“You’re really good at hiding what’s going on inside of you, Monnie.”

Monica’s pulse beat against her throat. “I don’t hide,” she snapped.

He reached out and rubbed her knee. There was nothing sexual in his touch. “I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just the way you are. Remember the philharmonic?”

She’d bought Ryan tickets to a performance of Mozart’s most famous symphonies. Agony. Sheer boredom for three endless hours. “It was fun.” Liar. Cal’s accent rang in her ears.

“You hated it. I knew that, but you wanted to make me happy. I thought that was a sign that you loved me.”

Monica began picking the clear polish from her thumbnail. It occurred to her that what she’d done with Ryan was what she’d done with every man in her life. She warped herself into their version of the ideal woman. From her first boyfriend and his love of monster trucks to Ryan’s passion for Mozart. Defective. No, not just defective—seriously, seriously messed up.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Ryan. I wanted you to be the one.”

“I know.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “You tried really hard. I should have gotten a clue when you bought that house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Monica, four months ago I asked you to marry me. You said you had to think about it, and the next week, you bought a house. Your own house, without even discussing it with me.”

She stood and walked around the room, wrapping her arms around her torso. “My lease was up. I bought it as an investment.”

“Sweetheart, if you can’t be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself.”

She whirled around and flung her arms down. “I’m not lying to myself,” she yelled. “I wish everyone would stop saying that.” She clapped her mouth shut. Oh God. Monica took a gulp of air. “Sorry.”

Ryan gazed at her with a puzzled frown. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you raise your voice.”

“Really?” She paced to the door. “Because I yell at Allie all the time.” And Cal. She wasn’t afraid to yell at Cal. She stopped moving and glanced back at him. “I wanted to say yes.”

“It would have been perfect. I’m here. I love you, Mon. We could make this work. Can you say the same about Cal?”

Monica shook her head. “No, I can’t. But I’ve decided I don’t want perfect. It’s too much pressure.” Her entire world turned on its axis. She didn’t want this tidy life with a man who wouldn’t pull her hair during sex or talk to her in a rough, posh voice. That’s not who she was. Never had been.

He leaned his head against the cushions, looking more tired and pale than when she arrived. “If you change your mind—”

“I won’t. I never meant to hurt you.” Monica stumbled out of the house. She felt numb, yet her mind spun in circles.

Sitting in her car, she dialed Evan. Her call went straight to voice mail, and she left him a rambling message that didn’t make much sense.

As she started the car, a terrible dread filled the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, Monica didn’t know who the hell she really was. She wasn’t the girl she used to be—flighty and irresponsible—nor was she the mousy woman she portrayed herself as, the one who worked day and night in order to avoid having a real life. So where did that leave her? Who was she now?

Would the real Monica Campbell please stand up?

Chapter 19

Monica drove back to the office and continued her efforts to find a place for the gala. But her mind kept wandering back to the argument with Cal and her conversation with Ryan.

At four fifteen, she turned off her computer. Allie was right, it was over. Time to start crunching numbers for next year. All her plans, everything she’d worked for had been shot to hell because of a broken pipe.

She’d almost called Cal three times this afternoon, but each time she’d talked herself out of it. Now that she’d given up for the day, she grabbed her phone and dialed his number.

“I’m sorry,” he answered.

“I know. Me too. Thanks for the phone.”

“What’s wrong, love? Is this about the gala thing? Trevor mentioned it.”

“Partly.”

“Meet me at the villa.”

“I’m heading there now.” She didn’t even hesitate. When Monica ended the call, her hands were shaking. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. This was Cal, the man who made her laugh, made her come until her knees trembled, the person she confided in. When they were together, a weight lifted off her shoulders, and she could relax. He may not be around tomorrow, but she needed him today, right now.

She shoved everything in her bag and left the office, waving to Stella and Carmen on her way out.

When she arrived at the villa, she handed her keys to the valet and walked to the front door. Cal stood there, waiting.

His hair was damp, and he wore his usual T-shirt and faded jeans. Walking toward him, she didn’t say a word, but he must have recognized something in her expression, because as soon as she cleared the doorway, he scooped her up in a one-armed hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

Monica clung to his shoulders. “I don’t want to talk.”

* * *

“All right.” A vague, fractured thought ran through Cal’s head: something troubled her, more than just work problems. But as soon as she slid her mouth over his, all thoughts ceased.

When he reached out and thrust his hand through her curtain of hair, he noticed his fingers trembling ever so slightly. Cal slipped his tongue between her full lips, and she met it with her own. He wanted her out of the suit. Without it, she’d have nothing left to hide behind. He wanted to see her in the red-and-white polka-dot bra once more. This time, he’d appreciate it.

He tore his mouth from hers and lowered Monica to her feet. “Get out of these clothes,” he growled, and began ripping them from her. He wasn’t gentle, either. As he yanked the jacket from her shoulders, Monica shrugged it off her arms and threw it to the marble floor. Cal didn’t wait for her to finish unbuttoning her silky brown blouse. He grabbed the two halves in both hands and ripped it. It was offensive and hateful. She didn’t utter a word of protest, just yanked it off, as if she couldn’t stand the material touching her skin.

The red bra made him smile, and as he stared at her breasts, her nipples puckered. Cal ran the palm of his hand from her slender neck, over her tits, and down to her belly button. Her taut stomach flexed beneath his rough hand. She inhaled sharply when he ripped at her waistband. “These trousers need to come off.”

She fumbled with the button, and they fell to the floor. After kicking them away, she arched her back, angled her chin a little higher.

“You are so lovely.” As Cal’s gaze rose to those beautiful breasts, his heart ratcheted up.

“Cal.”

Her voice brought him out of a trance. He looked into her eyes, those crystal-blue eyes. They’d glazed over with desire, but there was something else in their depths. She needed something from him, but damned if he knew what it was. “Tell me what you want, Monica. I’ll give you anything.”

“Just you.”

Cal locked an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. With her sweet breasts crushed against his chest, he walked her into the lounge. His cock became painfully hard, and staring down at her wasn’t helping. The full tops of her breasts rose above her bra and bounced with each step he took. When her tongue darted out and licked that full upper lip, Cal groaned.

With one hand slung around his shoulder, Monica gazed up at him while she absentmindedly fingered his tattoo with her other hand. “Hey.”

He stopped in front of the sofa and met her gaze.

“About this morning—”

“We’ll say no more about it.” That didn’t seem to appease her. Whatever bothered Monica, he knew she’d never open up to him until she felt relaxed and sated. And she’d come to him for that. Cal felt humbled and challenged at the same time. He wanted to make her forget all of her problems, if only for a while. If she wanted sex, he’d oblige.