One More Time - Ali Parker Page 0,16

my legs and the fact that my nipples were straining against the fabric of my bra, and I focused on my questions instead.

Only, as soon as I glanced from the screen of my tablet where I’d neatly listed my questions the night before, his tongue flicked out of his mouth at the exact moment that my eyes hit his. It was nothing more than a quick swipe of his lower lip, but it felt like a hook to my gut.

Before I could think about what I was doing or consider all the reasons why it was a bad idea, words came tumbling out of my mouth like bullets, and as potentially damaging. Yet there was nothing I could do to take them back.

“Do you want to have dinner with me sometime?”

It took everything I had not to slam my hands over my mouth or to hang my head in embarrassment, but somehow, I managed. Caleb seemed, at most, mildly surprised. His chin dropped to his chest as he surveyed me. “You want to go to dinner with me?”

“Yes, you know, to see how you are in a different context. Away from all of,” I waved my hands around the room for emphasis and silently praised my great save, “this. To see how you are in an interview in a more relaxed setting.”

He was silent for another beat. Then he nodded. He looked a bit smug about it, but he didn’t bring it up. “Okay. Dinner it is. Let me call you in a couple of days to set it up?”

Inside, I was going wild. My subconscious was running victory laps while cheering about our date with Caleb Larsen, but on the outside, I maintained complete composure.

“It’s a date,” I said, then felt my cheeks heat as I realized that I’d said it out loud.

Caleb smirked, gracefully rising to his feet, and cocked a brow at me. “I thought I was an interview.”

“Yeah, of course. That’s what I meant, a date for the interview.”

He didn’t buy it. I could tell. But he had the good sense to shut up about it. Caleb said his goodbyes and walked his sexy ass out of the conference room while I was left to gather my things and my composure.

Whatever. It’s totally a date.

Chapter 7

Caleb

Kelly looked hot. I’d been amused at her, “it’s a date” comment after our interview, but she’d dressed like she’d taken it to heart. When I’d called her yesterday to suggest a little lobster joint I knew down by the beach, I’d expected her to arrive straight from work in her usual skinny jeans and tight, old band T-shirt getup that she seemed to favor.

That wasn’t what I got. And though I thought her usual style was quirky and funky—plus, she had very similar tastes to mine when it came to old music—the dress she’d chosen to wear for the continuation of our interview spoke more to my dick than my brain.

It was difficult to remember that this night wasn’t going to end with me fucking her when her cleavage sat high and proud and deep, her curvy hips swaying as she approached me at our table. The dress she was wearing was longer than most I saw on girls at clubs, more demure, but it was sexy in its own right.

It was a white and navy dress that she’d paired with red heels and bright red lipstick. Still quirky, still Kelly, but Kelly with a sexy twist.

I wouldn’t have guessed that she had it in her, but it sure looked like she did. I also didn’t really know her, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that she did.

“Hey,” she said cheerfully, sliding into the seat across from me without waiting for either me or the waiter behind her to slide it out for her. I’d already been halfway out my seat because my mama raised us as gentlemen, even if it would be hard to tell most times, and the waiter had darted for the chair, but Kelly was already seated.

Lowering my ass back to my own seat, I couldn’t help but admire how smoothly and confidently she’d pulled that off. She was no damsel in distress, this one. “Hey. You’re right on time.”

A quick glance at the clock on the wall behind her told me that she was exactly, to the minute, on time. None of that making you wait shit some women were into.

She frowned, then gave me a curious smile. “You said seven. What’s the point of