“What?” I chew my thumbnail in anxiety.

“You think you’re old?”

Utterly confused, I stare at him.

“You said the sonnet you recited to him was called ‘Ode to Old Chicks.’ Was that about yourself?”

Heat ascends my neck in a slow, creeping flush. “I’m thirty-six, McGregor.”

“And you think that’s old?”

“Are you screwing with me right now?”

He shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair, and mutters something under his breath. “Never mind. Back to the big picture. Married boss. Single employee. An almost kiss in the company kitchen. The possibility of flushin’ your whole career down the toilet if your friend the wicked witch decides to report you to management.”

“Michael is management.”

“Aye. And you’re up for a promotion. How’s that gonna look?”

I hesitate, considering what he’s suggesting. Cam must not like my expression, because his voice comes out hard.

“Don’t be naïve. If that woman wants to, she can make big problems for you at work. There’s all sorts o’ ways she can make your life hell. Smear your reputation. Turn people against you. Undermine the legitimacy of your hard work by sayin’ the promotion is only ’cause you’re bangin’ the boss. Use your imagination, lass.”

I think of Ruth in HR and how she didn’t seem to like Michael barging in on our meeting, of how deep Portia’s hatred for me appears to go, and my stomach flips with anxiety. I guzzle the rest of my glass of wine. “Bummer. And here I was thinking I’d take you up on that offer to teach me how to kiss.” I laugh nervously. “That’s the least of my troubles!”

I pour myself more wine. It isn’t until I’m about to lift it to my mouth that I notice Cam has appeared noiselessly next to me once again. “Dude. Seriously. That’s freaky. Cut it out.”

“I just had a thought.”

“Another one? This is a record week for you.”

Cam takes the glass of wine from my hand and carefully sets it on the counter. Then he looks at me with shuttered eyes and an expressionless face. “Maybe I’m bein’ too hard on you, lass. I did offer you my help, after all.”

“Yes, you did.”

“So. Go ahead, then.”

I furrow my brow and stare up at him. “Go ahead and what?”

“Kiss me.”

The sound of Mr. Bingley scarfing his food is the only noise in the kitchen for a moment, until Cam prompts, “C’mon, let’s see what you’ve got. I have to know what I’m workin’ with if I’m gonna be any help.”

Heat spreads over my chest and up my neck, then my ears are burning.

Cam shrugs. “Or don’t. It’s no sweat off my back if pretty boy tries to kiss you and winds up with a face full o’ slobber.”

He starts to go back to the table, but I grab his shirt. “Wait!”

He slants me a look.

“Um . . . okay.” I take a deep breath. “But you can’t touch me.”

“I see,” he says drily. “So it’ll just be our auras kissin’, then.”

“Stop being sarcastic. This is serious!”

Cam sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “Lass. I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve kissed someone, but there are these things called lips involved? I’m pretty sure that counts as touching.”

“I meant with your hands!”

He holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

When I narrow my eyes at him, he chuckles. “Tell you what. I’ll stand here like this”—he strolls to the opposite counter, puts his hands behind his back, and leans his weight against them so they’re pinned—“and you can do your thing with no worry about stray hands.”

He looks completely nonchalant. I, meanwhile, am a whirling vortex of emotions.

What I haven’t told him is that the last time I went on a date—eons ago—the good-night kiss was so disastrous I cried myself to sleep that night. The guy pushed me away by my shoulders, gasping for air, and said, “That was my lung you just licked!”

I guess I was being pretty aggressive. A long enough dry spell can make a girl desperate, and apparently I had my tongue so far down the poor guy’s throat I was examining his internal organs with it.

Needless to say, I never saw him again.

My heart pounding, I smooth my hands down the front of my dress. Cam watches me silently, looking bored.

“Promise me it won’t be weird after.”

“Well, you’re obviously gonna fall instantly in love with me, lass, but it won’t be weird on my end.”

I roll my eyes, relieved a little that he’s teasing. I take a step toward him, then stop. “Do you have any STDs that can be passed through your saliva?”

He sighs, closing his eyes.

“I’m just being safe.”

“No, you’re just bein’ chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken!”

His look of dry disbelief challenges that statement, and now I’m mobilized. I put my shoulders back and lift my chin. “Fine. We’re doing this. If you get handsy, I’ll crack your skull.”

His long exhalation is that of an exasperated parent dealing with a fussing child.

A few more steps and I’m standing right in front of him. In heels, I’m four inches taller, and he’s a few inches shorter because he’s leaning against the counter with his legs spread, but I still have to tilt my head back to look up at him.

“You have gold flecks in your eyes,” I blurt.

He chuckles. “Maybe you should write a sonnet about my beauty.”

I slap him on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“C’mon lass, you’re makin’ too much of a production of this. Just get it over with. I don’t have all night.”

I scowl at him. “Sorry to be taking up so much of your precious time, prancer!”

“You’re forgiven. Now lay one on me so I can give you some helpful tips for your quest to land Mr. Perfect.”

Extremely nervous, I blow out a breath and give myself a little mental pep talk. “Okay, but . . . when you give me your tips, please be gentle.”

Cam’s brows slowly lift, and the heat spreads into my cheeks. “I’m not exactly talented in this area. The last guy I kissed was left with permanent emotional scars.”

His voice is soft when he answers. “I promise I’ll be nice.”

Okay, Joellen. Be brave. It’s not like either one of you is going to enjoy it. This is purely educational. And God forbid you screw it up if Michael ever tries to kiss you again.

“Close your eyes.”

Cam obediently closes his eyes. There’s a faint smile on his lips, which is encouraging because I take it as evidence that he’s amused by this whole exercise.

My hands shaking, I take a fortifying breath, then I lean in and press my mouth against his.

His lips are surprisingly soft. Also surprising is how much heat is emanating from his body. He could be running a fever he’s so hot. He smells like clean skin and male musk and something indefinable, dark and earthy, secret and magical, like a midnight walk in the woods.

Delicious.

I break away with a gasp and stand there blinking at him, my heart going a million miles an hour.