His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  “I want to take a spin in your car.”

  That did surprise him. “You want a ride in the Mustang?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I want to drive the Mustang. It is road-worthy, right?”

  Cal was protective of his cars, but Monica’s blue eyes glimmered, and a slightly reckless tension ran through her as she shoved her breasts against his chest. This evening, right now, she reminded him of how she’d been five years ago. Enthusiastic and curious and full of life. Of course he’d let her drive. He’d let her do whatever the hell she wanted. “Where are you going to take me?”

  “The desert. I want to see how fast it can go.”

  Now this was the real Monica, with the sexy dress and the alluring smile. “Do you know how to drive a temperamental Mustang?”

  “I know how to drive all sorts of things, Calum Hughes.” She further knocked him for six when she stood on her toes and lightly kissed his mouth.

  Before he could wrap both arms around her waist and snog her properly, she slipped away from him and sauntered toward the exit. Cal followed at a more sedate pace, because Monica Campbell looked as good going as she did coming. Was it possible to get a raging case of blue balls after only three hours?

  Out on the sidewalk, he hastened to her side. “Admit it, you’re having fun.”

  “I admit nothing.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “But going out with you hasn’t been a terrible experience.”

  “Flatterer.”

  Holding hands, they walked back through the casino where they’d started the night and into the parking garage. It reeked of petrol fumes and cigarette smoke. Smelled comforting. His garage back in London was the closest thing Cal had to a home.

  When they reached the car, he dug the keys out of his pocket, but didn’t hand them over. “A few instructions: be careful as you start the car. Don’t give it too much gas. And as you shift into second, watch the clutch, or it will stall. And if you have to brake—”

  “For God’s sake, Cal, calm down.” She grabbed the keys and walked to the driver’s side. “It’s just a car.”

  “That’s blasphemous. This is not just a car.” He mimicked her voice and accent. “This is an American classic, the original pony.” He caressed the back fender. “This is a piece of art. Not to be trifled with.”

  “Do you and the car need a few minutes alone?”

  He shot her a narrow-eyed glance. “Not to be trifled with.”

  She sighed. “Fine, no trifling.” Monica unlocked the door and opened it. “Now can we go, or are you going to write a sonnet about the Mustang too?” She climbed in and, leaning over, unlocked the passenger door.

  Curling his hands into fists, Cal settled in beside her. As she turned the ignition, he winced. “Gently.”

  She pulled out of the parking space and drove to the exit. “This really makes you nervous, doesn’t it, handing over your baby to someone else?”

  “How would you like it if someone swept into your office and started running the foundation? Careful with the corner.” She pulled out onto the Strip and shifted gears. Cal closed his eyes as she ground them.

  “I know exactly what that feels like, because Allie does it at least once a week. It’s pretty goddamned annoying.”

  “Watch your speed. Red light.” When she didn’t brake immediately, he braced his feet against the floorboard. “Red light.”

  “I heard you.” She slammed to a stop at the intersection. “What are you going to fix next? The seats? These springs are out of control.”

  “If you don’t learn how to drive, I’m going to have to fix the bloody transmission. Now when the light turns green, ease up on the clutch.”

  When she did as he requested, Cal sighed in relief. “That must be bloody frustrating, to have big sister looming over you, second-guessing your every move.”

  “I’m used to it.” They remained quiet as Monica took the highway and drove west.

  Cal tried to bite his tongue when she shifted too slowly or didn’t open the throttle properly. Once they headed toward a less populated area, he began to relax.

  Monica cranked down the window. The loud rush of wind ripped through the car, lashed at her hair. Brushing a strand from her eyes, she let out a whoop. “I love this.”

  With her head tipped back, she looked carefree and happy. Cal couldn’t take her eyes off her.

  Chapter 9

  Monica felt alive. Adrenaline pumped through her system the faster she drove. Monica’s bare foot dropped on the gas pedal, and the odometer started creeping up. Eighty. Ninety. Ninety-five. By now, they were in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by low mountains, rocks, and brush, with a long stretch of road ahead. Stars clustered together in the night sky, looking so much brighter without all the neon to drown them out. Monica wasn’t sure how long she’d been driving, but she didn’t want to stop.

  “How far are we going?” Cal yelled above the wind. “Eventually, I believe we’ll run into an ocean.”

  Her brain had been quiet for awhile as she relaxed and enjoyed the feel of the car and the sound of the motor. Easing up on the gas, she slowed down. Pulling over to the side of the road, Monica put the car in neutral. The night had begun to cool down, and Cal had turned on the heat, which barely worked and smelled faintly of exhaust. He needed to fix that ASAP.

  “I guess we should head back,” she said. “We can’t keep driving all night.” After rolling up the window, Monica attempted to tame the tangles in her hair.

  Cal reached over and smoothed back a strand. “We can keep going for as long as you like. California, Canada, circle back and drive to the mountains. Whatever you want.”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It sounded so enticing. The old Monica wouldn’t have hesitated. “I wish I could. But I have a job and a life. There’s the gala.”

  “Allison’s got it under control.”

  “I’d never hear the end of it.” She turned her head, opened her eyes, and found him watching her. “Thank you for letting me drive. I know that was hard for you.”

  “Just a tad. Want to sit here for a moment longer? Look at the stars?”

  After switching off the ignition, Monica unhooked her seat belt. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  With one finger, Cal stroked the side of her neck. Monica glanced at him once more. It was tough to see him clearly in the dark interior, but she could feel the weight of his stare. “What?”

  “You’re so perfect. Beautifully fucking perfect.”

  He closed the space between them, and when his lips touched hers, Monica couldn’t think, she simply reacted and kissed him back. All of the objections she’d had earlier, all of the reasons she’d told herself to avoid this very scenario didn’t even make an appearance. Everything about Cal felt right. Honest.

  When he raised his head, Monica didn’t want it to end. Before she could protest, Cal unclicked his own seat belt.

  “Come here,” he commanded in that deep, scratchy voice. She was helpless to do anything but obey.

  Pulling up the hem of her skirt, Monica climbed over the stick shift and straddled his lap. Her dress rose above her hips, exposing her ass to the night air. Cal’s dick, pressing against her lower belly, made the muscles there tighten.

  With his arms encircling her, he stroked Monica’s back with one hand, sending shock waves of pleasure up her spine, while his other hand rested on her bare hip. He angled his head and swiped his tongue against her neck, circling it over the base of her throat. God, that felt amazing.

  Monica grasped Cal’s upper arms through his shirt. His biceps flexed at her touch. She longed to stroke him everywhere, touch that hot, solid body to her heart’s content.

  Fucking in a car—this was familiar territory. The bad-girl side Monica kept locked away was breaking out of the cage again. It terrified and exhilarated her. But she needed to clarify things before they went any farther. With a deep breath, Monica tugged on Cal’s hair in an effort to get his attenti
on. “Wait a second.”

  “I’ve been waiting five years,” he said against the underside of her jaw.

  She moistened her lips as he continued to lick her neck. “We’re having fun, right?”

  Cal pulled back. “I’m having fun.”

  “I mean, no strings, no expectations—that kind of fun.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “Of course. No strings.”

  It stung, hearing him repeat the words, but they both knew the score. “Good, we’re on the same page.”

  “Same paragraph.”

  They froze for a second before Cal’s hands glided downward to clench her ass. Lowering his head, he tongued the center of her cleavage. She loved that.

  Rubbing his chin against the top of her exposed breast, he gazed up at her. “Why not red?”

  “What?” Monica’s hands had wandered down Cal’s solid chest, and she’d been in the process of pulling his shirt free from the waistband of his jeans. Now she froze at his question.

  “Why didn’t you choose a red dress tonight? You look sinful in red.”

  “I don’t wear red.”

  “You did. The night in the garden, you wore a red, strapless, shiny thing. Showed off your tits and legs.”

  He was right. Monica had forgotten all about it. She had only two lasting memories of that night: the pain of missing her mom, and losing herself in Cal. But tonight, this moment, it wasn’t about suppressing her inner pain. No, tonight was about letting the old Monica come out and play for a little while, while sensible Monica remained in control. “You remember what I wore?”

  “I’ll never forget it.”

  After hearing that, she couldn’t get him naked fast enough. Renewing her efforts to tug his shirt free, Monica puffed out a breath. “A little help here, Cal.”

  He laughed. “You’re doing fine on your own. If you don’t kiss me soon, I’m going to go out of my bloody mind.”

  “Is that right?” She’d managed to untuck the hem and slide it upward, revealing Cal’s smooth, trim waist. With a smile, Monica teased him with a light, fluttering kiss, her lips barely connecting with his, then lifted her head. “There.”

  Cal stopped kneading her ass and gave it a sharp slap.

  “Ouch.” She flinched from the sting. “What the hell?”

  “That’s for a job badly done. That was not a kiss,” he growled.

  “What would you call it then?”

  “An appetizer.” Rubbing her bottom, he raised his head an inch and nibbled her lips. “A job worth doing is worth doing properly.”

  Monica would place a hefty bet that Cal had heard that phrase often—probably from Babcock. “I’ll make you a deal. If I kiss you like I mean it, you have to take off your shirt.”

  “Fair play.”

  “Does that mean yes in Brit speak?”

  Cal’s chest shook against her hands in laughter. “In American speak, totally.”

  Leaning down, Monica kissed him, opening her mouth and letting her tongue brush his before dancing away. Then she did it again. And again. She could spend the rest of the night kissing him, touching him. He opened the door to pleasure and spontaneity. His kisses lit a fire deep inside her. She wanted to fan the flames, crank up the heat. God, it had been so long since she’d felt this good. And as usual, Monica didn’t do anything by halves. Not only was she giving herself permission to fondle Calum Hughes, she was doing it under the stars, in a rusty Mustang. It seemed fitting, somehow.

  Cal kept a firm grip on her butt, digging his fingers into her flesh and parting her cheeks as he kissed her back. His tongue met hers, twirled around it, then came back for more. The combination of his squeezing hands and firm, talented lips left Monica panting.

  As she continued to taste him, she petted his chest, still bothered that she wasn’t touching his bare skin. Flicking her short nails across his nipples, she lapped at his bottom lip, then forced herself to break away. “Your turn. Let’s ditch this shirt.” As quickly as she could manage, Monica pulled it upward until finally her palms met smooth, taut skin.

  “Yes, let’s.” Cal released her ass long enough to slip the shirt over his head. After pulling his arms from the sleeves, he tossed it behind him. Then he slouched down in his seat and shifted Monica’s hips, so the center of her pussy rested along the length of his cock.

  “Better,” she said. Once again, Monica lowered her face to his, darting out her tongue to trace his bottom lip. While her mouth was busy, so were her hands. Exploring his chest, her fingers danced across Cal’s warm skin, starting with his pecs. They were sculpted, firm. She regulated her touch, softly skimming, then kneading the hard-packed muscles. It was heavenly, touching him this way. She paced herself, took her time as her hands drifted lower, down the sides of his torso.

  Cal expelled a rush of air. “You’re a delight, you are. Keep it up, love. Feels brilliant.”

  “I agree.” Monica sank her thumbs between the ridges of his abdomen, following the planes and hollows of each and every one. As her nails lightly scraped over them, Cal gripped her hips, pressing her forward and grinding his erection against her core.

  “Cal.” Clutching his waist, Monica rolled her hips so that his shaft hit her clit. A few more times, and she’d come. And damn it, she really needed to come.

  But Cal clamped down on her hips, holding her still. “Not yet.” He pulled her tank dress off her shoulders and down to her elbows, exposing her black satin demi-bra with lace panels. He may not have seen the details, but Cal’s hands tracked every inch of fabric, starting with the straps and working his way down to her breasts. He smoothed over the edges of the material, flicking the little tassel that hung between the cups. “I wish I’d fixed the overhead light. I’m a very stupid man.”

  “You have an assignment for next time,” she said.

  “Are you promising more car sex?”

  Monica maneuvered her arms free from her dress before running her hand over his cheek. His skin felt soft and textured. “I’m not making any promises.”

  “You will after I get through with you.” He reached behind her and, with a quick snap, unhooked her bra. He slid that off her too, and tossed it into the backseat with his shirt.

  Monica’s nipples puckered when the cool air hit them. She was really doing this—getting naked, fucking Cal on the side of the road. Another car could drive over that hill. She’d be all too visible to a pair of headlights. That possibility was as titillating as it was terrifying. Monica’s level of arousal increased at the thought of getting caught.

  Cal used his thumb to barely glance across her breasts, making her shiver. She felt confident and sexy with him. Cal encouraged Monica to be herself. When was the last time she’d felt that way, this wild and free?

  Using the tips of his fingers, Cal very gently skated over her breasts, from the top to the underside. He repeated the action, and with each pass, Monica grew more sensitive. It almost tickled, but not quite.

  “Cal.” Aimlessly, Monica’s hands wandered over his. She wished he’d pinch her tits, massage them, anything but this light touch. It was driving her crazy. “Harder.”

  “Like this?” He scarcely increased the pressure.

  “No.”

  He took his hand from one breast and stuck his finger in his mouth. He daubed around her nipple before pinching it, then blew over it lightly. That chilly air meeting her damp skin was delicious torture. “Is that what you had in mind?”

  “You’re getting closer.”

  Cupping both breasts, Cal squeezed them together and flicked the aching points. “Better?”

  “Rougher.”

  “Oh, Miss Prim likes it rough, does she?” With his thumbs and forefingers, Cal pinched hard, tugging on her nipples until they were distended and puffy. It nearly hurt. It felt so good.

  “Yes.” Dropping her head back, Monica grabbed his wrists. With every twist, a hot spark of desire shot straight to her pussy. Her level of arousal was almost unbearable. Monica was wet for hi
m. Throbbing. Empty. The desert wind whipped around the car, causing it to shudder. She shuddered right along with it.

  Monica hadn’t realized how much she’d needed this—to feel attractive, seductive. Sex had been more of a habit than an exciting adventure over the last year. With Cal, she was on the ride of her life and enjoying every second.

  “Calum.” Once again, she ground herself against his dick. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, wanted to feel him stroking inside her.

  Bending down, she nipped his chin.

  “You’re still teasing me,” he said. Then, in a move that robbed her of breath, he removed one hand from her breast and plunged it into her hair, forcing her head down to meet him. His kiss was raw and bruising. His tongue invaded her mouth, demanding a response.

  Lust wracked her body. Monica wanted him inside of her. Now. She dragged her lips off his, but he didn’t relinquish his tight grip. “Need more,” she panted.

  Cal gave her one last scorching kiss before easing his hand out of her hair. “Time for that dress to come off.” It was little more than a wide belt around her waist at this point, but she didn’t argue. Monica lifted her arms, and Cal had if off her in seconds.

  She savored this feeling—hot and eager, exposed to any potential passersby. Bad Girl Monica was back in action. She didn’t even try to deny herself this moment—instead, Monica let her reckless, passionate instinct take the reins. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts out and cupped them, posing for Cal. “How bad do you want this?” she asked.

  “Words are inadequate.”

  She dropped her hands, and despite the darkness, she felt his eyes wandering over her, taking in her tits, her waist, the lacy black triangle just covering her pussy. Starting with her collarbone, Cal’s hard palms blazed a trail down her body, over her breasts, across her belly, until he reached her panties. “These need to come off too.” Slipping his fingers beneath the waistband, he lowered them.

  Monica rose to her knees so Cal could shove them down her thighs. He smoothed his hands up to her hips and gripped them tightly. “Monica, love, tell me you like a good, hard ride. Because I’m not sure how much longer I can do gentle, but I’ll try.”