His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I want to fumble with someone.”

  He didn’t offer a comeback, but followed her to the bank of elevators. “So, we’ll head to your place, then off for dinner. What do you fancy?”

  Monica punched the down button. “We’re not going to my place.”

  His eyes widened, and he looked momentarily bewildered. “Don’t you want to change?”

  She glanced down at her pantsuit. “What is your issue with my outfit? I look fine.”

  “You look like a missionary.”

  “I’m not changing.” Not her clothes, not her stance on bad boys, not her rigorous self-control. She could white-knuckle her way through one night. She was not falling off the bad-boy wagon because he’d copped a feel. It was time to get a grip.

  The commas on either side of Cal’s mouth deepened as his lips grew thinner. “Whatever you say. I am curious about something, though. In the office, you said what happened between us in the garden was a mistake. Is that how you really see it?”

  “Absolutely.” And she’d made enough to know—some more egregious than others. Cal wasn’t the worst mistake she’d made, but getting felt up by a stranger at her dad’s wedding wasn’t her proudest moment.

  “You think mistakes are failings, then? You’re wrong on that score.”

  “Really? Please, enlighten me.” She punched the elevator button again, harder this time.

  “‘Mistakes are the portals of discovery.’”

  Monica tossed her head to displace a wisp of hair dangling on her forehead. “Life lessons by Cal Hughes. Let me get my notebook, Professor. I don’t want to miss a word.”

  “Not me, James Joyce.”

  That made her stop for a minute. Cal Hughes, quoting literary giants? Or he could be jerking her chain.

  He must have read her expression. “Stunned, are you? Didn’t expect someone like me to know that?” Although his expression hadn’t changed and he still wore a tilted smile, his eyes hardened.

  “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. “Ca
lum, 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.”