His warm breath fanning down my neck makes my eyes cross. I mumble a yes and ask if he has a pen so I can write down my number.
“That’s not necessary. I already have it.”
I frown, looking up at him. “You do?”
He smiles gently at me, still holding on to my wrist like it’s a leash. “Well, technically I have all my employees’ phone numbers.”
“Oh. Right.” I produce a nervous little laugh. “Of course you do.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and his smile fades. He leans forward to kiss me, but I turn my face so his lips graze my cheek. His husky chuckle sends a tingle up my spine.
“Okay. I get it. We’re giving me time to adjust.” He grips my other wrist, pulls me even closer, and bends his head to my neck. He inhales against my skin, his lips skimming the sensitive spot just under my ear.
He whispers, “I hope it won’t take too long.” He presses the softest of kisses to the pulse pounding in my throat, then releases me so abruptly I stumble back.
His eyes are electric. They sear the space between us so it seems like the air itself will ignite.
Without a word, I turn around and run.
I’m pacing my living room rug when the knock comes on my door. “It’s open,” I call, already knowing who it is.
I could pick Cameron McGregor’s knock out of a police lineup of knocks. Like the man himself, it’s very distinctive.
He comes inside with his usual swagger, asking where his dinner is, but stops dead when he sees my face. His brows draw together. “Were you on the phone with your mum again?”
“I went for drinks with Michael. He tried to kiss me. Twice.”
Cam stands there for a moment, watching me pace. “Tried?”
I nod, chewing on my thumbnail, and turn around and pace the other direction.
Cam slowly closes the door, moves around me, and sits on the sofa. But he doesn’t prop his feet up on the coffee table like usual. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped, watching me walk. There’s a tenseness in the way he holds himself, a coiled readiness, as if at any moment he might spring to his feet. His eyes are like a hawk’s.
“You wanna tell me what happened?”
I tell him everything, from our sprint around the office hallways in the morning through the shortest, strangest date in the history of dating. When I’m finished, Cam is silent.
“What do you think?”
He slowly leans back, spreads his hands over his thighs, and exhales a breath through his nose. “I think it was smart.”
I stop pacing and look at him. “Smart? Which part?”
“The whole thing. It was well played. Delay will only make him want you more.”
“Cam, I wasn’t playing him!”
He cocks his head, inspecting my face. “So you didn’t want to kiss him?”
He sounds disbelieving, which pisses me off. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a game to me!”
“Don’t dodge the question.”
I growl in annoyance, tear the elastic out of the bun in my hair, and pace back the way I came. “It just didn’t feel right. The whole thing was weird. Like, sudden.”
Cam’s voice is dry. “You’ve been lustin’ after the man for a decade, lass. That’s hardly sudden.”
“Sudden from his side! He never noticed me before a few weeks ago, and now we’re drinking wine at his private club the second his wife files for divorce?”
“How d’you know he never noticed you before? Did he tell you that?”
I stop and consider it. “Well . . . no.”
“He’s been married the entire time you’ve known each other, right?”
“Yes.”
“So he wasn’t in a position to tell you if he fancied you. This was his chance.”
I drag my hands through my hair, still damp at the nape from my shower, and consider what he’s suggesting. Finally I drop onto the sofa next to him and sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Honestly I don’t know what to think. I acted like I was having a breakdown. I was a complete wreck. I probably blew it.”
“Except he said he wanted to call you.”
I shake my head, unconvinced and unsettled.
“What kind of wine did he order?”
I lift my head and stare at him. “Why does that matter?”
“It matters. Do you remember the name?”
I search my memory. “Romany Conty? Something like that?”
Cam looks impressed. “Jesus. He must really like you.”
“You recognize it? I thought you didn’t drink wine.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know the name of one of the most expensive burgundies on earth. They’re at least a few thousand dollars a bottle.”
My mouth falls open. A wheeze of disbelief slips out.
“Let’s get back to you not wantin’ to kiss him. What’s that all about?”
I consider the question carefully but find I don’t have any good answers. “I guess . . . I was just too nervous.”
After a moment, Cam says, “Hmm.”
Before I can ask him what the hell he means by that cryptic “Hmm,” the house phone rings. I freeze in terror.
“Ohmigod. Do you think that’s him?”
“Only one way to find out, lass. Go answer it.”
I start to panic. “What if I say something really stupid? What if I ruin the whole thing? This might be my last chance with him!”
Cam looks at the ceiling and sighs, but I ignore his irritation because I’ve got a brilliant idea. I grab his arm and shake it.
“You go pick up the portable extension in my bedroom and walk me through it!”
He crinkles his nose. “Don’t be daft. I’m not lurkin’ in the background while you and pretty boy have phone sex!”
“We’re not going to have phone sex!” The phone continues to ring, and now I’m having heart palpitations. I shove Cam and leap to my feet, jabbing my finger in the direction of my bedroom. “Pick it up! Go, go, go!” I run into the kitchen and rip the phone from the wall, taking a deep breath before saying calmly, “Hello?”
“Joellen, it’s Michael.”
“Oh. Hi there.” I manage to sound nonchalant. Meanwhile I’m silently screaming at Cam and making wild arm motions directing him into my bedroom.
He shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s getting talked into this, rises from the couch, and disappears into my bedroom. A second later I hear a soft click and I know he’s picked up the line.
In a low, husky voice, Michael says, “I’m in the car. I couldn’t wait until I got home to call you.”
I respond with a lame and thoroughly unnecessary safety reminder. “I hope you have Bluetooth. It’s dangerous and illegal to drive while talking on the phone if you’re not hands free.”
Cam appears in my bedroom door, holding the portable phone receiver to his ear, grimacing in disgust. He mouths, You’re hopeless.
I frantically motion for him to join me in the kitchen.
Michael says, “I’m not driving. My driver is.”
“Oh.” Duh.
“But thank you for your concern.” There’s a touch of laughter in his voice. “It’s gratifying to know you’re worried about my safety.”
Cam strolls toward me making a rolling motion with his hand that I think means I should keep the conversation going.
“So, um . . . sorry again about running out on you like that. I think I was just nervous.”
Cam enters the kitchen and leans against the counter, looking bored. Until, that is, Michael next speaks.
“No apologies necessary. Though I have to admit when you said you already had plans for dinner, I was a little worried. You said there isn’t anything going on with you and that idiot Cameron McGregor character, but I hope I don’t have any other competition!”
Cam stiffens. His nostrils flare. His gaze slashes to mine, and in it I see a holocaust.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
/>
TWENTY-TWO
Before Mount Vesuvius can erupt, I quickly put a finger over Cam’s lips and set Michael straight. “He’s not an idiot. He’s actually a really great guy.”
Michael makes a gentle noise of disbelief. “You only think that because you’re nice, Joellen. Believe me, the man is an absolute animal.”
Cam’s eyes blaze at me. He’s got such a gnarly death grip on the phone, I expect it to crumple into dust at any moment.
“How would you know? You’ve never met him!”
There’s a moment of silence on the end of the line, then Michael clears his throat. “No, I haven’t. But if even half of what is printed about him is true—”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”
Cam looks satisfied that I’m sticking up for him, but I can tell he still wants to break something. I curse myself for this idea and motion that he should hang up. Lips thinned, he shakes his head.
Wonderful.
“You seem rather defensive of him.”
I hear the subtext, the not-so-subtle invitation to shove Cam off a cliff and reassure Michael I’ve only got eyes for him. For some reason it really irritates me.
“I suppose I am. He’s my . . . friend.”
Cam and I stare at each other with a weird, unspoken tension building between us, while Michael breathes loudly on the other end of the phone.
“Really? You’d befriend a man who got a teenage girl pregnant and denies any responsibility whatsoever?”
My stomach drops. My mouth hangs open. I stare at Cam in horror.
Cam abruptly hits the “End” button on the portable phone. Then he removes the phone from my hand and returns it to the cradle on the wall, disconnecting my call with Michael. He turns back to me with a hard jaw and lowered brows, his eyes black with anger. “Do you believe him?”
“First of all, why the hell did you hang up?”
“He’ll call back in ten seconds. Do you?”
I think of the strip poker party the first night we met, of the anonymous woman he picked up in a bar and had sex with standing up against Kellen’s apartment door, of Michael telling me Cam’s nickname. Prince Pantydropper.
It sickens me to think some of the panties he’s dropped have belonged to underage girls.
I fold my arms over my chest and say stiffly, “It’s not really any of my business, is it?”
Cam takes one step toward me, so now we’re only a foot apart. Seething, he says between gritted teeth, “Then why’re you judgin’ me for it without even knowin’ the truth?”
The phone rings. We both ignore it.
“I’m not judging you.”
“Bullshit.”
We glare at each other as the phone continues to ring.
“So is it true?”
Cam’s no is hard and final, and he doesn’t blink when he says it. I’m relieved but don’t understand why.
“So what is the truth?”
The phone rings on and on.
“Are you gonna get that?”
“I’m talking to you right now. I’ll talk to him later.”
Cam’s jaw works. He’s silent until the phone stops ringing, his whole body tense, the cords sticking out in his neck. He draws in a slow breath, flexes his hands open, and releases the breath. I can tell he’s trying to calm himself but not having much success.
He’s huge and angry, but I’m not the least bit afraid of him. No matter what else might be true, that he’d never hurt me is a truth I’m completely certain of.
After a long time, he asks quietly, “Does it really matter, Joellen?”
There’s another question hidden inside that question, but I don’t know what it is. “Yes, of course it matters.”
His reply is instantaneous. “Why?”
“Because . . .” I flail around for an explanation, not really understanding it myself. “Because we’re friends.”
His laugh is short and bitter. “Your ability to lie to yourself is remarkable, lass.”
I’m hurt, defensive, and angered by his words and his tone, which indicate he thinks I’m a complete idiot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leans in closer, so close we’re nose to nose. He says with soft vehemence, “It means we’ll never be friends.”
He spins on his heel and stalks away, leaving me red faced with fury and humiliation as my front door slams shut behind him.
That night I don’t sleep. While Mr. Bingley snores and twitches on my chest, chasing mice in his dreams, I stare at the ceiling, going over everything that’s happened since I met Cam. Every conversation, every morning jog, every stupid dinner.
In the end I decide he’s right. We’re not friends. I’m a project he’s using to amuse himself while he’s on holiday, and he’s a means to an end for me. The end being Michael, but most likely I’ve screwed that pooch six ways to Sunday. He didn’t call back except the one time after Cam hung up.
In the morning, I rise in the dark and put on my exercise clothes with a new resolve. If Michael truly is interested, one strange phone call shouldn’t be able to kill that off. And if he’s not, better to find out now than waste any more years of my life. I’ll tell him the phone cut off because the power went down in my building and let the chips lie where they may.
When I open my door to head out for a jog, I’m surprised to find Cam in the hallway, already warming up. He didn’t knock, so I figured he’d gone without me.
“Oh. Hey.”
He silently hands me a bottle of his green goo, then continues stretching. I watch him for a moment, unsure of what to say or do, but ultimately decide I won’t be able to do anything if we don’t clear the air.
“I get it. What you meant when you said we’d never be friends. And I’m cool with it.”
He stops and looks at me. In his usual sweats and hoodie, he still somehow seems unfamiliar. It must be the wall between us that wasn’t there before.
“I mean, I’d rather be friends than not, but if you prefer we keep it businesslike, that’s fine with me. You’re going to be living here for a while longer, and it would be easier if we can be civil to each other. I really don’t want to have to deal with your rap music again. Also I’d still like your help with the Michael thing, if you’re still up for it.”
His silence lasts an uncomfortably long time. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”
Why is he standing so still? “Which part?”
“Michael. He’s what you want?”
His eyes are hooded, inscrutable, just like the expression on his face.
“Yes.”
He nods, his eyes shuttering like shades over storm windows. “All right, lass, drink up. Let’s get goin’.”
We jog in silence. It’s horrible. All the light bantering is gone, all the easy conversation is dead and buried six feet under. I long to say something to make it better but don’t know exactly how it got so bad in the first place.
Back at the apartment, he leaves me at the door with a word of advice.
“If you talk to pretty boy today, don’t reassure him.”
“About what?”
“About anything. Me, the ‘other competition’ he mentioned, how your not-date went. Just play it off like none of it matters. It’ll drive him crazy. Okay?”
“Okay. And thanks.”
He stares at me, unsmiling. “You’re welcome.” He goes inside his apartment and closes the door.
I shower, dress, and head to work, my thoughts preoccupied with Cam and the look on his face when he asked me if I was sure Michael is what I want.
When I get to work, there’s a note on my desk, slipped under my keyboard so only one corner is showing. It’s in a sealed envelope with my name printed on the outside. Curious, I tear into it before even removing my coat.
I’m sorry I upset you. Last night didn’t go at all how I’d hoped. I hope you can forgive me for being such an ass. It’s been so long since I’ve dated, it seems I’ve forgotten how.
M.
His cell phone number is written beneath.
Exhaling a slow breath, I slip the note back into its envelope and put it into my handbag. Then I sit in my chair and stare at my dark computer screen, arguing with myself about whether or not to send Michael an email or give him a call.
Ultimately, I decide to follow Cam’s advice and play it off like it doesn’t matter. I bury myself in work for the next few hours, until my desk phone rings.
“Joellen Bixby speaking.”
“This mornin’ sucked.”
Cam’s voice is curt with tension, but I’m instantly relieved. “Last night, too. I couldn’t sleep.”
There’s a fraught pause, then he exhales. “Me neither.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“I was never mad at you, lass,” he says quietly. “You bloody hardheaded woman.”
Thank God, we’re making up. I’m giddy. “Good, because if I had to listen to your music again, I’d throw myself out a window.”
He chuckles. “That’s a little dramatic, don’tcha think?”
“Plus I owe you two more home-cooked meals.”
“Is that right? You’ve been countin’?”
His voice is classic McGregor I-know-you’re-in-love-with-me smug. “So have you,” I shoot back playfully, “and don’t even try to deny it, prancer. My meat loaf is the best part of your day.”
“Aye, lass. Your loaf is almost as good as your pie.”
I smile, twirling the phone cord between my fingers. “Speaking of my pie, any requests for your last two meals?”
Cam’s voice changes, goes a little rough. “Well of course I want that pie, lassie. I love that pie. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
Heat flashes over my entire body. An image of his face when he broke the kiss on the couch floats into my head, and I squirm in my chair. A new subject is in order or I’ll need to change my panties.
“There’s a picture of us on the internet. A celebrity gossip site.”
He curses under his breath. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, and you don’t have to be sorry. I think it’s raised my cred around the office. The girl who sits next to me is treating me like I’m Beyoncé. And a couple of the guys in accounting said hi to me on the elevator. I think next they’re going to ask me to get your autograph.”
Melt for You Page 19