About the book:
Monica Campbell may have a history as a wild child, but she's changed her ways. She's respectable, responsible-and, most importantly, she's sworn off bad boys. That is, until Callum Hughes roars back into her life with his sexy British accent and killer smile.
Cal remembers every steamy moment he shared with Monica, but he barely recognizes the straight-laced woman she's become. Determined to lure Monica into letting go of her inhibitions, Cal will use every trick he knows to fire her blood and tempt her body...reminding her
just how good it can feel to be bad-and his.
“Dinner,” Monica said. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.” For now. She just wanted to state it for the record, but her delivery was weak. Even Monica wasn’t buying her flimsy denials. She and Cal would be having sex again before the night was over. After hearing his ideas on tasting versus sampling, she couldn’t think about anything else.
“If you say so.” His agreeable tone said he wasn’t taking her seriously either. She hadn’t really given him a reason to. Every time they were together, she meant to say no, but her legs fell open instead.
Cal unlocked the door and nudged her inside. Monica walked past the threshold and stood in the foyer, taking in the detailed pattern on the tiled floor, the marbled walls, the modern crystal chandelier that looked like dandelion seeds. “This is gorgeous.”
“It’s not on par with Trevor’s place, but it’ll do in a pinch, eh?” He grinned down at her.
“If one doesn’t mind slumming,” she joked. Monica fought against reaching up and touching the left corner of his mouth. That crooked smile got her.
Cal relieved her of her purse and bag, setting them next to the front door. Then he took her hand. “Come on. Food’s outside.” He sped through the living room, tugging her behind him.
“Wait.” Monica dragged her feet. Her quick glance around the living room gave her an overall impression of warm walls and sumptuous furniture—a mixture of old world dark wood and modern design. “I want to see it all.”
“Later. I’ll show you everything, I promise.” He pulled her to the French doors.
“Do you always keep your promises, Calum Hughes?”
He stopped then and looked over his shoulder. She’d only been joking, but his eyes were somber. “Yes. Always. Don’t you?”
Monica hadn’t kept the promise she’d made to herself, the one about steering clear of good-time guys with sex on the brain. And she hadn’t kept the promise to her mom, either. Monica didn’t plan on following her heart anytime soon. “No, I don’t always keep my promises.”
Cal studied her for a long moment. When he smiled, the left side of his mouth stayed on an even keel with the right. “What a pity. Now, come along.”