His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  “You’re really good at hiding what’s going on inside of you, Monnie.”

  Monica’s pulse beat against her throat. “I don’t hide,” she snapped.

  He reached out and rubbed her knee. There was nothing sexual in his touch. “I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just the way you are. Remember the philharmonic?”

  She’d bought Ryan tickets to a performance of Mozart’s most famous symphonies. Agony. Sheer boredom for three endless hours. “It was fun.” Liar. Cal’s accent rang in her ears.

  “You hated it. I knew that, but you wanted to make me happy. I thought that was a sign that you loved me.”

  Monica began picking the clear polish from her thumbnail. It occurred to her that what she’d done with Ryan was what she’d done with every man in her life. She warped herself into their version of the ideal woman. From her first boyfriend and his love of monster trucks to Ryan’s passion for Mozart. Defective. No, not just defective—seriously, seriously messed up.

  “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Ryan. I wanted you to be the one.”

  “I know.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “You tried really hard. I should have gotten a clue when you bought that house.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Monica, four months ago I asked you to marry me. You said you had to think about it, and the next week, you bought a house. Your own house, without even discussing it with me.”

  She stood and walked around the room, wrapping her arms around her torso. “My lease was up. I bought it as an investment.”

  “Sweetheart, if you can’t be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself.”

  She whirled around and flung her arms down. “I’m not lying to myself,” she yelled. “I wish everyone would stop saying that.” She clapped her mouth shut. Oh God. Monica took a gulp of air. “Sorry.”

  Ryan gazed at her with a puzzled frown. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you raise your voice.”

  “Really?” She paced to the door. “Because I yell at Allie all the time.” And Cal. She wasn’t afraid to yell at Cal. She stopped moving and glanced back at him. “I wanted to say yes.”

  “It would have been perfect. I’m here. I love you, Mon. We could make this work. Can you say the same about Cal?”

  Monica shook her head. “No, I can’t. But I’ve decided I don’t want perfect. It’s too much pressure.” Her entire world turned on its axis. She didn’t want this tidy life with a man who wouldn’t pull her hair during sex or talk to her in a rough, posh voice. That’s not who she was. Never had been.

  He leaned his head against the cushions, looking more tired and pale than when she arrived. “If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t. I never meant to hurt you.” Monica stumbled out of the house. She felt numb, yet her mind spun in circles.

  Sitting in her car, she dialed Evan. Her call went straight to voice mail, and she left him a rambling message that didn’t make much sense.

  As she started the car, a terrible dread filled the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, Monica didn’t know who the hell she really was. She wasn’t the girl she used to be—flighty and irresponsible—nor was she the mousy woman she portrayed herself as, the one who worked day and night in order to avoid having a real life. So where did that leave her? Who was she now?

  Would the real Monica Campbell please stand up?

  Chapter 19

  Monica drove back to the office and continued her efforts to find a place for the gala. But her mind kept wandering back to the argument with Cal and her conversation with Ryan.

  At four fifteen, she turned off her computer. Allie was right, it was over. Time to start crunching numbers for next year. All her plans, everything she’d worked for had been shot to hell because of a broken pipe.

  She’d almost called Cal three times this afternoon, but each time she’d talked herself out of it. Now that she’d given up for the day, she grabbed her phone and dialed his number.

  “I’m sorry,” he answered.

  “I know. Me too. Thanks for the phone.”

  “What’s wrong, love? Is this about the gala thing? Trevor mentioned it.”

  “Partly.”

  “Meet me at the villa.”

  “I’m heading there now.” She didn’t even hesitate. When Monica ended the call, her hands were shaking. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. This was Cal, the man who made her laugh, made her come until her knees trembled, the person she confided in. When they were together, a weight lifted off her shoulders, and she could relax. He may not be around tomorrow, but she needed him today, right now.

  She shoved everything in her bag and left the office, waving to Stella and Carmen on her way out.

  When she arrived at the villa, she handed her keys to the valet and walked to the front door. Cal stood there, waiting.

  His hair was damp, and he wore his usual T-shirt and faded jeans. Walking toward him, she didn’t say a word, but he must have recognized something in her expression, because as soon as she cleared the doorway, he scooped her up in a one-armed hug.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

  Monica clung to his shoulders. “I don’t want to talk.”

  * * *

  “All right.” A vague, fractured thought ran through Cal’s head: something troubled her, more than just work problems. But as soon as she slid her mouth over his, all thoughts ceased.

  When he reached out and thrust his hand through her curtain of hair, he noticed his fingers trembling ever so slightly. Cal slipped his tongue between her full lips, and she met it with her own. He wanted her out of the suit. Without it, she’d have nothing left to hide behind. He wanted to see her in the red-and-white polka-dot bra once more. This time, he’d appreciate it.

  He tore his mouth from hers and lowered Monica to her feet. “Get out of these clothes,” he growled, and began ripping them from her. He wasn’t gentle, either. As he yanked the jacket from her shoulders, Monica shrugged it off her arms and threw it to the marble floor. Cal didn’t wait for her to finish unbuttoning her silky brown blouse. He grabbed the two halves in both hands and ripped it. It was offensive and hateful. She didn’t utter a word of protest, just yanked it off, as if she couldn’t stand the material touching her skin.

  The red bra made him smile, and as he stared at her breasts, her nipples puckered. Cal ran the palm of his hand from her slender neck, over her tits, and down to her belly button. Her taut stomach flexed beneath his rough hand. She inhaled sharply when he ripped at her waistband. “These trousers need to come off.”

  She fumbled with the button, and they fell to the floor. After kicking them away, she arched her back, angled her chin a little higher.

  “You are so lovely.” As Cal’s gaze rose to those beautiful breasts, his heart ratcheted up.

  “Cal.”

  Her voice brought him out of a trance. He looked into her eyes, those crystal-blue eyes. They’d glazed over with desire, but there was something else in their depths. She needed something from him, but damned if he knew what it was. “Tell me what you want, Monica. I’ll give you anything.”

  “Just you.”

  Cal locked an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. With her sweet breasts crushed against his chest, he walked her into the lounge. His cock became painfully hard, and staring down at her wasn’t helping. The full tops of her breasts rose above her bra and bounced with each step he took. When her tongue darted out and licked that full upper lip, Cal groaned.

  With one hand slung around his shoulder, Monica gazed up at him while she absentmindedly fingered his tattoo with her other hand. “Hey.”

  He stopped in front of the sofa and met her gaze.

  “About this morning—”

  “We’ll say no more about it.” That didn’t seem to appease her. Whatever bothered Monica, he knew she’d never open up to him until she felt relaxed and sated. And she’d come to him for that. Cal felt hum
bled and challenged at the same time. He wanted to make her forget all of her problems, if only for a while. If she wanted sex, he’d oblige.

  When he dropped her on the sofa, she let out a little squeal. Divesting himself of his jeans and boxers, he didn’t take his eyes off her.

  Monica reached around to unhook her bra.

  “Leave it on.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you look fucking hot in it.”

  “I look fucking hot out of it,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “That’s my line, and you absolutely do. Now leave it on.” He ripped the shirt over his head and kicked his trousers to the side. His cock jutted out, stiff and ready. When Monica’s eyes lowered to it, he reached out and gave it a stroke. “But take the knickers off.”

  She pulled her gaze away from his shaft, her eyes darting over his face. Angling her gorgeous ass upward, she wiggled her panties over her hips, down her legs, and tossed them next to his jeans. Then she lay back against the tapestry pillows and placed her arms above her head.

  For a moment, Cal thought he might come on the spot. Bold, exciting, thoroughly sensual—this was his Monica. She didn’t show this side of herself to anyone but him.

  Cal bowed toward her and rubbed his hand along her thigh. Her breath faltered at his touch. His hand glided higher. Then he grabbed her legs and yanked her closer.

  She half yelled, half laughed. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Good. I like to keep you guessing.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  He lightly pinched her hip before caressing her waist. Then, situating his hips between her legs, he planted his fists by her head as he held his weight off her. Cal’s cock bobbed between them, resting on her belly as his body skimmed hers. Her bra barely scratched his chest, but her nipples pebbled against his skin. “I’m in a bit of a quandary, love.”

  She ran her short nails down his chest. God, that felt nice. “What’s your problem?”

  “I’m trying to decide if I want to kiss you, taste you, or fuck you. Actually, I going to do all three—I’m simply pondering the order.” He lowered his head, his lips a mere whisper from hers. “What’s your opinion on the subject?”

  She answered by grasping the sides of his face and kissing him. Weaving her hands through his hair, she thrust her tongue into his mouth at the same moment she wrapped one leg around his waist. Cal’s eyes drifted shut as he lowered his hips and ground his cock against her soft skin.

  Monica tugged on his hair until he raised his head. “Kiss, taste, fuck.”

  Cal ran his tongue over the seam of her lips. “Deal. But I get to decide when I’m done kissing you.”

  Monica’s fingers wandered over his shoulders. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “I do.” He thrust his cock against her again while he nibbled at her lips, kissed the corner of her mouth. Monica moaned, tightening her leg around him in an effort to rub herself against his almost painful erection.

  She turned her head to the side and gently bit down on his jaw. “Kiss me, damn it. Like you mean it.”

  He leaned back. “Hungry for me, are you?” Her eyes narrowed in irritation, which made him smile. Then he kissed her properly, the way she liked.

  She rewarded him by stroking her hands up and down his back, digging her nails along his spine. Monica knew what he liked too.

  Cal lowered himself on top of her. He longed to fuck her, right now, like this—without a condom. But she was terribly conscientious about it. Another secret of hers—one he’d uncover eventually.

  Softly, his lips coursed a path from her mouth to her neck, raking his teeth over the spot right below her ear. She gasped and bucked her hips against him. “More of that.”

  He nipped her once more before trailing his mouth over her shoulder, down to the tops of her soft breasts. Taking another look at her tits through the fanciful fabric of her bra, he licked her nipple through the satin cup. He moved his hand from her waist to toy with her other breast and rubbed his thumb over her already hard nipple.

  Monica’s breath turned choppy and uneven as he sucked even harder. “So good.”

  He glanced up at her. “Like that, do you?” He snatched one bra strap, then the other, pushing them down her shoulders. The cups fell below her tits, framing them. Monica yanked her arms free, and when he latched onto one nipple, biting down ever so gently, she held his head in place.

  “Calum. Calum.”

  He liked hearing her say his full name. Was going to insist she use it more often.

  He left her breast and kissed his way to her belly, using his tongue to swirl a pattern across her tender flesh. Monica’s leg became slack around his. Placing his hands on either side of her knees, he forced her thighs farther apart.

  Monica propped herself up on her elbows and watched him. Only lust registered in her eyes. No worry, no doubt—just the same hot need that consumed him.

  Trapping her gaze with his, he positioned his mouth at her pussy. With one lash of his tongue, he licked in between her plump folds, and his eyes drifted shut. “I love the way you taste, Monica Campbell. Sweet and salty and fucking delicious.”

  He opened his eyes and watched her head drop back. “Calum.”

  He sucked one of her smooth outer lips, using very little pressure. When he parted her with his hands, he lapped a circle around her clit. It was swollen and obviously sensitive, because she jumped when he flicked it. He loved eliciting responses from her, discovering what she liked, what made her gasp.

  With his lips, Cal brushed light, feathery strokes up and down her slit. He fought hard not to lose himself in her taste, her silky texture, but he made sure he kept in tune with her, measuring her reaction, her breathing. She was panting now and close to coming, so he backed off a bit, applied less pressure.

  “Cal. Calum. Please.”

  His tongue darted inside her, fluttering up and down. She liked that too, and her breasts rose and fell rapidly.

  “Don’t stop doing that,” she said.

  He continued, reveling in her response, making her mindless with need. She yelled as she came a moment later.

  Cal didn’t stop his movements, but kept up the pace, licking inside her. Another wave wracked her body, and she groaned, pulling at his hair. As that second orgasm rippled through her, Cal felt more powerful than he ever had.

  After a long minute, Monica’s body went slack. She released her hold on him, and he eased away from her.

  “Seriously fucking awesome,” she said, her eyes closed.

  Cal stroked the side of her hip with one hand. “Don’t fall asleep. We’re not through.”

  Her eyes drifted open, and she grinned. “Can I take my bra off yet?”

  “No.” Cal moved off her, but came back a moment later. He held a condom in one hand as he pinched her nipple, then kissed the side of her neck and worked his way to her earlobe. He bit down, and Monica sighed with pleasure.

  Cal positioned himself on top of her once more. Her body fidgeted under his. “Want me to put it on for you?”

  Cal kissed her temple. “No, you’ll only torture me. And you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Only a little, and you’ll enjoy it too.” Monica laughed, grabbed the foil packet out of his hand, and ripped it open.

  Cal stole the condom back and rolled it on himself. She was still grinning as his gaze traveled over her face. “Where did those freckles come from?” Cal smoothed a finger above her eyebrow. “You’re never out in the sun.”

  “I hate them.”

  “They’re adorable.”

  Monica framed his jaw with both hands, her smile becoming more wistful. She stroked her thumb over his lips and placed a tiny kiss on his chin. “What’s your middle name?”

  His brows dipped as he stared at her. “Why?”

  “Because I want to know.”

  “George. Terribly sexy, I know.”

  “Please fuck me, Calum George Hughes,” she said.


  “So formal.” Cal adjusted his hips and slid inside her, but he didn’t thrust immediately. They stared at each other for a long moment. The late-afternoon sunshine slanted through the room, bathing her face in a warm glow. Monica Campbell was possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered, and he was lucky enough to be balls deep inside her.

  Cal began to move slowly. He wanted to savor this, make it last. He couldn’t ever recall a feeling quite like this one—as if he and Monica were connected, and not just physically. He would sound a complete knob if he uttered that thought aloud.

  He licked the little dent in her chin. He loved that dent. Cal wanted to take it slow this time, fuck her gently, but this wouldn’t satisfy her for long. Monica liked it hard and fast. He’d give that to her. Eventually. But right now, he wanted to draw it out, prolong the pleasure for both of them.

  “More,” she demanded.

  Cal gave her a hard kiss, but kept up his steady pace. He pulled out almost all the way and then slid back into her. Over and over again until she bit his shoulder.

  “I hate you,” she panted.

  “Do you really?” Cal pulled out of her entirely.

  “Okay, maybe hate is not the right word.” She tried to place her hands on his shoulders, but he moved out of her reach and rose to his knees.

  “I should say so.” In a swift move, Cal hooked his hands around her thighs and pulled her ass toward him. He draped her legs on either side of his chest until they stuck straight up in the air. He stroked his hands up and down her calves, over her shins. “Your turn. What’s your middle name?”

  “Taylor.”

  Positioning himself at her entrance, Cal slid back inside her. “Monica Taylor Campbell.” He embedded himself all the way, stretching her to capacity.

  When he pulled out, she opened her mouth to protest, but he rammed back inside her, filling her again. “Monica Taylor,” he ground out. “So fucking tight.”

  As he worked in and out of her, her breasts jiggled slightly. He watched them, couldn’t take his eyes off them. With both of his arms hooked around her legs, he thrust back and forth. When he sensed her urgency, he placed his hand on the top of her pussy, and with his thumb, found her ripe little clit. He brushed it—once, twice—then she came.