Текст книги "His Kind of Trouble"
Автор книги: Terri L. Austin
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
“Why don’t you skip the meeting, and let’s sneak off to the garden. For old times’ sake?” His grip tightened just a fraction. Where he touched her, every nerve ending tingled.
Without responding, Monica jerked away and kept walking.
“Was it something I said?” he called after her.
Monica didn’t look back, but she knew his eyes followed her every movement. She could feel his gaze wander over her, and despite the heat, a shiver skidded up her spine. Shit. Cal Hughes was trouble. Handsome, hard-bodied trouble.
Once Monica reached the house, she flung open the side door and bolted inside. The cool air felt good against her clammy skin. Leaning against the wall, Monica removed the glasses and closed her eyes. She rubbed the back of her neck, where heat crept under the surface and worked its way upward, toward her cheeks. She needed to calm the hell down. He was just a guy. A guy you’ve never been able to forget. That night, under a sprinkling of stars, Cal Hughes had made her feel exotic, untamed. Desired. But that was five long years ago—might as well be a lifetime.
Monica struggled to find her center, to compose herself and assume the calm demeanor she’d worked so hard to acquire.
After a few deep breaths, she strode past the glass cases that held various objets d’art, but she didn’t pause to look at them today. Instead, she headed straight into the breakfast room, hoping she’d have a few minutes alone before facing anyone. But luck was not on her side this morning. Her brother-in-law, Trevor Blake, sat with phone in hand, tapping out a text message. With his dark, overly long hair combed back from his face, he wore a perpetual haughty expression that made him seem cold and remote. Except with Allie and their twins. Somehow, Monica’s sister smoothed out Trevor’s harsh edges, made him not softer, but more approachable. Allie and Trevor shared something unique, and Monica sometimes envied the connection they had.
She plopped down next to him. “Hey, Trev.”
He didn’t speak until he’d finished texting. “Hey, yourself. Are you quite all right? You’re a bit peaky.”
“I ran into your cousin outside. What’s he doing here?” Other than throwing Monica’s world completely out of whack.
“Still tinkering away, is he? Wonder how long that will last.” Like Cal, his accent was posh. Arrogantly so. But where Trevor’s voice was cool and clipped, Cal Hughes sounded husky, like he’d smoked too many cigarettes the night before, or had just woken up. Monica closed her eyes in an effort to banish the images that kept flashing through her mind. Cal lying in bed naked—white sheets tangled around his legs, a contrast against his sun-kissed skin. With strong arms crossed behind his head, his crooked smile would beckon her…
When she felt a hand clamp onto her shoulder, Monica’s eyes popped open, and she nearly jumped out of her seat. Allie stood behind her holding an enormous black binder. With messy blond hair falling over her shoulders, Al wore a pink T-shirt and ripped jeans, managing to look sexy and disheveled. “Good morning.”
Monica placed a hand on her chest and willed her heart to slow down. “God, Al, are you trying to kill me?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Without waiting for an answer, Allie glided to Trevor and gave him a kiss…one that lasted so long, Monica felt as if she were intruding on a hot round of foreplay.
She cleared her throat. “You two done over there?”
Allie raised her head, with a playful smile on her lips. Trevor’s gray eyes were darker now, and Monica had no doubt if they’d been alone, he would have nailed her sister right there on the table, next to the blueberry muffins.
Allie settled into a seat. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”
Get it together, Campbell. Keep your mind off Calum, and force Allie to stay on point. “I have an hour before I need to head back to the office.”
“It’ll take as long as it takes,” Allie said.
“That may be true, but I’m leaving in an hour.” Monica pulled the tablet from her bag and turned it on.
Before Allie could respond, Monica’s younger sister, Brynn, walked into the room. “Hey, Mon, Cal Hughes is here. Do you remember him from Dad’s wedding? Because he remembered you.” She parked herself in a chair.
“What do you mean?” Surely he hadn’t mentioned their garden grope to Brynn? She felt Allie’s appraisal but refused to look up.
“He asked how you were. Wondered if you still lived in Vegas. He just jetted in from Australia two days ago,” Brynn said.
“Fascinating.” And now he was looking for a fuck-buddy. Well he could look somewhere else. She refused to spend one more minute talking about Hot Ass Hughes. Monica switched her attention to Allie. “Why couldn’t you come to the office for our meeting? I’ve had to rearrange my entire afternoon.”
“Because Cal’s here,” Allie said. So much for changing the subject. “I didn’t want to be a bad hostess.”
“You’re not a hostess, because he’s not staying here,” Trevor said, glancing up from his phone. “He’s staying at a hotel. I’ve not changed my mind about that.”
Brynn plucked a muffin from the platter and peeled back the paper. “He’s not staying at a hotel, he’s staying at one of the villas.” Her dark hair and delicate bone structure weren’t the only things that set Brynn apart from her sisters. She was also incredibly shy with strangers. But apparently Cal didn’t qualify as one.
Monica gave up trying to change the course of the conversation and indulged her curiosity. Only movie stars, whales, and foreign zillionaires stayed in the exclusive casino villas. “What does Cal do for a living anyway, run a country?”
“He fixes cars,” Brynn said.
There had to be more to the story. Monica had dated her fair share of motorheads in the past, and none of them had been rolling in expendable income. Cars were a pricey hobby.
“According to English here”—Allie wagged her thumb in Trevor’s direction—“Cal’s the shit of the old-car world.”
“Not old cars, darling, vintage cars,” Trevor corrected. “Classics. And he is the shit—an artist, really, when it suits him. He doesn’t just fix them, he restores them to their former glory.”
“He’s working on the Mustang here because our garage is so tricked out,” Allie said.
“Yes, lucky us.” Rising from the table, Trevor threw down his napkin and gave Allie a final kiss. “See you later. And remember ladies, play nice.” He patted Brynn’s head on his way out of the room.
Shoving aside her empty plate, Allie opened the binder and clicked her pen. “All right, let’s get started. The gala’s less than eight weeks away, and there are details we need to go over, starting with the linens.”
Monica had an urge to bang her head against the table until she was semiconscious. “Al, you know I don’t care about this shit. My priority is fund-raising.”
Allie raised one pale brow. “Since we’re all a part of the foundation, we all need to decide these things.”
“Isn’t this what the event planner is for?” Monica didn’t care if they used white tablecloths or pink, had tea roses or calla lilies. She had one goal: to raise more money than last year. She needed to tap donors and contact sponsors. The rest was just a time suck.
“Do you want to bitch, or do you want to get through this as quickly as possible?” Allie asked. “Because if you want to bitch, it might throw off your precious timetable.” Her tone remained pleasant, but Allie was on the verge of a full-blown snit fit—that placid, disingenuous smile gave her away.
Brynn sighed. “Stop it, both of you. I didn’t take time off work to listen to another argument. Monica, we’re already here—let’s plow through this. Allie, we don’t need to approve each and every minor issue. We trust your judgment. Just give us the highlights.”
Allie’s gaze clashed with Monica’s. Finally, Monica nodded. “That sounds like a good compromise.”
“Agreed,” Allie said.
For the next thirty minutes, Monica tried to pay attention to Allie’s concerns about lighting and who should be allowed to sit at the front table, but she couldn’t concentrate. Against her will, her mind kept drifting back to that night with Cal.
Monica had just broken up with one of her deadbeat boyfriends—she couldn’t remember his name. When Cal had swaggered into the room with his brash attitude and disarming smile, Monica had allowed the immediate attraction she felt to override her grief. And after the ceremony, she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, only that she couldn’t wait to get him alone. She’d nearly dragged him out to the garden.
The way he’d kissed her, touched her, set Monica on fire in seconds—the man had some wicked skills. If Allie hadn’t come thrashing through the hydrangeas, Cal would have been just another entry on Monica’s long list of past mistakes.
Now she was a completely different person from that brazen, irresponsible girl he’d kissed in the garden. She no longer hooked up with strangers, or stripped on top of pool tables, and she didn’t put herself in compromising positions. She had a serious job, a life, a home of her own. Cal was right about one thing—Monica had grown up.
“Mon?” Allie’s voice derailed Monica’s train of thought, pulling her back into the moment.
“What?”
“I asked how many donors you’ve contacted,” Allie said.
“I’ll send you a copy of my master list, along with the spreadsheets. Anything else? I need to go.”
Allie closed her binder. “I thought we’d have a family dinner tonight, since Cal’s in town. Seven o’clock? Trevor’s parents are coming, along with Pixie and Paolo.” Cal’s mom, Pixie, went miles past eccentric and took a left toward loony. Her much younger Italian husband, Paolo, didn’t speak much, but his lack of communication seemed to work in their favor.
“That sounds like fun,” Monica said, “but I have too much going on at the office.” Actually, it didn’t sound like fun at all, and while she did have a mountain of work to do, in reality, she wanted to stay as far away from Cal Hughes as possible. As soon as he left Vegas, Monica would breathe a little easier. She wasn’t sure if she could trust herself around him. The fact that she’d been struck immobile by the sight of him was a knock to her hard-won self-restraint. Plus, Monica had been on a sex-free diet for three months now. And like all diets, it sucked. Calum was more tempting than triple-chocolate cake. Just one taste.
She wouldn’t stop at one taste—that was the problem.
“I know how busy you are,” Allie said, “but you can take the night off, Mon.”
“Nope, sorry.”
Brynn rose from the table and stretched her arms above her head. “I’ll be here, but I may be a little late. I’ve been putting in some overtime.”
Monica and Allie exchanged a glance. “At least tell me you’re getting paid for it, Brynnie,” Monica said.
Brynn’s eyes slid to the sideboard, where yellow roses filled an antique crystal vase. “My boss bought me lunch the other day. Does that count?” Brynn was a wonderful person—sweet, kind, funny. Assertive? Not so much.
“No, it doesn’t,” Allie said. “Quit letting her take advantage of you.”
Brynn crossed her arms. “Cassandra is helpless, you guys. She’s not a bad person, she’s just flaky.”
“You’re doing all the work, and she takes all the credit,” Monica said, feeling frustrated on Brynn’s behalf. “Which is why you should demand a raise.”
“I will, okay?” Brynn pushed her chair beneath the table. “Just not today. And stop ganging up on me. I like it better when you’re fighting with each other.” She walked out of the room with a wave. “See you later.”
Allie poured herself a cup of coffee and stared after Brynn. “She worries me.”
“Yeah. She needs to stand up for herself.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Monica had some things she needed to discuss with Allie, but the quiet was soothing. If Monica broached her ideas about the foundation, the peace between them would come to a record-screeching halt. So much for giving Brynn advice about standing up to her boss. Monica needed to grow a pair herself before dispensing wisdom to her little sister.
So instead of getting into another argument with Allie, Monica shoved her tablet into her bag and stood. “I’ll give you a status report next week.”
“Why don’t you just cc me on everything?” Allie said. “I think we should set up another food tasting too. I’m not feeling those salmon puffs. Also, make sure our emcee is booked for the right date. We don’t want a repeat of last year.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you? He was only an hour late.” Yeah, that silence thing was nice while it lasted. “I’m on top of this, Al. I’ve got it covered. You need to trust me.”
“Don’t get defensive, I’m just double-checking. Also, we have a meeting with the event planner on Thursday. And I’d like you to contact every media outlet. We need coverage.”
“The PR committee is in charge of media. Why don’t we let them do their job?”
“Because if you don’t stay on top of people, details can fall through the cracks. Please contact everyone again? You know how crazy I get with these events. I want it to go smoothly.”
“Fine, if it’ll shut you up, I’ll do it.” With a sigh, Monica turned toward the door and tried to make a clean break, but Allie asked one more question.
“Have you talked to Ryan?”
There it was. “No, why would I?”
Monica had dated Ryan for over a year. Her family loved him, and her friends adored him. Monica’s feelings didn’t go that far. And while she still had occasional moments of doubt for breaking up with him, she’d done the right thing. Monica had desperately wanted to take his ring and build a future together. It sounded so good in theory, but when it came down to the execution, she couldn’t go through with it. Which was a damn shame, because Ryan was nearly perfect.
Since their breakup, Monica had done a lot of soul searching, thinking about her old, destructive patterns, the ones that had tripped her up in the past—saying yes to the wrong type of guy when she needed to say fuck off and get a job, and her inability to settle down with Ryan, a man who truly loved her.
Monica suspected she was defective. For certain, she had a broken picker. Given a room full of decent men and one bad boy, Monica chose the latter every single time. Tatted-up asshole? Two scoops, please. Unemployed heartbreaker? Bring it on.
And now Cal Hughes. If that kiss five years ago was anything to go by, he was all kinds of wrong for her.
“Ryan called me last week,” Allie said.
Monica blinked. Twice. Familiar anger churned in her gut. Allie simply couldn’t stop herself from sticking her nose into Monica’s business. As director of the foundation’s board, Allie may be the boss at work, but Monica’s personal life was just that. “You need to stay out of this, Al. I mean it. I can handle my own relationships without your help.”
Allie rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “He just wondered how you were doing. He’s so sweet, I didn’t have the heart to hang up.”
“Commiserating won’t help him move on.”
“He’s so good for you, Mon.”
Defective. “I have to go.” Monica adjusted her grip on the computer bag and strode out of the room.
Allie trotted after her. “Hey listen, I’m sorry I overstepped. If he calls again, I won’t talk to him. It’s none of my business.” It never was, but that rarely stopped Allie from interfering.
Monica briefly closed her eyes. “No, it’s fine. Do what you want, just leave me out of the conversation.”
“No, I shouldn’t have butted in. And I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re doing a great job. I see how hard you work. I’m really proud of you.” Allie lightly squeezed Monica’s upper arm. “Mom would be proud too.”
“Thanks.” She appreciated Allie’s peace offering, even though she wasn’t buying it. Monica seriously doubted her mother was looking down on her with pride. If Trisha Campbell watched over her from some celestial cloud, she was probably shaking her head, wondering why Monica couldn’t get her shit together. Her mother would have loved Ryan. And she definitely wouldn’t approve of men like Calum Hughes. He was the equivalent of doughnuts or fried cheese sticks. There was zero nutritional value in the Cals of this world. Sexy junk food.
And Monica was on the wagon for good.
She smiled for Allie’s benefit. “Before I leave, I’ll tell Trevor good-bye.”
“Okay.” Allie dropped her hand. “And think about coming for dinner tonight. The twins have been asking for Aunt Monnie.”
“That’s because I sneak them chocolate when you’re not looking.”
Allie grinned. “I know. And they love you for it.”
Monica nodded and walked down the long hallway to Trevor’s office. She didn’t just want to say good-bye, she needed to run her idea by him. He probably wouldn’t be receptive, but it was worth a shot. Rapping her knuckles on the thick wooden door, she opened it and peered inside. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Trevor glanced up from one of his computer screens. “Yes, but come in anyway.”
Monica always felt as if she were breaching the inner sanctum when she walked into Trevor’s office. Like the rest of the house, it overflowed with antique pieces, paintings, and oddities, but this room was command central, where Trevor made his fortune.
She took a chair in front of his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about the foundation’s goals for next year.” A big part of Monica’s job entailed whittling down grant applications. She spent a lot of time staring at statistics and cost projections. Not her favorite part of the gig, but necessary. “I’ve been doing some research.” She pulled a folder from her bag and handed it to Trevor. “Take a look at that. Developing countries are in desperate need of oncology training and equipment. They’re lacking the most basic care. We could open up the grants next year, go international. Spread the wealth a little.”
Taking his time, Trevor read through the file. Monica could almost see his big brain processing all the facts as his frown deepened. “You’d be broadening the scope of the foundation’s agenda considerably. You’d have to develop relationships with individual clinics, hospitals, medical schools. That’s a lot of extra work, and it would strain our resources.”
“The payoff would be worth it. We’re on target for more donations this year. It might mean taking on a consultant, hiring a couple more employees, but it would put us on the international map.”
His eyes met hers. “Have you talked to Allison about this?”
“Not yet. I was kind of hoping you might mention it. Pave the way for me.”
He shut the folder and tossed it on his desk. “Forget it. Do your own dirty work. I’m not going to get involved in a squabble between sisters. Especially you two.”
“Trevor, please—”
“No. She’d be angry with both of us if I approached her instead of you.” He held up his hand to stave off her words. “I like fucking your sister. When she’s angry with me, I don’t get to do that. Sorry, darling, you’re on your own.”
“First of all, eww. I’d prefer not to know the details of your sexy time. Second, you’re pussy whipped. I expected more from you, and I’m deeply disappointed.” Pressing her lips together, Monica slowly shook her head.
With a laugh, Trevor stood and handed the folder back. “I’m utterly pussy whipped. And I quite enjoy it. Talk to Allison. If you believe in this, convince her.”
“Thanks for nothing. You know she won’t listen to me.”
“Sorry.” Pity filled his eyes.
Monica looked away and grabbed her bag. Feeling deflated, she let herself out of Trevor’s office and, instead of leaving by the side door as she usually did, headed to the front in an effort to dodge Cal and his bare torso. She felt like a complete coward for not wanting to face him, but she did it just the same.
As Monica walked outside into the hot morning sun, Calum Hughes sat fully clothed on the hood of her Honda, waiting. When he saw her, a wide grin broke over his face.
Well, hell. She just couldn’t catch a break today.
Chapter 3
He’d been sitting here for over forty minutes, waiting. How long could one meeting last, for God’s sake? And what kind of meeting? Did Monica work for Trevor? She dressed like a bean counter, that much was certain. The suit, that horrible, boxy black jacket—it didn’t fit her at all. Oh, it looked fine, dull as dishwater of course, but it didn’t suit her, Monica Campbell, the girl with the wild hair and devilish eyes.
Cal remembered her clearly, had thought about her from time to time over the years. He fantasized about what would have happened had they not been interrupted.
Her father’s wedding had been a small, intimate gathering—just family. Afterward, as he’d stood in the conservatory chatting her up, she’d been lively, flirtatious. Her hair tumbled down her back in thick honeyed waves, and occasionally she’d toss her head, causing them to bounce. The perfume she’d worn smelled lightly sweet, with a hint of spice. It reminded him of a winter he’d spent in Germany for some odd reason. And Monica had worn a red dress—rosso alfa, almost the exact color of a 1968 Alfa Romeo Spider. Not just any red, but a deep, dark scarlet. Strapless and glittery, it had showed off her tits, and was short enough to give him a glimpse of her fit legs.
Yeah, he remembered her—had almost total recall of the event. How she’d felt in his arms, the weight of her breast in his hand. Her lips had tasted sweet, fresh, with a hint of champagne. And if Allison hadn’t stopped them¸ he’d have fucked Monica Campbell against the garden wall and enjoyed every bloody minute of it.
However, looking back, that may have been taking advantage of her. The thought never would have occurred to his younger self. Cal had simply seen a girl looking for a bit of slap, and he’d been eager to provide it. But she’d teetered on the brink of recklessness that night. He hadn’t understood it at the time—he’d simply enjoyed being on the receiving end of all that attention. Now he realized how hard it must have been for her, watching her father marry a new woman. In essence, replacing her mother. He couldn’t say he was glad they hadn’t shagged that night, but perhaps it was for the best.
One thing Cal did know: he wanted another chance with her. Monica was older now, in control of her emotions. Too much so for his liking. She could do with a bit of loosening up.
This morning he’d barely recognized her. Her hair was several inches shorter. She’d forced it into behaving, taming the waves into a more manageable style. And while her eyes were the same crystal blue, he sensed something like unease in their depths.
While her voice had been cool and impersonal, she’d held that bag in front of her as if she were hiding behind it. The dreadful suit she wore was a buffer as well, camouflaging her amazing curves.
Ah, those sweet curves. Cal remembered them fondly. Firm, high breasts. Ripe, round ass. And her upper lip, noticeably fuller than the bottom one, drove him wild. He wanted to kiss her again, see if she tasted as untamed and sweet as she had that night.
Probably not. She was different now, more serious, less impulsive. At least outwardly—the suit, the chic haircut, the sensible shoes. But when Cal removed her sunglasses, he saw a flash of vulnerability cross her face. He still sensed a feral wildness running through her. It called to him. She may want to deny her true nature, but he suspected that delightfully fun girl with a wicked smile was still in there somewhere, hovering beneath the surface.
Cal found himself utterly fascinated. What had happened to the fearless Monica he’d met a few years ago? Where had she gone, and why?
Although Cal never claimed to be clever, he knew one thing: no matter what a vehicle looked like on the outside, it was what lay beneath the hood that told the real story. Monica was like that Mustang he’d just bought. The outside had been tampered with, its beauty hidden by filler and some rust. But inside, it still had heart, and with a little time and effort, he’d have it up and running again. Monica had a lot going on inside of her too. He could see it in her eyes. This prim and proper exterior wasn’t the whole picture. It couldn’t possibly be.
Finally, the front door opened, and the woman who’d infiltrated his every thought for the past hour walked out of the house. “Hello, again,” he said. Though he might be unable to read her features behind the dark glasses, her body language was wary. Monica held herself immobile, like a frightened animal on the verge of running. In an effort to calm her, Cal shot her his friendliest smile.
“Hello,” she finally said. With jerky movements, she headed down the steps and walked toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“This isn’t an existential question, is it? I’m afraid I’m not contemplative enough for those.”
She remained quiet a moment, her hands tightening on the handle of her bag. “Brynn said you just got into town?”
Had she lost her sense of humor, as well? “Yes, I’m here for my mother’s anniversary party.”
“What anniversary party?”
“Quite. Turns out Pix’s anniversary was six months ago. My fault, I suppose, for not remembering the date, so here I am.”
The edges of Monica’s mouth pulled downward. “Why would your mother lie to you?”
“Pixie has her own reasons for doing things. It’s best to go along and not ask too many questions.”
Monica turned to the large stone fountain, where water trickled over the tiers and into the basin. It made a splashing sound and sent droplets sputtering onto the paved brick drive. “How long are you in town?”
Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was he covered in grease stains? Cal swiped a hand over his cheeks, felt for sticky residue, but didn’t find any. “Don’t know, really. I rarely make plans.” Vegas was as good a place as any to park his bones. London didn’t appeal, even though his garage and showroom were there. Yet for the first time in his life, Cal wasn’t eager to get to it. He sure as hell wasn’t going back to Australia. The very thought of it filled him with a deep sadness he couldn’t shake. At least Vegas had the mystery of Monica Campbell going for it.
“How does that work, exactly?” she asked. “Living life with no plans, no rules?” She inclined her head upward, and he assumed she was looking at him. Tough to tell with those dark lenses.
“Works out quite nicely. When I’m ready for a change of scenery, I hop a plane and see where it takes me. Haven’t you ever wanted to do that? Just take off on a moment’s notice and have yourself an adventure?”
Monica threw back her shoulders. “Some of us have jobs and people who depend on us.”
Ooo, that prim, judgmental tone scraped along his nerves. He should be used to it—had gotten an assful of it from his father over the years—but still it stung, coming from her.
And what was so fabulous about having someone depend on you, anyway?
Glancing away, Cal planted his hands on his thighs. His lips slid into a grin. It felt stiff and forced. “Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight? You can tell me all about your important responsibilities and this meeting you’ve just had.” Which should take approximately ten minutes. After that, he planned on seducing her. A genuine smile replaced the false one. The thought of spending the rest of the night fucking Monica Campbell, watching her shed that uptight persona and fall to pieces as he buried himself inside her—it excited him like nothing else had in a while.
His cock became rigid just thinking about it. To hide his hard-on, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.
“Allie’s planning a family dinner for you,” she said. “Your mother and Paolo are coming.”
Well, shit. He didn’t feel up to socializing, but if he could stare at Monica throughout the evening, he might be able to suffer through. “You’ll be there?”
“No, I have to work.”
He studied her carefully. Her shoulders hitched up ever so slightly, and her lips flattened into a straight line. She was lying. Did she have other plans, or was she avoiding him? If so, why?
Hopping off the car, he slowly crossed to her. When he reached striking distance, he once again snatched the sunglasses from her face. When she tried to grab them back, he held them aloft. He wanted to see her eyes, read what was going on in that head of hers.
“Hey, stop doing that.” She placed a hand on his forearm and tugged. “Give them back.”
Cal bowed down until only a few inches separated his face from hers. Truly lovely. Her skin was flawlessly pale, except for a grouping of four freckles scattered above the arch of her eyebrow. They were tiny and covered with powder, but up close, he could count them. Such white skin was unusual for someone living in a sun-drenched desert. She must spend all of her time indoors. “If you agree to have dinner with me, you may have them back.”
Her wide eyes flew to his, and he detected a hint of fear. Fear? Of what, of him? That seemed unlikely. Women liked Cal, adored him, actually. He put them at ease, not on their guard. Had been doing so since he was a lad.
He gazed down to where her hand gripped his arm. The back of it was delicate with longish, pretty fingers and buffed nails. Nothing so frivolous as a pop of colored nail varnish for grown-up, responsible Monica.
Then a thought struck him—perhaps she no longer found him attractive. Could that be it? He took one deliberate step closer.
She audibly swallowed, and the pulse at the base of her neck fluttered like a trapped bird. No, she wasn’t immune to him. Not at all.
She took a half step backward. “I’m not having dinner with you, Cal. I’m busy.”
“Oh dear, this happens occasionally,” he said with a tsk.
A little vertical crease appeared in the middle of her forehead as her brows drew together. “What does?”
“Some women can’t control themselves around me, you know,” he whispered, “sexually. It’s my cross to bear. But I promise I won’t give in, no matter how much you beg.”
He expected her to laugh. But her blue gaze became darker, sharper, as her jaw muscles tightened. He stared at the little dent in the center of her chin, wanted to sweep his tongue over it. He’d ignited her anger. Good. At least she could still feel something.
“You’re not half as charming as you think you are,” she said.
“Right, but all in all, that’s still pretty charming, isn’t it?” Gently, he placed the glasses back on the bridge of her nose. Then he moved around her, and with a long-legged gait, walked to the house. “See you tonight, love,” he said before slipping inside.
