Текст книги "His Kind of Trouble"

Автор книги: Terri L. Austin

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter 19

Monica drove back to the office and continued her efforts to find a place for the gala. But her mind kept wandering back to the argument with Cal and her conversation with Ryan.

At four fifteen, she turned off her computer. Allie was right, it was over. Time to start crunching numbers for next year. All her plans, everything she’d worked for had been shot to hell because of a broken pipe.

She’d almost called Cal three times this afternoon, but each time she’d talked herself out of it. Now that she’d given up for the day, she grabbed her phone and dialed his number.

“I’m sorry,” he answered.

“I know. Me too. Thanks for the phone.”

“What’s wrong, love? Is this about the gala thing? Trevor mentioned it.”

“Partly.”

“Meet me at the villa.”

“I’m heading there now.” She didn’t even hesitate. When Monica ended the call, her hands were shaking. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. This was Cal, the man who made her laugh, made her come until her knees trembled, the person she confided in. When they were together, a weight lifted off her shoulders, and she could relax. He may not be around tomorrow, but she needed him today, right now.

She shoved everything in her bag and left the office, waving to Stella and Carmen on her way out.

When she arrived at the villa, she handed her keys to the valet and walked to the front door. Cal stood there, waiting.

His hair was damp, and he wore his usual T-shirt and faded jeans. Walking toward him, she didn’t say a word, but he must have recognized something in her expression, because as soon as she cleared the doorway, he scooped her up in a one-armed hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

Monica clung to his shoulders. “I don’t want to talk.”

* * *

“All right.” A vague, fractured thought ran through Cal’s head: something troubled her, more than just work problems. But as soon as she slid her mouth over his, all thoughts ceased.

When he reached out and thrust his hand through her curtain of hair, he noticed his fingers trembling ever so slightly. Cal slipped his tongue between her full lips, and she met it with her own. He wanted her out of the suit. Without it, she’d have nothing left to hide behind. He wanted to see her in the red-and-white polka-dot bra once more. This time, he’d appreciate it.

He tore his mouth from hers and lowered Monica to her feet. “Get out of these clothes,” he growled, and began ripping them from her. He wasn’t gentle, either. As he yanked the jacket from her shoulders, Monica shrugged it off her arms and threw it to the marble floor. Cal didn’t wait for her to finish unbuttoning her silky brown blouse. He grabbed the two halves in both hands and ripped it. It was offensive and hateful. She didn’t utter a word of protest, just yanked it off, as if she couldn’t stand the material touching her skin.

The red bra made him smile, and as he stared at her breasts, her nipples puckered. Cal ran the palm of his hand from her slender neck, over her tits, and down to her belly button. Her taut stomach flexed beneath his rough hand. She inhaled sharply when he ripped at her waistband. “These trousers need to come off.”

She fumbled with the button, and they fell to the floor. After kicking them away, she arched her back, angled her chin a little higher.

“You are so lovely.” As Cal’s gaze rose to those beautiful breasts, his heart ratcheted up.

“Cal.”

Her voice brought him out of a trance. He looked into her eyes, those crystal-blue eyes. They’d glazed over with desire, but there was something else in their depths. She needed something from him, but damned if he knew what it was. “Tell me what you want, Monica. I’ll give you anything.”

“Just you.”

Cal locked an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. With her sweet breasts crushed against his chest, he walked her into the lounge. His cock became painfully hard, and staring down at her wasn’t helping. The full tops of her breasts rose above her bra and bounced with each step he took. When her tongue darted out and licked that full upper lip, Cal groaned.

With one hand slung around his shoulder, Monica gazed up at him while she absentmindedly fingered his tattoo with her other hand. “Hey.”

He stopped in front of the sofa and met her gaze.

“About this morning—”

“We’ll say no more about it.” That didn’t seem to appease her. Whatever bothered Monica, he knew she’d never open up to him until she felt relaxed and sated. And she’d come to him for that. Cal felt humbled and challenged at the same time. He wanted to make her forget all of her problems, if only for a while. If she wanted sex, he’d oblige.

When he dropped her on the sofa, she let out a little squeal. Divesting himself of his jeans and boxers, he didn’t take his eyes off her.

Monica reached around to unhook her bra.

“Leave it on.”

“Why?”

“Because you look fucking hot in it.”

“I look fucking hot out of it,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“That’s my line, and you absolutely do. Now leave it on.” He ripped the shirt over his head and kicked his trousers to the side. His cock jutted out, stiff and ready. When Monica’s eyes lowered to it, he reached out and gave it a stroke. “But take the knickers off.”

She pulled her gaze away from his shaft, her eyes darting over his face. Angling her gorgeous ass upward, she wiggled her panties over her hips, down her legs, and tossed them next to his jeans. Then she lay back against the tapestry pillows and placed her arms above her head.

For a moment, Cal thought he might come on the spot. Bold, exciting, thoroughly sensual—this was his Monica. She didn’t show this side of herself to anyone but him.

Cal bowed toward her and rubbed his hand along her thigh. Her breath faltered at his touch. His hand glided higher. Then he grabbed her legs and yanked her closer.

She half yelled, half laughed. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Good. I like to keep you guessing.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He lightly pinched her hip before caressing her waist. Then, situating his hips between her legs, he planted his fists by her head as he held his weight off her. Cal’s cock bobbed between them, resting on her belly as his body skimmed hers. Her bra barely scratched his chest, but her nipples pebbled against his skin. “I’m in a bit of a quandary, love.”

She ran her short nails down his chest. God, that felt nice. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m trying to decide if I want to kiss you, taste you, or fuck you. Actually, I going to do all three—I’m simply pondering the order.” He lowered his head, his lips a mere whisper from hers. “What’s your opinion on the subject?”

She answered by grasping the sides of his face and kissing him. Weaving her hands through his hair, she thrust her tongue into his mouth at the same moment she wrapped one leg around his waist. Cal’s eyes drifted shut as he lowered his hips and ground his cock against her soft skin.

Monica tugged on his hair until he raised his head. “Kiss, taste, fuck.”

Cal ran his tongue over the seam of her lips. “Deal. But I get to decide when I’m done kissing you.”

Monica’s fingers wandered over his shoulders. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I do.” He thrust his cock against her again while he nibbled at her lips, kissed the corner of her mouth. Monica moaned, tightening her leg around him in an effort to rub herself against his almost painful erection.

She turned her head to the side and gently bit down on his jaw. “Kiss me, damn it. Like you mean it.”

He leaned back. “Hungry for me, are you?” Her eyes narrowed in irritation, which made him smile. Then he kissed her properly, the way she liked.

She rewarded him by stroking her hands up and down his back, digging her nails along his spine. Monica knew what he liked too.

Cal lowered himself on top of her. He longed to fuck her, right now, like this—without a condom. But she was terribly conscientious about it. Another secret of hers—one he’d uncover eventually.

Softly, his lips coursed a path from her mouth to her neck, raking his teeth over the spot right below her ear. She gasped and bucked her hips against him. “More of that.”

He nipped her once more before trailing his mouth over her shoulder, down to the tops of her soft breasts. Taking another look at her tits through the fanciful fabric of her bra, he licked her nipple through the satin cup. He moved his hand from her waist to toy with her other breast and rubbed his thumb over her already hard nipple.

Monica’s breath turned choppy and uneven as he sucked even harder. “So good.”

He glanced up at her. “Like that, do you?” He snatched one bra strap, then the other, pushing them down her shoulders. The cups fell below her tits, framing them. Monica yanked her arms free, and when he latched onto one nipple, biting down ever so gently, she held his head in place.

“Calum. Calum.”

He liked hearing her say his full name. Was going to insist she use it more often.

He left her breast and kissed his way to her belly, using his tongue to swirl a pattern across her tender flesh. Monica’s leg became slack around his. Placing his hands on either side of her knees, he forced her thighs farther apart.

Monica propped herself up on her elbows and watched him. Only lust registered in her eyes. No worry, no doubt—just the same hot need that consumed him.

Trapping her gaze with his, he positioned his mouth at her pussy. With one lash of his tongue, he licked in between her plump folds, and his eyes drifted shut. “I love the way you taste, Monica Campbell. Sweet and salty and fucking delicious.”

He opened his eyes and watched her head drop back. “Calum.”

He sucked one of her smooth outer lips, using very little pressure. When he parted her with his hands, he lapped a circle around her clit. It was swollen and obviously sensitive, because she jumped when he flicked it. He loved eliciting responses from her, discovering what she liked, what made her gasp.

With his lips, Cal brushed light, feathery strokes up and down her slit. He fought hard not to lose himself in her taste, her silky texture, but he made sure he kept in tune with her, measuring her reaction, her breathing. She was panting now and close to coming, so he backed off a bit, applied less pressure.

“Cal. Calum. Please.”

His tongue darted inside her, fluttering up and down. She liked that too, and her breasts rose and fell rapidly.

“Don’t stop doing that,” she said.

He continued, reveling in her response, making her mindless with need. She yelled as she came a moment later.

Cal didn’t stop his movements, but kept up the pace, licking inside her. Another wave wracked her body, and she groaned, pulling at his hair. As that second orgasm rippled through her, Cal felt more powerful than he ever had.

After a long minute, Monica’s body went slack. She released her hold on him, and he eased away from her.

“Seriously fucking awesome,” she said, her eyes closed.

Cal stroked the side of her hip with one hand. “Don’t fall asleep. We’re not through.”

Her eyes drifted open, and she grinned. “Can I take my bra off yet?”

“No.” Cal moved off her, but came back a moment later. He held a condom in one hand as he pinched her nipple, then kissed the side of her neck and worked his way to her earlobe. He bit down, and Monica sighed with pleasure.

Cal positioned himself on top of her once more. Her body fidgeted under his. “Want me to put it on for you?”

Cal kissed her temple. “No, you’ll only torture me. And you’ll enjoy it.”

“Only a little, and you’ll enjoy it too.” Monica laughed, grabbed the foil packet out of his hand, and ripped it open.

Cal stole the condom back and rolled it on himself. She was still grinning as his gaze traveled over her face. “Where did those freckles come from?” Cal smoothed a finger above her eyebrow. “You’re never out in the sun.”

“I hate them.”

“They’re adorable.”

Monica framed his jaw with both hands, her smile becoming more wistful. She stroked her thumb over his lips and placed a tiny kiss on his chin. “What’s your middle name?”

His brows dipped as he stared at her. “Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

“George. Terribly sexy, I know.”

“Please fuck me, Calum George Hughes,” she said.

“So formal.” Cal adjusted his hips and slid inside her, but he didn’t thrust immediately. They stared at each other for a long moment. The late-afternoon sunshine slanted through the room, bathing her face in a warm glow. Monica Campbell was possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered, and he was lucky enough to be balls deep inside her.

Cal began to move slowly. He wanted to savor this, make it last. He couldn’t ever recall a feeling quite like this one—as if he and Monica were connected, and not just physically. He would sound a complete knob if he uttered that thought aloud.

He licked the little dent in her chin. He loved that dent. Cal wanted to take it slow this time, fuck her gently, but this wouldn’t satisfy her for long. Monica liked it hard and fast. He’d give that to her. Eventually. But right now, he wanted to draw it out, prolong the pleasure for both of them.

“More,” she demanded.

Cal gave her a hard kiss, but kept up his steady pace. He pulled out almost all the way and then slid back into her. Over and over again until she bit his shoulder.

“I hate you,” she panted.

“Do you really?” Cal pulled out of her entirely.

“Okay, maybe hate is not the right word.” She tried to place her hands on his shoulders, but he moved out of her reach and rose to his knees.

“I should say so.” In a swift move, Cal hooked his hands around her thighs and pulled her ass toward him. He draped her legs on either side of his chest until they stuck straight up in the air. He stroked his hands up and down her calves, over her shins. “Your turn. What’s your middle name?”

“Taylor.”

Positioning himself at her entrance, Cal slid back inside her. “Monica Taylor Campbell.” He embedded himself all the way, stretching her to capacity.

When he pulled out, she opened her mouth to protest, but he rammed back inside her, filling her again. “Monica Taylor,” he ground out. “So fucking tight.”

As he worked in and out of her, her breasts jiggled slightly. He watched them, couldn’t take his eyes off them. With both of his arms hooked around her legs, he thrust back and forth. When he sensed her urgency, he placed his hand on the top of her pussy, and with his thumb, found her ripe little clit. He brushed it—once, twice—then she came.

“Cal. Oh God.” She scratched at the back of his hand. Monica closed her eyes, and her pussy tightened around his cock.

Cal continued to pound hard while stroking her. Occasionally, he’d swivel his hips, providing a different sensation, a hot friction. Her walls clamped down on him, testing his endurance. A fine sheen of sweat covered his chest and arms. “Fuck. I want this to last.” He clenched his jaw. “Going to come, love.” He stopped playing with her and wrapped his hand around her other leg, then he picked up the pace, slamming into her faster than before.

Cal came with a hoarse shout, his hands gripping her thighs like they were the only things keeping him steady. His cock jerked inside her, and she shuddered around his shaft, draining him.

Once he stopped moving, Cal planted a kiss near her ankle, his breath harsh from exertion. “Amazing.”

He pulled out of her and gently lowered her legs. Cal dropped a little kiss on her shoulder, then slid off the sofa and onto the floor.

* * *

Monica sat up and simply took him in. With his chin resting on his forearm, he looked beautifully masculine. He smiled at her—a drowsy, blissful half grin.

Something about the tilt of his lips tore at her heart. Monica’s day had gone downhill from the time she’d opened her eyes this morning, but it had all fallen away when she’d stepped into his arms this afternoon. They weren’t just having fun—well, she wasn’t. How Cal touched her, like she was special—that meant everything.

Oh God. She didn’t want this. Not now, not with him. He was going to break her heart, and she’d handed it to him on a platter. Shit.

The realization brought Monica out of her peaceful haze, making her scramble off the sofa and reach for her underwear. She grabbed her panties and pulled them on. Cal settled his hands over her upper arms.

“Monica. Look at me, love. What’s happening right now? You’re thinking again.”

“It’s just been a hell of a day.”

He stared at her, his light green eyes dancing over her features like he could read her thoughts, but then his expression changed to one of boredom. Cal slid his hands down her arms before relinquishing his hold. “Oh, dear,” he said with a yawn. “Look who’s lying again. How original.”

“Shut up.” She slipped her bra over her shoulders and adjusted her breasts.

“I’m not looking to get in a row right now. I’m still basking in the afterglow. Give me a few to work up a lather, and then we’ll have a go.” He stood and threw away the condom before walking to the liquor cabinet. He poured a finger’s worth of whiskey. “Cheers.” He tipped his glass before taking a sip.

Flicking back her hair, she faced him. He was still naked and semi-hard. How was that possible? “I’m not lying, I’ve had a shiteous day.”

He picked up the restaurant guide and perused it. “Of course not, darling. You’re living your truth.” His dry tone raised the hair on the back of her neck.

Marching over to him, she plucked the menu from his hands and tossed it on the floor. “I’m not having this argument again.” Her gaze fell to his penis. She couldn’t fight with a naked man. “Put some clothes on.”

He smirked. “Makes you nervous, does it? My being in the buff?”

“Yeah. I’m trembling.”

“You were ten minutes ago. Yes, you’ve had a bad day. But that’s not what this is about, so please don’t insult me. You’ve been upset since you set foot in this house. If you’re still tetchy about this morning, say so.”

“I’m not tetchy. I’m not even sure what that means.”

But he was right. Again. Monica lied about everything—she lived behind a persona she’d created. She’d been running so hard from the mistakes of her past that she’d done a U-turn in her life, and now she was as screwed up as ever. But the lie was comfortable, and the truth seemed almost paralyzing. Buried deep inside, under all the responsible behavior and professional demeanor, Monica’s wild child remained alive and well. And she liked being let off the chain. Monica reveled in hot sex with Cal. She loved the freedom it gave her, the excitement. The emotion.

She’d been lying about her feelings for him too. Monica thought she could handle a no-strings sexual relationship. All of her peppy self-talk about being in control and eyes wide open was bullshit. She’d fallen in love with Calum George Hughes. How could she be so damned stupid? Loosening the tight reins on her old ways had led to this—love. Of all the men she could have chosen, she’d picked Cal Hughes, a man who never stuck around. A man she couldn’t count on. All those years of playing the good girl, dating appropriate guys, living a straitlaced life—blown to bits.

Suddenly, her body was on fire, as though every nerve ending burned beneath her skin. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Monica felt as if her heart might burst through her chest at any moment. Pain, sharp and biting, ripped through her torso. All of these revelations at once—they were too much. Maybe she was having a heart attack. This was what dying felt like. “I have to go.” She spun away. “I have to get out of here.” She began gasping for air. She couldn’t breathe.

He plucked her up in his arms and walked to the overstuffed love seat by the window. Sinking down, Cal held her as she struggled.

“Let go. Let me go.” She pushed against his chest and tried to rise, but he tightened his hold.

“No. You’re having a panic attack. Deep breaths.” When she ignored him and tried to break free, he gave her a little shake. “Deep breaths. Come on. In.” He held her gaze with his own. “And out. Again.” He breathed with her. Inhale. Exhale.

After three or four minutes, Monica’s heart began to slow down. With a shaky hand, she pushed her hair away from her face. “What’s wrong with me?”

Cal stroked her back. “You’re just scared, that’s all.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” But she was lying, of course. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. In truth, Monica was terrified of him, of herself, of her feelings.

She pushed off his lap and stood, feeling a little woozy and so embarrassed, she turned away. Who acted like this? Who had a panic attack after the most amazing sex ever? God, she was a freak. Defective.

“Monica.” He waited until she slowly turned back around. “Let’s stay right here, eat dinner, talk. After that, you can go if you want.” He stood and approached her slowly. With infinite care, he reached out and stroked a hand down the length of her hair. “Okay?”

When she didn’t pull away, he enfolded her in his arms, hugged her tighter in his embrace. Monica hugged him back. Closing her eyes, she took a deep whiff of him and struggled to remain calm.

Then Cal stepped back. “I’ll get dressed.” He strode over to where his clothes lay in a pile and pulled on his boxers and jeans. He held up his T-shirt. “You want?”

She nodded, and he lobbed it at her. Dark green—the same shade as his eyes when he was angry—and it smelled of fabric softener and Cal. Monica pulled it on. The hem hit her above the knees, and the sleeves fell below her elbows.

Her feelings for him frightened her. That’s why she’d freaked out. She’d never felt like this. Not even with Aaron—the asshole who’d abandoned her in Mexico—and she’d been ready to leave her friends and family for him.

Calum Hughes was the real deal. He loved his sister, and he’d cared for Babcock in her final days. But he’d leave. If not tomorrow, then next week, or next month. Cal would take off for Bora Bora or Nepal, and she’d be stuck here in Vegas.

Not stuck. You have your family, your life.

But what kind of life did she have? Was she going to spend the next five years trying to prove herself to Allie and people like Marcus Stanford? The next ten or fifteen? Just the thought of it left her drained. And for what, a job she hated?

Monica covered her mouth with one hand. She hated her job. She hated working at the foundation.

Shit. That panicky feeling threatened to rise up inside her and take over once again.

A look of concern filled Cal’s eyes. “You all right?” He walked over to her, raised his hand to touch her shoulder, but Monica moved out of reach.

“I hate my job,” she said in a rush.

“Yeah, of course you do.”

“No, I hate my job. I need this job.”

Cal crossed to the mini-fridge hidden in the bookcase and grabbed a bottle of cold water. “Why?” He handed it to Monica.

“Because it’s who I am. Allie depends on me. I have to show her I’m responsible. I owe it to my mom.”

“Let’s take those one at a time, yeah? It’s not who you are. You hate it.”

Monica paced to the sofa and sank down. She twisted the cap off the bottle, taking a long drink. She knew Cal wouldn’t criticize her, and because of that, he was the only person she could talk to. “Yeah. I hate it. But I can’t let them down.”

Cal sat next to her. His long fingers stroked her bare leg. “One thing at a time. You hate it.”

She nodded. “I hate it.” After several minutes, she smiled and breathed out a little laugh. “It sucks so hard. I hate the numbers and reading grant applications and having Allie question every decision. I like working with the donors, though.”

“How does it feel to admit it?”

Her gaze sought his. “Scary.”

“That’s okay. If you’re scared, you’re alive. You said you have to prove yourself to Allie. Why?”

Monica flung the bottle onto the coffee table. “Because she’s my sister. Because I’ve fucked up so much in the past. Because I have to show her that I can do this.”

“She’s your sister. She’s not living your life for you. You fucked up in the past? So what? Everyone has.”

She shook her head. “Not like me.”

He scooted to the edge of the couch and faced her. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Most horrific?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was too ashamed.

“Did you run a red light? Wear two different socks by mistake? You’re a good person—what could you have done that’s so terrible?”

Where to begin? “I was thirteen when my mom got diagnosed. She was sick for a long time. I felt…” She stared at the fireplace grate and shrugged. “I felt like she left me, even though she was still there. Allie quit school and came home to take care of us all. As my mom got worse, so did I. I made life hard for everybody in the family.” It was hard to admit that. Painful.

Cal continued to stroke her face. “You were a child.”

“I was a brat.”

“All children are brats. No exceptions. They’re messy and they smell bad and then they go through puberty. Don’t know why they’re all the rage.”

Monica didn’t laugh. “After she died, I went off the rails. I drank too much. I toked up, took too many pills. I woke up next to strangers, Cal, and sometimes, I couldn’t even remember what I’d done with them.” She took a deep breath and studied his face. He didn’t look shocked or surprised or disappointed. “Four years ago, I met a guy, and after two dates, I let him drive me to Mexico. In the morning, he was gone, and so was all my money. I had to call Evan to come and get me.”

After a minute, Cal lifted his hands, palms upward. “All right, so you have terrible taste in men—present company excluded, naturally. And you committed a few youthful indiscretions. You trusted the wrong people.”

“I got pregnant.”