Melt For You

25

“Oh, shut up, McGregor.”

“Never in a million years, lass. I’ve got too many brilliant ideas to share. Like this one, for instance. Are you ready?” He leans forward, his eyes shining like he’s about to dispense some illuminating morsel of galactic wisdom.

“I can hardly wait.”

“First, a question: When was the last time you kissed a man?”

I’m instantly, totally insulted. “Screw you!”

“I’m not insinuatin’ you’re a lesbian, if that’s what you think. Not that there’s anything wrong with bein’ a lesbian—that just wasn’t where I was headed.”

“You’re so lucky the knives are in a drawer on the other side of the kitchen, because if I had one in my hand right now, I’d gouge out your eyeballs.”

He waves a hand impatiently in my face. “My point is that if it’s been a while since you were properly kissed, you’ll need a little practice to get yourself up to speed for pretty boy Michael.”

I shout, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cam sits back in his chair and smiles. “I’m talkin’ about bein’ your coach.”

It takes me a moment to understand, but when I do, my ears go hot. “Wait. You’re offering to teach me how to kiss?”

His smile grows even wider. “Who better than Prince Pantydropper?”

NINE

After I expend an enormous amount of energy glaring torpedoes at Cam and trying to unscramble my brain, a light bulb goes on over my head. “Oh, I get it.”

He looks interested. “You get what, exactly?”

“You’re one of those guys who can’t stand it when a woman isn’t into him. Your ego is so inflated with the hot gas everyone blows up your butt, when you cross paths with someone who’s indifferent, it drives you crazy. So you have to walk around half-naked showing off your collection of bulges and tattoos, and demand homemade meat loaves, and make outrageous statements like ‘I’ll be your kissing coach,’ all so that your fragile yet ridiculously overblown ego won’t implode from lack of attention.”

Cam deadpans, “Thank you, Dr. Freud, for that excellent diagnosis.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Too bad it’s barmy. But I’m interested in hearin’ more about these ‘bulges’ you speak of. Are there any in particular that’re your favorites?”

Hooking a thumb into the waistband of his kilt, he sends me an innocent smile that’s like sandpaper scoured over my nerve endings.

“I bet it’s even more aggravating to you that the chubby girl is the one who’s not all hot and bothered by your flagrant machismo, right?”

There goes his smile, disappearing faster than a bowl of chocolate Häagen-Dazs down my throat. He leans toward me with a low growl.

“Tear yourself down in front of me again, woman, and I’ll take you over my knee and make you wish you hadn’t.”

We stare at each other while the clock ticks on the kitchen wall and Mr. Bingley makes a meal of his hind paw, going at it like I go at a rack of ribs.

“Why’re your lips twitchin’?” Cam narrows his eyes at me.

“Because I’m trying to decide if that’s sweet, sexist, or so ridiculous I should laugh.”

Cam’s face clears like the sun breaking through thunderclouds. He leans back into his chair and grins. “That’s easy, lass. It’s sweet.”

Is this guy for real? “Question. Purely for curiosity’s sake.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever actually taken a woman over your knee as punishment?”

When his grin turns wicked, I hold up a hand. “Nope. Never mind. I don’t want to know.” A sudden spike of pain lances through my skull, and I wince, pressing my fingers to my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh. Headache.”

Cam’s brow wrinkles. “I know you think I’m irritatin’, but causin’ an actual headache is on a whole other level.”

“It’s not you. I mean it is you, but it’s mainly because I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

Cam thunders, “Why the bloody hell not?”

I wince. “Oh, thanks for that. Shouting is great for headaches.”

“Don’t avoid the question!”

When I sigh heavily and rub my temple, Cam says darkly, “This better not have anythin’ to do with pretty boy and the office holiday party.”

Okay, so he’s smart . . . ish. But he’s also on my last nerve, and I know if I admit I’m starving myself to lose weight, he’ll have all kinds of opinions on the subject, so I decide to tell a teensy white lie.

I inspect a crack on the wall over his left shoulder. “My stomach has just been a little upset.”

After a short pause, Cam sighs. “You lie for s**t, woman.”

He pronounces s**t like shyte. It’s kind of adorable, but I hate him, so it’s not. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Student of humanity, remember?”

I resist the urge to stick out my tongue and simply stare at him instead.

“Okay, your face gets all scrunched up and your whole body does this cringy, foldin’-in-on-itself thing. You might as well be wearin’ a sign on your forehead.”

“That is inconvenient.”

Cam’s voice softens, and so do his eyes. “No, lass. It’s a good thing.” Then his voice gets hard again. “But starvation diets are not.”

“Could you please be less observant? It’s making my headache worse.”

“No, and tough. A headache is the price you pay for bein’ a bloody i***t. Your body needs fuel, lass, and if it doesn’t get it, it’ll start to cannibalize your muscles, and then you’ll have worse problems than headaches.”

I grumble, “What’re you, a doctor?”