“She seemed what?” Allie asked.

Well, so much for that ploy. “Grown-up, very professional.” Really, Cal? That’s the best you could come up with? But what the hell was he supposed to say? Your sister still looks shagirific, Allie. I do hope she’ll allow me to fuck her until her knees wobble this time. Compared with that, professional didn’t seem half-bad.

Allie nodded. “She is. Monica takes her job very seriously.”

“What is her job, exactly? Funeral director? School marm?”

Allie’s pale brows rose a fraction. “She works for the foundation.”

“What foundation would that be?”

The smile slowly faded from her lips. “Pix didn’t mention it?”

“Of course she did. I just forgot. Very important work, foundations.”

Allie broke out laughing. “You have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, do you?”

He grinned. “Guilty.”

“We run a breast cancer foundation, and Monica’s our coordinator. She spends a lot of time looking over grants and helping organize fund-raisers. She’s come a long way.”

How very fucking dreary that sounded. Sexy Monica had turned into a glorified office drone? He refused to believe it. “What do you mean she’s come a long way? From where?”

With her eyes cast downward, Allie used her thumb to stroke the saucer’s edge. “It took Monica a while to figure things out, but she’s on a really good path now.” Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Not really. Explain it to me.” Allie was warning him to stay away from Monica, clearly. But he wasn’t going to be put off that easily. When Cal wanted something badly enough, he became rather persistent. It once took him two years to track down all the original parts for a ’56 Arnolt-Bristol Roadster, but in the end, he got what he wanted. And he found himself very much wanting Monica Campbell, and not just sexually. He needed to know what made her tick.

“Monica used to have a wild streak,” Allie said. “In the past few years, she’s calmed down. She’s working hard, making good choices. I know the two of you had a romantic moment the last time you met, but I’m asking you to leave her alone, Cal. I don’t think you’re right for each other.”

“Right for each other?” he repeated. What the hell was she on about? Had he suddenly wandered into a Jane Austen novel? Cal wasn’t some naff off the street—he was Trevor’s cousin, for God’s sake. Cal naturally fancied Monica. Wanted to fuck her senseless, but he didn’t need Allie’s permission for that.

He set his cup and saucer on the table between them. “I appreciate your sisterly concern, but Monica’s a grown woman. Surely she can make her own decisions.”

When he’d seen Monica this morning, so dowdy and buttoned up to her eyeballs, he’d been gobsmacked. Yet Allison sat here like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth and talked about good choices, as if her sister were a schoolgirl. Obviously Monica needed to break out of the cocoon she’d encased herself in. For whatever reason, she’d turned her life around so dramatically, she must be miserable. Tempting the proper Monica to embrace the fun-loving side of her nature sounded more marvelous with each passing minute.

Allie slowly nodded. “Of course she can make her own decisions. Look, I like you, Cal. You’re charming and handsome and seem like a decent guy. But I don’t want to see my sister get hurt.” Her baby-blue eyes turned serious. “So let this be a warning to your balls. I assume you like them attached to your body?”

Cal stood and thrust his hands into his pockets. “They’re quite happy where they are, thank you for inquiring.” He fought a sudden urge to cup his jewels in case she decided to make a dive for them. “Message received.” It didn’t change his plans about seducing Monica, but one always appreciated advance warning.

Cal tipped his head and, turning, made his way from the room. It wasn’t the first time a girl’s overprotective loved one had warned him off. Probably wouldn’t be the last. But Monica was a big girl who could take care of herself. He didn’t want to hurt her—he wanted to liberate her.

As Cal wandered through the house in search of Trevor, he glanced through the various displayed collections of antique whatnots their grandfather had accumulated over the years. Trevor was now the keeper of all this rubbish, and good luck to him. Everything from cigar boxes to Japanese swords to birds’ eggs. The old man had been the original eccentric.

Cal finally found Trevor’s office and, after giving a perfunctory knock, strolled in. “What are you up to, then?”

Trevor’s eyes flashed on Cal before returning to the computer screen. “It’s called work. You should try it sometime.”

“No thanks.” With a grin, Cal fell into the chair in front of Trevor’s massive desk. “Sounds painfully boring. By the way, your lovely wife just threatened my bollocks.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons. So when are you leaving town?”

“You’re the second person who’s asked me that in the last half hour. Why is everyone so anxious to get rid of me? I was made for Vegas.”

“Personally, I couldn’t care less what you do. I just wondered how long you planned on keeping that rusty shitpile in my garage.”

The Mustang. Cal had bought it on a whim. As the taxi had driven him around the city, he’d seen it parked in someone’s driveway, and made an offer. It needed a lot of work, but tinkering gave him something constructive to do. Kept his mind occupied, at any rate. “I could rent a place to house it if you’d like, and get it out of your hair.”

Trevor shot him a glance. “How was Australia? You don’t seem keen.”

Although Cal hadn’t clapped eyes on his cousin in years, Trevor had an uncanny way of seeing what no one else did. “Me, I’m brilliant. And Australia was sunny. It’s always sunny down under.”

“According to Pix, you were there for over a year. That’s unusual for you. And as soon as you get into town, you buy a car to work on, which suggests you plan on staying long enough to fix it. Did a girl finally figure you out and give you the heave-ho?”

Instead of getting defensive—his first instinct—Cal relaxed in his chair. “Since when do you dole out advice to the walking wounded? Has marriage turned you into an agony aunt? As for Australia—it’s loaded with fast cars, faster women, and a wicked surf.”

“Fine, I’ll stay out of your business. And no, you don’t have to rent a garage. You can work on it here. For some reason, your bollocks excluded, Allison likes you. And Mags would have my head if I kicked you out.”

“How is your mum, Trev? Still shacking up with your father?”

Trevor briefly closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Don’t get me started on those two. Now go. I need to work.” Turning his gaze to the center screen, Trevor dismissed him.

Cal left the office and walked outside, back to the car. He grabbed a wrench and ducked under the hood. The last thing he wanted to think about was Australia. So he thought about Monica instead, and all the ways he wanted her. She wouldn’t be a pushover—she’d proven that this morning. But Cal could be very persuasive. Monica Campbell would be in his bed sooner rather than later, if he had anything to say about it.

* * *

On her drive to work, Monica couldn’t get Calum Hughes out of her mind. Why did he have to show up now, when her resistance to inappropriate men was so low?

Irritated with herself, she pulled into a parking spot and slammed on the brakes. She had a million details to worry about with this gala coming up, and she didn’t have time to pine over that hot piece of British ass. She wasn’t going out with him either, although it had taken every bit of willpower she had to turn down his dinner invitation. Especially when he kept walking toward her slowly, each step deliberate, like a tiger stalking his next meal. Or when he’d lowered his face to hers. An inch closer, and she could have lifted her chin, spanned the distance between them, and tasted him. She could have seen for herself if his lips were as talented as she remembered. But she hadn’t.