She pushed off his lap and stood, feeling a little woozy and so embarrassed, she turned away. Who acted like this? Who had a panic attack after the most amazing sex ever? God, she was a freak. Defective.

“Monica.” He waited until she slowly turned back around. “Let’s stay right here, eat dinner, talk. After that, you can go if you want.” He stood and approached her slowly. With infinite care, he reached out and stroked a hand down the length of her hair. “Okay?”

When she didn’t pull away, he enfolded her in his arms, hugged her tighter in his embrace. Monica hugged him back. Closing her eyes, she took a deep whiff of him and struggled to remain calm.

Then Cal stepped back. “I’ll get dressed.” He strode over to where his clothes lay in a pile and pulled on his boxers and jeans. He held up his T-shirt. “You want?”

She nodded, and he lobbed it at her. Dark green—the same shade as his eyes when he was angry—and it smelled of fabric softener and Cal. Monica pulled it on. The hem hit her above the knees, and the sleeves fell below her elbows.

Her feelings for him frightened her. That’s why she’d freaked out. She’d never felt like this. Not even with Aaron—the asshole who’d abandoned her in Mexico—and she’d been ready to leave her friends and family for him.

Calum Hughes was the real deal. He loved his sister, and he’d cared for Babcock in her final days. But he’d leave. If not tomorrow, then next week, or next month. Cal would take off for Bora Bora or Nepal, and she’d be stuck here in Vegas.

Not stuck. You have your family, your life.

But what kind of life did she have? Was she going to spend the next five years trying to prove herself to Allie and people like Marcus Stanford? The next ten or fifteen? Just the thought of it left her drained. And for what, a job she hated?

Monica covered her mouth with one hand. She hated her job. She hated working at the foundation.

Shit. That panicky feeling threatened to rise up inside her and take over once again.

A look of concern filled Cal’s eyes. “You all right?” He walked over to her, raised his hand to touch her shoulder, but Monica moved out of reach.

“I hate my job,” she said in a rush.

“Yeah, of course you do.”

“No, I hate my job. I need this job.”

Cal crossed to the mini-fridge hidden in the bookcase and grabbed a bottle of cold water. “Why?” He handed it to Monica.

“Because it’s who I am. Allie depends on me. I have to show her I’m responsible. I owe it to my mom.”

“Let’s take those one at a time, yeah? It’s not who you are. You hate it.”

Monica paced to the sofa and sank down. She twisted the cap off the bottle, taking a long drink. She knew Cal wouldn’t criticize her, and because of that, he was the only person she could talk to. “Yeah. I hate it. But I can’t let them down.”

Cal sat next to her. His long fingers stroked her bare leg. “One thing at a time. You hate it.”

She nodded. “I hate it.” After several minutes, she smiled and breathed out a little laugh. “It sucks so hard. I hate the numbers and reading grant applications and having Allie question every decision. I like working with the donors, though.”

“How does it feel to admit it?”

Her gaze sought his. “Scary.”

“That’s okay. If you’re scared, you’re alive. You said you have to prove yourself to Allie. Why?”

Monica flung the bottle onto the coffee table. “Because she’s my sister. Because I’ve fucked up so much in the past. Because I have to show her that I can do this.”

“She’s your sister. She’s not living your life for you. You fucked up in the past? So what? Everyone has.”

She shook her head. “Not like me.”

He scooted to the edge of the couch and faced her. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Most horrific?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was too ashamed.

“Did you run a red light? Wear two different socks by mistake? You’re a good person—what could you have done that’s so terrible?”

Where to begin? “I was thirteen when my mom got diagnosed. She was sick for a long time. I felt…” She stared at the fireplace grate and shrugged. “I felt like she left me, even though she was still there. Allie quit school and came home to take care of us all. As my mom got worse, so did I. I made life hard for everybody in the family.” It was hard to admit that. Painful.

Cal continued to stroke her face. “You were a child.”

“I was a brat.”

“All children are brats. No exceptions. They’re messy and they smell bad and then they go through puberty. Don’t know why they’re all the rage.”

Monica didn’t laugh. “After she died, I went off the rails. I drank too much. I toked up, took too many pills. I woke up next to strangers, Cal, and sometimes, I couldn’t even remember what I’d done with them.” She took a deep breath and studied his face. He didn’t look shocked or surprised or disappointed. “Four years ago, I met a guy, and after two dates, I let him drive me to Mexico. In the morning, he was gone, and so was all my money. I had to call Evan to come and get me.”

After a minute, Cal lifted his hands, palms upward. “All right, so you have terrible taste in men—present company excluded, naturally. And you committed a few youthful indiscretions. You trusted the wrong people.”

“I got pregnant.”

Chapter 20

That one shocked him. His face went slack for an instant before he covered it up with a neutral expression. “I see.” He remained silent, waited her out.

“Are you going to ask what happened to it?”

He placed his hand over hers. “Only if you want to tell me.”

Monica took a shaky breath. “After Evan picked me up and brought me home, I just sort of checked out. I stayed in bed for days. I was ashamed and felt so goddamned stupid.” She tugged her hand back and curled her legs beneath her, pulling Cal’s shirt over them to cover herself. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life as she did right this minute. But Cal wasn’t looking at her with disgust. There was nothing but sympathy in his eyes. The lines of his body were tense, but he leaned toward her, as if he were barely holding himself back from reaching out. Seeing that compassion made her want to throw herself into his strong arms and never let go.

But Cal wasn’t hers to keep. So Monica sat up and lowered her feet to the floor. “A month later, I was still a wreck, but I found out I was pregnant. I knew I had to turn my life around. I had someone else to think about besides myself. I had to get my act together and quit making selfish choices. Then I lost the baby.” She tucked her hands under her thighs, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the low-setting sunlight beaming through the window.

“I’m so sorry, love.”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably for the best. I’d have made a lousy mother.”

“That’s simply not true,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone as caring as you. You try to cover it up, but you have the most tender heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

With her jaw set, Monica slid him a sideways glance. “It was karmic justice.”

“What do you mean?”

Monica scrubbed her hands across her eyes. “I told you, Cal, I was relieved when my mom died. I lost my best friend, and I was glad. I’m not a good person at all, I’m awful. When I lost my own baby, it broke my heart, but I deserved it. I deserve every bad thing that happens to me. That’s why I work for the foundation. I couldn’t go back to being that thoughtless, rebellious girl. Not after miscarrying. Not after making such a mess of my life. My mom would have been mortified by my behavior. I let her down.”

“Come here.” When he held his hands out to her, Monica fell toward him. She buried her face against his solid chest. Then Monica Campbell, the girl who didn’t cry at her mother’s funeral, began to sob.