Cal needed Monica again, like his lungs needed oxygen.

And she needed him too.

She’d shown him a bit of herself tonight. She’d danced and laughed and shagged. Monica couldn’t go back into hiding. Cal wouldn’t let her.

For some stupid reason, she’d buried away everything that made her wonderful and unique. Cal wanted to see more than just a glimpse. He wanted full-throttle Monica. And he would accept nothing less.

* * *

The next morning in the shower, Monica saw two bruises on the side of her breast. There was one more on her hip, and her nipples had never been this sore. Cal had given her a hard ride, and she’d loved every minute of it. She wanted to do it again. Soon. Now. But Monica had grappled with herself all night. On the one hand, the sex was off-the-charts amazing. But on the other, Cal had a way of sweeping aside all of her arguments and misgivings. And that scared her.

Maybe she was incapable of making healthy decisions. Defective. Monica sometimes wondered if she was missing some important genetic component that kept her from wanting normal things out of life: marriage, stability, kids. God, all this introspection depressed her.

As she dressed in a tan suit, Monica drank a cup of coffee. She also slapped on a little more concealer than usual, because the circles underneath her eyes were out of control—tossing and turning, mentally replaying a sexcapade with Calum Hughes could do that to a person.

Monica had gathered her things and was just about to step out the front door when Evan called. She’d texted him, asking him to stop by Ryan’s house this morning, but he’d never gotten back to her.

“Details,” he said when she answered.

“No.”

“You had after-sex hair. Spill already.”

With a frown, Monica ran a hand over her head. “Are you going to check on Ryan?”

“God, you’re so annoying. Yes, I’ll check on Ryan, but I’m not bathing him or taking him to the bathroom. I’ll make sure he’s alive, but that’s it. You know, it’s not fair. I tell you everything about my sex life.”

“I don’t want to know everything, Ev. The whipped cream remark last night? Totally uncalled for.”

“She reapplied after I got back home.”

“Good-bye.”

“Wait. Fine, no details, but at least tell me you’re enjoying yourself. I’m begging you, for the love of all that’s filthy and wrong in this world, have a good time with tall, dark, and raspy, okay?”

Monica hit the End button as a smile crept over her mouth. She’d definitely had fun last night. Mind-numbing, toe-curling, orgasmic fun. Having an affair with Cal was the best time she’d had in years.

Monica drove through a fast-food place and got another cup of coffee and a bag of breakfast sandwiches—mostly for Jason. He usually came in for a few hours on Saturday morning, and so did Stella. Monica never asked them; they just showed up.

Once in the office, she waved to Stella and headed for the break room. Jason wandered in, red-eyed and wearing the same clothes as the day before.

“Long night?”

“Yeah,” he said through a yawn. “You brought food. You must love me.”

“I tolerate you,” she said, patting his shoulder on the way to her office. Before she did anything else, she needed to check in with Ryan. Monica felt guilty for leaving him with Cal, but she didn’t want to string him along, give him false hope.

With her left hand, she toyed with the pink crystal-covered pen and dialed Ryan’s number.

“Reginald Wanker’s residence,” Cal answered.

Monica smothered a laugh. “Really? What if I were his office calling, or his mom?”

“Ah, the lovely Miss Prim. I stayed with him all night. All. Bloody. Night. What more do you want?”

“You could quit calling him Reginald Wanker for starters.”

“I could, but I won’t.”

“How is he?”

“Still alive.”

“Glad to hear it.” Monica dropped the pen and glanced out the window. “Thank you. Evan’s coming over in a bit, so you’re off duty.”

“Did you drive my car to work today?”

“I drove my own car. Yours is sitting in my driveway. I left the keys in the fake rock by the front stoop.”

“Because no thief would think to look there.”

“So can I speak to Ryan?”

“He’s taking a shower.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, I’m standing right outside the door. I’ll tell him you called. How late are you working?”

“Probably until six or so.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at the office. Can’t wait, darling. The things I’m going to do to you,” he whispered, “will leave you breathless.” Then he hung up.

What things? Monica’s mind wandered to all sorts of naughty places, and she couldn’t keep the heat from rushing to her cheeks. After five minutes of staring out the window at the cloudless blue sky, she finally pulled herself together and got to work. But it was almost impossible to keep her thoughts from straying to Cal’s sexy promise. After all, she had a pretty vivid imagination.

* * *

Cal rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. The chair was damned uncomfortable, Ryan was a snorer, and Cal couldn’t get his mind off Monica.

Around three a.m., Ryan had started groaning, until Cal shoved another pain pill down his gob. Then at eight, Ryan woke again, wanting a shower.

So now Cal stood outside the bathroom door, in case Ryan took a spill. That was as far as he was prepared to go. Bloke could hold his own cock if he needed to piss.

Cal had even grabbed Ryan a set of fresh clothes. After he heard the shower stop, Cal opened the door and tossed them into the bathroom. “Look alive, mate.”

“If you call me mate one more time—”

“You’ll what?” Cal asked through the closed door. “Bore me to death? Too late. My heart sputters a little more with every word you speak.”

When Ryan hobbled out of the bathroom in a T-shirt and a pair of orange cargo shorts—the damned ugliest things Cal could find—he refused Cal’s offer of help and hopped down the stairs on his own. Cal held the crutches and tried to steady Ryan’s arm, but he shook off Cal’s hand and almost took a tumble.

“Careful there. You want to keep the good leg happy. I promised Monica I’d take care of you, so no matter how much of a prat you are, that’s what I’m doing until what’s-his-face shows up. The one who dresses funny.”

“Evan,” Ryan muttered.

Cal followed Ryan’s slow progress back to the living room. “They’ve been good friends for a while, then?”

As Ryan sat on the sofa, Cal helped him adjust his leg to a more comfortable position atop a pile of pillows.

“Since college. They’re best friends.”

“And he’s your mate too?” Cal read a great deal from the other man’s silence. “Ah, her best friend doesn’t like you. Guess not everyone thinks you’re perfect for each other.” He tossed the blanket at Ryan. He bloody well wasn’t going to tuck him in.

Ryan pulled it over his legs and gave Cal a cool look. “Evan never thinks any man is good enough for her. Can’t fault him for being protective.”

“He liked me.” Cal grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m going to make breakfast so we can knock you out with a couple more of those pills.” He went to the kitchen and dug through the fridge, pulling out a carton of egg substitute and an anemic tomato. Cal searched in vain for butter, but came up empty. Cobbling together an omelet, he cut it in half and plated it up.

When he returned to the living room, Ryan was glaring at a financial news channel. Cal plopped the plate on the coffee table, along with a fork.

Ryan sniffed at the food and eyed him warily, as though Cal had poisoned it. After eating a few bites, Ryan washed down two more pain pills. “Monica said you’d just gotten into town. When are you leaving?”

“As soon as the mood strikes.”

“What do you do for a living?” Ryan flipped off the TV.

“Auto repair.”