His heartbeat sounded so loud, he was sure Monica could hear it as well. His middle finger grazed across her slick entrance. As it did, Monica grabbed her other breast and pulled her own nipple. Cal’s cock jerked at the sight of her touching herself.

Before he could slide that finger inside her, someone pounded on the door.

“Hello? This is the manager. I know you’re in there. Come out right now.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Oh my God,” Monica hissed and let go of her breast. Then she yanked on his wrist until he pulled it from her trousers. “Perfect,” she whispered and zipped them up. “If we get dragged out of here by security, I will never live this down.” Although she kept her head lowered, Cal noticed her pale cheeks as she shoved herself back into the bra.

“Just calm down.” When she didn’t look at him, he took her chin in his hand and forced her head up. “Trust me.”

Cal stepped away, but kept his gaze on her. Monica’s eyes were wide and worried, her lips cherry red. She was beautiful—a combination of strong and fragile at the same time. He wanted to protect her from this asshole pounding on the door, keep her from being humiliated.

He dug out his mobile. Unlocking the door, he stuck his head out. “Do you mind, mate?” he whispered. “I’m about to close on the biggest deal of my life. What, is my girl complaining that I’ve been in here too long?” Behind him, Monica silently buttoned her blouse.

A tall man wearing a moderately priced dark suit stared at him from the hallway. “Sir, this is not the place—”

Cal held up his finger and spoke into the phone. “Yes, that sounds great. No, it’s never too late to call, sir. I’ll send over the proposal in the morning.” He smiled at the tall man and shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Sorry I commandeered your storage closet. I know it’s not appropriate, but I had to take that call. You’re an important man, surely you understand business.” Cal pulled out his wallet and shoved a few bills into the man’s hand. “I’m sure that will cover any inconvenience and the meal, eh? We’re all friends here.”

The man stared at the money. “Yes, sir. But you need to leave. Now.”

“Just one more call? I’ll be out in two shakes.” With a wink, he shut the door in the manager’s face.

When Cal turned back to Monica, anger burned in her eyes. “You’re so full of shit. You think you can weasel out of every tight spot using charm or money?” She kept her voice pitched low.

“Quite. What’s wrong with that? It’s called problem solving.”

“Not everything’s for sale.” She moved around him and opened the door. The manager had left, and the hallway was empty.

With his hands in his pockets, Cal lagged behind, watching as Monica charged into the dining room and grabbed her bag. Hastening his steps, he followed her out of the restaurant. When Cal caught up with her, he placed his hand beneath Monica’s elbow, but she jerked away.

Drawing to a stop in the middle of the bustling corridor, with its shiny marble floors and gilded accents, she craned her neck to look up at him. “Leave me alone, Cal. I’m going home.”

“You’re my ride.”

“This town is full of cabs. If you’re not smart enough to find one, walk.”

She moved to storm away, but Cal gently snagged her sleeve and held her in place. “Enough of this.” Her attitude was starting to wear on his nerves. “You may pretend that what happened back there didn’t involve you, but it did. You were right there with me, loving it. You wanted me every bit as much as I wanted you.” He softened his voice and lowered his lips to her ear. “Your pussy was aching for me. So stop acting like a fucking bystander in your own life. Now, I’m going to walk you to your car, and then you can slink home and make believe I’m the big, bad wolf. But you and I both know the truth. You’ve become a coward, Monica Campbell.”

This time he stormed away, leaving her to scramble after him. That priggish bullshit might go down with her family, but Cal had had enough. He wasn’t the villain here, and she wasn’t a virgin at the stake. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but he was getting goddamned tired of her lying to him.

Chapter 6

“Pick your poison.” Evan stood on Monica’s porch holding a bottle of tequila in one hand and a carton of Ben and Jerry’s in the other. His tousled, dark brown mane gave every indication that he’d just rolled out of bed, but Monica knew otherwise. He spent an inordinate amount of time making it appear disheveled. Evan was a peacock and a label whore with a closet full of fugly designer clothes to prove it. The combinations he put together usually made her eyes water, and tonight’s microprint lavender shirt and skinny-legged green pants were no exception.

“Chocolate Fudge Brownie.” She grabbed the ice cream and headed to the kitchen. “I think I’ve made enough bad decisions tonight. You know what tequila does to me.”

Evan trailed behind her and slouched elegantly against the dated laminate countertop. Setting down the bottle of Patrón, he lifted one brow. “Does this bad decision have a name?”

Monica pulled a plastic spoon from the drawer. “Calum Hughes.” For four years she’d been on the right path, only dating men who fit at least eighty-five percent of her strict criteria. One night with Cal, and she’d almost thrown it all away. For what? A quickie?

The worst part had been her level of enjoyment. Monica hadn’t just liked kissing Cal and letting him feel her up, she’d reveled in it. Her breasts still tingled like he’d branded her with his touch. If that restaurant manager hadn’t shown up when he had, Monica would have fucked Cal right there in the supply closet. Old Monica, rearing her ugly head.

What the hell had she been thinking? Well, obviously she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been feeling—feeling his big hands wander all over her. And even now, still angry at her lapse in judgment, she felt keyed up and anxious. Monica’s body longed for the sexual release that had almost been hers. Cal’s finger had been close, so damn close to slipping inside her. With a sigh, she shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her face.

“That name sounds familiar.” Evan grabbed a red Solo cup from the cupboard and poured himself a shot of tequila.

“Trevor’s cousin, Cal? In the garden, after my dad’s wedding?”

“Right. Tall British guy. You almost boinked him that night.” It took a minute for his brain to put the puzzle together, then his jaw fell open. “Oh my God. Did Monnie get her groove back?”

“Almost. I’m slipping backward, Ev. I almost nailed him in a restaurant.”

“Good for you.” He toasted her and took a sip.

She glared at him. “What about my face says this is a good thing? You’re here to talk me down, to set me straight, not raise a glass to my stupidity.”

“Getting laid isn’t stupid, it’s human. You and Ryan have been apart for months now. You need to loosen up—otherwise, you’re going to dry up.” He pointed at her crotch. “Down there, I mean.”

“I’m out of control. Next thing you know, I’ll be lying on a bar with a shot glass wedged between my boobs. Or waking up with a guy whose last name I don’t know.” Monica grabbed the ice cream and stalked to the living room. “Cal said that I was afraid of life. I’m not afraid, I’m cautious. You know why I’m cautious, Ev.”

He fell onto the sofa. “Yep. You’ve told me. Several hundred times. And while I get it, I miss the old Monnie. Remember when you used to be fun? I do.” He finished off his shot. “We used to dance on tables, kid. We’ve gotten thrown out of places that wouldn’t pass for a dive.”

Monica swallowed a cold lump of chocolate so fast, she got an ice cream headache. “Ow. I’m still fun. I’m tons of fun. I’m just more mature now.” Rubbing her forehead, she sat down next to him. “He accused me of that too. Of being prissy and prim. I run a cancer foundation, for crying out loud. It’s serious work. Am I supposed to go to the office dressed in a halter top and Daisy Dukes?”