Melt for You (Slow Burn #2)(87)

He laughs into my ear, and I smell the alcohol on his breath again, searing fumes that make me want to gag. How much has he had to drink? “Stop. Michael, stop!”

“Oh, come on, Joellen, don’t be coy. We both know what we’re doing. You wanted a promotion, right? Did you think those were handed out for free?”

He kisses my neck, pressing his crotch into mine, dragging the hem of my dress up so he can grab a handful of bare thigh. My heart is going like gangbusters with equal parts fear and fury, overlaid by complete disbelief.

“Are you kidding me right now? I said stop!”

“I’ll stop when I’m good and goddamn ready.” His voice is a growl. He curls his fingers around the elastic of my panties where they ride over my hip.

Just as I’m about to let loose a full-throated scream, the door opens. The sound of music swells. Michael and I freeze, looking over to see who’s come in.

It’s Portia.

She’s stiff as a statue in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth formed into a horrified O of shock at the picture Michael and I make on the counter.

My hair is mussed. We’re both breathing hard. My lipstick is smeared all over his mouth. My leg is bent at his waist, and my dress is shoved up so my thigh is completely exposed, all the way up to my panties.

I know exactly what it looks like to her, and it makes me want to throw up.

Portia turns without a word and leaves. The door swings closed behind her.

With all my strength, I shove Michael away. Still off-balance from Portia’s interruption, he staggers back, blinking. I slide off the counter, straighten my dress, then stride over to where he’s standing by the toilet I came out of earlier and slap him as hard as I can across his face.

“You can take your promotion and shove it!”

I run out of the ladies’ room, my vision blurry from the water swimming in my eyes. I hurry through the elegant hallways to claim my coat. Out on the sidewalk, I hail a cab, my breath frosting in puffy white clouds in front of my face, my ears too hot to go numb in the cold.

It isn’t until I’m safely inside the cab and have given the driver my home address that I break down and start to cry.





THIRTY-ONE

When Cam opens to my knock, I throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck.

“Joellen! What happened? Why’re you back already?”

Unable to speak without bursting into a fresh round of tears, I shake my head. My whole body trembles. I’m so upset it’s like a bomb went off inside my stomach and ripped a huge hole right through me.

Everything I’ve been fantasizing about for the past ten years has been just that: a fantasy. Michael isn’t a knight in shining armor coming to rescue me on his trusty steed. He’s the apple the witch offered to Snow White—perfect, shiny, and filled with poison.

“Easy. Take a breath, lass. Come inside and talk to me.”

Cam’s shushing me with soft words, his arms strong and protective around my back. He kicks the door shut with his bare foot. “What happened to your hair? And why’ve you been cryin’?”

“Michael,” I whisper. “He . . . he . . .”

Cam goes stiff. His voice comes out low and dangerously hard. “He what, lass?”

I’m afraid to tell him exactly what happened, because I suspect by his tone, posture, and expression, he’ll march right out the door, find Michael, and make him wish he were never born. I go with a generalization instead. “He’s an asshole!”

Cam takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him. He growls, “If he got fresh with you, I’m gonna break his bloody knees!”

Though I feel like crying, that makes me smile a little. “Got fresh with me? That’s cute, grandma.”

“I swear to God, woman, you better tell me what he did to get you into this state or I’m gonna assume the worst, hunt that bastard down, and divest him of his testicles. Talk.”

In a small voice, I ask, “Why is it so hard for you to wear a shirt, prancer? This conversation would be a lot easier on me if I didn’t have to pretend you’re not half-naked.”

Though his expression is hard with worry, a glint of humor shines in his eyes at my words. He sweeps his thumb over my cheek, probably wiping away smeared mascara. “All these muscles are distractin’ you again, aren’t they?”

The truth is, they are. He’s huge and muscular and covered in tattoos, the exact opposite of Michael in pretty much every way.

And he’d never “get fresh” with me. He’ll joke and flirt and tease me mercilessly, but I know this man Michael once described as “an absolute animal” would rather cut off his own hands than do anything to hurt or disrespect me.

Like force himself on me in a ladies’ room in return for a promotion.

“Lass,” says Cam, watching me think with a furrow between his brows. “I dunno what’s goin’ on inside that brain of yours, but—”

I rise up on my toes and kiss him.

He sucks in a startled breath, but I steal it back from him and kiss him harder. He allows it, taking my tongue into his mouth with a small groan, but almost immediately takes control back from me, twisting his head to break the kiss. We stand there for a moment, breathing raggedly, the silence yawning wider with every tick of the clock.