The tight navy T-shirt showed off his pecs—well developed and perfectly defined. They made her cheeks tighten with heat. Faded jeans—no grease stains—clung to his legs. As her gaze slipped lower, Monica purposely avoided looking at his package. On his feet, brown leather work boots were scratched at the toes.
Cal dressed blue-collar casual, wore it with a comfortable grace, but he was the furthest thing from it. Trust-fund baby. Jet setter. Poshly accented mechanic. She hadn’t quite figured him out.
Swiping her tongue quickly over her lips, she glanced up and realized Cal was checking her out just as thoroughly.
His gaze moved over her body, from the bodice of the dress, which dipped a little low, down over her hips. Canting his head to the side, he stared at her bare legs. Although they were too pale, Cal didn’t seem to mind. She read the sexual interest in his eyes.
After a few long seconds, he slowly perused her calves and ankles, all the way down to her feet, taking in the dark, pointy heels. Then his glance reversed, moving upward once more. She felt that heated gaze dance across her skin like a drop of water when it hit a sizzling pan. As his eyes rested on her cleavage, Monica stopped breathing for a moment. Finally, he looked her in the eye. “Bloody fucking hell, woman. You have legs. And they’re spectacular.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as her gaze bounced away from his. “Thanks.” Since working at the foundation, Monica had tried hard to maintain her professional image. But she realized those clothes also made her feel invisible. She liked that Cal noticed and appreciated her body. She felt womanly and sexy for a change. Still nervous, of course, but the flood of anxiety was starting to recede.
Cal held a small pink gift bag in one hand. “If you invite me in, I’ll give you this.” He gave the bag a little shake.
It took Monica a moment to understand the words. “Sorry.” With a quick nod, she backed up and allowed him to enter. “Sure, come on in. Would you like something to drink?”
He openly gazed around the small entryway. The blank ivory walls, the dated ceramic tile flooring. “Beer?”
“Sure. Is a longneck okay? Or I could pour it in a cup, if you’d prefer?” Oh God, she was babbling.
His eyes found hers, and they stared at each other for few seconds. “Bottle.”
Would Monica ever get tired of hearing that voice? It made her nipples hard. She spun, her narrow heels catching in the loops of the tan carpet. She managed to right herself, but Cal’s arm banded around her, underneath her breasts.
“Okay?” His breath fanned the side of her neck. His body felt warm against her bare upper back, but despite his heat, goose bumps covered her arms.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t let her go. “You look smashing, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Cal dipped his head and lightly kissed her shoulder. Then he released her.
You’re in control. Why had Monica thought tonight was a good idea again? Oh yeah, to prove to Cal that she wasn’t bothered by his little games. Right.
Tossing her head, she lifted her chin and strode into the kitchen, mindful of her heels this time. Opening the fridge, Monica plucked out a bottle. When she whirled around, she noticed Cal scoping out her ass. She raised a brow, but he simply grinned.
He took the beer from her hand. “Cheers.” He twisted off the cap and took a long draw. The galley kitchen was too confining with Cal in it. They stood only six inches apart. Monica’s torso still felt warm from where he’d wrapped his arm around her. He smelled good too—that delicious combination of woodsy aftershave and hot man.
“Why don’t we go to the living room?” Monica skirted around him and led the way, parking herself on the far end of the sofa. As Cal sprawled out next to her, there was less than a foot separating their knees. How was this any better? He was still too close. With a beer in one hand and the hot-pink gift bag in the other, he looked sexy and whimsical at the same time.
She twisted her head to glance back at him and eyed the bag warily. “What is it?”
“You have this look of fear in your eyes. What could I possibly give you that would cause such a reaction?” He dangled the strings from his finger. “A snake? A spider?”
“Edible underwear? And I keep telling you, I’m not afraid.”
“Keep saying it enough, darling, maybe you’ll start to believe it.” He glanced around the near empty living room. “Love what you haven’t done with the place.”
A big-screen TV broke up the blank, textured walls. Threadbare microfiber covered her consignment-shop sofa. She’d bought it in college and never bothered to upgrade. The coffee table, made of pressed chipboard, came from the “as-is” aisle of a home improvement store. “I haven’t had time to decorate.” Or the interest. After she’d completed her master’s degree, Trevor and Allie had given Monica a check with lots of zeros at the end. When her apartment lease ended, a house seemed like a good investment.
“I’m not judging.” He extended his arm and shook the bag at her. “Open it.”
She plucked it from his finger and, biting her lip, unwrapped the tissue paper to remove a pair of fuzzy pink dice. They matched her steering-wheel cover exactly. Frivolous and silly, they were perfect. “Thank you.” She brushed a finger across the rough faux fur and gazed up to find Cal staring at her mouth.
“You’re most welcome.” He leaned forward and placed the half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “I know they’re a bit stupid, but I saw them at the automotive store today, and they made me think of you.”
He was thinking of her? That made her heart flip. “I love them.” As they stared at each other, seconds ticked by, and Monica’s smile faded.
Time slowed down, and all of her senses were attuned to Cal. Monica became conscious of her heart picking up speed, of feeling a little light-headed.
He stood and held out his hand. Large calluses dotted his palm. Was he a blue-collar self-starter or an upper-class drifter? He couldn’t be both.
She placed her hand in his and stood too.
“What are you going to show me tonight?” he asked.
Everything, she wanted to say. Anything. As long as he reciprocated.
Cal dropped her hand and stuck both his own in the back pockets of his jeans. The move drew the knit material tight across his shoulders. A dark flush stole its way up his neck and cheeks. Monica’s eyes darted downward. His cock had grown stiff. He was feeling it too, this pull, this attraction.
“Monica.” He said it like a plea.
If they didn’t leave right now, this very minute, they’d never make it out of the house. Accepting this date was a big step. She might be ready for sex by the end of the night, but not yet. “We should go.”
He nodded, and pulling his hands from his pockets, strode to the door. He opened it for her. As she walked by him and out onto the porch, he muttered something.
“What?” she asked.
* * *
“Nothing at all.” I am in for a bloody long, painful night. That’s what he’d mumbled. Didn’t bear repeating.
Monica had dazzled him from the moment she’d opened the front door. And by the way she’d taken a dekko at him, carefully checking him out from head to toe, the feeling was mutual. Monica’s nervous reaction—fiddling with her hair, meeting his gaze, then dropping her eyes—completely charmed him. And the way she’d stared at his cock just now, with equal parts desire and sheer panic made him want to comfort her. And jump her.
Her dress was lovely. It may have been black, but at least it showcased her figure. Monica Campbell wasn’t meant to be a wallflower, sitting on the sidelines in boring suits. Or this dull house. Off-white walls. Unfurnished rooms. Even the carpet was a bland shade of beige. Monica was living in a black-and-white existence, and he hated to see it. She was full of life and energy, especially when she was sparring with him. Sexy as bloody hell. The last few days, not seeing her, not speaking with her, had been difficult, but he kept his endga
me in sight. Cal had a mission to bring some color back into Monica’s life.
Standing on the porch, Cal waited as she locked the door. The outdoor light provided enough illumination that when she bent over, he had a rather nice view of the backs of her thighs. Her legs were long and slender. Shapely. He wanted to get between them more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time. But that ass. It was a thing of beauty.
Straightening, she turned around and caught him staring again.
“Whoops,” he said. “You found me out. But I’m not going to apologize—”
“You never do.”
“Because you have a fabulous bum.”
“Sure.” She shoved her keys into her purse and licked her lips. Keeping her eyes lowered, she used one hand to skim her hip.
“It’s true.” He took a step closer. Her gaze flicked up his chest and finally landed on his eyes.
Unable to deny himself a moment longer, Cal reached around and cupped her bottom. It was full, firm. Sliding his palm up and down her cheek, he traced the edge of her thong through the silky material of her dress. The mental image of Monica wearing nothing but a flimsy piece of lace had him gobsmacked for a moment. Then Cal ran his middle finger from the curve of her ass all the way up to her hip. “It’s a crime to cover up that bottom. You should show it off all the time. Work, home, the supermarket checkout queue. I could write a sonnet about your ass.”
“Sir Mix-a-Lot beat you to it.” She glanced away, a little smile playing on her lips. “And back inside, I was guilty of staring as well.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, as I didn’t want to embarrass you. I’m quite used to people thinking I’m just another pretty face, and I feel slighted.” He donned an expression of mock sincerity.
“Poor Cal.” She surprised him by draping her arms around his neck. “You want everyone to know you have a pretty mind too?”
“Don’t be daft. I don’t care a jot about my brain. I just want to be recognized for my muscular physique and extraordinary cock. Is that too much to ask?”
Leaning her forehead against his chest for a second, Monica laughed. “You’re quite possibly a narcissist.” She glanced back up at him, amusement shimmering in her eyes. God, she was beautiful.
“You call it narcissism. I call it a healthy body image.” Cradling her chin with his free hand, Cal bent down and kissed her softly. He fought against pulling her into a tight clutch, because although she’d touched him back, he sensed her wariness. So he let her have control of the situation.
After a moment, Monica deepened the kiss, opening her mouth a bit wider. When her tongue hesitantly brushed his, Cal wanted to devour her, rip that dress right off her. But he kept himself in check. Damned difficult when he remembered what she’d looked like with her breasts popping out of her sexy little bra. Remembered how wet she’d been when he slid his finger along her hot slit. He was desperate for another feel.
Monica slid her arms from Cal’s neck and stroked his chest, brushing her fingertips across his nipples. Cal took that as a green light. His hand tightened on her hip before slipping down to her bum, and when she moaned, he let go of her face and wrapped one hand around her nape. She pressed her body into his—it felt bloody marvelous. His cock was rock hard, jutting between them.
Cal wanted to spend the rest of the evening becoming acquainted with every lovely inch of her. He’d strip her down and let his hands get to know her first. Then his mouth.
He walked her backward, until she bumped into the door. Then he pulled his lips from hers. “Let’s go inside.”
Monica pushed at his shoulders. She dropped her hands, and opening her eyes, stared up at him. “No, we should go.” Her voice came out husky and winded.
He was feeling a bit breathless himself. Cal let go of her nape and retreated a pace. Endgame, that’s what he needed to remember. Stick with the plan—ease off.
Monica’s gaze slid past him to the driveway, where the Mustang sat in all its battered glory. “You got it running, huh?”
It took his brain a moment to translate the question. Cal had never been a slave to his prick. At least not since he was a lad. But a kiss and a quick cuddle with Monica took him to the raw edge of desperation. God, he ached for her.
With a deep inhalation, he cast a glance over his shoulder in an effort to concentrate on something other than his hard-on. “I did. It took a new carburetor, igniter, and a great amount of swearing, but I managed.” Blowing out a gusty breath, he faced her once more. “So, what do you have planned for this evening?”
Monica walked to the car. “I thought we’d take in the Strip. I’m sure you’ve seen it, but with all the crazies, every night is something new.”
“Can’t wait.” Cal opened the car door for her. Although he’d had the interior detailed, the black-and-white bucket seats—original, with embossed vinyl—were ripped at the seams, and the less than pristine floorboard showed signs of rust. He should have rented a decent car, something that didn’t require an overhaul. But Cal couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this properly—gone out on a real date. Next time, he’d have to prepare, even though he was useless at planning.
As Monica slid into the seat, Cal bent down and grabbed the lap belt, fastening it around her waist. “No shoulder harness.” His eyes were mere centimeters away from her tits, which were on display tonight, pushed up high and firm. Cal’s mouth grew dry as he stared at them. She was so pale, and there was a tiny mole in the center of her chest, directly above her amazing cleavage.
The universe was testing him tonight. With difficulty, he straightened, but his eyes remained glued to Monica’s breasts. It would torture him, seeing her body outlined in that tight, low-cut dress, but not able to touch.
“Cal.” He yanked his gaze away from her tits and up to her eyes. “Just how extraordinary is your cock, anyway?”
Cal scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Are you trying to kill me, darling? By the end of the night, my brain will be so deprived of oxygen, I may very well pass out.”
Monica tossed her head back and laughed, exposing her throat. He wanted to lick her there, bite the white skin and leave his mark. Monica brought out primitive urges he didn’t know he had.
“Where did Miss Prim go, eh?”
“She’s taken a backseat tonight. Now get in the car. I’m going to show you Vegas.”
Chapter 8
Monica was still on the fence about this date, but Cal had a way of putting her at ease. Or maybe the intense sexual desire that slammed into her system every time he touched her drowned out all other feelings.
The chemistry between them was combustible. The man gave her an eyegasm every time she glanced at him. Sex seemed inevitable.
But his looks were only part of the attraction. That off-kilter smile and his arrogant sense of humor had her melting. She liked bantering with him. She loved the way he kissed—he put everything he had into it, and she felt it all the way to her toes.
Unlike their fumble in the supply closet, the kiss he’d just given her had been gentle. What would he be like during sex? Commanding and forceful or tender and patient? The anticipation caused her hands to shake slightly as she fingered the metal buckle of the lap belt. When his face had been so close to her breasts, she’d wanted him to touch her, taste her. But seeing him frustrated with desire had been pretty satisfying too.
“When was the last time you were in Vegas?” she asked.
“The last time I felt you up in Trevor’s garden.” Without taking his eyes from the road, he settled his hand on her bare knee. A shot of pleasure coursed through her. And when his rough hand started stroking upward, Monica swallowed hard.
“But your mom…” She had to clear her throat and start again. His touch distracted her. “Your mom has lived here for what, three or four years?”
“I’d meet her in London or Paris. Easier that way.” His strong hand rubbed tender little circles along her thigh. Monica parted her legs slightly. He couldn’t seem
to keep his hands to himself, and that excited her even more.
“Which is better, London or Paris?”
As he turned left onto the Strip, he gave her one last stroke before returning his hand to the wheel. “Depends, really. London is exciting, and of course my garage is there.” There was a note in his voice, a wistfulness she didn’t expect.
“You and Pix moved around a lot, huh?”
“Quite.”
“So what’s the longest you’ve ever stayed in one place?” she asked. “Besides London, I mean.”
Cal remained silent. As she stared at his stark profile, highlighted by the bright neon lights and flashing billboards, his expression hardened. He pulled into a casino parking garage and smoothly wound his way up to the fifth level.
He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, just like he didn’t want to talk about Australia. Even though it was none of her concern, Monica wanted to draw out his secrets and discover everything about him.
Working at the foundation, Monica had met celebrities—mostly local ones. She’d met rich donors and high rollers. But Cal was easily the most interesting man she’d ever come across. And an enigma. He’d traveled the world, had probably been to all the places she longed to go, but he remained grounded and charming and kind.
Kind? How so? He wooed her with dinner and donations and fuzzy dice only to get into her panties. And it was totally working. But that didn’t make him kind—that made him a typical male.
After Cal cut the engine, he stretched his arm along her shoulders. “What are you thinking about? I can practically hear the wheels grinding.”
“Just wondering what to show you first.”
“Liar. But you’re in the driver’s seat.”
“Good, I like it there.” She ignored his taunt.
Cal smiled and extracted himself from the car, then walked around and opened her door. Trying to climb out and keep her skirt from riding up to her hips was a hard trick to pull off. Cal’s heated gaze latched onto her legs.
His Kind of Trouble Page 11
