His eyes found hers, and they stared at each other for few seconds. “Bottle.”

Would Monica ever get tired of hearing that voice? It made her nipples hard. She spun, her narrow heels catching in the loops of the tan carpet. She managed to right herself, but Cal’s arm banded around her, underneath her breasts.

“Okay?” His breath fanned the side of her neck. His body felt warm against her bare upper back, but despite his heat, goose bumps covered her arms.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t let her go. “You look smashing, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Cal dipped his head and lightly kissed her shoulder. Then he released her.

You’re in control. Why had Monica thought tonight was a good idea again? Oh yeah, to prove to Cal that she wasn’t bothered by his little games. Right.

Tossing her head, she lifted her chin and strode into the kitchen, mindful of her heels this time. Opening the fridge, Monica plucked out a bottle. When she whirled around, she noticed Cal scoping out her ass. She raised a brow, but he simply grinned.

He took the beer from her hand. “Cheers.” He twisted off the cap and took a long draw. The galley kitchen was too confining with Cal in it. They stood only six inches apart. Monica’s torso still felt warm from where he’d wrapped his arm around her. He smelled good too—that delicious combination of woodsy aftershave and hot man.

“Why don’t we go to the living room?” Monica skirted around him and led the way, parking herself on the far end of the sofa. As Cal sprawled out next to her, there was less than a foot separating their knees. How was this any better? He was still too close. With a beer in one hand and the hot-pink gift bag in the other, he looked sexy and whimsical at the same time.

She twisted her head to glance back at him and eyed the bag warily. “What is it?”

“You have this look of fear in your eyes. What could I possibly give you that would cause such a reaction?” He dangled the strings from his finger. “A snake? A spider?”

“Edible underwear? And I keep telling you, I’m not afraid.”

“Keep saying it enough, darling, maybe you’ll start to believe it.” He glanced around the near empty living room. “Love what you haven’t done with the place.”

A big-screen TV broke up the blank, textured walls. Threadbare microfiber covered her consignment-shop sofa. She’d bought it in college and never bothered to upgrade. The coffee table, made of pressed chipboard, came from the “as-is” aisle of a home improvement store. “I haven’t had time to decorate.” Or the interest. After she’d completed her master’s degree, Trevor and Allie had given Monica a check with lots of zeros at the end. When her apartment lease ended, a house seemed like a good investment.

“I’m not judging.” He extended his arm and shook the bag at her. “Open it.”

She plucked it from his finger and, biting her lip, unwrapped the tissue paper to remove a pair of fuzzy pink dice. They matched her steering-wheel cover exactly. Frivolous and silly, they were perfect. “Thank you.” She brushed a finger across the rough faux fur and gazed up to find Cal staring at her mouth.

“You’re most welcome.” He leaned forward and placed the half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “I know they’re a bit stupid, but I saw them at the automotive store today, and they made me think of you.”

He was thinking of her? That made her heart flip. “I love them.” As they stared at each other, seconds ticked by, and Monica’s smile faded.

Time slowed down, and all of her senses were attuned to Cal. Monica became conscious of her heart picking up speed, of feeling a little light-headed.

He stood and held out his hand. Large calluses dotted his palm. Was he a blue-collar self-starter or an upper-class drifter? He couldn’t be both.

She placed her hand in his and stood too.

“What are you going to show me tonight?” he asked.

Everything, she wanted to say. Anything. As long as he reciprocated.

Cal dropped her hand and stuck both his own in the back pockets of his jeans. The move drew the knit material tight across his shoulders. A dark flush stole its way up his neck and cheeks. Monica’s eyes darted downward. His cock had grown stiff. He was feeling it too, this pull, this attraction.

“Monica.” He said it like a plea.

If they didn’t leave right now, this very minute, they’d never make it out of the house. Accepting this date was a big step. She might be ready for sex by the end of the night, but not yet. “We should go.”

He nodded, and pulling his hands from his pockets, strode to the door. He opened it for her. As she walked by him and out onto the porch, he muttered something.

“What?” she asked.

* * *

“Nothing at all.” I am in for a bloody long, painful night. That’s what he’d mumbled. Didn’t bear repeating.

Monica had dazzled him from the moment she’d opened the front door. And by the way she’d taken a dekko at him, carefully checking him out from head to toe, the feeling was mutual. Monica’s nervous reaction—fiddling with her hair, meeting his gaze, then dropping her eyes—completely charmed him. And the way she’d stared at his cock just now, with equal parts desire and sheer panic made him want to comfort her. And jump her.

Her dress was lovely. It may have been black, but at least it showcased her figure. Monica Campbell wasn’t meant to be a wallflower, sitting on the sidelines in boring suits. Or this dull house. Off-white walls. Unfurnished rooms. Even the carpet was a bland shade of beige. Monica was living in a black-and-white existence, and he hated to see it. She was full of life and energy, especially when she was sparring with him. Sexy as bloody hell. The last few days, not seeing her, not speaking with her, had been difficult, but he kept his endgame in sight. Cal had a mission to bring some color back into Monica’s life.

Standing on the porch, Cal waited as she locked the door. The outdoor light provided enough illumination that when she bent over, he had a rather nice view of the backs of her thighs. Her legs were long and slender. Shapely. He wanted to get between them more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time. But that ass. It was a thing of beauty.

Straightening, she turned around and caught him staring again.

“Whoops,” he said. “You found me out. But I’m not going to apologize—”

“You never do.”

“Because you have a fabulous bum.”

“Sure.” She shoved her keys into her purse and licked her lips. Keeping her eyes lowered, she used one hand to skim her hip.

“It’s true.” He took a step closer. Her gaze flicked up his chest and finally landed on his eyes.

Unable to deny himself a moment longer, Cal reached around and cupped her bottom. It was full, firm. Sliding his palm up and down her cheek, he traced the edge of her thong through the silky material of her dress. The mental image of Monica wearing nothing but a flimsy piece of lace had him gobsmacked for a moment. Then Cal ran his middle finger from the curve of her ass all the way up to her hip. “It’s a crime to cover up that bottom. You should show it off all the time. Work, home, the supermarket checkout queue. I could write a sonnet about your ass.”

“Sir Mix-a-Lot beat you to it.” She glanced away, a little smile playing on her lips. “And back inside, I was guilty of staring as well.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, as I didn’t want to embarrass you. I’m quite used to people thinking I’m just another pretty face, and I feel slighted.” He donned an expression of mock sincerity.

“Poor Cal.” She surprised him by draping her arms around his neck. “You want everyone to know you have a pretty mind too?”

“Don’t be daft. I don’t care a jot about my brain. I just want to be recognized for my muscular physique and extraordinary cock. Is that too much to ask?”

Leaning her forehead against his chest for a second, Monica laughed. “You’re quite possibly a narcissist.” She glanced back up at him, amusement shimmering in her eyes. God, she was beautiful.