you.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I shout. Michael looks startled by my volume. I decide it’s time to guzzle more wine and do so with gusto.

The waiter reappears, asking if we’d like to order something to eat.

Michael takes charge. “Yes. We’ll each have filets, rare, and we’ll share the Caesar. And another bottle of wine.”

“Very good, sir.”

The waiter bows off, Michael reaches for his glass, and I sit in misery, wondering how this could have gone so wrong so fast.