“Well, he’s certainly…”
“A pain in the ass?”
“I was going to say colorful. Don’t tell me you dated him as well.”
“God, no. He’s my best friend. Still not sure why.”
Good to know. Evan got to go on living then.
Shit.
Cal had always viewed jealousy as a weakness, a failing in others he’d never understood, so his own reaction astounded him. An overwhelming pressure tightened like a band around his chest, making him feel possessive and petulant. Cal wanted Monica Campbell’s complete and undivided attention. He resented this Ryan and his broken leg more than he thought possible.
After Evan left, Monica approached the nurse sitting behind bulletproof glass. “I’m looking for Ryan McMillan. I’m his emergency contact.”
The woman’s blank face said she’d heard it all, seen even more, and wasn’t impressed by any of it. “Let me see some ID.”
Monica dug out her driving license. Cal caught a glance at the photo—Monica, unsmiling, in a navy suit and matching blouse.
“Go on back.” The nurse buzzed the door. “Room three.”
He stayed by her side as they entered the double doors. While Monica searched for number three, Cal tapped her wallet. “You need a new ID. You look like a nun in that photo.”
She glared up at him. “I look like a professional woman, which I am.”
“A professional for the God Squad.”
She stopped at a sliding glass door and knocked softly. A young, pretty nurse in pink scrubs swept the curtain aside and opened the door. “Monica Campbell?”
“Yes.”
“He’s been asking for you. Come on in.”
Cal glanced at Ryan, who lay on the bed, clutching the plastic rails. A black walking cast covered his left leg.
Cal didn’t know what he’d been expecting—someone good-looking or charismatic or oozing charm. But this chap left him thoroughly unimpressed. Evan had called him a golden boy, thanks to all that blond hair, no doubt. One of his rounded cheeks suffered an abrasion. Dirt smudged his canary-yellow biking shirt. He wasn’t horrific—women probably found him generically attractive.
Ryan’s glazed eyes widened when they landed on Monica. “Monnie,” he slurred. “Sorry they called you. I broke my leg.”
Monica approached him. “I warned you about this. It’s dangerous, riding at night.”
He gave her a loopy grin. “You were right.” He grasped her hand. “How’ve you been?”
“Don’t worry about me. What are we going to do with you?”
“We gave him a painkiller,” said the nurse, “but it’ll wear off in a couple of hours. The doctor will be in shortly, and I’ll grab some crutches.” Before she left, she pulled the curtain closed, giving them privacy.
“Do they know how long you’ll have to wear the cast?” Monica asked. Cal watched her face carefully. She seemed concerned but not panicked, as she’d been out in the desert.
“Six weeks. I have to take sponge baths. I don’t own a sponge.” Ryan finally noticed Cal, standing in the corner. “Hey, do I know you?”
“Ryan, this is Cal Hughes. He’s Trevor’s cousin.”
Cousin? That was his title, after what they’d done in the Mustang?
Ryan took in Monica’s sexy, tight dress. “Why are you wearing that?”
She crossed her arms. “Did they catch the guy who hit you?”
“Not sure.”
Cal grabbed one of the room’s two chairs and placed it behind Monica so she could sit. She nodded a thank-you.
“You don’t have to stay, Cal. I’ll make sure he gets home.”
“Doesn’t he have any mates he can call?” Cal whispered.
Monica shook her head. “They’re all married with little kids. His brother lives in Colorado, his parents are in Arizona. I’m it.”
Resigned, Cal sighed. “Then I’m in it with you.” He didn’t want to leave Monica stranded and alone. She might need something, and Cal wanted to be here with her—unusual for him. He didn’t like to be needed, but Monica elicited strange reactions in him.
Snagging a chair of his own, he sat next to her and removed the remote from the railing that framed Ryan’s bed. He turned the TV on, found a sports station, and settled in to watch an American football game while Ryan babbled.
“Remember when we went hiking in the mountains, Monnie?” Ryan asked. “Remember that Thai place we went to every Saturday night?”
“Every Saturday night?” Cal asked quietly. “How could you stand the excitement?”
Monica ignored him. She ignored Ryan too. In fact, she remained very quiet, withdrawn.
Finally, Ryan drifted off, and Cal leaned toward her, letting his thigh brush hers. “Are you cold? Want me to find a blanket?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
Cal slid one finger over her bare arm. “You’ve got goose bumps.” Then his gaze lowered to her chest. “Your nipples could cut glass.”
“Shut it,” she hissed and scooted her chair farther away from him. “And you don’t have to stay.”
Grabbing the armrest, he jerked her chair back, close enough so their legs touched once again. “I’m not leaving. We can argue about it, which I quite enjoy, but it won’t matter.”
She sighed. “Fine. Don’t say anything about tonight.”
“I’d bring up our personal affairs? You think that, do you?”
She gazed at him then, and her eyes were troubled. “I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have,” she whispered so softly he had to strain to hear.
Cal pushed the hair from her face. “You’re very tenderhearted, Monica Campbell. You try to act all tough, but in here”—he let his finger drift to her chest—“you’re very kind.”
She slapped at his hand. “Whatever.”
A moment later, the nurse brought in a pair of crutches, and the doctor followed.
Monica gently patted Ryan’s hand. “Hey, wake up.”
His eyes fluttered, and he smiled when he saw her. “Monnie.”
Cal rolled his eyes.
The doctor leaned against the wall and spoke to Monica. “We’ve called in a prescription. When he gets home, give him two pills. Make sure he doesn’t take them on an empty stomach. He can walk, but he may need help in the shower.”
Like bloody hell she’d help him in the shower.
The doctor shook Ryan’s hand, and the nurse left to round up a wheelchair. When she returned thirty minutes later, whatever drug they’d given Ryan was wearing off, and he started to whine. Like nails on a chalkboard.
“My knee is starting to hurt. And my head.” Ryan rubbed at his temples as the nurse helped him into the chair.
“Buck up, mate,” Cal said. “Could be worse.”
Monica shot him a glare. “Why don’t you go get the car?”
* * *
Monica looked into Cal’s intense green eyes before he turned and walked out of the room. Once she’d known Ryan was going to be all right, she hadn’t been able to think about anything but their tryst in the car. Cal’s big, work-rough hands on her body, his mouth on her skin. It excited her all over again. Which felt wrong. Especially with Ryan lying there, wounded and in pain.
But being in the desert with Cal—Monica hadn’t felt that exhilarated, that sexually charged in years. Ryan, for all of his sweetness and decency, had never taken her to the level of physical pleasure Cal had. She’d tried to love Ryan, tried to make him happy, but in the end, she’d only hurt him. Ryan really was perfect, but not for her. One steamy session with Cal had proven that.
True, she was following her old, destructive patterns, but Monica was in control this time. Still, a part of her wished that what she had with Cal could be something more substantial.
The thought brought her up short. That kind of thinking had gotten her in trouble in the past, hoping she could change a guy, turning a temporary fling into a real relationship. That was one trap she would never fall into ag
ain. Not with any man.
Monica walked next to Ryan as the nurse pushed him to the exit. She gave his shoulder a comforting pat.
Ryan slid a glance in her direction. His eyes were less glassy, his gaze more focused. “I forgot to have your name removed as my emergency person. That guy with you, he’s Trevor’s cousin? So he’s like family.”
Um, no. “Sort of, I guess.”
Cal had parked the Mustang near the door. He hopped from behind the wheel and jogged over to help Ryan climb into the car.
“In you go, mate. Watch your head.” Monica knew Cal didn’t like him. She could tell by the way he rolled his eyes whenever Ryan spoke. Even so, he patiently helped Ryan into the passenger seat.
Monica was starting to realize Cal was a stand-up guy. Not one she could depend on for the long haul, but still, good to know.
Cal made sure Ryan’s lap belt was buckled, then shut the door. He trotted to where Monica stood at the back of the car. “Ready?”
She paused, turning her head to stare at a couple walking past them. “Thanks for staying with me. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do you know the best way to thank someone?” When she glanced back at him, he wore a sincere expression.
“Flowers?” she asked. “Chocolates? Starbucks gift card?”
“I was going to say a blow job, but if you agree to a second date tomorrow night, I’ll let it slide.”
She breathed out a little laugh. “You’re a piece of work, asking me out and talking about blow jobs with my ex sitting three feet away from us.”
“Much better than doing it in front of his face, which I know got a bit bungled this evening, but even so, let’s be honest, darling, he looks like a bit of a minger, doesn’t he?”
She crossed her arms. “Minger?”
“I don’t mean to be cruel, but he is rather tragic. You can do better. Unless you only dated him out of pity?”
Once again, Monica found herself wanting to laugh. “You’re ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with the way he looks.”
“If you say so. What are you going to do with him, anyway?”
“I’ll spend the night with him, make sure he’s comfortable.”
Cal’s entire body tightened. Monica glanced at his fisted hand. “It’s just for one night.” She grabbed hold of it and rubbed her finger across his knuckles, caressing between the bumps until he unclenched it. Cal didn’t want her spending time with Ryan. If the shoe were on the other foot, she’d feel the same way, but she had obligations. She’d picked Ryan up, and now she felt responsible for him.
“I know tomorrow’s Saturday,” he said, “but you need your rest. Your friend Evan said you work too hard.”
“Honestly, I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will. Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out, love.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. I’ll handle it.”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips.
She swatted his hand away. “Don’t shush me. I hate being shushed.”
“I know. You were quite vocal in the desert.”
Ryan rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “I’m kind of in pain here.”
Monica glanced over at him, startled. She’d almost forgotten why they were here. “God, Ryan. Sorry.”
Cal walked with Monica to the other side of the car, where she wedged herself into the backseat.
Once behind the wheel, Cal followed Ryan’s directions, first to the pharmacy, then to his condo in a well-heeled part of town.
Together, Monica and Cal helped Ryan out of the car, into the house, and onto the sofa.
He looked pale against the dark brown leather. Purple half-moons stood out in relief beneath his eyes and clashed with his yellow shirt. The road rash coloring his cheek had to be sore too. Monica hurried over and propped his broken leg on a few pillows to alleviate the pain. “Are you comfortable?”
“Of course he’s not. Poor git looks positively miserable.”
“I’m fine,” Ryan said. “Thanks for the ride home, Cal, but there’s no need for you to stay. I’ve already inconvenienced you enough.”
“Nonsense.”
Monica bustled around, bending over Ryan, arranging pillows behind his head. When she noticed he was shooting glances down her dress, checking out her bare breasts, she quickly straightened. “The doctor said you need to take your meds every four hours.”
“I can stay,” Cal said. He dropped into a chair and crossed his legs. “You go on.”
Monica needed to make Ryan something to eat, but she didn’t want to leave the two men alone. Cal was acting weird. “Why don’t you help me in the kitchen?”
“You know where everything is,” Ryan said, looking over his shoulder. Although he was in obvious pain, he threw a strained smile in Cal’s direction. “Monica practically lived here, didn’t you, sweetheart?”
Oh God. Not a pissing contest. “Cal. Help. Now.”
Cal stood and tailed her into the spotless kitchen. Ryan wasn’t much of a cook, and neither was she. When they were together, they ate out almost every night.
“Likes things tidy, doesn’t he?”
Monica rounded on him. “There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s refreshing to find a man who can pick up after himself. Listen, I think you should go.”
Crossing his arms, Cal leaned his hip against the granite island. “So you want me to leave you here? Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” He sighed dramatically. “I was trying to help you out. I thought my presence might act as a buffer, but if you want him pining after you, by all means, I’ll go.”
“Who are you kidding? You’re not trying to be helpful.”
Cal dropped his arms and stepped closer. If she took a deep, deep breath, Monica’s breasts would skim his chest. “The man’s been wounded. I feel nothing but pity for the poor, ugly sod.”
Monica took in Cal’s tanned skin and slanted smile. Ryan might be more traditionally handsome, but Cal’s irregular features appealed to her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”
Cal’s eyes drifted to her mouth. “Tell me what you saw in him.”
“He’s a nice man.”
“That’s not a recommendation, darling, that’s an admonishment. Don’t let him hear you say it, he’ll never get over the humiliation.”
She moved past him to the fridge. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with being a nice guy?”
“Nice guy is code for prat. Nice guys aren’t sexy. There’s a reason they finish last.”
Monica put some deli meat, cheese, and mayonnaise on the counter. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread. “Again, you’re ridiculous.” But one look at his face said he wasn’t joking, not this time.
“A comment like that will hurt him.”
“You men, you’re all ego.”
“Yeah, we are.”
As Monica threw together two sandwiches, one for Ryan and one for Cal, she pondered his statement. Ryan’s niceness had drawn her to him. But only because he was the opposite of every guy who’d screwed her over. “What’s wrong with being a nice guy? Treating a woman with care and respect?”
“Have I treated you with anything less than respect, Monica Campbell?” His rough voice sounded brusque.
“I didn’t mean you. Ryan is the type of guy women want to marry. He’s long-term material.”
Cal moved closer. Monica’s nipples peaked against his shirt. “And I’m not?” he asked.
Monica forced herself to glance up at him, to meet his eyes. “No, you’re not. You travel all over the world, never stay in one place for long. You don’t want to settle down.”
“Do you?” The way his green gaze probed her, she felt like he could see all the way to her soul. “You were never honest with him. He doesn’t know you at all. Which Monica did you show him? The one who wears ugly clothes that cover every centimeter of skin or the one who likes to drive fast and get na
ked in the car? Because frankly, the latter is a hell of a lot more interesting.”
“Fuck you, Cal,” she said between clenched teeth.
As his gaze slowly wandered over her face, his eyes widened. “You should let that fiery side out more often. It’s a delight.” Then he swooped down, planting his lips on hers.
He didn’t lean into her, didn’t touch any other part of her body. She could have pulled away at any time. Instead, Monica raised her head so she could taste more of him. All the desire she’d felt in the Mustang slammed back into her, increasing tenfold. Dropping the mayonnaise lid, she grabbed his face, stroking her palms over his cheeks as she kissed him back.
“Monica, everything okay in there?” That distant voice sounded familiar.
Ryan. Shit, how could she stand here in his kitchen, making out with Calum Hughes? Had she lost every functioning brain cell she possessed?
Apparently, yes. Because even now, as she dropped her hands and tore her lips from his, she still wanted more.
Chapter 11
Cal watched Monica’s expression change. Her lips, so soft and yielding a moment ago, firmed. Her jaw muscles tightened. She was fighting herself as much as she was fighting him.
“What the hell am I doing?” she asked.
She was talking to herself, not Cal. Nevertheless, he answered. “Having fun. Living your life. Did you really think you’d be happy with him?”
“Coming, Ryan,” she yelled and began busying her hands.
Cal grabbed them and held on when she tried to pull away.
“Let me go, Cal.”
“Darling, go home. Get some rest or work on your foundation whatnots. I’ll take care of him.” Cal wanted to clear the anxiety from her eyes almost as much as he wanted to shag her again. “I can see that you’re worried and you’ll go to work tomorrow whether or not you get a wink of sleep. And truly, he will glom on to this, make it into a reconciliation. He’s desperate to get you back—any fool can see that.”
Biting her lip, she looked into his eyes, searching. “You’re not planning on feeding him too many painkillers, are you?”
Cal grinned. “I’m not planning on it, but I might improvise.” He let her pull away this time. When she crossed her arms, he reached out and played with a piece of her hair. Like silk. So soft and deep golden, with light amber streaks. “I’m only joking. Sort of. Come on, let’s go break the news.” Cal dropped her hair and grabbed the plates.
His Kind of Trouble Page 15
