Finally, the front door opened, and the woman who’d infiltrated his every thought for the past hour walked out of the house. “Hello, again,” he said. Though he might be unable to read her features behind the dark glasses, her body language was wary. Monica held herself immobile, like a frightened animal on the verge of running. In an effort to calm her, Cal shot her his friendliest smile.
“Hello,” she finally said. With jerky movements, she headed down the steps and walked toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“This isn’t an existential question, is it? I’m afraid I’m not contemplative enough for those.”
She remained quiet a moment, her hands tightening on the handle of her bag. “Brynn said you just got into town?”
Had she lost her sense of humor, as well? “Yes, I’m here for my mother’s anniversary party.”
“What anniversary party?”
“Quite. Turns out Pix’s anniversary was six months ago. My fault, I suppose, for not remembering the date, so here I am.”
The edges of Monica’s mouth pulled downward. “Why would your mother lie to you?”
“Pixie has her own reasons for doing things. It’s best to go along and not ask too many questions.”
Monica turned to the large stone fountain, where water trickled over the tiers and into the basin. It made a splashing sound and sent droplets sputtering onto the paved brick drive. “How long are you in town?”
Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was he covered in grease stains? Cal swiped a hand over his cheeks, felt for sticky residue, but didn’t find any. “Don’t know, really. I rarely make plans.” Vegas was as good a place as any to park his bones. London didn’t appeal, even though his garage and showroom were there. Yet for the first time in his life, Cal wasn’t eager to get to it. He sure as hell wasn’t going back to Australia. The very thought of it filled him with a deep sadness he couldn’t shake. At least Vegas had the mystery of Monica Campbell going for it.
“How does that work, exactly?” she asked. “Living life with no plans, no rules?” She inclined her head upward, and he assumed she was looking at him. Tough to tell with those dark lenses.
“Works out quite nicely. When I’m ready for a change of scenery, I hop a plane and see where it takes me. Haven’t you ever wanted to do that? Just take off on a moment’s notice and have yourself an adventure?”
Monica threw back her shoulders. “Some of us have jobs and people who depend on us.”
Ooo, that prim, judgmental tone scraped along his nerves. He should be used to it—had gotten an assful of it from his father over the years—but still it stung, coming from her.
And what was so fabulous about having someone depend on you, anyway?
Glancing away, Cal planted his hands on his thighs. His lips slid into a grin. It felt stiff and forced. “Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight? You can tell me all about your important responsibilities and this meeting you’ve just had.” Which should take approximately ten minutes. After that, he planned on seducing her. A genuine smile replaced the false one. The thought of spending the rest of the night fucking Monica Campbell, watching her shed that uptight persona and fall to pieces as he buried himself inside her—it excited him like nothing else had in a while.
His cock became rigid just thinking about it. To hide his hard-on, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.
“Allie’s planning a family dinner for you,” she said. “Your mother and Paolo are coming.”
Well, shit. He didn’t feel up to socializing, but if he could stare at Monica throughout the evening, he might be able to suffer through. “You’ll be there?”
“No, I have to work.”
He studied her carefully. Her shoulders hitched up ever so slightly, and her lips flattened into a straight line. She was lying. Did she have other plans, or was she avoiding him? If so, why?
Hopping off the car, he slowly crossed to her. When he reached striking distance, he once again snatched the sunglasses from her face. When she tried to grab them back, he held them aloft. He wanted to see her eyes, read what was going on in that head of hers.
“Hey, stop doing that.” She placed a hand on his forearm and tugged. “Give them back.”
Cal bowed down until only a few inches separated his face from hers. Truly lovely. Her skin was flawlessly pale, except for a grouping of four freckles scattered above the arch of her eyebrow. They were tiny and covered with powder, but up close, he could count them. Such white skin was unusual for someone living in a sun-drenched desert. She must spend all of her time indoors. “If you agree to have dinner with me, you may have them back.”
Her wide eyes flew to his, and he detected a hint of fear. Fear? Of what, of him? That seemed unlikely. Women liked Cal, adored him, actually. He put them at ease, not on their guard. Had been doing so since he was a lad.
He gazed down to where her hand gripped his arm. The back of it was delicate with longish, pretty fingers and buffed nails. Nothing so frivolous as a pop of colored nail varnish for grown-up, responsible Monica.
Then a thought struck him—perhaps she no longer found him attractive. Could that be it? He took one deliberate step closer.
She audibly swallowed, and the pulse at the base of her neck fluttered like a trapped bird. No, she wasn’t immune to him. Not at all.
She took a half step backward. “I’m not having dinner with you, Cal. I’m busy.”
“Oh dear, this happens occasionally,” he said with a tsk.
A little vertical crease appeared in the middle of her forehead as her brows drew together. “What does?”
“Some women can’t control themselves around me, you know,” he whispered, “sexually. It’s my cross to bear. But I promise I won’t give in, no matter how much you beg.”
He expected her to laugh. But her blue gaze became darker, sharper, as her jaw muscles tightened. He stared at the little dent in the center of her chin, wanted to sweep his tongue over it. He’d ignited her anger. Good. At least she could still feel something.
“You’re not half as charming as you think you are,” she said.
“Right, but all in all, that’s still pretty charming, isn’t it?” Gently, he placed the glasses back on the bridge of her nose. Then he moved around her, and with a long-legged gait, walked to the house. “See you tonight, love,” he said before slipping inside.
Shutting the door, Cal grinned. As of this morning, he felt more alive, more engaged than he had in months. He actually looked forward to something: teasing the bloody hell out of Monica Campbell.
Seducing her might be more difficult than he’d first thought. And getting her to drop that straitlaced image would be a challenge. But he was up to it. There was something truly horrifying about a naughty girl turned saint. It offended his delicate sensibilities.
Cal pushed off the door and strode from the foyer into a hallway, intent on finding Trevor. Turning a corner, he almost ran headlong into Allie. “Whoops,” he said, reaching out to steady her shoulders. “Sorry about that.”
She smiled. “No problem. How are you?”
“Very well. You’re looking beautiful. Pink suits you.”
“Thanks. I was just about to come and get you, see if you wanted a cup of coffee.” She led the way to the drawing room, where Grecian busts and porcelain bowls covered almost every surface. “You know you don’t have to stay in a hotel. You’re welcome here. Don’t let Trevor’s bark fool you. He’s a softy.” She sat on one of the sofas and poured coffee from a silver pot.
He could call Trevor many things, most of them less than complimentary, but softy wasn’t among them. “Thank you, Allison.” He took the delicate china cup in one hand and sat across from her. “I’m perfectly happy in the villa.” He rubbed his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “I chatted with your sister outside just now. She seemed…” He deliberately left the conversational door open, hoping Allie would walk through it. He wanted to know more about Monica. Was she seeing someone? Surely not, or she would have used it as an excuse not to have dinner with him.