Текст книги "His Kind of Trouble"

Автор книги: Terri L. Austin

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

“You’re a big fan of Joyce?”

“Not really. I was fourteen and heard there were sexy parts in Ulysses, but by the time I slogged through it, I was too bored to care.”

Monica fought back a laugh. She didn’t know what to make of him. If he secretly wrote poetry on the side, she was a goner.

“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“I think mistakes are missed opportunities. Being afraid to make a mistake is being afraid of life.” The elevator doors opened, and he gestured for her to enter first.

“Mechanic. Gambler. Philosopher. Any other talents?”

“Scores, darling.” His eyes were full of sexual heat. “Would you like me to elaborate?”

Crossing her arms, Monica shifted her glance to the closed doors. “Nope.” Yes. God, yes. She paused for a second. “And for your information, I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Hmm, I must have got it wrong then. From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to avoid me. And there’s only one reason for that.”

“You’re annoying?”

“Because you want to finish what we started, but that wouldn’t mesh with this rather dull, professional image you’ve created for yourself.” The bell dinged at the seventh floor, and the doors slid open. When two men and a woman climbed on board, Cal moved to the back of the car. He tugged on Monica’s sleeve, pulling her back with him and crowding her into the corner.

“Not true,” she whispered. So true. “I don’t want to finish anything with you.” Just standing next to him in this small space was a test of her self-restraint. She fought the urge to gravitate toward him and take another whiff of his fresh, earthy scent.

“Prove it,” he whispered back.

Monica tried to hold her tongue, but she liked having the last word too much. “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” she hissed. Fantastic argument. What’s next, Monica, the old I’m-rubber-you’re-glue line of defense?

Once they hit the lobby, everyone filed out ahead of them. “I’m not avoiding you, Cal. I’m busy.” She peered up at him. “And I don’t want to finish what we started five years ago. I barely remember it.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Monica.”

Monica was a fairly decent liar. As a teenager, she’d told a lot of whoppers, most of which never came back to bite her in the ass. A good thing, because Allie had a very long memory. “I’m not lying.”

“You are, actually. It’s adorable.” Cal kept pace with her to the entrance of the building. He held open the door and walked next to her as she crossed the lot to her car. “Look, I obviously make you uncomfortable. Probably because of your massive attraction to me. But I won’t force my company on you. Just drop me off at my villa, and we’ll call it a day.”

She came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, held up her keychain, and pressed the fob. “I’m not uncomfortable, nor am I attracted. I’ll go to dinner with you, if you’ll just shut the hell up.”

* * *

Trying to suppress a grin, Cal shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled beside her. She was easy to wind up, which made doing so impossible to resist. He hadn’t been able to resist kissing her, either. He’d only gotten a brief taste, but he wanted more. Cal wanted to strip her out of that suit and see what she wore underneath. Monica could make plain white cotton look fuckable.

He moved around her to open the driver’s side door. “In you go.”

She shot him a glance and mumbled a thanks.

“Where are we headed?” he asked after climbing in next to her. And that’s when he noticed the fuzzy steering wheel cover. Hot, vibrant pink. “Did you skin a Muppet?” He pointed at the furry wheel.

“Yes. I’m sadistic like that. You should see what I did to Miss Piggy.”

Cal leaned his head back and chuckled. This was a glimpse of the true Monica. It was the only sign of frivolity she’d shown all day, and he was heartened by it.

She reversed out of the parking spot and sped off. “What sounds good? Steak, sushi, Italian?”

“I’m flexible. Tell me about this foundation. Apparently, it keeps you so busy that you can’t take time to eat a proper lunch.”

“How do you know that?” She stopped at a red light and glanced over at him. “Has Stella been tattling on me?”

“Yes, she was quite vocal. Goes from zero to doing a ton in three seconds flat. Her engine doesn’t idle, either.”

Monica shook her head. “Are you saying she talks a lot? At least I hope engine isn’t a euphemism for something else.”

He shuddered. “It’s not. Stella is an attractive woman, don’t get me wrong, but not my type. She gave me an earful about you, though. You’ve not been taking care of yourself, not since breaking up with Reggie.”

“Oh my God, she told you about Ryan?” Monica slapped her palm onto the stick, slammed the car into gear, then tore out at the green light. “Stella and I are going to have a little talk tomorrow.”

“Oh, do stop. She didn’t mean any harm, she’s worried about you.” He hadn’t meant to get the poor lady into trouble. After all, Cal had peppered Stella with questions like a chat show host, and used his most disarming smile to do it. The older woman had given Cal all the dirt. How wonderful, handsome, and successful Ryan was. Everyone adored him. Ugh. The dismal chap sounded like a right Herbert.

“Well, she can worry silently next time,” Monica said, “with an idling engine.”

Cal shifted in his seat. “So what was wrong with him?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a really great, wonderful guy.”

Cal narrowed his eyes. “According to Stella, you broke up with him.”

“Wow, she really did fill you in, didn’t she?”

“Was he a snorer?”

“Wha—”

“A bit of a slob?”

“No.” She took her eyes from the road for a moment to throw a glare in his direction. “Calum, I’m not going to discuss my boyfriend with you.”

“Ex-boyfriend. What does he do for a living, this paragon?”

She remained silent.

“Is he a vicar or something? Is that why you dress the way you do?”

“He’s not a minister, there’s nothing wrong with my clothing, and I’m not talking about him.”

“Solicitor? That’s almost as bad.”

Monica tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “He’s an accountant.”

“Dear God, an accountant. He did this voluntarily? That’s a thousand times worse than a solicitor.”

“I don’t want to discuss him—are we clear on that?” She slowly turned her head to stare at him.

“I’m just curious, love. No need to be so cross.”

“Are we clear?” She didn’t look away from him, not even when the cars behind them started to beep their horns.

Her gaze met and locked with his. Monica was so lovely, especially when she was angry. Her stubborn little chin jutted out when she became well and truly hacked off. He reached out and caressed that cleft with his thumb. “Clear.”

Her breath caught at his touch. She wasn’t as unaffected by him as she pretended. Good to know.

Jerking her head away, she faced forward before speeding through the intersection. They were only a few blocks from the Strip now. Tall neon signs became visible, shooting upward toward the night sky. Blue, pink, purple, gold. All of them vying with one another for attention.

“Did he squeeze toothpaste from the bottom of the tube?” Cal continued. “I hate those people. So superior and smug about their dental hygiene.” When she didn’t respond, he carried on. “Didn’t put down the lavatory lid?” Still, she kept schtum, not uttering a word. “Wait, I’ve got it. He didn’t reciprocate with the oral, did he?”

As he watched her, Monica’s lips flattened, and her eyes narrowed slightly. “I said—”

“Because personally, I like performing oral. Knowing my partner’s satisfied makes me satisfied. I’m a giver, but not every man is. Was that your Brian?”

“Ryan,” she said through clenched teeth. “And he was perfectly satisfactory in the sex department, since you’re so freakishly curious. I was always very, very satisfied.”

“Ooo, two verys—he must have been dreadful. And you’re doing it again.”

“What?” She’d turned onto the Strip, and they hit another red light.

Tourists lined the street up ahead, staring at a casino fountain. Its pastel-lighted jets of water were synchronized to Beethoven. Opus 15, if he remembered correctly. Cal had always liked that one. “You’re lying.”

“One more word, Cal, one more, and I’m kicking you out of the car.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again just as quickly. He’d pushed her to the limit. And Cal couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such fun.

Chapter 5

Monica parked at the front door of a casino and couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. Cal had finally shut up about Ryan, after she’d threatened to dump his ass on the side of the road. She’d been halfway serious too. What was Stella doing, spilling all of Monica’s personal business? Cal had probably acted all charming and winsome to get the information, but Stella should have more discretion.

Monica didn’t want to talk about Ryan. Not to anyone—especially not to Calum Hughes. But he was relentless. Normally, she appreciated tenacity in a person, but not when all of that determination was directed at her.

After handing her key to the valet, Monica silently entered the building with Cal by her side. Inside, the sights and sounds were jarring at first. Machines jangled and strobed bright lights. People yelled and laughed, and a Bon Jovi song blared overhead.

Monica had spent a lot of time hanging out in casinos—the restaurants, pool parties, clubs, and blackjack tables. Not so much in the last couple of years, though. She sort of missed the atmosphere.

As they began moving down a long corridor lined with shops, Cal stopped and placed his hand on her upper arm. “Hang on a mo, I’ll be right back.” He left her to jog into the gift store, where all sorts of memorabilia filled the front window—T-shirts, coffee mugs, shot glasses. Monica watched people drift in and out of bars and the sportsbook as she waited.

Cal came back a few minutes later, empty-handed. “Ready.” He laced his fingers with hers and brought them to his mouth for a quick kiss.

Holding hands with him made her heart patter like a teenager’s on her first date. “What did you buy?”

“Mind your own business, nosy parker.” His tone was chiding, but his eyes sparkled.

He was pushing every one of her buttons tonight. He seemed to have a knack for it. And all that sex talk in the car had her thoughts heading in one direction—imagining herself with Cal. It wasn’t hard to do. She’d seen his bare chest this morning. Did he have any other tattoos? The old Monica would have made it her duty to find out. The new Monica tamped down her raging curiosity.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Surf and turf restaurant. I’ve never been here, but I’ve heard it’s good.”

They took the elevator to the fifth floor, to a very trendy spot owned by a celebrity chef. Cal kept hold of her hand the entire way.

After they gave their name to the hostess, they slipped into the bar brimming with people. There were no free tables, and all of the bar stools were occupied, so Monica found a narrow space against the wall while Cal left to get her a drink. He came back a moment later with a glass of wine she’d requested, but hadn’t ordered anything for himself.

After he handed off the pinot, he angled toward her. Cal placed his forearm along the wall next to her head, shrouding her with his tall body, then lowered his lips to her ear. “You were at university the last time I saw you. How’d that go?” His breath stirred a lock of her hair. Their cheeks were practically touching, and delectable heat radiated off him.

“How do you remember that?”

He pulled back to stare into her eyes. His darkened to a deeper green. “I remember everything about that night. Don’t you?” He arched one brow, waiting for her answer.

“Not everything.” She remembered the best parts, the important parts. How he made her feel—hot and wet and excited. She felt that way now, and he wasn’t even touching her.

“So did you finish school?” he asked.

When she nodded, her hair brushed against his arm. “Yeah. Got my master’s too.”

“Clever girl.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help but return it. His jawline was rugged, his neck muscular. She watched the vein at the side of his throat and clenched her glass to keep from reaching out and brushing it with her finger. “I know you have to work in that little cell of yours,” he said, “but what do you do for fun?”

What did she do for fun? It had been so long since she’d had any, Monica could barely understand the concept. “I don’t have time for fun right now.”

Cal leaned nearer, traced his lips along the outer edge of her ear, causing Monica to shiver. “There’s always time for fun.” His gravelly voice shot a bolt of pleasure right through her. “And if there’s not, you’re doing something wrong.”

“What do you do for fun?” she asked, sounding winded. He was so near. She felt cocooned from the crowd, his body shielding her, blocking everyone from view.

She’d hardly gotten the words out when he gently bit down on her earlobe. Shutting her eyes, Monica had to work to stay upright, but she couldn’t stop herself from touching him. Lifting her hand, she lightly rubbed his cheek. His skin was hot to the touch, and smooth against her fingers.

Cal released her ear and raised his head to look at her. His pupils were large, eating into the green surrounding them. Slowly, he leaned even closer, giving her time to push him away.

Monica didn’t want to push him away. She wanted his mouth on hers again. This time for a longer, deeper kiss. Her good-girl voice sounded a distant warning, but she ignored it.

Eyes wide, Monica remained still. His lips touched hers, and unlike the soft kiss in the office, this one packed a sexual punch. Placing his hands on either side of her head, Cal kissed her full-on. His lips coaxed and demanded at the same time.

As Monica clutched the placket of his shirt with her free hand, she kissed him back, and everything else fell away. The people, the noise, the fact that they were in public. None of it mattered except this moment with Cal. Her breasts felt heavy, achy, and her nipples were taut.

When his tongue met hers, Monica moaned into his mouth. She craved his touch, needed more of him—this kiss wasn’t enough. Not even close. Her pussy contracted each time his thumb brushed across her cheek. Suddenly, something vibrated between them.

Cal’s hands fell, and he broke the kiss. With his forehead resting against hers, he took a shuddery breath. “Bloody hell, I thought that was you for a minute. I think our table’s ready.” He pulled the pager from his front pocket. “We could skip dinner and get a room instead.”

Monica stared at his flushed face and slammed back into reality. What the hell was wrong with her? Brushing her fingers across her mouth, she wordlessly shook her head. She’d just made a fool of herself. In public. What if someone she knew had seen her?

“I’m not getting a room with you, Cal. I agreed to have dinner, and then I’m going home. Alone.” She plucked the pager from his hand and staggered past him, out of the bar. Walking toward the hostess, Monica didn’t look back. And she couldn’t even make eye contact with any of the diners—she was too shaken by what had just happened. Cal only had to stand next to her, throw a few kisses her way, and every scrap of resistance evaporated.

Well, no more. Monica wasn’t a slave to her hormones. She had been a bad-boy-free zone for the last four years. She could withstand a kiss or two. She was made of sterner stuff.

Once they were seated, Cal’s intense gaze darted over her face, her heated cheeks. “Are you all right?”

He wasn’t teasing for a change, and she was glad. If he mocked her right now, she didn’t know if she could stand it. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

She shook out her napkin and dropped it on her lap. Time for a neutral topic. No ex-boyfriends, or sex, or the past. And no more kisses. “Brynn said you flew in from Australia.”

Cal picked up the menu and opened it. “Yeah, I did. Beautiful country—you should go someday.”

“Which part of Australia?”

“Cairns.”

“What did you do there?”

He looked up at her and grinned. “Hung out, surfed. Bought a wreck of an Austin Healey and had it shipped back to London. Have you ever seen one up close?”

“I’ve never seen one from far away. So is that all you do, fix cars and surf?” She wasn’t being dismissive, she was curious, but a chill settled behind his eyes.

“What more is there?” He sounded flippant, but his grip tightened on the leather-bound menu. He was putting up a front. She recognized it instantly, because she was a master at it—acting nonchalant to get people off her back.

So what was he hiding? “Is there a girlfriend in Australia?”

“No.” That deep, husky voice became clipped, like Trevor’s. Monica was good at reading caution signs, and right now, Cal flashed a bright red warning: Off Limits.

But Monica couldn’t leave it alone. “What about a wife?”

When he raised his head, Cal’s lips curved downward, and that chill in his eyes became permafrost. “You think I’d be snogging you if I were married? Lovely opinion you have of me, darling.”

“I don’t know you. Not really. And Australia seems like a touchy subject.”

“It’s not a touchy subject. Not like you and the ex-boyfriend.”

“Did you leave a job behind?”

He signaled a passing waiter. “Scotch, single malt, please. Better make it a double.” Once the waiter left, his eyes pinned Monica. “No job. No wife. No girlfriend. Now your turn. Why did you break up with what’s-his-face?”

“You don’t have a job? I thought you were the shiz with cars.” This felt very familiar—same old song, second verse. Monica always fell for the ones without a job.

“I own an auto restoration business, but my garage is in Britain, not Australia.”

“How long were you in Australia?” She placed her hands on her unopened menu and leaned forward.

Cal closed his and mirrored her movements. “Why do you give a toss?”

“I’m just being polite.”

“Hardly.”

Her mouth popped open as she leaned back. “Really? You ask me about oral sex, and I’m the impolite one?”

A wide grin broke across his lips. “Well, perhaps we’re evenly matched.”

Monica decided to give up on Australia. “What’s so special about an Austin Whatever?”

“Healey.” He dug into his front pocket. “It’s a piece of automotive beauty.” He pulled out his phone and touched the screen. “It’s a classic piece of British machinery. To restore a car like that is bringing a piece of history to life.”

“Like Trevor’s antique knickknacks,” she said.

Cal’s smile dimmed. “No. It’s nothing remotely like the decaying shit Trevor’s got lying all over.”

“Actually, it’s exactly the same. I saw that Mustang, remember?”

“But I don’t hang on to cars the way Trevor does with jade Buddha figurines. I find classics, restore them, and give them a happy home.” He shoved the phone under her nose. “Here’s one I did three years ago. Take a look.”

She glanced at the pic of a shiny, sexy red roadster. “It’s very nice.”

Cal barked out a shocked laugh. “Nice? No, love, that car is not nice. It’s a marvel.” He scrolled across the screen before handing it to her. “That’s how it looked when I found it.”

Now it was her turn for surprise. “This is a wreck.” Literally. The car looked as if it had been cut in half. The front fender had sustained major damage, and the finish was completely eroded. To her, it looked like a piece for the salvage yard. She gazed up and saw pride in his eyes.

“I know. Just the chassis. That’s all I had to work with. I rebuilt that car, every single piece, from the drivetrain to the seats.”

“How long did that take?” She stared at the picture for a moment longer. When she started to scroll through to look for more, he snatched the phone from her hands and shoved it in his pocket.

“A year and a half. I was a bit obsessed. Normally, it takes much longer.”

“So you finish a car, find a buyer, and move on to the next project?”

Cal nodded. “Precisely.”

He probably did the same thing with women. Picked one, fucked her until she was ruined for every other man, then left her for a different model. Which explained Monica’s attraction to him. Along with that body, those eyes, and his sense of humor. Maybe he had a little more going for him than all of the other losers she’d fallen for in the past. That didn’t mean he was good for her.

“When did you start fixing cars?” she asked as the waiter wandered toward them and set a glass in front of Cal. He offered to freshen Monica’s wine, but she shook her head.

“We’ll need a few more minutes,” Cal said, and the waiter disappeared. He turned his attention back on Monica. “When I was nine. One of my mum’s boyfriends had a motor collection that was astounding. I was immediately hooked. The chauffeur, who also happened to be a fairly decent mechanic, taught me how to put together my first carburetor. I spent every day learning as much about cars as I could.”

He took a sip of his scotch, and her eyes followed the movement of his throat. Cal seemed to do everything with an elegance that must be an inherent trait. Monica could practice forever, and she’d never possess that air of refinement.

“I travel often,” Cal said, “I work when I feel like it, and I live my life. You should try it.”

“Some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us have to work even when we don’t feel like it.” Cal might talk about living life and not being afraid to make mistakes, but that was easy to say when he didn’t have any obligations.

The waiter returned, and Monica ordered grilled chicken and vegetables while Cal got the prime rib. Damn, that sounded good. But she’d made the healthy choice. She could do that with Cal too. Just as long as he kept those lips to himself.

“How about after this, we hit the roulette table?” he asked.

“No thanks, I have a busy day tomorrow.”

Deep creases bit into the corners of his narrowed eyes as he studied her. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a new deck of cards that bore the name of the casino. That must have been what he’d bought in the gift store.

“High card gets to decide what we do next.”

With a breathy laugh, she looked away. “I’m not letting a card decide my future.”

“Not your entire future, just the next two hours. My God, you’ve gotten prickly.” He threw out two joker cards and shuffled the deck.

Monica’s posture stiffened. “If I’m so prickly and boring, I don’t know why you’d want to spend another minute in my company.”

He leaned in. “I never said boring, darling. Besides, I like staring at that little divot in your chin.” His eyes followed her movements as she involuntarily reached up to stroke the cleft. “And the way your eyes darken whenever you become pissy, like when I ask about the ex.” He wagged a finger at her. “They’re doing it right now. And you may have everyone else fooled into thinking you’re a saint, but you kiss like a sinner. So no, I don’t find you boring.”

That last one struck a little too close to home. Cal sat back and watched her with a grin.

“You don’t know anything about me.” In fact, he seemed to know too much. How could he read her so easily? It was irritating, and a tad scary. What else did he see?

Cal placed the cards on the table. “Draw high, and you can go home to your lonely bed and dream of me.”

She shook her head. “You’ll be dreaming of me. I’m not the one who kissed you. Twice.”

“I didn’t hear you protesting. You could have slapped my face. Instead, you stuck your tongue in my mouth. Which was very enjoyable, by the way. You actively participated. That counts.”

“Sorry, Calum, we’re not compatible.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I only date responsible grown-ups with real jobs.”

His taunting grin ratcheted up. “Who said anything about dating? And I don’t need a job, I have a trust fund. You had a responsible grown-up in Reggie—”

“Ryan.”

“But you kicked him to the curb. Why don’t you try having a little fun instead?”

* * *

Cal watched with satisfaction as pink filled her cheeks. Monica didn’t like to be reminded that she was human. But when he’d kissed her in the bar, she’d responded. She was so into it, she’d clutched his shirt in her fist. Despite what Monica said, she wanted him. He could see it in her eyes. They were a good gauge of her emotions. Stormy and passionate one minute, dismissive and superior the next.

The shade was very like the water surrounding the reef at Cairns—clear, light blue—until her emotions ran high. Then they turned to Meissen Blue—the color of a ’58 Porsche he’d restored some years ago. Her eyes were gorgeous. Like the rest of her.

His gaze drifted to her sensual upper lip—so completely at odds with her conservative exterior, and another naughty reminder of who she really was. When she caught him staring at it, she slid the tip of her tongue along its lush edge. Cal imagined those lips wrapped around his cock, and heat pricked his forehead. He wanted Monica Campbell in the very worst way. Wanted her beneath him—naked, open, and willing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cal attempted to relax his facial muscles. His desire must have shown clearly, because Monica appeared on the verge of panic. “When was the last time you went dancing?”

She blinked at the change in topic. “Where did that come from?” She fingered the spoon handle, picked it up, and started tapping it against the table. He was making her nervous. Good. He liked knocking her off balance. She revealed herself in all sorts of interesting ways.

“Last time I saw you, you told me you loved to dance.”

“Cal, what do you want from me?” She glanced down at the table, and her shoulders hunched forward. “No matter what you choose to believe, I’m not the girl you remember. I don’t stay out late partying, and I don’t sneak off to the garden to dry-hump strangers. That girl’s gone for good.”

“You and I are no longer strangers, so I think we’re past the dry-humping stage. However, I could be persuaded to a mutual wank-off.”

She dropped the spoon and clenched her hand into a fist. “We’re not wanking.”

“Fine,” he said, then sighed deeply. “No wanking. We’ll play for something that really matters. A good-night kiss.” He gestured to the cards. “Pick one. Draw a high card, and I’ll never bother you again. Draw low, I get a proper snog. Go on, I dare you.”

She stared at him for a full minute. “Fine.” She cut the deck and drew a card. Glancing at it, she closed her eyes for a moment, then showed him the two of spades. “Shouldn’t be hard to beat.”

Cal kept his eyes on her as he drew. He didn’t look at the card, but showed it to her. “What is it?”

“King of hearts.”

He nodded. “That sounds about right.”

Just then, the waiter started heading their way. He set the dishes before them and gave a few more details about dessert. “Can I get you anything else?”

Cal stood and removed his wallet. He shoved a couple of bills in the man’s hand. “We both need to make a phone call. Is there a room around here we can use, an office or a private loo?”

Looking down at the cash, the waiter nodded. “There’s a supply closet in the bathroom hallway.” He looked around as he slipped a key out of his pocket. “Don’t get caught.”

“Thanks, mate.” Cal patted the man’s shoulder and grabbed Monica’s hand. Pulling her from the table, he ignored her expression of horror as he strode through the restaurant, hauling her behind him.

In the darkened hallway, past the loos, he found the narrow door. Without giving her time to make a dash, he slipped the key into the lock and had them inside in mere seconds.

“Cal, this is ridiculous.”

He flipped on the light and glanced around at the rolls of paper products. Monica stood with her back to the door, staring at him with wide eyes.

Flattening both hands on either side of her head, he hemmed her in with his arms. “Tell me your heart’s not racing right now. Tell me this isn’t fun.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she stuck her chin in the air and stared at his nose. “This isn’t fun.”

“If you want to go, I won’t stop you. But if you stay, I intend to kiss you thoroughly. And I’m going to touch you. Here.” He moved one hand and placed it over her breast.

Monica glanced around the room. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. We’re too old to make out in a supply closet.”

“We can’t very well do it at the table. The other diners wouldn’t be able to concentrate on their entrées. So what do you want to do, Monica?” He swept his lips over her cheek. “Stay?” He trailed tiny kisses up to those four freckles scattered above her eyebrow. “Or go?”

She placed her hands on his chest, her fingers restless as they turned inward, like talons, and skittered down to his waist. “Stay.” It was barely a whisper, and her lips hardly moved. But it was enough.

Before she could say anything else, Cal placed his hands around her waist. The fabric of her jacket was stiff and unyielding. He very slowly slanted his body over hers, and angling his head, began to nibble the side of her neck above her collar. She smelled heavenly—sweet, yet spicy. Her skin was silk against his lips. A strand of her hair tickled his forehead.

Monica’s body remained tense for a few moments, but gradually, as Cal ran his lips across her jaw, she relaxed and slid her hands up to his shoulders. Letting out a soft sigh, she tilted her head, giving his lips better access.

Yes. He’d been waiting five long years for this. Another go at Monica Campbell. Not his top pick for locale, but he’d take it. That girl in the garden had been eager and out of control. He wanted to make her that way again.

Cal trailed kisses up to her ear where he caught her lobe between his teeth. He bit down as he had in the bar, but not gently this time. Monica gasped, her breaths growing ragged as he pulled it into his mouth and sucked.

Cal let go of her waist and, with shaky hands, peeled the jacket from her shoulders and down her arms, dropping it at her feet. That damned blouse was still in his way. He wanted to rip it off and bare her skin. He hated that demure white shirt—unimaginative and puritanical, it was the antithesis of everything Monica was. As he tried to undo the top button, his fingers felt awkward and clumsy.

Monica batted his fumbling hands away, making quick work of the buttons. When she was done, Cal parted her blouse and stilled, gaping at her—at her full breasts pushed high above two peachy, lace-covered cups. The scanty material barely covered her nipples at all, and the dark pink areola of one breast peeked above the lace. Fucking hell. Her tits were plump and pale, nearly the same color as her bra.