Monica understood. He didn’t want to talk about Babcock any more than she liked talking about her mom. It only brought back the sadness, reminded her of what she’d lost. “Yeah, that bull thing’s never going to happen. Have you ever line danced?”

As Cal stood, he raised one brow. “I have not.”

“You’ve been all over the world, and you’ve never done the Push Tush? Oh, it’s time we did something about that.”

* * *

Cal was never going to be a world champion line dancer—he could barely remember the simple steps and kept stumbling in the wrong direction—but he sure as hell had fun trying.

That wasn’t strictly true. He had fun watching Monica try. In those high heels. Wearing that tight dress. The hem kept riding up higher and higher with each move she made. She’d tug it down, but it didn’t stay put for long.

And the way her breasts bobbed up and down—bloody hell, he could stare at them for the rest of the night. While other women wore shorts that showed more ass than they covered and bikini tops that barely fit, they couldn’t hold a candle to the beautiful woman next to him. Although Monica hopped around like a kangaroo gone mental, she looked a right treat doing it. As she followed the ridiculous dance moves, she’d bite her lower lip and furrow her brow in concentration. It was possibly the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Finally, after more songs than he could count, she turned to him and fanned herself. “God, I’m hot. I need a drink.” Her dark blond hair was mussed, and her skin looked dewy. Cal wanted to taste it.

Together they exited the dance floor and headed for the bar. After Monica ordered a cola, she glanced over at him. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you were slightly worse at dancing than I was. And I sucked.”

He snagged an arm around her waist and drew her closer. “I thought you looked amazing out there.”

“Now who’s lying?” She grabbed her drink and took a sip, pursing her lips around the straw. Cal immediately thought of her doing the same thing to his cock. God, had he ever been this obsessed with getting a woman into his bed?

After taking a few sips, she offered the straw to him. Cal kept his eyes trained on hers, and as he leaned forward to take a drink, his hand drifted from her hip to her ass. “What are we going to do next?” he asked.

“I want to take a spin in your car.”

That did surprise him. “You want a ride in the Mustang?”

She slowly shook her head. “I want to drive the Mustang. It is road-worthy, right?”

Cal was protective of his cars, but Monica’s blue eyes glimmered, and a slightly reckless tension ran through her as she shoved her breasts against his chest. This evening, right now, she reminded him of how she’d been five years ago. Enthusiastic and curious and full of life. Of course he’d let her drive. He’d let her do whatever the hell she wanted. “Where are you going to take me?”

“The desert. I want to see how fast it can go.”

Now this was the real Monica, with the sexy dress and the alluring smile. “Do you know how to drive a temperamental Mustang?”

“I know how to drive all sorts of things, Calum Hughes.” She further knocked him for six when she stood on her toes and lightly kissed his mouth.

Before he could wrap both arms around her waist and snog her properly, she slipped away from him and sauntered toward the exit. Cal followed at a more sedate pace, because Monica Campbell looked as good going as she did coming. Was it possible to get a raging case of blue balls after only three hours?

Out on the sidewalk, he hastened to her side. “Admit it, you’re having fun.”

“I admit nothing.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “But going out with you hasn’t been a terrible experience.”

“Flatterer.”

Holding hands, they walked back through the casino where they’d started the night and into the parking garage. It reeked of petrol fumes and cigarette smoke. Smelled comforting. His garage back in London was the closest thing Cal had to a home.

When they reached the car, he dug the keys out of his pocket, but didn’t hand them over. “A few instructions: be careful as you start the car. Don’t give it too much gas. And as you shift into second, watch the clutch, or it will stall. And if you have to brake—”

“For God’s sake, Cal, calm down.” She grabbed the keys and walked to the driver’s side. “It’s just a car.”

“That’s blasphemous. This is not just a car.” He mimicked her voice and accent. “This is an American classic, the original pony.” He caressed the back fender. “This is a piece of art. Not to be trifled with.”

“Do you and the car need a few minutes alone?”

He shot her a narrow-eyed glance. “Not to be trifled with.”

She sighed. “Fine, no trifling.” Monica unlocked the door and opened it. “Now can we go, or are you going to write a sonnet about the Mustang too?” She climbed in and, leaning over, unlocked the passenger door.

Curling his hands into fists, Cal settled in beside her. As she turned the ignition, he winced. “Gently.”

She pulled out of the parking space and drove to the exit. “This really makes you nervous, doesn’t it, handing over your baby to someone else?”

“How would you like it if someone swept into your office and started running the foundation? Careful with the corner.” She pulled out onto the Strip and shifted gears. Cal closed his eyes as she ground them.

“I know exactly what that feels like, because Allie does it at least once a week. It’s pretty goddamned annoying.”

“Watch your speed. Red light.” When she didn’t brake immediately, he braced his feet against the floorboard. “Red light.”

“I heard you.” She slammed to a stop at the intersection. “What are you going to fix next? The seats? These springs are out of control.”

“If you don’t learn how to drive, I’m going to have to fix the bloody transmission. Now when the light turns green, ease up on the clutch.”

When she did as he requested, Cal sighed in relief. “That must be bloody frustrating, to have big sister looming over you, second-guessing your every move.”

“I’m used to it.” They remained quiet as Monica took the highway and drove west.

Cal tried to bite his tongue when she shifted too slowly or didn’t open the throttle properly. Once they headed toward a less populated area, he began to relax.

Monica cranked down the window. The loud rush of wind ripped through the car, lashed at her hair. Brushing a strand from her eyes, she let out a whoop. “I love this.”

With her head tipped back, she looked carefree and happy. Cal couldn’t take her eyes off her.

Chapter 9

Monica felt alive. Adrenaline pumped through her system the faster she drove. Monica’s bare foot dropped on the gas pedal, and the odometer started creeping up. Eighty. Ninety. Ninety-five. By now, they were in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by low mountains, rocks, and brush, with a long stretch of road ahead. Stars clustered together in the night sky, looking so much brighter without all the neon to drown them out. Monica wasn’t sure how long she’d been driving, but she didn’t want to stop.

“How far are we going?” Cal yelled above the wind. “Eventually, I believe we’ll run into an ocean.”

Her brain had been quiet for awhile as she relaxed and enjoyed the feel of the car and the sound of the motor. Easing up on the gas, she slowed down. Pulling over to the side of the road, Monica put the car in neutral. The night had begun to cool down, and Cal had turned on the heat, which barely worked and smelled faintly of exhaust. He needed to fix that ASAP.

“I guess we should head back,” she said. “We can’t keep driving all night.” After rolling up the window, Monica attempted to tame the tangles in her hair.

Cal reached over and smoothed back a strand. “We can keep going for as long as you like. California, Canada, circle back and drive to the mountains. Whatever you want.”