Ryan had one thing right—Monica was very much afraid. But she was afraid of letting go, of being herself, of fucking up. Breaking up with Ryan was the smartest thing Monica had ever done. “Not that my opinion matters, but I don’t think you’re good for her.”
“What are you talking about? We’re meant for each other. And if she doesn’t care about me, why did she come to the hospital?”
“Guilt,” Cal said with a shrug. “Monica’s a kind person. And you’re a bit of a manipulative bastard, using your leg to try and win her back.”
Ryan shifted his ass and winced in pain. “I’m not using it to win her back. Eventually, she’ll see I’m the right choice. She’s dated guys like you in the past. Guys who don’t stick around, guys who break her heart. She might have a fling with you—yeah, I saw her bra on the floorboard of the backseat—but she’ll come back to me.”
He sounded so sure that Cal almost doubted himself. Ryan’s words had a ring of truth to them. A strong emotion bubbled up inside of him. Cal didn’t know what it was, but it made him uncomfortable.
Cal wouldn’t be around for long, so her choices shouldn’t matter to him. But they did. Very much. He’d thought about Monica Campbell over the last five years, and now that he’d seen her speeding down the highway with her hair flying free, had experienced firsthand her demanding, heated sexuality, he couldn’t let her reunite with this wet bloke.
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?”