“Surf and turf restaurant. I’ve never been here, but I’ve heard it’s good.”

They took the elevator to the fifth floor, to a very trendy spot owned by a celebrity chef. Cal kept hold of her hand the entire way.

After they gave their name to the hostess, they slipped into the bar brimming with people. There were no free tables, and all of the bar stools were occupied, so Monica found a narrow space against the wall while Cal left to get her a drink. He came back a moment later with a glass of wine she’d requested, but hadn’t ordered anything for himself.

After he handed off the pinot, he angled toward her. Cal placed his forearm along the wall next to her head, shrouding her with his tall body, then lowered his lips to her ear. “You were at university the last time I saw you. How’d that go?” His breath stirred a lock of her hair. Their cheeks were practically touching, and delectable heat radiated off him.

“How do you remember that?”

He pulled back to stare into her eyes. His darkened to a deeper green. “I remember everything about that night. Don’t you?” He arched one brow, waiting for her answer.

“Not everything.” She remembered the best parts, the important parts. How he made her feel—hot and wet and excited. She felt that way now, and he wasn’t even touching her.

“So did you finish school?” he asked.

When she nodded, her hair brushed against his arm. “Yeah. Got my master’s too.”

“Clever girl.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help but return it. His jawline was rugged, his neck muscular. She watched the vein at the side of his throat and clenched her glass to keep from reaching out and brushing it with her finger. “I know you have to work in that little cell of yours,” he said, “but what do you do for fun?”

What did she do for fun? It had been so long since she’d had any, Monica could barely understand the concept. “I don’t have time for fun right now.”

Cal leaned nearer, traced his lips along the outer edge of her ear, causing Monica to shiver. “There’s always time for fun.” His gravelly voice shot a bolt of pleasure right through her. “And if there’s not, you’re doing something wrong.”

“What do you do for fun?” she asked, sounding winded. He was so near. She felt cocooned from the crowd, his body shielding her, blocking everyone from view.

She’d hardly gotten the words out when he gently bit down on her earlobe. Shutting her eyes, Monica had to work to stay upright, but she couldn’t stop herself from touching him. Lifting her hand, she lightly rubbed his cheek. His skin was hot to the touch, and smooth against her fingers.

Cal released her ear and raised his head to look at her. His pupils were large, eating into the green surrounding them. Slowly, he leaned even closer, giving her time to push him away.

Monica didn’t want to push him away. She wanted his mouth on hers again. This time for a longer, deeper kiss. Her good-girl voice sounded a distant warning, but she ignored it.

Eyes wide, Monica remained still. His lips touched hers, and unlike the soft kiss in the office, this one packed a sexual punch. Placing his hands on either side of her head, Cal kissed her full-on. His lips coaxed and demanded at the same time.

As Monica clutched the placket of his shirt with her free hand, she kissed him back, and everything else fell away. The people, the noise, the fact that they were in public. None of it mattered except this moment with Cal. Her breasts felt heavy, achy, and her nipples were taut.

When his tongue met hers, Monica moaned into his mouth. She craved his touch, needed more of him—this kiss wasn’t enough. Not even close. Her pussy contracted each time his thumb brushed across her cheek. Suddenly, something vibrated between them.

Cal’s hands fell, and he broke the kiss. With his forehead resting against hers, he took a shuddery breath. “Bloody hell, I thought that was you for a minute. I think our table’s ready.” He pulled the pager from his front pocket. “We could skip dinner and get a room instead.”

Monica stared at his flushed face and slammed back into reality. What the hell was wrong with her? Brushing her fingers across her mouth, she wordlessly shook her head. She’d just made a fool of herself. In public. What if someone she knew had seen her?

“I’m not getting a room with you, Cal. I agreed to have dinner, and then I’m going home. Alone.” She plucked the pager from his hand and staggered past him, out of the bar. Walking toward the hostess, Monica didn’t look back. And she couldn’t even make eye contact with any of the diners—she was too shaken by what had just happened. Cal only had to stand next to her, throw a few kisses her way, and every scrap of resistance evaporated.

Well, no more. Monica wasn’t a slave to her hormones. She had been a bad-boy-free zone for the last four years. She could withstand a kiss or two. She was made of sterner stuff.

Once they were seated, Cal’s intense gaze darted over her face, her heated cheeks. “Are you all right?”

He wasn’t teasing for a change, and she was glad. If he mocked her right now, she didn’t know if she could stand it. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

She shook out her napkin and dropped it on her lap. Time for a neutral topic. No ex-boyfriends, or sex, or the past. And no more kisses. “Brynn said you flew in from Australia.”

Cal picked up the menu and opened it. “Yeah, I did. Beautiful country—you should go someday.”

“Which part of Australia?”

“Cairns.”

“What did you do there?”

He looked up at her and grinned. “Hung out, surfed. Bought a wreck of an Austin Healey and had it shipped back to London. Have you ever seen one up close?”

“I’ve never seen one from far away. So is that all you do, fix cars and surf?” She wasn’t being dismissive, she was curious, but a chill settled behind his eyes.

“What more is there?” He sounded flippant, but his grip tightened on the leather-bound menu. He was putting up a front. She recognized it instantly, because she was a master at it—acting nonchalant to get people off her back.

So what was he hiding? “Is there a girlfriend in Australia?”

“No.” That deep, husky voice became clipped, like Trevor’s. Monica was good at reading caution signs, and right now, Cal flashed a bright red warning: Off Limits.

But Monica couldn’t leave it alone. “What about a wife?”

When he raised his head, Cal’s lips curved downward, and that chill in his eyes became permafrost. “You think I’d be snogging you if I were married? Lovely opinion you have of me, darling.”

“I don’t know you. Not really. And Australia seems like a touchy subject.”

“It’s not a touchy subject. Not like you and the ex-boyfriend.”

“Did you leave a job behind?”

He signaled a passing waiter. “Scotch, single malt, please. Better make it a double.” Once the waiter left, his eyes pinned Monica. “No job. No wife. No girlfriend. Now your turn. Why did you break up with what’s-his-face?”

“You don’t have a job? I thought you were the shiz with cars.” This felt very familiar—same old song, second verse. Monica always fell for the ones without a job.

“I own an auto restoration business, but my garage is in Britain, not Australia.”

“How long were you in Australia?” She placed her hands on her unopened menu and leaned forward.

Cal closed his and mirrored her movements. “Why do you give a toss?”

“I’m just being polite.”

“Hardly.”

Her mouth popped open as she leaned back. “Really? You ask me about oral sex, and I’m the impolite one?”

A wide grin broke across his lips. “Well, perhaps we’re evenly matched.”

Monica decided to give up on Australia. “What’s so special about an Austin Whatever?”

“Healey.” He dug into his front pocket. “It’s a piece of automotive beauty.” He pulled out his phone and touched the screen. “It’s a classic piece of British machinery. To restore a car like that is bringing a piece of history to life.”