Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(74)

All these years, Portia has been in love with Michael, has seen that I’m in love with him, too, and has hated me for it.

And now he’s getting divorced.

And is pursuing me.

I’m so screwed.




When I get home that night, my house phone is ringing as I’m unlocking my front door. I rush in and pick it up, still in my winter coat and knitted scarf. “Hello?”

“Hello, Joellen.”

A little thrill goes through me at the sound of his voice. “Hi, Michael!”

“Is this a good time to talk?”

I look around the kitchen and decide that Mr. Bingley can wait a few minutes for his food, even though he’s glaring at me from the corner where his empty dish sits. If he could cross his arms, he would.

“Yes, this is a great time. How are you?” I sit at the kitchen table and unwind the scarf from around my neck.

“I’m well, thank you. I’m glad we’re finally getting a chance to talk. It seems my timing is always off.”

His voice is warm, so I know he’s not complaining. I’m relieved. I thought for sure I’d have to do a fair bit of groveling after what happened today in the office. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day and was too chicken to send him an email, but it’s somehow safer to talk like this instead of face-to-face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back last night. Dinner went a little late, and I wasn’t sure how long you usually stay up.”

“You can call me anytime. I mean it. Day or night, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Okay.” I feel bashful and pleased and also happy he didn’t grill me about who my dinner was with. “Thanks. Um, are you in your own place now?”

“Yes. We agreed she’d stay in the house while the lawyers fight over the details of who gets to keep what. I’ve rented a place overlooking Central Park. The view is spectacular. You’d love it.”

It’s a little weird that he avoids saying his wife’s name and instead refers to her as “she,” but I’m too fixated on trying to figure out if he just invited me over to his place to care. “I’m sure I would. It sounds beautiful.”

We’re silent for a moment, awkwardly breathing at each other, until Michael says, “Okay, I have to get this off my chest.”

Oh God. That sounds bad. “What is it?”

He laughs a small, self-conscious laugh. “I’m jealous of your rugby player.”

I know he’s looking for reassurance, but instead of being irritated, I find this admission charming. He’s basically saying Cam is a man worthy of his jealousy—which proves he’s not the snob Cam thinks him to be—while at the same time showing vulnerability. For a man who has everything in the world and is accustomed to everyone bowing and scraping in his presence, it can’t be easy to admit another man makes you jealous.

Michael’s stock just climbed a few notches in my estimation.

“You don’t need to be jealous of him. I was telling you the truth when I said we were friends. There’s really nothing going on between us.”

Michael exhales a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear. I know I don’t have any right to be jealous, but honestly I’ve thought about you for so long it would probably break my heart if you were taken the moment I was set free.”

He talks about getting a divorce like he’s been paroled from prison, but I’m distracted by something far more important. “You’ve thought about me?” I whisper, my heart doing a happy dance inside my chest.

His voice drops, too. “You must’ve known. My God, the amount of time I’ve spent staring at you, I was afraid everyone knew.”

Feeling faint, I close my eyes. It’s happening. It’s really happening. All those nights I dreamed of this man saying those words, and it’s no longer a dream . . . It’s real.

“You’re not saying anything.”

“Sorry, I’m just . . . soaking it all in.” My laugh is breathless because there’s no air in my lungs. “I’m having a hard time believing it.”

“You shouldn’t be. You’re a beautiful girl, Joellen. I’ve always thought so.”

If an asteroid smashed through the ceiling and demolished my apartment and me along with it, I would die a happy woman, because my life is now complete.

Michael Maddox called me beautiful. Either he’s in his bazillion-dollar condo overlooking Central Park high as shit on mushrooms right now, or he’s telling the truth. No one has ever said anything as wonderful to me as what he just said.

You’re perfect just the way you are, lass.

My eyes fly open. What the hell is McGregor doing in my head? At a moment like this, no less!

“Are you still there?”

I blurt the first thing that comes to mind because I’m so flustered by the Mountain intruding on my lovely moment with Michael. “I was just thinking about Portia.”

Michael sounds confused by my odd transition. “Portia? What about her?”

“I think she has a crush on you.”

Michael laughs, long and heartily. “You’re giving her too much credit. If she had a crush on me, it would mean she had a heart!”

I have to smile at that because it’s true. Then Michael says, “Besides, I don’t have the right equipment.”