“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!”