“Like Trevor’s antique knickknacks,” she said.

Cal’s smile dimmed. “No. It’s nothing remotely like the decaying shit Trevor’s got lying all over.”

“Actually, it’s exactly the same. I saw that Mustang, remember?”

“But I don’t hang on to cars the way Trevor does with jade Buddha figurines. I find classics, restore them, and give them a happy home.” He shoved the phone under her nose. “Here’s one I did three years ago. Take a look.”

She glanced at the pic of a shiny, sexy red roadster. “It’s very nice.”

Cal barked out a shocked laugh. “Nice? No, love, that car is not nice. It’s a marvel.” He scrolled across the screen before handing it to her. “That’s how it looked when I found it.”

Now it was her turn for surprise. “This is a wreck.” Literally. The car looked as if it had been cut in half. The front fender had sustained major damage, and the finish was completely eroded. To her, it looked like a piece for the salvage yard. She gazed up and saw pride in his eyes.

“I know. Just the chassis. That’s all I had to work with. I rebuilt that car, every single piece, from the drivetrain to the seats.”

“How long did that take?” She stared at the picture for a moment longer. When she started to scroll through to look for more, he snatched the phone from her hands and shoved it in his pocket.

“A year and a half. I was a bit obsessed. Normally, it takes much longer.”

“So you finish a car, find a buyer, and move on to the next project?”

Cal nodded. “Precisely.”

He probably did the same thing with women. Picked one, fucked her until she was ruined for every other man, then left her for a different model. Which explained Monica’s attraction to him. Along with that body, those eyes, and his sense of humor. Maybe he had a little more going for him than all of the other losers she’d fallen for in the past. That didn’t mean he was good for her.

“When did you start fixing cars?” she asked as the waiter wandered toward them and set a glass in front of Cal. He offered to freshen Monica’s wine, but she shook her head.

“We’ll need a few more minutes,” Cal said, and the waiter disappeared. He turned his attention back on Monica. “When I was nine. One of my mum’s boyfriends had a motor collection that was astounding. I was immediately hooked. The chauffeur, who also happened to be a fairly decent mechanic, taught me how to put together my first carburetor. I spent every day learning as much about cars as I could.”

He took a sip of his scotch, and her eyes followed the movement of his throat. Cal seemed to do everything with an elegance that must be an inherent trait. Monica could practice forever, and she’d never possess that air of refinement.

“I travel often,” Cal said, “I work when I feel like it, and I live my life. You should try it.”

“Some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us have to work even when we don’t feel like it.” Cal might talk about living life and not being afraid to make mistakes, but that was easy to say when he didn’t have any obligations.

The waiter returned, and Monica ordered grilled chicken and vegetables while Cal got the prime rib. Damn, that sounded good. But she’d made the healthy choice. She could do that with Cal too. Just as long as he kept those lips to himself.

“How about after this, we hit the roulette table?” he asked.

“No thanks, I have a busy day tomorrow.”

Deep creases bit into the corners of his narrowed eyes as he studied her. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a new deck of cards that bore the name of the casino. That must have been what he’d bought in the gift store.

“High card gets to decide what we do next.”

With a breathy laugh, she looked away. “I’m not letting a card decide my future.”

“Not your entire future, just the next two hours. My God, you’ve gotten prickly.” He threw out two joker cards and shuffled the deck.

Monica’s posture stiffened. “If I’m so prickly and boring, I don’t know why you’d want to spend another minute in my company.”

He leaned in. “I never said boring, darling. Besides, I like staring at that little divot in your chin.” His eyes followed her movements as she involuntarily reached up to stroke the cleft. “And the way your eyes darken whenever you become pissy, like when I ask about the ex.” He wagged a finger at her. “They’re doing it right now. And you may have everyone else fooled into thinking you’re a saint, but you kiss like a sinner. So no, I don’t find you boring.”

That last one struck a little too close to home. Cal sat back and watched her with a grin.

“You don’t know anything about me.” In fact, he seemed to know too much. How could he read her so easily? It was irritating, and a tad scary. What else did he see?

Cal placed the cards on the table. “Draw high, and you can go home to your lonely bed and dream of me.”

She shook her head. “You’ll be dreaming of me. I’m not the one who kissed you. Twice.”

“I didn’t hear you protesting. You could have slapped my face. Instead, you stuck your tongue in my mouth. Which was very enjoyable, by the way. You actively participated. That counts.”

“Sorry, Calum, we’re not compatible.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I only date responsible grown-ups with real jobs.”

His taunting grin ratcheted up. “Who said anything about dating? And I don’t need a job, I have a trust fund. You had a responsible grown-up in Reggie—”

“Ryan.”

“But you kicked him to the curb. Why don’t you try having a little fun instead?”

* * *

Cal watched with satisfaction as pink filled her cheeks. Monica didn’t like to be reminded that she was human. But when he’d kissed her in the bar, she’d responded. She was so into it, she’d clutched his shirt in her fist. Despite what Monica said, she wanted him. He could see it in her eyes. They were a good gauge of her emotions. Stormy and passionate one minute, dismissive and superior the next.

The shade was very like the water surrounding the reef at Cairns—clear, light blue—until her emotions ran high. Then they turned to Meissen Blue—the color of a ’58 Porsche he’d restored some years ago. Her eyes were gorgeous. Like the rest of her.

His gaze drifted to her sensual upper lip—so completely at odds with her conservative exterior, and another naughty reminder of who she really was. When she caught him staring at it, she slid the tip of her tongue along its lush edge. Cal imagined those lips wrapped around his cock, and heat pricked his forehead. He wanted Monica Campbell in the very worst way. Wanted her beneath him—naked, open, and willing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cal attempted to relax his facial muscles. His desire must have shown clearly, because Monica appeared on the verge of panic. “When was the last time you went dancing?”

She blinked at the change in topic. “Where did that come from?” She fingered the spoon handle, picked it up, and started tapping it against the table. He was making her nervous. Good. He liked knocking her off balance. She revealed herself in all sorts of interesting ways.

“Last time I saw you, you told me you loved to dance.”

“Cal, what do you want from me?” She glanced down at the table, and her shoulders hunched forward. “No matter what you choose to believe, I’m not the girl you remember. I don’t stay out late partying, and I don’t sneak off to the garden to dry-hump strangers. That girl’s gone for good.”

“You and I are no longer strangers, so I think we’re past the dry-humping stage. However, I could be persuaded to a mutual wank-off.”

She dropped the spoon and clenched her hand into a fist. “We’re not wanking.”

“Fine,” he said, then sighed deeply. “No wanking. We’ll play for something that really matters. A good-night kiss.” He gestured to the cards. “Pick one. Draw a high card, and I’ll never bother you again. Draw low, I get a proper snog. Go on, I dare you.”