She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It sounded so enticing. The old Monica wouldn’t have hesitated. “I wish I could. But I have a job and a life. There’s the gala.”

“Allison’s got it under control.”

“I’d never hear the end of it.” She turned her head, opened her eyes, and found him watching her. “Thank you for letting me drive. I know that was hard for you.”

“Just a tad. Want to sit here for a moment longer? Look at the stars?”

After switching off the ignition, Monica unhooked her seat belt. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

With one finger, Cal stroked the side of her neck. Monica glanced at him once more. It was tough to see him clearly in the dark interior, but she could feel the weight of his stare. “What?”

“You’re so perfect. Beautifully fucking perfect.”

He closed the space between them, and when his lips touched hers, Monica couldn’t think, she simply reacted and kissed him back. All of the objections she’d had earlier, all of the reasons she’d told herself to avoid this very scenario didn’t even make an appearance. Everything about Cal felt right. Honest.

When he raised his head, Monica didn’t want it to end. Before she could protest, Cal unclicked his own seat belt.

“Come here,” he commanded in that deep, scratchy voice. She was helpless to do anything but obey.

Pulling up the hem of her skirt, Monica climbed over the stick shift and straddled his lap. Her dress rose above her hips, exposing her ass to the night air. Cal’s dick, pressing against her lower belly, made the muscles there tighten.

With his arms encircling her, he stroked Monica’s back with one hand, sending shock waves of pleasure up her spine, while his other hand rested on her bare hip. He angled his head and swiped his tongue against her neck, circling it over the base of her throat. God, that felt amazing.

Monica grasped Cal’s upper arms through his shirt. His biceps flexed at her touch. She longed to stroke him everywhere, touch that hot, solid body to her heart’s content.

Fucking in a car—this was familiar territory. The bad-girl side Monica kept locked away was breaking out of the cage again. It terrified and exhilarated her. But she needed to clarify things before they went any farther. With a deep breath, Monica tugged on Cal’s hair in an effort to get his attention. “Wait a second.”

“I’ve been waiting five years,” he said against the underside of her jaw.

She moistened her lips as he continued to lick her neck. “We’re having fun, right?”

Cal pulled back. “I’m having fun.”

“I mean, no strings, no expectations—that kind of fun.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Of course. No strings.”

It stung, hearing him repeat the words, but they both knew the score. “Good, we’re on the same page.”

“Same paragraph.”

They froze for a second before Cal’s hands glided downward to clench her ass. Lowering his head, he tongued the center of her cleavage. She loved that.

Rubbing his chin against the top of her exposed breast, he gazed up at her. “Why not red?”

“What?” Monica’s hands had wandered down Cal’s solid chest, and she’d been in the process of pulling his shirt free from the waistband of his jeans. Now she froze at his question.

“Why didn’t you choose a red dress tonight? You look sinful in red.”

“I don’t wear red.”

“You did. The night in the garden, you wore a red, strapless, shiny thing. Showed off your tits and legs.”

He was right. Monica had forgotten all about it. She had only two lasting memories of that night: the pain of missing her mom, and losing herself in Cal. But tonight, this moment, it wasn’t about suppressing her inner pain. No, tonight was about letting the old Monica come out and play for a little while, while sensible Monica remained in control. “You remember what I wore?”

“I’ll never forget it.”

After hearing that, she couldn’t get him naked fast enough. Renewing her efforts to tug his shirt free, Monica puffed out a breath. “A little help here, Cal.”

He laughed. “You’re doing fine on your own. If you don’t kiss me soon, I’m going to go out of my bloody mind.”

“Is that right?” She’d managed to untuck the hem and slide it upward, revealing Cal’s smooth, trim waist. With a smile, Monica teased him with a light, fluttering kiss, her lips barely connecting with his, then lifted her head. “There.”

Cal stopped kneading her ass and gave it a sharp slap.

“Ouch.” She flinched from the sting. “What the hell?”

“That’s for a job badly done. That was not a kiss,” he growled.

“What would you call it then?”

“An appetizer.” Rubbing her bottom, he raised his head an inch and nibbled her lips. “A job worth doing is worth doing properly.”

Monica would place a hefty bet that Cal had heard that phrase often—probably from Babcock. “I’ll make you a deal. If I kiss you like I mean it, you have to take off your shirt.”

“Fair play.”

“Does that mean yes in Brit speak?”

Cal’s chest shook against her hands in laughter. “In American speak, totally.”

Leaning down, Monica kissed him, opening her mouth and letting her tongue brush his before dancing away. Then she did it again. And again. She could spend the rest of the night kissing him, touching him. He opened the door to pleasure and spontaneity. His kisses lit a fire deep inside her. She wanted to fan the flames, crank up the heat. God, it had been so long since she’d felt this good. And as usual, Monica didn’t do anything by halves. Not only was she giving herself permission to fondle Calum Hughes, she was doing it under the stars, in a rusty Mustang. It seemed fitting, somehow.

Cal kept a firm grip on her butt, digging his fingers into her flesh and parting her cheeks as he kissed her back. His tongue met hers, twirled around it, then came back for more. The combination of his squeezing hands and firm, talented lips left Monica panting.

As she continued to taste him, she petted his chest, still bothered that she wasn’t touching his bare skin. Flicking her short nails across his nipples, she lapped at his bottom lip, then forced herself to break away. “Your turn. Let’s ditch this shirt.” As quickly as she could manage, Monica pulled it upward until finally her palms met smooth, taut skin.

“Yes, let’s.” Cal released her ass long enough to slip the shirt over his head. After pulling his arms from the sleeves, he tossed it behind him. Then he slouched down in his seat and shifted Monica’s hips, so the center of her pussy rested along the length of his cock.

“Better,” she said. Once again, Monica lowered her face to his, darting out her tongue to trace his bottom lip. While her mouth was busy, so were her hands. Exploring his chest, her fingers danced across Cal’s warm skin, starting with his pecs. They were sculpted, firm. She regulated her touch, softly skimming, then kneading the hard-packed muscles. It was heavenly, touching him this way. She paced herself, took her time as her hands drifted lower, down the sides of his torso.

Cal expelled a rush of air. “You’re a delight, you are. Keep it up, love. Feels brilliant.”

“I agree.” Monica sank her thumbs between the ridges of his abdomen, following the planes and hollows of each and every one. As her nails lightly scraped over them, Cal gripped her hips, pressing her forward and grinding his erection against her core.

“Cal.” Clutching his waist, Monica rolled her hips so that his shaft hit her clit. A few more times, and she’d come. And damn it, she really needed to come.

But Cal clamped down on her hips, holding her still. “Not yet.” He pulled her tank dress off her shoulders and down to her elbows, exposing her black satin demi-bra with lace panels. He may not have seen the details, but Cal’s hands tracked every inch of fabric, starting with the straps and working his way down to her breasts. He smoothed over the edges of the material, flicking the little tassel that hung between the cups. “I wish I’d fixed the overhead light. I’m a very stupid man.”