Текст книги "His Kind of Trouble"

Автор книги: Terri L. Austin

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter 11

Cal watched Monica’s expression change. Her lips, so soft and yielding a moment ago, firmed. Her jaw muscles tightened. She was fighting herself as much as she was fighting him.

“What the hell am I doing?” she asked.

She was talking to herself, not Cal. Nevertheless, he answered. “Having fun. Living your life. Did you really think you’d be happy with him?”

“Coming, Ryan,” she yelled and began busying her hands.

Cal grabbed them and held on when she tried to pull away.

“Let me go, Cal.”

“Darling, go home. Get some rest or work on your foundation whatnots. I’ll take care of him.” Cal wanted to clear the anxiety from her eyes almost as much as he wanted to shag her again. “I can see that you’re worried and you’ll go to work tomorrow whether or not you get a wink of sleep. And truly, he will glom on to this, make it into a reconciliation. He’s desperate to get you back—any fool can see that.”

Biting her lip, she looked into his eyes, searching. “You’re not planning on feeding him too many painkillers, are you?”

Cal grinned. “I’m not planning on it, but I might improvise.” He let her pull away this time. When she crossed her arms, he reached out and played with a piece of her hair. Like silk. So soft and deep golden, with light amber streaks. “I’m only joking. Sort of. Come on, let’s go break the news.” Cal dropped her hair and grabbed the plates.

“Let me clean up in here, and I’ll be out in a second.” Monica began gathering all the food and placing it in the fridge. Cal caught a glimpse of its interior as he walked out the door. Even the man’s refrigerator looked tidy. And all health drinks, not a bottle of beer in sight. What kind of life would she have had with a knob like this? Ryan probably got his little-girl knickers in a wad when life became messy.

And Monica Campbell needed mess, chaos. She was meant for driving too fast and wearing nipple-baring lingerie and leaving a man devastated as she walked out of a room. When she’d been writhing on top of him, Monica was a goddess. With her head thrown back, she’d left behind all inhibitions and allowed herself to feel. If Cal possessed a talent for painting, he’d portray her like that. Naked. Wanton. Intoxicating.

But with one phone call, she’d lapsed back to that tight-assed demeanor. Why on earth did she hide behind that mask? Why the hell had she dated a man like Ryan? He wasn’t horrible—he was a perfectly nice, boring bloke who would give her a perfectly nice, boring life. Monica was meant for so much more.

Cal walked back to the living room and handed Ryan a plate. “There you go.”

“Thanks. Everything okay in there?” he asked and peeked beneath the top slice of wholemeal bread. “You two were gone a long time.”

“Just making a few plans. You’re obviously incapable of being on your own, so I’m staying tonight.”

“That’s not nec—”

“It is, actually.” Cal leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. “Otherwise, Monica will insist on staying herself. She has a big work thing coming up, and you’re the last thing she needs to worry about.”

Monica stepped out of the kitchen. “Ryan, you ready for your pills?” She glanced down at his untouched sandwich. “Is it all right?”

Ryan’s pallor belied his smile. Pain strained the lines near his eyes. “Yeah. Cal’s staying tonight. Really nice of him, by the way.”

“Are you sure?”

Ryan reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. “Absolutely. It was really nice of you to come for me, Monnie. ”

God, what a sickening display. Cal forced a smile. “He’ll be fine. Take my car, I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

Still, Monica hesitated a moment. Then nodding, she headed toward the front door. “I’ll call and check on you,” she said to Ryan and grabbed her purse. “If you need anything—”

“That’s why I’m here.” Cal placed his hand on her upper arm and couldn’t help but give that satiny skin a couple of strokes with his thumb. Toned, yet so soft.

He escorted her out of the house and walked with her to the car. “Get some sleep, eh?”

“Thanks for doing this.”

“You’re welcome. Now kiss me one more time.” He placed his foot between hers and leaned down. Monica’s lips parted as she gazed at him with wide eyes. “Like you mean it.”

Monica’s hands rode up his chest, over his shoulders, until she linked them behind his neck. Rising to her toes, she placed her lips over his.

Cal’s fingers grazed her hips. While Monica’s mouth opened under his demanding kiss, Cal squeezed those globes, had visions of taking her from behind so he could simply stare at it.

Monica fell back against the car door, but she didn’t let go of him, didn’t stop kissing him. Cal followed, leaning against her and rotating his hips, grinding his cock against her.

She groaned and returned the favor, driving her hips forward, tormenting him, before snapping her head back. “Stop. We need to stop.”

That’s the last thing Cal wanted to do. But what was the alternative? Taking her in full view of all the neighbors? He must not be thinking clearly, because that didn’t seem like the worst idea he’d ever had.

Monica splayed her hands over his chest. “We can’t do this here.”

“Yes, all right.” Closing his eyes for a moment, he clenched his jaw. Regaining his equilibrium was a challenge. When he opened his eyes, he reached out and palmed her breast. “We’re not finished, you and I.” Then stepping back, he shoved his hand into his pocket—trying desperately to ignore his painfully hard prick—and withdrew the car keys. “Be safe. Remember, don’t give it too much gas.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She held out her hand, palm up. “Will you be nice to him?”

“Yes.” He reached out and curved a hand around her waist before delivering one last hard kiss to those full lips. “Go on with you.”

“Thanks. I’ll see if Evan can stop by in the morning to check on him.” She hopped into the car, waved, and pulled out of the drive.

When she didn’t give it too much gas, Cal smiled.

Striding back to the house, he remembered his promise. Be nice. Cal walked inside and clapped his hands. “So, mate, did you take your pills?”

“Yes, you can go now.” With his head tilted back against a pillow and his eyes closed, Ryan waved one hand. “I won’t tell Monica you left.”

“But I promised I’d stay.” Taking care of a sick person wasn’t Cal’s forte. The memories of Babcock, holding her hand, watching as she grew weaker with each passing day, all came back to him—that utter fucking helplessness. He needed to do something.

“I’ll make tea.” Babcock always claimed tea was a cure-all. He’d made a lot of tea over the last several months.

“No,” Ryan said. “I don’t drink it.”

“Coffee?”

“No thanks.”

Giving up, Cal sank down into the leather chair. “So how did you and Monica meet, anyway? Church social?”

“I’m more interested in hearing about the two of you. Where were you tonight?”

“Joyriding.”

Ryan opened his eyes and blinked. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“Monica drove my Mustang like she was born for it. As a matter of fact, she didn’t drive, she flew.”

Ryan’s cheeks became parchment white, and dots of sweat beaded his forehead. From pain or anger, Cal couldn’t decide. “I don’t believe you. Monica doesn’t drive fast. She’s never even had a speeding ticket.”

“How long did you date her, if you don’t mind my asking? Because honestly, you don’t seem to know her that well.”

“We dated for over a year, and I know her very well. If I have my way, Monica Campbell’s going to marry me.”

Cal’s heartbeat hammered in his ears. Monica marry this twat? He forced out a laugh and kept his tone nonchalant. “That might be a little difficult, considering you two aren’t dating anymore.” He was beginning to dislike this bloke more and more with each passing moment. That small bit of jealousy soon became a fat green monster, sinking its talons even deeper into Cal’s chest.

“I don’t think so. Monica’s afraid of a lot. Commitment, marriage, letting her family down. But I’m not going anywhere. Know that, Cal.”

Ryan had one thing right—Monica was very much afraid. But she was afraid of letting go, of being herself, of fucking up. Breaking up with Ryan was the smartest thing Monica had ever done. “Not that my opinion matters, but I don’t think you’re good for her.”

“What are you talking about? We’re meant for each other. And if she doesn’t care about me, why did she come to the hospital?”

“Guilt,” Cal said with a shrug. “Monica’s a kind person. And you’re a bit of a manipulative bastard, using your leg to try and win her back.”

Ryan shifted his ass and winced in pain. “I’m not using it to win her back. Eventually, she’ll see I’m the right choice. She’s dated guys like you in the past. Guys who don’t stick around, guys who break her heart. She might have a fling with you—yeah, I saw her bra on the floorboard of the backseat—but she’ll come back to me.”

He sounded so sure that Cal almost doubted himself. Ryan’s words had a ring of truth to them. A strong emotion bubbled up inside of him. Cal didn’t know what it was, but it made him uncomfortable.

Cal wouldn’t be around for long, so her choices shouldn’t matter to him. But they did. Very much. He’d thought about Monica Campbell over the last five years, and now that he’d seen her speeding down the highway with her hair flying free, had experienced firsthand her demanding, heated sexuality, he couldn’t let her reunite with this wet bloke.

Cal needed Monica again, like his lungs needed oxygen.

And she needed him too.

She’d shown him a bit of herself tonight. She’d danced and laughed and shagged. Monica couldn’t go back into hiding. Cal wouldn’t let her.

For some stupid reason, she’d buried away everything that made her wonderful and unique. Cal wanted to see more than just a glimpse. He wanted full-throttle Monica. And he would accept nothing less.

* * *

The next morning in the shower, Monica saw two bruises on the side of her breast. There was one more on her hip, and her nipples had never been this sore. Cal had given her a hard ride, and she’d loved every minute of it. She wanted to do it again. Soon. Now. But Monica had grappled with herself all night. On the one hand, the sex was off-the-charts amazing. But on the other, Cal had a way of sweeping aside all of her arguments and misgivings. And that scared her.

Maybe she was incapable of making healthy decisions. Defective. Monica sometimes wondered if she was missing some important genetic component that kept her from wanting normal things out of life: marriage, stability, kids. God, all this introspection depressed her.

As she dressed in a tan suit, Monica drank a cup of coffee. She also slapped on a little more concealer than usual, because the circles underneath her eyes were out of control—tossing and turning, mentally replaying a sexcapade with Calum Hughes could do that to a person.

Monica had gathered her things and was just about to step out the front door when Evan called. She’d texted him, asking him to stop by Ryan’s house this morning, but he’d never gotten back to her.

“Details,” he said when she answered.

“No.”

“You had after-sex hair. Spill already.”

With a frown, Monica ran a hand over her head. “Are you going to check on Ryan?”

“God, you’re so annoying. Yes, I’ll check on Ryan, but I’m not bathing him or taking him to the bathroom. I’ll make sure he’s alive, but that’s it. You know, it’s not fair. I tell you everything about my sex life.”

“I don’t want to know everything, Ev. The whipped cream remark last night? Totally uncalled for.”

“She reapplied after I got back home.”

“Good-bye.”

“Wait. Fine, no details, but at least tell me you’re enjoying yourself. I’m begging you, for the love of all that’s filthy and wrong in this world, have a good time with tall, dark, and raspy, okay?”

Monica hit the End button as a smile crept over her mouth. She’d definitely had fun last night. Mind-numbing, toe-curling, orgasmic fun. Having an affair with Cal was the best time she’d had in years.

Monica drove through a fast-food place and got another cup of coffee and a bag of breakfast sandwiches—mostly for Jason. He usually came in for a few hours on Saturday morning, and so did Stella. Monica never asked them; they just showed up.

Once in the office, she waved to Stella and headed for the break room. Jason wandered in, red-eyed and wearing the same clothes as the day before.

“Long night?”

“Yeah,” he said through a yawn. “You brought food. You must love me.”

“I tolerate you,” she said, patting his shoulder on the way to her office. Before she did anything else, she needed to check in with Ryan. Monica felt guilty for leaving him with Cal, but she didn’t want to string him along, give him false hope.

With her left hand, she toyed with the pink crystal-covered pen and dialed Ryan’s number.

“Reginald Wanker’s residence,” Cal answered.

Monica smothered a laugh. “Really? What if I were his office calling, or his mom?”

“Ah, the lovely Miss Prim. I stayed with him all night. All. Bloody. Night. What more do you want?”

“You could quit calling him Reginald Wanker for starters.”

“I could, but I won’t.”

“How is he?”

“Still alive.”

“Glad to hear it.” Monica dropped the pen and glanced out the window. “Thank you. Evan’s coming over in a bit, so you’re off duty.”

“Did you drive my car to work today?”

“I drove my own car. Yours is sitting in my driveway. I left the keys in the fake rock by the front stoop.”

“Because no thief would think to look there.”

“So can I speak to Ryan?”

“He’s taking a shower.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, I’m standing right outside the door. I’ll tell him you called. How late are you working?”

“Probably until six or so.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at the office. Can’t wait, darling. The things I’m going to do to you,” he whispered, “will leave you breathless.” Then he hung up.

What things? Monica’s mind wandered to all sorts of naughty places, and she couldn’t keep the heat from rushing to her cheeks. After five minutes of staring out the window at the cloudless blue sky, she finally pulled herself together and got to work. But it was almost impossible to keep her thoughts from straying to Cal’s sexy promise. After all, she had a pretty vivid imagination.

* * *

Cal rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. The chair was damned uncomfortable, Ryan was a snorer, and Cal couldn’t get his mind off Monica.

Around three a.m., Ryan had started groaning, until Cal shoved another pain pill down his gob. Then at eight, Ryan woke again, wanting a shower.

So now Cal stood outside the bathroom door, in case Ryan took a spill. That was as far as he was prepared to go. Bloke could hold his own cock if he needed to piss.

Cal had even grabbed Ryan a set of fresh clothes. After he heard the shower stop, Cal opened the door and tossed them into the bathroom. “Look alive, mate.”

“If you call me mate one more time—”

“You’ll what?” Cal asked through the closed door. “Bore me to death? Too late. My heart sputters a little more with every word you speak.”

When Ryan hobbled out of the bathroom in a T-shirt and a pair of orange cargo shorts—the damned ugliest things Cal could find—he refused Cal’s offer of help and hopped down the stairs on his own. Cal held the crutches and tried to steady Ryan’s arm, but he shook off Cal’s hand and almost took a tumble.

“Careful there. You want to keep the good leg happy. I promised Monica I’d take care of you, so no matter how much of a prat you are, that’s what I’m doing until what’s-his-face shows up. The one who dresses funny.”

“Evan,” Ryan muttered.

Cal followed Ryan’s slow progress back to the living room. “They’ve been good friends for a while, then?”

As Ryan sat on the sofa, Cal helped him adjust his leg to a more comfortable position atop a pile of pillows.

“Since college. They’re best friends.”

“And he’s your mate too?” Cal read a great deal from the other man’s silence. “Ah, her best friend doesn’t like you. Guess not everyone thinks you’re perfect for each other.” He tossed the blanket at Ryan. He bloody well wasn’t going to tuck him in.

Ryan pulled it over his legs and gave Cal a cool look. “Evan never thinks any man is good enough for her. Can’t fault him for being protective.”

“He liked me.” Cal grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m going to make breakfast so we can knock you out with a couple more of those pills.” He went to the kitchen and dug through the fridge, pulling out a carton of egg substitute and an anemic tomato. Cal searched in vain for butter, but came up empty. Cobbling together an omelet, he cut it in half and plated it up.

When he returned to the living room, Ryan was glaring at a financial news channel. Cal plopped the plate on the coffee table, along with a fork.

Ryan sniffed at the food and eyed him warily, as though Cal had poisoned it. After eating a few bites, Ryan washed down two more pain pills. “Monica said you’d just gotten into town. When are you leaving?”

“As soon as the mood strikes.”

“What do you do for a living?” Ryan flipped off the TV.

“Auto repair.”

The blighter assumed a smug grin. “And you think that’s good enough for her? That you can give her the life she deserves?”

Cal snorted. “No. I never said I was going to give her any kind of life.” Monica was a strong, smart woman. She didn’t need Cal or anyone else to provide for her.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Ryan lost consciousness again. Bloody marvel, those pills.

Monica wouldn’t rest easy if Ryan stayed here on his own. Cal didn’t want her to worry, so he called the hotel and got hold of Mr. Lawson. The capable butler promised to hire a full-time nurse. Cal should have thought of it last night. Could have saved himself a load of grief.

Satisfied with his scheme, he spent the next two hours trying to doze until Evan pounded on the door. Sporting a pair of bright blue trousers and matching suede loafers, he sauntered into the living room and removed his sunglasses. He glanced down at Ryan with a mixture of distaste and humor. “He could wake the dead with that snoring. How did Monica stand it?”

Cal tried very hard not to think about Ryan touching Monica. The very idea of them together made him want to break something. “I have a nurse coming soon. Round-the-clock care. Can you stay until then?” He was already dialing for a taxi before he made it to the front door.

“Wait,” Evan said and followed him outside. “I want to talk to you.”

Cal gave the dispatcher the address. Once he hit the End button, he eyed Evan. “What is it?”

“Thanks for taking care of him last night. I’m afraid if she hangs around for too long, Monica will feel so guilty, she’ll go back to him.”

Cal rolled his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness in his muscles. “He’s entirely wrong for her.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Evan pursed his lips as he scrutinized Cal. “She needs a little excitement in her life, but not too much.”

At least Cal and the best mate were of the same mind.

“Here’s the thing,” Evan said. “Do not, under any circumstances, leave the country with her. Understand me?”

Cal laughed until he realized the man was actually serious. “Where do you think I’d take her, Peru?”

“I’m not kidding. And if you break her heart, I will find you and break your dick.” His phone vibrated. “Glad we had this little chat.” He walked back into the house and closed the door.

In the last few days, Cal’d had his manhood threatened too many times. What the hell had happened in Monica’s past that made everyone so protective of her? Hurt by some man, obviously. But he wasn’t going to hurt her. He and Monica agreed they’d have some fun.

If it’s just a bit of slap, why are you getting so worked up over her ex?

Bloody fucking hell. He was painfully envious of Reginald Wanker. How humiliating. It churned inside his chest like corrosive battery acid.

Cal restlessly paced the street until the taxi arrived. The cab reeked of stale smoke and raw onions.

During the twenty-minute ride, Cal listened to the cabbie’s life story and tales of domestic woe, which got his mind off Monica and Ryan. Almost. The fact of the matter was that Monica and Ryan weren’t together anymore. She’d spent the evening with Cal. He needed to remember that.

The taxi pulled up to the villa’s private entrance. Cal handed over a few bills, hopped out, and waved at the security guard, showing his pass.

He strolled the rest of the way to the villa, enjoying the hot sun beating down on him. He intended on taking a long shower. Then he’d call Monica, retrieve his car, and plan their date. Which may take all day, because plotting things out went against his nature. He’d been raised on spontaneity.

Pixie might be perfectly content in Monte Carlo one day, but have an urge to stay in Vancouver the next. Capricious, his mother. She quickly got tired of a place the same way she grew bored with people. She dropped friends and lovers alike, as she would discarded tissues.

Still, men followed Pixie around the world, their tongues dragging the ground. His mother liked having a fan club. One on the string and one in the wing, as she used to say.

Cal had learned much from her entourage of admirers. He had been introduced to Shakespeare by a West End actor, taught to read music from a bass player in Paris, had grown to love Dylan Thomas and Keats and Tennyson from his mother’s writer friends. When Pix sat for a famous German photographer, Cal had learned a smattering about art. His knowledge was lax and spotty, much to his erudite father’s disgust. It may not have been complete, but Cal’s education had been interesting, to say the least.

However, there was one lesson that had been ingrained in him early—don’t get attached. Not to anyone or anything. Cal had learned to travel light. He had only a few sets of clothes, his car magazines, and his one concession—his tools. He loved his tools, cared for them diligently, maintained and kept them in pristine condition. Babcock used to ship them separately. Once, when he was fifteen, they’d gotten lost on a flight from Brussels to Thailand. Cal had been inconsolable until they finally showed up, two weeks later.

Yet in spite of his history, Cal was becoming attached to Monica Campbell, even though he knew their liaison wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t, not with his restless nature. Cal had had a few brief, casual relationships over the years with women he’d been fond of, but there was something different about Monica, about her spirit and humor. Still, they’d agreed—no strings. Cal would stay long enough for Monica to break out of her good-girl shell, and then he’d figure out what to do next.

Cal lived a transient life, and he’d always liked it that way. But after seeing Monica and Evan last night, he realized he didn’t have anyone like that in his life, not since Babs. She’d been the one person he could rely on. The sense of loss hit him all over again.

Cal stopped at the villa’s doorway and rubbed his cheek. Where the hell was all this melancholy coming from? Time to shake it off already. Cal was just fine on his own—a lone wolf, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. Freedom. That’s what he had. Other people wished they could fly to Bermuda tomorrow and sit in the sun for three months. Cal could actually do it.

Slipping the key card in the door, he walked into the foyer, taking a second to let his eyes adjust to the indoor light. Then he walked toward his room, past the lounge, and drew to a halt. Batting his eyes a few times, he took in the dirty dishes, wet towels, and fashion magazines littering the floor and the coffee table. He heard a faint, high-pitched voice from a distance and resumed walking toward the master bedroom. As he stepped inside, he heard a one-way conversation coming from behind the lavatory door. With two fingers, Cal plucked a lime-green bra dangling from the corner of the telly. Fairly certain it wasn’t his—not unless he’d become a sleepwalking cross-dresser—he knew only one person who could cause this kind of utter destruction.