“Yes,” she said, then sighed. “You’re a brilliant lover.”
Cal lifted his head. “That’s all I’m saying.” The smile died from his lips as his eyes shifted to the building next door. “Shit.”
“Oh no.” Monica tried to turn her head to look, but with Cal on top of her, it was impossible. “Can someone see us?”
“No, we’re too low. But the cleaners are arriving next door. They just walked into the building.”
“Shit,” Monica echoed.
“Stay here, they can’t see up this far. I’ll grab our clothes and hit the lights, and we’ll run into the hall.”
The danger of getting caught, of someone seeing her naked, sent a frisson of fear shooting through her system. It had been thrilling fifteen minutes ago, but now, once the heat of the moment had passed, Monica realized how stupid she’d been. What if Stella or Jason had come back to the office? What if one of the cleaning crew down there had whipped out a phone and taken a video? God, she was an idiot.
Cal crept low as he scrambled for their clothes. With his arms full, he ran to hit the overhead lights, then using the clothes as a shield, he walked quickly to her desk and shut off the lamp. Now they were in the dark. Monica closed her eyes for a moment and mentally kicked her own ass. Why was she so reckless? Defective.
Cal opened the hall door, letting a dim glow filter into the room. “Come on, love.”
Monica rolled over and rose a few inches as she peeked out the window. A first-floor office showed light behind closed blinds. Although she didn’t see any movement, she kept low and duck-walked across the floor and out into the hall. Cal pulled her office door closed behind her.
After burying her head in both hands, she muttered, “What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking how amazing the sex would be. How adventurous. And it was.” She heard the clothes drop to the floor, and then his warm hands covered hers, prying them from her face a second later. “Monica, if I’d seen any sign of life, I’d have turned you around so fast, you’d have been dizzy for days. I wouldn’t let anyone see you compromised. It was just a bit of harmless fun.”
Harmless fun had gotten her into trouble in the past. Harmless fun had gotten her knocked up by a guy she’d barely known. Harmless fun was her downfall. And guys like Cal were the catalyst.
She bent down and started sorting through the clothes, tossing his into a pile near his feet. Standing, she turned her back to him and stepped into her panties, hastily tugging them up her legs. When she slipped into the bra, Cal secured the hooks for her.
“I’d have kept you safe,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll always keep you safe. Do you understand?”
She didn’t believe him. Cal was a cut above every other man she’d dated, but she didn’t trust him. As soon as she’d start to rely on him, have feelings for him, he’d leave.
You’re supposed to be in control this time, Campbell. Cal hadn’t twisted her arm in there. Monica had been willing to take the risk. But instead of feeling empowered, she felt like she was speeding downhill without any brakes. Crashing was a foregone conclusion.
Chapter 15
Cal felt an overwhelming need to reassure her—and he meant every bloody word. He wouldn’t let any harm come to Monica Campbell, not if it were in his power to prevent it.
Twirling her around by one shoulder, Cal placed a hand on her lower back and yanked her closer. A lock of her hair bounced against his chest, giving off just the barest hint of lavender. Before Cal could stop himself, he plunged his free hand through the intermixed shades of honey and golden-brown, gripping it tight at her scalp.
Staring down into her beautiful, troubled face, he looked her dead in the eye. “I wouldn’t have let anyone see you. Do you believe me?” Monica’s light blue eyes grew wide, and Cal forced himself to loosen the grasp on her hair. Why was he behaving this way, like a lunatic? “Do you believe me?” he demanded.
After a moment’s hesitation, she lifted one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter—I shouldn’t have done it.”
Of course she should have. She’d been in the moment—she’d smiled and teased him and enjoyed herself. And he was right there with her, every bloody step of the way. This was the Monica she was meant to be—a risk taker, a woman who enjoyed wild, uninhibited sex. But he couldn’t convince her of that. Not right now. She had a bad habit of fucking him stupid, only to regret it moments later. Her postcoital remorse was hell on his ego.
Cal dropped his hands with a sigh. “Come on, love. Let’s get you dressed.” He plucked her shirt from the floor and held it open for her. Giving him one last worried glance, she shoved her arms into it, hastily rebuttoning and covering up that gorgeous red bra.
No doubt about it¸ Cal was a derrière man, but Monica’s tits were stunners. Her rosy nipples—big and luscious as cherries—made his mouth water.
“Are you going to get dressed?” She nodded at him as she slipped into her shoes.
“I’m pondering. I look so good naked, I should bless the world and walk around like this all the time, don’t you agree?”
She gave him an exasperated look and grabbed the skirt from his hand. “Seriously, you have an ego problem.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
Her words may be chastising, but he could hear the amusement in her voice, though she averted her face to hide any evidence of it. He liked that he could make her laugh. He’d definitely made her smile in that office a few minutes ago.
When she’d knelt down in front of him, right before she’d taken him in her mouth, Monica had given Cal the sauciest grin. Then she’d taken command of his prick, stroking and licking. Hell, he was getting hard all over again.
Telling his cock to behave itself, Cal pulled on his clothes and stuck his feet into the tasseled loafers. He’d asked Mr. Lawson to fetch him some shoes from one of the shops. Cal didn’t care what they looked like; he simply wanted Monica to see him in something other than shoddy boots. Now he felt faintly ridiculous.
He glanced up. Monica had caught him staring. “Tassels are for wankers, aren’t they?” he asked.
“No. You look very nice.” She lowered her eyes, almost as if she were embarrassed to give him a compliment. Then Monica opened her office door and scurried to her desk, where she gathered together all of her work gadgets.
“Hungry?” he asked, propping his shoulder against the door frame.
“Cal, I’m just going to call it a night and go home.” She was running scared—afraid of him. Afraid of herself.
“I understand. Sex with me can be exhausting. You’re most likely done in, poor pet.”
She threw him a warning glance. “I need to work.”
“Of course, and it has nothing to do with that fact that you let down your proverbial hair? You’ve had your fun, and now it’s time for self-flagellation.”
She kept her eyes down as she shoved folders into her bag. “I have board meeting drama, and the gala’s six weeks away.”
“So naturally, you won’t eat until then.”
Heaving a sigh, she finally looked at him. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Occasionally. But only when I’m sleeping or eating pussy.” He smiled at her gasp, whipped out his phone, and put a call in to Mr. Lawson. “We’ll be arriving in half an hour. Have dinner waiting on the terrace, will you?” When he hung up, Monica looked at him with raised brows. As she hefted the bag onto her shoulder, Cal walked forward and took it from her. “I told you I made plans. Dinner will be waiting for us. You’ll love it.”
She left her office and walked next to him through the short hallway. “You really think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” At the suite door, she flipped off the lights, leaving them momentarily in the dark.
“Not completely, but I’m learning as I go. By the way, just to give you fair warning, I plan on fucking you again tonight. But I’ll taste you first.” Then he opened the outer office door and allowed Monica to pass through.
; “Just to give you fair warning, I’m going home after dinner,” she said, locking up with a snap of her wrist.
Cal said nothing as he trailed her to the lift. He didn’t look at her either, but kept his eyes trained on the arrows above the doors.
“And what’s a taste, anyway?” she asked. “A taste sounds very brief.”
“Would you like me to explain in further detail?”
“No.”
He waited.
“Maybe.”
The doors opened, and they climbed on. Monica pressed the L button and clutched her purse in front of her. Cal’s eyes kept straying to her, taking in her mussed hair, her swollen lips.
“Yes,” she said. “Explain.”
“In this scenario, we’ll both be naked, of course.”
“You seem to prefer it, being God’s gift and all.”
“Quite. I’ll use my hand first, to make sure you’re wet. Once you’re ready, I’ll slide one finger inside you. I’ll work up to three, but it’s a process. Then I’ll lick your outer pussy lips. You’ll be begging me by then, but I won’t let you come, not yet. Not until I’ve parted you and licked you like a ripe peach. Eventually, I’ll nibble your adorable little love button until you go wild. That’s my idea of tasting. You probably thought I meant sampling.”
Monica’s cheeks were pink now, her eyes bright. Her chest rose and fell at a rapid rate. “Love button?” she said, sounding out of breath.
“Would you prefer joy buzzer?” He grinned as she rolled her eyes. He nearly groaned when she licked her upper lip. Though she would probably deny it, she enjoyed their banter as much as he did.
The bell dinged, and the doors slid open. They walked in silence to the parking lot. “I’ll follow you in my car,” she said.
“Oh, what a shame. I was going to let you drive the Mustang again.”
She hesitated. “Give me the keys.”
Cal pulled them from his pocket and dropped them into her hand. He still wasn’t comfortable letting someone else take the wheel, but tempting Monica was worth it.
She climbed in the car and started the engine. “Just out of curiosity”—she gazed at him from the corner of her eye—“what’s your idea of sampling?”
* * *
As Monica parked in front of Cal’s place, a valet appeared out of nowhere. The service here was impressive. She’d always wanted a peek inside one of the villas, and she’d probably never have another chance.
Cal placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her up the walk. “I worked up an appetite, how about you?”
“Dinner,” Monica said. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.” For now. She just wanted to state it for the record, but her delivery was weak. Even Monica wasn’t buying her flimsy denials. She and Cal would be having sex again before the night was over. After hearing his ideas on tasting versus sampling, she couldn’t think about anything else.
“If you say so.” His agreeable tone said he wasn’t taking her seriously either. She hadn’t really given him a reason to. Every time they were together, she meant to say no, but her legs fell open instead.
Cal unlocked the door and nudged her inside. Monica walked past the threshold and stood in the foyer, taking in the detailed pattern on the tiled floor, the marbled walls, the modern crystal chandelier that looked like dandelion seeds. “This is gorgeous.”
“It’s not on par with Trevor’s place, but it’ll do in a pinch, eh?” He grinned down at her.
“If one doesn’t mind slumming,” she joked. Monica fought against reaching up and touching the left corner of his mouth. That crooked smile got her.
Cal relieved her of her purse and bag, setting them next to the front door. Then he took her hand. “Come on. Food’s outside.” He sped through the living room, tugging her behind him.
“Wait.” Monica dragged her feet. Her quick glance around the living room gave her an overall impression of warm walls and sumptuous furniture—a mixture of old-world dark wood and modern design. “I want to see it all.”
“Later. I’ll show you everything, I promise.” He pulled her to the French doors.
“Do you always keep your promises, Calum Hughes?”
He stopped then and looked over his shoulder. She’d only been joking, but his eyes were somber. “Yes. Always. Don’t you?”
Monica hadn’t kept the promise she’d made to herself, the one about steering clear of good-time guys with sex on the brain. And she hadn’t kept the promise to her mom, either. Monica didn’t plan on following her heart anytime soon. “No, I don’t always keep my promises.”
Cal studied her for a long moment. When he smiled, the left side of his mouth stayed on an even keel with the right. “What a pity. Now, come along.”
Cal led her outside and onto the terrace. This wasn’t Trevor’s winding English garden, but it was beautiful. Hanging flowers and topiary bushes dotted the perimeter of the pool, where tendrils of steam rose into the night sky. Lit from within, the bright blue water cast shimmers that danced along the tan French pavers at her feet. Outdoor heaters flanked either side of the candlelit table set for two, and a buffet cart stood to one side.
Still holding Cal’s hand, Monica looked around. “This is amazing.”
“Reminds me of another garden. Another night,” Cal said.
She turned to him. “What if Allie hadn’t interrupted us that night? Would you have been so eager to see me again, or would you have avoided me like the flu?”
“After what we did an hour ago, how can you ask me that question?” With his back to the low light, Monica found it impossible to read his expression.
Five years ago, Cal had been a dangerous bad boy looking for an easy lay. “I think if we’d fucked that night, you wouldn’t remember my name.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m not the same man I was five years ago, but I’d have remembered you, Monica Campbell. You’re unforgettable.” With his free hand, he stroked her cheek and bent his head. His lips stopped inches from hers, but he paused. “Would you have forgotten me?”
“Yes.”
“Liar,” he said on a breath. He rained tiny kisses over her lips, her chin.
“How have you changed?” she whispered.
Cal straightened. “I’m older, wiser. More devastatingly handsome than ever before.”
Monica sensed a depth to him that he hadn’t possessed five years ago. Maybe it had happened over the last year with Babcock’s death. Losing a loved one could do that to a person. When her mother died, it had changed Monica. The grief and loss made her more careless than ever.
Monica shook off the guilt and sadness that crept in every time she thought about her mom. Allie’s accusation yesterday had hit the mark. She didn’t like talking about her mom, or thinking about the times they’d shared. It was just too damn painful. Monica decided to embrace this night with Cal. Her past, the present—it would all be waiting for her tomorrow.
He let go of her hand and pointed with his chin to the food cart. “Go see what treats I’ve got for you.”
She opened one chafing dish, then laughed. “Fried chicken?”
“You Americans seem to love it. After all, you’ve put that military colonel in charge of it.”
“Funny.” She moved on to the next dish. “Mashed potatoes.” The next were filled with cornbread and green beans and some kind of casserole. “Cal, do you have Vegas confused with the Deep South?”
He laughed. “No, but I told the chef to make something all Americans love to eat.” He paused. “We can send it back. We can order takeaway if you like, or go to a restaurant at the casino.”
He pulled his phone from his front pocket, but Monica grabbed his sleeve. “This is wonderful. I was only kidding.”
He seemed unsure of himself for a split second, then the old taunting grin returned. “We could hop a jet and go anywhere you want. You know how we trust-fund knobs are, any whim fulfilled.”
“Cal.” The atmosphere had changed. This had been a sweet gesture on his par
t, and Monica wasn’t sure what she’d said or done, but the self-deprecating humor had a hint of bitterness to it. Cal always poked fun at himself, in his own way. His arrogant statements weren’t meant to be taken seriously. But this jab, this one was real. She wasn’t sure how to fix it, so she glossed over it. “Please tell me there’s chocolate?”
Cal’s shoulders relaxed slightly. The tension that filled the air a moment ago disappeared. “Of course there is. Do I look like a fool? Wait, don’t answer that.” He moved behind her, slid his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Really, if you want something else—”
“This is like a fantasy. A picnic in the moonlight.” She turned and gave him a small reassuring kiss. Cal let her go and stepped back.
Monica handed him a plate and filled hers with some of everything, along with a chicken leg. “When we were little, Brynn and I used to fight over the chicken legs. I always wanted both, but my mother made us share.”
“What was she like, your mother?”
“Motherly.”
As Monica sat down, Cal took a seat across from her. Shaking out his napkin, he raised one brow. “We can talk about something else. There’s always the weather. Or sports. How do you like Chelsea’s chances this year?”
“Is that a soccer team or something?” Monica picked up her fork and took a bite of creamy mashed potatoes. Mmm, buttery. “This is delicious.”
Cal tutted. “Football, not soccer. You Americans. Do you still miss her?”
Although the day had been warm again, the evening air started to cool down. Even with the portable heaters, Monica shivered. “Every day. But I don’t want to talk about my mom any more than you want to talk about Babcock. It hurts.”
His gaze locked on hers. “Agreed.” He poured them each a glass of wine.
“What’s the best French wine you’ve ever tasted?” she asked.
“To be honest, I have a hard time telling a good cabernet from a bottle of plonk. I’m more of a lager man. I’d rather go to Stuttgart for Oktoberfest than French wine country, although it’s beautiful there.” Cal sat back, his eyes skimming over her.
His Kind of Trouble Page 22
