And Monica was on the wagon for good.

She smiled for Allie’s benefit. “Before I leave, I’ll tell Trevor good-bye.”

“Okay.” Allie dropped her hand. “And think about coming for dinner tonight. The twins have been asking for Aunt Monnie.”

“That’s because I sneak them chocolate when you’re not looking.”

Allie grinned. “I know. And they love you for it.”

Monica nodded and walked down the long hallway to Trevor’s office. She didn’t just want to say good-bye, she needed to run her idea by him. He probably wouldn’t be receptive, but it was worth a shot. Rapping her knuckles on the thick wooden door, she opened it and peered inside. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Trevor glanced up from one of his computer screens. “Yes, but come in anyway.”

Monica always felt as if she were breaching the inner sanctum when she walked into Trevor’s office. Like the rest of the house, it overflowed with antique pieces, paintings, and oddities, but this room was command central, where Trevor made his fortune.

She took a chair in front of his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about the foundation’s goals for next year.” A big part of Monica’s job entailed whittling down grant applications. She spent a lot of time staring at statistics and cost projections. Not her favorite part of the gig, but necessary. “I’ve been doing some research.” She pulled a folder from her bag and handed it to Trevor. “Take a look at that. Developing countries are in desperate need of oncology training and equipment. They’re lacking the most basic care. We could open up the grants next year, go international. Spread the wealth a little.”

Taking his time, Trevor read through the file. Monica could almost see his big brain processing all the facts as his frown deepened. “You’d be broadening the scope of the foundation’s agenda considerably. You’d have to develop relationships with individual clinics, hospitals, medical schools. That’s a lot of extra work, and it would strain our resources.”

“The payoff would be worth it. We’re on target for more donations this year. It might mean taking on a consultant, hiring a couple more employees, but it would put us on the international map.”

His eyes met hers. “Have you talked to Allison about this?”

“Not yet. I was kind of hoping you might mention it. Pave the way for me.”

He shut the folder and tossed it on his desk. “Forget it. Do your own dirty work. I’m not going to get involved in a squabble between sisters. Especially you two.”

“Trevor, please—”

“No. She’d be angry with both of us if I approached her instead of you.” He held up his hand to stave off her words. “I like fucking your sister. When she’s angry with me, I don’t get to do that. Sorry, darling, you’re on your own.”

“First of all, eww. I’d prefer not to know the details of your sexy time. Second, you’re pussy whipped. I expected more from you, and I’m deeply disappointed.” Pressing her lips together, Monica slowly shook her head.

With a laugh, Trevor stood and handed the folder back. “I’m utterly pussy whipped. And I quite enjoy it. Talk to Allison. If you believe in this, convince her.”

“Thanks for nothing. You know she won’t listen to me.”

“Sorry.” Pity filled his eyes.

Monica looked away and grabbed her bag. Feeling deflated, she let herself out of Trevor’s office and, instead of leaving by the side door as she usually did, headed to the front in an effort to dodge Cal and his bare torso. She felt like a complete coward for not wanting to face him, but she did it just the same.

As Monica walked outside into the hot morning sun, Calum Hughes sat fully clothed on the hood of her Honda, waiting. When he saw her, a wide grin broke over his face.

Well, hell. She just couldn’t catch a break today.

Chapter 3

He’d been sitting here for over forty minutes, waiting. How long could one meeting last, for God’s sake? And what kind of meeting? Did Monica work for Trevor? She dressed like a bean counter, that much was certain. The suit, that horrible, boxy black jacket—it didn’t fit her at all. Oh, it looked fine, dull as dishwater of course, but it didn’t suit her, Monica Campbell, the girl with the wild hair and devilish eyes.

Cal remembered her clearly, had thought about her from time to time over the years. He fantasized about what would have happened had they not been interrupted.

Her father’s wedding had been a small, intimate gathering—just family. Afterward, as he’d stood in the conservatory chatting her up, she’d been lively, flirtatious. Her hair tumbled down her back in thick honeyed waves, and occasionally she’d toss her head, causing them to bounce. The perfume she’d worn smelled lightly sweet, with a hint of spice. It reminded him of a winter he’d spent in Germany for some odd reason. And Monica had worn a red dress—rosso alfa, almost the exact color of a 1968 Alfa Romeo Spider. Not just any red, but a deep, dark scarlet. Strapless and glittery, it had showed off her tits, and was short enough to give him a glimpse of her fit legs.

Yeah, he remembered her—had almost total recall of the event. How she’d felt in his arms, the weight of her breast in his hand. Her lips had tasted sweet, fresh, with a hint of champagne. And if Allison hadn’t stopped them¸ he’d have fucked Monica Campbell against the garden wall and enjoyed every bloody minute of it.

However, looking back, that may have been taking advantage of her. The thought never would have occurred to his younger self. Cal had simply seen a girl looking for a bit of slap, and he’d been eager to provide it. But she’d teetered on the brink of recklessness that night. He hadn’t understood it at the time—he’d simply enjoyed being on the receiving end of all that attention. Now he realized how hard it must have been for her, watching her father marry a new woman. In essence, replacing her mother. He couldn’t say he was glad they hadn’t shagged that night, but perhaps it was for the best.

One thing Cal did know: he wanted another chance with her. Monica was older now, in control of her emotions. Too much so for his liking. She could do with a bit of loosening up.

This morning he’d barely recognized her. Her hair was several inches shorter. She’d forced it into behaving, taming the waves into a more manageable style. And while her eyes were the same crystal blue, he sensed something like unease in their depths.

While her voice had been cool and impersonal, she’d held that bag in front of her as if she were hiding behind it. The dreadful suit she wore was a buffer as well, camouflaging her amazing curves.

Ah, those sweet curves. Cal remembered them fondly. Firm, high breasts. Ripe, round ass. And her upper lip, noticeably fuller than the bottom one, drove him wild. He wanted to kiss her again, see if she tasted as untamed and sweet as she had that night.

Probably not. She was different now, more serious, less impulsive. At least outwardly—the suit, the chic haircut, the sensible shoes. But when Cal removed her sunglasses, he saw a flash of vulnerability cross her face. He still sensed a feral wildness running through her. It called to him. She may want to deny her true nature, but he suspected that delightfully fun girl with a wicked smile was still in there somewhere, hovering beneath the surface.

Cal found himself utterly fascinated. What had happened to the fearless Monica he’d met a few years ago? Where had she gone, and why?

Although Cal never claimed to be clever, he knew one thing: no matter what a vehicle looked like on the outside, it was what lay beneath the hood that told the real story. Monica was like that Mustang he’d just bought. The outside had been tampered with, its beauty hidden by filler and some rust. But inside, it still had heart, and with a little time and effort, he’d have it up and running again. Monica had a lot going on inside of her too. He could see it in her eyes. This prim and proper exterior wasn’t the whole picture. It couldn’t possibly be.