“Of course, no problem.” He didn’t say anything else.

Monica waited a beat, suddenly unsure of herself. He was interested, right?

She gazed at the flowers Cal had sent, still vibrant and fragrant. On Monday he’d touched her, pinched her nipples, kissed her like he couldn’t get enough. Then there were the thoughtful gestures over the last few days—yeah, Cal was interested, all right, but he’d been waiting for her to come to him, then acting aloof when she did. Classic. Well, she wasn’t about to fall for that bullshit.

“All right then,” she said cheerfully, “take care.”

“Wait,” he said as her thumb drifted over the End button. “Before you go, there is something you might be able to help me with.”

“If possible.” Cal wanted to play disinterested? Well she could play twice as hard. Sure you can. Unless he steps within a fifty-foot radius.

“Is there a decent restaurant you’d recommend?” he asked.

Everything in Monica’s world shifted back into place. This was what Cal had been after all along. A date. Nothing complicated about it. “I suggest you consult a Zagat’s Guide.”

“I could do, of course, but getting a local’s perspective is usually better.”

“There’s a sushi restaurant in Caesars, a steak bar in the Luxor, an Italian place at the Venetian. Ask your concierge, he’ll give you a list.”

“Excellent. Thanks for your help.” And then he hung up.

He hung up.

Monica stared at her phone in disbelief. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he’d do the unexpected.

Exactly five minutes later, he called back. “What?” she snapped.

“Monica, will you have dinner with me this evening? You can play tour guide, show me all the sights. I’d be ever so grateful.”

“Forget it.”

“Splendid. I’ll get your address from Trevor and be there at seven. Look forward to seeing you, love.”

She didn’t have time to say a word, because he’d hung up again. Cal Hughes was driving her insane. Monica planned on telling him so. But first, she needed something to wear.

* * *

Six fifty-three. Monica had been checking her phone for the last fifteen minutes while she paced the empty dining room. The tips of her pointy new heels were a little tight and echoed on the tiled floor. Black pumps. Four inchers.

She’d gone round and round with herself about this date so many times, she felt a little dizzy. Or it could be the fact that she was going to see Cal again in…six minutes and fourteen seconds.

This afternoon, she’d finally broken down and called Evan for support.

“We’re going out. Cal and I. On a date.”

“Just one second.” He’d held the phone away from his mouth. “Hallelujah,” he screamed. “Okay, I’m back. So, you’ve decided to take Evan’s advice?”

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person, it’s obnoxious. And yes. I’m going to treat Cal like a vaccine. After him, I should either be completely immune to bad boys, or I’ll be catatonic. One or the other.” Standing by the office window, Monica had run a hand over her navy blue jacket. It was the sassiest one she owned, because it featured four brass buttons. “I think I have a fashion emergency, Ev.”

“You’re just now figuring this out? Meet you at Nordies at two o’clock.”

“I only have an hour and fifteen minutes before my next meeting.”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll do my best.”

Evan was already at the store with an armful of colorful dresses when she arrived. He’d shoved them at her and tried to follow her into the dressing room. “I need to see how they fit.”

“Out, you perv.” Monica slammed the door in his face.

“Fine, but you’re the one with the time crunch.”

Out of the dozen dresses facing her, Monica tried on three, all muted colors, but they showed off a fair amount of cleavage and were much shorter than anything she’d worn in years.

So now here she stood in the dining room, waiting for Cal in a black tank dress. The material was a little sparkly, but not too much. Her arms and legs were completely bare. Once upon a time, she would have considered this dress too conservative.

Not that it mattered how much skin she revealed. Cal had gotten an eyeful of her the other night, and Monica hadn’t been shy then. In fact, she’d all but shaken her tits in his face.

But tonight was going to be different. Tonight, she was in control. Monica’s eyes were wide open, no illusions this time—Cal wasn’t the right man for her, and she knew it.

If nothing else, she could listen to that sexy voice and stare at him all night. Cal was like a flower or a sculpture, here to make the world a sexier place. And since she had no intention of getting serious with him, she could just enjoy him while he was in town. Have a little fun. Bad-boy inoculation.

She heard his car door slam at six fifty-nine. In control. Eyes wide open.

At the door, she gripped the handle and took three deep breaths before opening it. But the sight of him caused that last breath to become lodged in her throat. She should have been prepared for that face, that body, but Cal knocked her for a loop all over again. He stood beneath her porch light, his green eyes looking a shade darker than normal, more pine bough than fresh spring leaves. Even in the sparse light, he was a burst of warmth and sunshine and fresh air.

The ends of his hair were damp and curled slightly upward, turning the natural highlights to a burnished gold. He’d freshly shaved, and his tanned cheeks looked smooth. Monica wanted to touch them to make sure, but rubbed her thumbnail instead as she resisted the urge.

The tight navy T-shirt showed off his pecs—well developed and perfectly defined. They made her cheeks tighten with heat. Faded jeans—no grease stains—clung to his legs. As her gaze slipped lower, Monica purposely avoided looking at his package. On his feet, brown leather work boots were scratched at the toes.

Cal dressed blue-collar casual, wore it with a comfortable grace, but he was the furthest thing from it. Trust-fund baby. Jet setter. Poshly accented mechanic. She hadn’t quite figured him out.

Swiping her tongue quickly over her lips, she glanced up and realized Cal was checking her out just as thoroughly.

His gaze moved over her body, from the bodice of the dress, which dipped a little low, down over her hips. Canting his head to the side, he stared at her bare legs. Although they were too pale, Cal didn’t seem to mind. She read the sexual interest in his eyes.

After a few long seconds, he slowly perused her calves and ankles, all the way down to her feet, taking in the dark, pointy heels. Then his glance reversed, moving upward once more. She felt that heated gaze dance across her skin like a drop of water when it hit a sizzling pan. As his eyes rested on her cleavage, Monica stopped breathing for a moment. Finally, he looked her in the eye. “Bloody fucking hell, woman. You have legs. And they’re spectacular.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as her gaze bounced away from his. “Thanks.” Since working at the foundation, Monica had tried hard to maintain her professional image. But she realized those clothes also made her feel invisible. She liked that Cal noticed and appreciated her body. She felt womanly and sexy for a change. Still nervous, of course, but the flood of anxiety was starting to recede.

Cal held a small pink gift bag in one hand. “If you invite me in, I’ll give you this.” He gave the bag a little shake.

It took Monica a moment to understand the words. “Sorry.” With a quick nod, she backed up and allowed him to enter. “Sure, come on in. Would you like something to drink?”

He openly gazed around the small entryway. The blank ivory walls, the dated ceramic tile flooring. “Beer?”

“Sure. Is a longneck okay? Or I could pour it in a cup, if you’d prefer?” Oh God, she was babbling.