Page 78 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
“So I’ll see you in the morning?” I try to make my voice normal.
He huffs out a breath, like a husky laugh only harder. He slowly rises to his feet. “Yup. See you in the mornin’.”
He leaves, never looking at me, an awkward hitch in his gait.
I try to convince myself that my weight must’ve cut off the circulation in his legs, but it’s a tough sell considering all the evidence. Ultimately I’m forced to face the truth.
Cameron McGregor was as turned on by that kiss as I was.
I can’t decide if that’s the best development or the worst.
TWENTY
In the morning, we act as if nothing ever happened.
We jog along the snowy streets, chatting about rugby, Scotland, the best places to eat in Manhattan, everything light and safe. I ache to talk to him about the kiss, but I know it’s better left alone. Besides, what would I say? “Hey, that was some great kissing last night, eh? Wow, I sure was grinding on that king cobra in your pants! Had to go to bed and rub one out—how ’bout you?”
So not gonna happen.
At work I’m confronted with a corpse. The roses Cam sent me last Monday committed suicide over the weekend and are stinking up my cubicle something fierce. There are withered petals and crispy leaves all over the place. I consider dumping them into the kitchen trash, but the can is only slightly bigger than the one under my desk, unable to accommodate the remains of one hundred roses. Also I’d probably trip and fall on my way, thereby spilling disgusting flower-rot water all over the company carpet and eliciting the ire of Portia, who has already made several ominous passes by my desk like a shark toying with the seal it’s planning to eat for dinner.
So I call for help.
Denny arrives with one of those industrial-size garbage cans on a round dolly with wheels. “Yikes!” he says, grinning. “Is that stench the roses, or did you have chili and beans for dinner last night?”
Even when he’s not making fart jokes, he’s still making fart jokes.
“Do you want me to help you?”
“No, kiddo, I got it. Thanks. You want to keep the vase?”
I demur. He makes quick work of the roses, placing the entire arrangement into the trash can and sweeping up the trail of leaves littered over the floor with a hand broom and dustpan.
Then from behind the wall that separates us, I hear Shasta’s voice. “Oh my God. What the . . . Joellen? Is this you?”
I pop my head over the wall and find her at her desk, staring at her computer screen. Her eyes are wide with disbelief, and her expression sends a twinge of panic through my stomach.
“Is this me where?”
“On TMZ.” She looks up at me, blinking. “You’re on TMZ.”
“Me?” I laugh in relief. “I don’t think so.”
She looks at her computer screen, then back up at me, then back at her screen. “Then you’ve got a twin you don’t know about, because this looks exactly like you.”
Frowning, I make my way over to her cubicle, then lean over her shoulder to see what she’s looking at. There on the screen is a close-up shot of me and Cam, nose to nose in the ladies’ dresses department of Saks, gazing at each other.
Neither of us is smiling. His big hand is curled possessively around my upper arm. The dresses on hangers are crushed between us. It’s an intimate and intense moment and looks like we’re either in the middle of a fight . . . or about to make out.
The headline screams, CAMERON MCGREGOR AND MYSTERY WOMAN SIGHTED SHOPPING!
Son of a bitch. The man with the camera sold the picture of Cam and me to TMZ.
Cold with horror, I whisper the first thing that comes to mind. “Does my hair really look like that?”
Shasta squeals. “It is you!”
“Shh!” I peek up over the cubicle wall, but no one else seems to have
