“Was this your evil plan all along?” he asked. “Wear something wicked and leave me gagging for it?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“What do you think?” he asked. Cal snaked a hand around her waist and guided her between rows of cars to the elevator.

She liked that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was intoxicating and made her feel like a temptress for a change.

When they stepped onto the elevator car, Cal stood with his back against the wall and tugged on her waist, drawing her against him until her ass rested against his hips.

For the first time in years, Monica gave over to instinct and shut out reason. Straightening her arms, she shifted them backward to Cal’s thighs. She ran her short nails over his long, hard legs. At the same time, she brushed her ass across his cock.

He drew a sharp breath, then let out a low, raspy growl. “Does public sex do it for you? You weren’t shy that night in the garden, in full view of the wedding party.” Tightening one arm around her, he nibbled behind her ear.

Monica had never fucked on full display, but Cal made every forbidden pleasure sound tempting. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, eyeing the security camera. Sex with Cal—while strangers watched? In all honesty, it turned her on just a little. Not that she’d ever let herself do it.

“Not sure I want to share you with the masses,” he said against her neck.

“You can’t share what you don’t have,” she said, sliding her hand along the arm at her waist. “And you haven’t had me.”

“I live in hope.”

The elevator doors opened to a large group of people. Monica grabbed Cal’s hand and moved past them. She led him through the casino with its smoky haze and crescendo of noise, past the gamblers and out into the warm night air. They strode by a grown man dressed as a banana, and melded with the crowd.

“When was the last time you came down to the Strip and hung out?” Cal asked.

“Not since I was a teenager.”

A mass of tourists and street performers flooded the sidewalk. People flowed in and out of restaurants, bars, and gift shops, while she and Cal walked in comfortable silence. He’d intertwined his fingers with hers, making her hand feel small in comparison.

“You grew up traveling the world. To me, this was home,” she finally said. “Not seeing the real Eiffel Tower, just an imitation.” She pointed toward the replica down the street.

“Nothing’s stopping you from going to Paris, or anywhere else for that matter.”

“I have a job, Cal. I can’t just take off.”

He stopped and stared down at her. “Allison doesn’t give you holidays?”

“I don’t take vacations.”

“Well, you should. All work, no play, et cetera.”

“Are you calling me dull?”

“Never,” he said, squeezing her hand. “But you could make room for a little fun.”

“I’m here with you tonight.”

“And I intend to show you a good time.” He bent down and planted a swift, firm kiss on her lips before he resumed walking.

The mischievous look in his eye said he wasn’t talking about wholesome fun. No, Cal referred to delicious, sexy, outrageous fun—the naked kind. And it excited Monica in ways she hadn’t experienced in ages.

At the corner, three unsteady girls threw their arms around one another and staggered into the street before toppling over like drunken bowling pins. A group of older guys in grass skirts and coconut bikini tops helped them up.

Cal dodged a tipsy couple weaving in and out of foot traffic. “I can’t believe Allison let you wander around here as a teenager.”

“She never knew, or she would have put a stop to it.” Monica took it all in. Two men, one dressed as Batman and the other as Sonic the Hedgehog, had a turf fight near a convenience store. People carried enormous plastic souvenir cups filled with booze, and some drunk kid whipped his dick out and peed in the street. Ah, Vegas.

Cal glanced down at her. “You almost look as if you’re enjoying yourself.”

She shrugged. “It’s been awhile.” Mobile billboards advertising strip clubs, night clubs, and entertainers crowded the streets along with party busses and limos. “Like I said, it’s home.”

She led Cal up to an overhead walkway, taking them from one side of the Strip to the other. “What do you do when you travel? See the touristy sights?” she asked. That might get old after a while. Monica wanted to visit the Tower of London, but she didn’t want to see it multiple times.

“It depends on the country.” He tucked her into his side, wrapping his arm around her waist. “In Cambodia, I went to Angkor Wat. There are these enormous temple ruins deep in the jungle, covered in carvings. It’s bloody amazing.”

“What kinds of carvings?”

“Myths, nymphs, monsters, and these violent battles, all told in sculpture.” Cal withdrew his arm as he stopped in front of a scrawny kid strumming an out-of-tune guitar. Pulling out his wallet, Cal dropped a bill into the guitar case. “There you go, mate.” He picked up her hand and carried on.

Monica glanced back and saw the kid’s grin. “How much did you give that guy?”

“Um, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Having grown up with money all his life, something like that probably didn’t matter to Cal. That night in the restaurant, he’d shoved a wad of cash at the manager. This week, he’d donated large amounts of money as if it were no more than loose change in the red Christmas kettle. He hadn’t done those things because he was altruistic; he’d done them to get his own way. But that wasn’t the case with the street performer.

Monica glanced up at him in frustration. For her own peace of mind, she needed to define him somehow. She had a tendency to label people, put them in a box, and keep them there. Kind of like she’d done with herself for the last four years. There was Good Girl Monica and Bad Girl Monica. Things were easier when broken down into their simplest components.

“I can hear you thinking again,” Cal said. “You’d better watch that, or your engine will overheat, and smoke will pour out of your ears.”

Car analogies aside, Cal was right. Why did it matter which label she used for him? There was one category he couldn’t change—drifter. Cal would shake the Vegas dust from his feet soon and move on to the next place, the next girl. After they had a few nights of fun, Monica would probably never see him again. Eyes wide open.

“Okay,” she finally said, “what about Switzerland? What do you do there?”

He peered down at her. “Ski. What else would one do in Switzerland?”

“Bank? Yodel? Drink hot cocoa?”

“Well, of course, that goes without saying.” Letting go of her hand, he threw his arm around her shoulder. Cal’s answers surprised her. Monica thought he’d mention clubs or beaches as his favorite pastimes, but when he started talking about Cambodia and the temples, his face, his body language, became animated. His enthusiasm was infectious, and as he talked, he waved his hands as he described the sculptures.

Switzerland, on the other hand, didn’t seem to faze him.

“Okay, name your favorite city,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes in thought. “That’s a tough one. Maybe Prague. Beautiful gothic architecture. It’s lovely at night, staring out over the city. Unless you run into the stag parties honking their guts out in the street, which I’d avoid, if I were you. But there are bridges spanning the Vltava River that offer amazing views of the city. The Prague Castle is like something out of a fairy story. I spent six months there when I was seventeen, working for a surly German mechanic. I helped rebuild a ’76 Alfa Romeo convertible. Learned a lot with that car. Red, it was. A pain in the ass to get the parts.”

As they stepped onto the escalator and descended to the street, Monica wondered what it would be like to take off, go to a foreign city and live there for a few months, then move on whenever she got the itch. Sounded liberating. But also irresponsible.