Page 75 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
I chew the inside of my lip. “Like what?”
“You want a list?”
Now I’m indignant. “A list? There’s that much to improve on? I thought you said it was fine as in excellent!”
He lifts a shoulder, nonchalant as can be. I’d like to smash my pillow into his face, but that would probably send the bowl of ice cream flying. His stupid face isn’t worth a wasted bowl of ice cream.
I sigh and sit up, pulling my legs off his lap. “Okay. Hit me. And don’t leave anything out. I want to hear the whole ugly truth.”
He looks at the ceiling, lightly tapping the spoon against the side of the bowl. “It’s not really one of those things you can talk someone through.”
Getting more and more worried, I furrow my brow. “So how am I supposed to improve?”
He turns his gaze to me. His expression is solemn and regretful, like a doctor about to inform me of the inoperable tumor in my brain. “Practice.”
Without waiting for a response, he scoops me more ice cream and holds it to my lips. Then he watches with his wolfish eyes as I suck the spoon into my mouth and swallow.
After I work up the nerve, I venture, “So you’re saying . . . you want to kiss me again.”
“I wanna help you get your heart’s desire, lass,” he counters briskly. “Which is Michael, right?”
Those wolfish eyes again. I’m getting confused. “Um. Yes. It’s . . . Michael.”
His eyes flash, but he nods, apparently satisfied he’s made his point. “Right. Think of it as trainin’. Like if you were gonna run a marathon, you wouldn’t just run twenty-odd miles in one go. You’d work up to it a bit at a time. Day after day, week after week, a wee bit at a time, until you’re in prime shape for the big event.”
When I sit in silence for too long, just looking at him, Cam shakes his head.
“You’re right. It’s a bad idea. You’ll get all attached, and it’ll be funny between us. You’ll be heartsick. I’ll be uncomfortable. You don’t know this, but it’s not easy for me to break a lass’s heart. I can only stand so much beggin’—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, McGregor!”
He looks taken aback at hearing me curse. “I’m just tryin’ to spare you a broken heart, lassie. I’m agreein’ with you, it’s a terrible idea.”
“I’m not going to fall in love with you, McGregor. Not from kissing you or from anything else.”
Unmoved by my outburst, he casually consumes more ice cream while looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Oh, aye, now I remember. You said I’m not your type.”
“Exactly.” I say it emphatically, unsure if it’s him I’m trying to convince or myself.
Cam nods. “Exactly. So then there’s no problem.”
I sigh, remove my glasses, and scrub my hands over my face. I go into the kitchen, run the tap, splash water on my face, dry it with a dish towel. Then I put my glasses back on, turn, and look at McGregor on my sofa with his feet up on my coffee table, eating ice cream like he’s on friggin’ vacation at a seaside resort, and sigh again.
“Fine. But this is purely . . . educational. And I don’t want to talk about it after tonight. Deal?”
Cam doesn’t even turn around when he shrugs. “Whatever you say, lass. I’m just here to help.”
It’s the nonchalance in his aspect and voice, the total indifference, that finally convinces me. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Sure.” He doesn’t budge from the sofa.
“Are you coming in here or what?”
“I’m comfortable right where I am.”
“Oh. Um. Okay.” I return to the living room and perch on the edge of the sofa with my hands folded between my thighs. I never know what to do with my hands when kissing a man, so it’s safer to have them trapped.
Cam says, “Well, hop on, then.”
