His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  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.

  Shutting the door, Cal grinned. As of this morning, he felt more alive, more engaged than he had in months. He actually looked forward to something: teasing the bloody hell out of Monica Campbell.

  Seducing her might be more difficult than he’d first thought. And getting her to drop that straitlaced im
age would be a challenge. But he was up to it. There was something truly horrifying about a naughty girl turned saint. It offended his delicate sensibilities.

  Cal pushed off the door and strode from the foyer into a hallway, intent on finding Trevor. Turning a corner, he almost ran headlong into Allie. “Whoops,” he said, reaching out to steady her shoulders. “Sorry about that.”

  She smiled. “No problem. How are you?”

  “Very well. You’re looking beautiful. Pink suits you.”

  “Thanks. I was just about to come and get you, see if you wanted a cup of coffee.” She led the way to the drawing room, where Grecian busts and porcelain bowls covered almost every surface. “You know you don’t have to stay in a hotel. You’re welcome here. Don’t let Trevor’s bark fool you. He’s a softy.” She sat on one of the sofas and poured coffee from a silver pot.

  He could call Trevor many things, most of them less than complimentary, but softy wasn’t among them. “Thank you, Allison.” He took the delicate china cup in one hand and sat across from her. “I’m perfectly happy in the villa.” He rubbed his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “I chatted with your sister outside just now. She seemed…” He deliberately left the conversational door open, hoping Allie would walk through it. He wanted to know more about Monica. Was she seeing someone? Surely not, or she would have used it as an excuse not to have dinner with him.

  “She seemed what?” Allie asked.

  Well, so much for that ploy. “Grown-up, very professional.” Really, Cal? That’s the best you could come up with? But what the hell was he supposed to say? Your sister still looks shagirific, Allie. I do hope she’ll allow me to fuck her until her knees wobble this time. Compared with that, professional didn’t seem half-bad.

  Allie nodded. “She is. Monica takes her job very seriously.”

  “What is her job, exactly? Funeral director? School marm?”

  Allie’s pale brows rose a fraction. “She works for the foundation.”

  “What foundation would that be?”

  The smile slowly faded from her lips. “Pix didn’t mention it?”

  “Of course she did. I just forgot. Very important work, foundations.”

  Allie broke out laughing. “You have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, do you?”

  He grinned. “Guilty.”

  “We run a breast cancer foundation, and Monica’s our coordinator. She spends a lot of time looking over grants and helping organize fund-raisers. She’s come a long way.”

  How very fucking dreary that sounded. Sexy Monica had turned into a glorified office drone? He refused to believe it. “What do you mean she’s come a long way? From where?”

  With her eyes cast downward, Allie used her thumb to stroke the saucer’s edge. “It took Monica a while to figure things out, but she’s on a really good path now.” Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Not really. Explain it to me.” Allie was warning him to stay away from Monica, clearly. But he wasn’t going to be put off that easily. When Cal wanted something badly enough, he became rather persistent. It once took him two years to track down all the original parts for a ’56 Arnolt-Bristol Roadster, but in the end, he got what he wanted. And he found himself very much wanting Monica Campbell, and not just sexually. He needed to know what made her tick.

  “Monica used to have a wild streak,” Allie said. “In the past few years, she’s calmed down. She’s working hard, making good choices. I know the two of you had a romantic moment the last time you met, but I’m asking you to leave her alone, Cal. I don’t think you’re right for each other.”

  “Right for each other?” he repeated. What the hell was she on about? Had he suddenly wandered into a Jane Austen novel? Cal wasn’t some naff off the street—he was Trevor’s cousin, for God’s sake. Cal naturally fancied Monica. Wanted to fuck her senseless, but he didn’t need Allie’s permission for that.

  He set his cup and saucer on the table between them. “I appreciate your sisterly concern, but Monica’s a grown woman. Surely she can make her own decisions.”

  When he’d seen Monica this morning, so dowdy and buttoned up to her eyeballs, he’d been gobsmacked. Yet Allison sat here like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth and talked about good choices, as if her sister were a schoolgirl. Obviously Monica needed to break out of the cocoon she’d encased herself in. For whatever reason, she’d turned her life around so dramatically, she must be miserable. Tempting the proper Monica to embrace the fun-loving side of her nature sounded more marvelous with each passing minute.

  Allie slowly nodded. “Of course she can make her own decisions. Look, I like you, Cal. You’re charming and handsome and seem like a decent guy. But I don’t want to see my sister get hurt.” Her baby-blue eyes turned serious. “So let this be a warning to your balls. I assume you like them attached to your body?”

  Cal stood and thrust his hands into his pockets. “They’re quite happy where they are, thank you for inquiring.” He fought a sudden urge to cup his jewels in case she decided to make a dive for them. “Message received.” It didn’t change his plans about seducing Monica, but one always appreciated advance warning.

  Cal tipped his head and, turning, made his way from the room. It wasn’t the first time a girl’s overprotective loved one had warned him off. Probably wouldn’t be the last. But Monica was a big girl who could take care of herself. He didn’t want to hurt her—he wanted to liberate her.

  As Cal wandered through the house in search of Trevor, he glanced through the various displayed collections of antique whatnots their grandfather had accumulated over the years. Trevor was now the keeper of all this rubbish, and good luck to him. Everything from cigar boxes to Japanese swords to birds’ eggs. The old man had been the original eccentric.

  Cal finally found Trevor’s office and, after giving a perfunctory knock, strolled in. “What are you up to, then?”

  Trevor’s eyes flashed on Cal before returning to the computer screen. “It’s called work. You should try it sometime.”

  “No thanks.” With a grin, Cal fell into the chair in front of Trevor’s massive desk. “Sounds painfully boring. By the way, your lovely wife just threatened my bollocks.”

  “I’m sure she had her reasons. So when are you leaving town?”

  “You’re the second person who’s asked me that in the last half hour. Why is everyone so anxious to get rid of me? I was made for Vegas.”

  “Personally, I couldn’t care less what you do. I just wondered how long you planned on keeping that rusty shitpile in my garage.”

  The Mustang. Cal had bought it on a whim. As the taxi had driven him around the city, he’d seen it parked in someone’s driveway, and made an offer. It needed a lot of work, but tinkering gave him something constructive to do. Kept his mind occupied, at any rate. “I could rent a place to house it if you’d like, and get it out of your hair.”

  Trevor shot him a glance. “How was Australia? You don’t seem keen.”

  Although Cal hadn’t clapped eyes on his cousin in years, Trevor had an uncanny way of seeing what no one else did. “Me, I’m brilliant. And Australia was sunny. It’s always sunny down under.”

  “According to Pix, you were there for over a year. That’s unusual for you. And as soon as you get into town, you buy a car to work on, which suggests you plan on staying long enough to fix it. Did a girl finally figure you out and give you the heave-ho?”

  Instead of getting defensive—his first instinct—Cal relaxed in his chair. “Since when do you dole out advice to the walking wounded? Has marriage turned you into an agony aunt? As for Australia—it’s loaded with fast cars, faster women, and a wicked surf.”

  “Fine, I’ll stay out of your business. And no, you don’t have to rent a garage. You can work on it here. For some reason, your bollocks excluded, Allison likes you. And Mags would have my head if I kicked you out.”

  “How is your mum, Trev? Still shacking up with your father?”


  Trevor briefly closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Don’t get me started on those two. Now go. I need to work.” Turning his gaze to the center screen, Trevor dismissed him.

  Cal left the office and walked outside, back to the car. He grabbed a wrench and ducked under the hood. The last thing he wanted to think about was Australia. So he thought about Monica instead, and all the ways he wanted her. She wouldn’t be a pushover—she’d proven that this morning. But Cal could be very persuasive. Monica Campbell would be in his bed sooner rather than later, if he had anything to say about it.

  * * *

  On her drive to work, Monica couldn’t get Calum Hughes out of her mind. Why did he have to show up now, when her resistance to inappropriate men was so low?

  Irritated with herself, she pulled into a parking spot and slammed on the brakes. She had a million details to worry about with this gala coming up, and she didn’t have time to pine over that hot piece of British ass. She wasn’t going out with him either, although it had taken every bit of willpower she had to turn down his dinner invitation. Especially when he kept walking toward her slowly, each step deliberate, like a tiger stalking his next meal. Or when he’d lowered his face to hers. An inch closer, and she could have lifted her chin, spanned the distance between them, and tasted him. She could have seen for herself if his lips were as talented as she remembered. But she hadn’t.

  Congratulations, Campbell. You showed a modicum of restraint. Do you want a gold star?

  Monica grabbed her bags and strode into the building. Hopping on the elevator, she pulled out her phone and glanced at her revised schedule. A meeting with a sponsor, cost projections to go over with the accountant, a staff meeting later in the afternoon.

  When she’d started as an intern at the foundation, Monica had done everything, from stuffing envelopes to brainstorming new ideas for fund-raisers. What she loved most was interacting with people—everyone from recipients to donors. After she’d earned her master’s in public administration two years ago, Allie had put her in charge of running the show. Well, in theory anyway. In reality, Allie kept a very tight rein on both Monica and the foundation. Now Monica spent her days not only pacifying her big sister, but six other board members as well.