His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  Cal rolled his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness in his muscles. “He’s entirely wrong for her.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Evan pursed his lips as he scrutinized Cal. “She needs a little excitement in her life, but not too much.”

  At least Cal and the best mate were of the same mind.

  “Here’s the thing,” Evan said. “Do not, under any circumstances, leave the country with her. Understand me?”

  Cal laughed until he realized the man was actually serious. “Where do you think I’d take her, Peru?”

  “I’m not kidding. And if you break her heart, I will find you and break your dick.” His phone vibrated. “Glad we had this little chat.” He walked back into the house and closed the door.

  In the last few days, Cal’d had his manhood threatened too many times. What the hell had happened in Monica’s past that made everyone so protective of her? Hurt by some man, obviously. But he wasn’t going to hurt her. He and Monica agreed they’d have some fun.

  If it’s just a bit of slap, why are you getting so worked up over her ex?

  Bloody fucking hell. He was painfully envious of Reginald Wanker. How humiliating. It churned inside his chest like corrosive battery acid.

  Cal restlessly paced the street until the taxi arrived. The cab reeked of stale smoke and raw onions.

  During the twenty-minute ride, Cal listened to the cabbie’s life story and tales of domestic woe, which got his mind off Monica and Ryan. Almost. The fact of the matter was that Monica and Ryan weren’t together anymore. She’d spent the evening with Cal. He needed to remember that.

  The taxi pulled up to the villa’s private entrance. Cal handed over a few bills, hopped out, and waved at the security guard, showing his pass.

  He strolled the rest of the way to the villa, enjoying the hot sun beating down on him. He intended on taking a long shower. Then he’d call Monica, retrieve his car, and plan their date. Which may take all day, because plotting things out went against his nature. He’d been raised on spontaneity.

  Pixie might be perfectly content in Monte Carlo one day, but have an urge to stay in Vancouver the next. Capricious, his mother. She quickly got tired of a place the same way she grew bored with people. She dropped friends and lovers alike, as she would discarded tissues.

  Still, men followed Pixie around the world, their tongues dragging the ground. His mother liked having a fan club. One on the string and one in the wing, as she used to say.

  Cal had learned much from her entourage of admirers. He had been introduced to Shakespeare by a West End actor, taught to read music from a bass player in Paris, had grown to love Dylan Thomas and Keats and Tennyson from his mother’s writer friends. When Pix sat for a famous German photographer, Cal had learned a smattering about art. His knowledge was lax and spotty, much to his erudite father’s disgust. It may not have been complete, but Cal’s education had been interesting, to say the least.

  However, there was one lesson that had been ingrained in him early—don’t get attached. Not to anyone or anything. Cal had learned to travel light. He had only a few sets of clothes, his car magazines, and his one concession—his tools. He loved his tools, cared for them diligently, maintained and kept them in pristine condition. Babcock used to ship them separately. Once, when he was fifteen, they’d gotten lost on a flight from Brussels to Thailand. Cal had been inconsolable until they finally showed up, two weeks later.

  Yet in spite of his history, Cal was becoming attached to Monica Campbell, even though he knew their liaison wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t, not with his restless nature. Cal had had a few brief, casual relationships over the years with women he’d been fond of, but there was something different about Monica, about her spirit and humor. Still, they’d agreed—no strings. Cal would stay long enough for Monica to break out of her good-girl shell, and then he’d figure out what to do next.

  Cal lived a transient life, and he’d always liked it that way. But after seeing Monica and Evan last night, he realized he didn’t have anyone like that in his life, not since Babs. She’d been the one person he could rely on. The sense of loss hit him all over again.

  Cal stopped at the villa’s doorway and rubbed his cheek. Where the hell was all this melancholy coming from? Time to shake it off already. Cal was just fine on his own—a lone wolf, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. Freedom. That’s what he had. Other people wished they could fly to Bermuda tomorrow and sit in the sun for three months. Cal could actually do it.

  Slipping the key card in the door, he walked into the foyer, taking a second to let his eyes adjust to the indoor light. Then he walked toward his room, past the lounge, and drew to a halt. Batting his eyes a few times, he took in the dirty dishes, wet towels, and fashion magazines littering the floor and the coffee table. He heard a faint, high-pitched voice from a distance and resumed walking toward the master bedroom. As he stepped inside, he heard a one-way conversation coming from behind the lavatory door. With two fingers, Cal plucked a lime-green bra dangling from the corner of the telly. Fairly certain it wasn’t his—not unless he’d become a sleepwalking cross-dresser—he knew only one person who could cause this kind of utter destruction.

  Chapter 12

  “Jules,” he called.

  An aggressively pink suitcase lay open on the bed, its contents strewn over the room like confetti at Carnival. Surely she hadn’t been here longer than a few hours. How could she do this in such a short amount of time? Astounding, really.

  The bathroom door burst open and Jules—Juliette Margaret Hughes—emerged. As soon as she saw him, she threw her arms wide open and ran at him. “Hello, big brother, you fucking nutter. Surprised to see me?” Testing his reflexes, she jumped into his arms.

  Cal managed to catch her, but staggered backward. He kissed her cheek, then lowered her to the floor. Surprised wasn’t the word he’d use. Shocked more like, and as it began to wear off, Cal realized he saw much more of her than he wanted to. Jules’s black bra clearly showed through her transparent pink blouse—which clashed dreadfully with her tangerine skin. She applied her makeup with a generous hand. A little too generous. Her gold sequined skirt was so short, Cal longed to pull the duvet from the bed and swaddle her in it. Even by Vegas standards, her clothing choices were questionable.

  “Jules, what are you doing here? For God’s sake, is that what you wore on the plane?” Cal was going to have to wallop every asshole who looked at her sideways. And they would look.

  “No, I flew starkers—of course this is what I wore. What’s wrong with it?” She stared down and tugged at her skirt.

  “Where to begin?”

  “Very funny. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “Natur—”

  “Because I had to get out of there. Daddy is cross and shouting all the bloody time. He canceled my credit cards, Cal. I had to borrow money from my biffle to get a plane ticket.”

  Cal marched around the room and began gathering clothes. But he drew the line at touching scanties. He thrust the bundle into her arms. “What the fuck is a biffle?”

  “BFFL. Best Friends for Life. God, what a divvy you are.”

  “You’re dressed like an Essex girl, you know.”

  Her mouth fell open. “I’m not.”

  “You are, and it’s not attractive.”

  She dropped the bundle of clothes. “Everyone in L.A. dresses like this, you knob.”

  Cal sighed. Pulling her into his arms, he hugged her tight. He’d have kissed her forehead, but he was afraid his lips would be streaked with makeup for the rest of the day. “Sorry, you just took me by surprise is all.”

  Jules hugged him back before glancing up. “You missed me. Don’t deny it.”

  “Of course I did. You’re my favorite sister. Does Father know you’re here?”

  She stepped back. “No. I just left. Not like he cares, banishing me to the pool house and all that.”

  “And what about your mum? She cares.”

  “She’s
a lemming. She thinks whatever Daddy tells her to think.”

  “Have you given any thought to your court date or the drink-driving charge? Do you think you can just do a runner, and the judge won’t notice?”

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t go back to court for a month.”

  That would explain the six unopened suitcases piled up in the corner. While he was glad to see her, she couldn’t stay here. Their father would go barmy and cut her off for good. But how to tell her that without hurting her feelings? “Are you planning on picking up these clothes, or just leaving them in a heap?”

  “Listen to you. When did you become so stodgy?”

  “I am not stodgy. When did you get in?”

  “Last night. Where were you, by the way?”

  “Absolutely none of your business.”

  “It’s like that, is it?”

  Cal didn’t want to talk about his night. Instead, he walked into the closet and retrieved a fresh set of clothes. “Why don’t you pick up your clutter in the lounge and order us lunch,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Don’t be daft, Cal. I’ll just call housekeeping and let them pick it up.”

  Babs had taught Cal better than that. He may not be as neat as a pin, but he could certainly pick up after himself. He strode back into the bedroom and removed the house phone from her hand. “You made the mess, you’ll clean it up.” Without responding to her gasp of outrage, Cal pulled his phone and wallet from his jeans and dropped them on the bedside table, then stalked into the bathroom and shut the door with his foot.

  He took a deep breath and stared at his reflection, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his cheeks. He looked a bit shot. No wonder, having spent the night with Ryan, the snore piggy.

  His eyes drifted to the marble counter overflowing with feminine shit. Curlers and straighteners and a hair dryer were thrown haphazardly, their wires commingling and dripping to the floor like tentacles. Powder and eye shadow and nail varnish. Bloody fucking hell. And why did she need purple false eyelashes?

  Shaking his head, Cal stripped and hopped in the shower. He shouldn’t be so hard on Jules. He hadn’t seen her in over a year, and he’d missed her terribly. They just needed some ground rules. She wouldn’t be staying long, at any rate.

  After drying off, he dressed in clean clothes and hastily shaved before strolling to the lounge. Jules had taken care of her plates and towels, and neatly stacked the magazines on the coffee table. As he continued out to the pool, he found her sprawled in a lounger, her shirt off and her skirt hiked up farther than was legal. “God, Jules.” He covered his eyes with one hand and sidled to the towel stand. Jerking two from the stack, he tossed them in her direction. “Get decent, will you?”

  She sighed, and he heard the lounger creak with her movements. “When did you become such a fucking prude?” After a minute, she spoke again. “You can look.” She’d wrapped a towel around her so only the bra straps were visible.

  Cal thrust his fingers through his damp hair. “I apologize for overreacting before. I was a twat.”

  Jules’s brows rose over the tops of her pricey sunglasses. “You think?”

  “Did you order us something to eat? I’m half-starved.”

  “Yes, should be here in another fifteen.”

  Cal perched on the second lounger. He and Jules stared at each other, neither saying a word. The silence grew to an embarrassing length.

  She tugged on a curl, let it spring back in place. “So, Australia.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry about Babs. I know you were gutted. You could have come to L.A. after she died. You didn’t have to stay in Cairns this whole time.”

  Cal didn’t want to talk about it. It was still too raw, even after all these months. “I just needed some time alone. I apologize for missing your birthday, though.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  They remained quiet until Cal’s mobile rang, letting him know the food had arrived. It took three men to roll three carts into the villa. Cal signed the check and tipped them. He turned to Jules. “I do hope there’s something edible under all these domes.” He lifted the silver cloche and discovered cheesecake.

  Cal grabbed a fork and tucked in while Jules uncovered the rest. She’d ordered everything from pizza to burgers to onion rings. Not a vegetable in sight.

  As Cal ate, he studied her. Jules had changed in the last year, besides the trashy clothes and artistic makeup. She’d always been slim, but now her face had lost some of its roundness, making her eyes seem larger. Her limbs were more lithe, less coltish. His baby sister had grown up.

  Other than birthdays, he didn’t see much of her. They mostly chatted by video, or texted. Cal’s father preferred it that way—after all, Cal was physical proof of the old man’s disastrous first marriage. George Hughes didn’t like to be reminded of his failures.

  Cal gorged on cheeseburgers and chicken strips while Jules picked at a couple of French fries. Once Cal’s hunger subsided, he leaned back. “You have to let Father know you’re here.”

  She stood and gathered their plates, setting them back on the carts. “He won’t even miss me. After he stopped yelling, he quit speaking to me altogether. He’s been issuing orders through Mum for the last few days.”

  “You can’t just run from your troubles.”

  “You did. You never stay in one place for long, and it’s worked for you.”

  “True, but I’ve never been arrested, either.” One of her blue-shadowed eyes twitched in irritation. Cal fully understood he wasn’t the best person to offer advice. Telling her to stay put sounded terribly hypocritical—nevertheless, she needed to hear it. “Look, I know the old man is awful, and you may need a break. But this isn’t the way to do it.”

  Jules crossed to the French doors and stared out at the patio. “I have no money, no credit cards, my license was suspended. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Look for a job, like a normal person. Go to the animal shelter and sweep up cat hair. Do something productive.”

  “You don’t have a job. Not a proper one. What were you doing this morning?” Jules spun on her heel and faced him. Her brows drew low over narrowed eyes, and her tone was full of icy disdain—so much like their father’s it was eerie. “Volunteering at the local homeless shelter, and not falling out of some slutty girl’s bed?”

  “Watch yourself, Jules,” he growled. “I was helping a friend.”

  “Does this friend have a name, or do you even remember?”

  “You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m not a man whore. And she’s a very nice woman. Works at a foundation, gives of her time to help others. You could learn something from that.”

  “You sound like a right idiot. Some slag has you by the cock, and that’s why you don’t want me here. Admit it. You’d rather I trot back home so you can pull some stupid girl. ”

  “Not true, and don’t call her that again. You and I both know how the old man gets. Do you want to be shut out for good? Because if you stay here with me, that’s what will happen.” When she remained mute, he continued, “He’ll do it just to spite me. You need to go home, Jules.”

  Fat teardrops filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “You’re kicking me out too?”

  Oh God. Seeing those tears nearly undid him. Pressing his lips together, Cal stepped around the coffee table and approached her. “I’m not leaving for a while. I promise I’ll come visit.” He attempted to give her a hug, but she twisted her shoulder and flung him off.

  “How long is a while? Three days? A week? Before I know it, you’ll be off to Greenland or something, and send me a text six weeks later.”

  He wasn’t a good role model—his father was correct on that score. Cal didn’t know what Jules needed right now, or how to provide it. Damn it, he wished people would stop relying on him. “I won’t leave without giving you proper notice, all right?”

  “Don’t do me any favors. This is becau
se of your Mother Teresa, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’re not staying here for me, you’re staying for her. Typical. You’ve never cared about me, Cal, not really.”

  “That’s not true. I think about you all of the time.” And he did, in his own way. Wherever he traveled, he searched for interesting and pretty gifts. He could have been around more, but his father made it nearly impossible. “I’ll try to do better.”

  Jules shook her head, making the curls wobble. “You’re not capable of doing better.”

  That barb found its mark. Part of him wanted to grab his passport and head to the nearest exit. Being needed by anyone was rather daunting, stifling almost. But right at this moment, the more stalwart side of his nature won by a hair. “Maybe that’s true. But I’d still like to try.”

  “You won’t stick around, Cal. You’ll be bored silly with this girl of yours in ten minutes,” she said with a loud sniff.

  No, he wouldn’t. Cal felt the truth of that in his gut. He would never be bored with Monica Campbell. How could he be? She sparred with him one minute and kissed him passionately the next. He never knew exactly what would come out of her mouth, and she made him laugh. Monica was a constant surprise.

  “I know you don’t believe it right now,” he said, “but this is for your own good.” How many times had Babcock said the same thing to him? Too many to count. But now, as he stood before Juliette, he knew Babs had wanted the best for him, even if it meant he sometimes hated her for it. And Jules might very well hate him. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to book you on the next flight. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

  Before he could say more, Jules ran out of the lounge. A moment later, she slammed the bedroom door so hard, it echoed down the hall.

  Well, fuck. What was he meant to do? She needed to go home. His father would blame him for this, and take it out on Jules. Staying here wasn’t an option.

  With a sigh, Cal went to retrieve his phone from his pocket, but remembered he’d left it in the bedroom. Jules needed time to calm down, so he used the house phone and dialed his father’s number. The housekeeper answered, and Cal waited a good fifteen minutes before the old man picked up.