“You call it narcissism. I call it a healthy body image.” Cradling her chin with his free hand, Cal bent down and kissed her softly. He fought against pulling her into a tight clutch, because although she’d touched him back, he sensed her wariness. So he let her have control of the situation.

After a moment, Monica deepened the kiss, opening her mouth a bit wider. When her tongue hesitantly brushed his, Cal wanted to devour her, rip that dress right off her. But he kept himself in check. Damned difficult when he remembered what she’d looked like with her breasts popping out of her sexy little bra. Remembered how wet she’d been when he slid his finger along her hot slit. He was desperate for another feel.

Monica slid her arms from Cal’s neck and stroked his chest, brushing her fingertips across his nipples. Cal took that as a green light. His hand tightened on her hip before slipping down to her bum, and when she moaned, he let go of her face and wrapped one hand around her nape. She pressed her body into his—it felt bloody marvelous. His cock was rock hard, jutting between them.

Cal wanted to spend the rest of the evening becoming acquainted with every lovely inch of her. He’d strip her down and let his hands get to know her first. Then his mouth.

He walked her backward, until she bumped into the door. Then he pulled his lips from hers. “Let’s go inside.”

Monica pushed at his shoulders. She dropped her hands, and opening her eyes, stared up at him. “No, we should go.” Her voice came out husky and winded.

He was feeling a bit breathless himself. Cal let go of her nape and retreated a pace. Endgame, that’s what he needed to remember. Stick with the plan—ease off.

Monica’s gaze slid past him to the driveway, where the Mustang sat in all its battered glory. “You got it running, huh?”

It took his brain a moment to translate the question. Cal had never been a slave to his prick. At least not since he was a lad. But a kiss and a quick cuddle with Monica took him to the raw edge of desperation. God, he ached for her.

With a deep inhalation, he cast a glance over his shoulder in an effort to concentrate on something other than his hard-on. “I did. It took a new carburetor, igniter, and a great amount of swearing, but I managed.” Blowing out a gusty breath, he faced her once more. “So, what do you have planned for this evening?”

Monica walked to the car. “I thought we’d take in the Strip. I’m sure you’ve seen it, but with all the crazies, every night is something new.”

“Can’t wait.” Cal opened the car door for her. Although he’d had the interior detailed, the black-and-white bucket seats—original, with embossed vinyl—were ripped at the seams, and the less than pristine floorboard showed signs of rust. He should have rented a decent car, something that didn’t require an overhaul. But Cal couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this properly—gone out on a real date. Next time, he’d have to prepare, even though he was useless at planning.

As Monica slid into the seat, Cal bent down and grabbed the lap belt, fastening it around her waist. “No shoulder harness.” His eyes were mere centimeters away from her tits, which were on display tonight, pushed up high and firm. Cal’s mouth grew dry as he stared at them. She was so pale, and there was a tiny mole in the center of her chest, directly above her amazing cleavage.

The universe was testing him tonight. With difficulty, he straightened, but his eyes remained glued to Monica’s breasts. It would torture him, seeing her body outlined in that tight, low-cut dress, but not able to touch.

“Cal.” He yanked his gaze away from her tits and up to her eyes. “Just how extraordinary is your cock, anyway?”

Cal scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Are you trying to kill me, darling? By the end of the night, my brain will be so deprived of oxygen, I may very well pass out.”

Monica tossed her head back and laughed, exposing her throat. He wanted to lick her there, bite the white skin and leave his mark. Monica brought out primitive urges he didn’t know he had.

“Where did Miss Prim go, eh?”

“She’s taken a backseat tonight. Now get in the car. I’m going to show you Vegas.”

Chapter 8

Monica was still on the fence about this date, but Cal had a way of putting her at ease. Or maybe the intense sexual desire that slammed into her system every time he touched her drowned out all other feelings.

The chemistry between them was combustible. The man gave her an eyegasm every time she glanced at him. Sex seemed inevitable.

But his looks were only part of the attraction. That off-kilter smile and his arrogant sense of humor had her melting. She liked bantering with him. She loved the way he kissed—he put everything he had into it, and she felt it all the way to her toes.

Unlike their fumble in the supply closet, the kiss he’d just given her had been gentle. What would he be like during sex? Commanding and forceful or tender and patient? The anticipation caused her hands to shake slightly as she fingered the metal buckle of the lap belt. When his face had been so close to her breasts, she’d wanted him to touch her, taste her. But seeing him frustrated with desire had been pretty satisfying too.

“When was the last time you were in Vegas?” she asked.

“The last time I felt you up in Trevor’s garden.” Without taking his eyes from the road, he settled his hand on her bare knee. A shot of pleasure coursed through her. And when his rough hand started stroking upward, Monica swallowed hard.

“But your mom…” She had to clear her throat and start again. His touch distracted her. “Your mom has lived here for what, three or four years?”

“I’d meet her in London or Paris. Easier that way.” His strong hand rubbed tender little circles along her thigh. Monica parted her legs slightly. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself, and that excited her even more.

“Which is better, London or Paris?”

As he turned left onto the Strip, he gave her one last stroke before returning his hand to the wheel. “Depends, really. London is exciting, and of course my garage is there.” There was a note in his voice, a wistfulness she didn’t expect.

“You and Pix moved around a lot, huh?”

“Quite.”

“So what’s the longest you’ve ever stayed in one place?” she asked. “Besides London, I mean.”

Cal remained silent. As she stared at his stark profile, highlighted by the bright neon lights and flashing billboards, his expression hardened. He pulled into a casino parking garage and smoothly wound his way up to the fifth level.

He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, just like he didn’t want to talk about Australia. Even though it was none of her concern, Monica wanted to draw out his secrets and discover everything about him.

Working at the foundation, Monica had met celebrities—mostly local ones. She’d met rich donors and high rollers. But Cal was easily the most interesting man she’d ever come across. And an enigma. He’d traveled the world, had probably been to all the places she longed to go, but he remained grounded and charming and kind.

Kind? How so? He wooed her with dinner and donations and fuzzy dice only to get into her panties. And it was totally working. But that didn’t make him kind—that made him a typical male.

After Cal cut the engine, he stretched his arm along her shoulders. “What are you thinking about? I can practically hear the wheels grinding.”

“Just wondering what to show you first.”

“Liar. But you’re in the driver’s seat.”

“Good, I like it there.” She ignored his taunt.

Cal smiled and extracted himself from the car, then walked around and opened her door. Trying to climb out and keep her skirt from riding up to her hips was a hard trick to pull off. Cal’s heated gaze latched onto her legs.