Oh. My. God.

I don’t know if I’m more mortified for myself or for him. I’ve heard of second-hand embarrassment, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually felt it before.

Sure, sometimes on those singing competitions I’d watch in junior high, they purposely put crappy singers in front of the judges so they could be openly mocked on national television. That was embarrassing for them, but at least they got paid for their troubles.

I feel palpably embarrassed for Caleb right now. At first, I practically drooled over seeing him in his cute little short-shorts. Crap, I mean, I was practically undressing him with my eyes. Imagining getting down on my knees in front of him and putting my fingers inside the waistband of the shorts, the outline of his dick making a tempting image in front of me. And then yanking the shorts so they’d come off, smoothing over his cute butt, to his thick tree-trunk legs.

But now? Mortification.

And maybe a little bit of amusement.

And then confusion.

Because what in the ever-loving hell is he doing in my dad’s office?

“Have you met my daughter yet?” my dad says, putting his hands on my shoulder protectively.

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb says coolly, pushing his hand through his hair, a few pieces falling onto his forehead. “I met your daughter. Honestly, I thought she was from the messenger service.”

I feel my dad standing behind me as he takes his hands off my shoulders. Good God, I’m just glad he isn’t looking at my face right now. Bright red with embarrassment, I can feel it in the tips of my ears.

“Yes,” I try to act like nothing unusual at all is happening, “we met. He thought the envelope was for him. That’s why he was following me.” I arch an eyebrow at him, pleading silently with him to play along.

“Right,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the glass wall outside dad’s office. A slight pause hits the three of us, and Caleb’s eyes flash from dad’s to mine.

“Anyyyywayyy, I’d better get out of here for the weekend. I wouldn’t want to interrupt any dad and daughter time,” he adds.

“Banker’s hours?” dad says, walking back into his office. “I’m kidding. It’s after five on a Friday. You guys go have fun.” He looks Caleb up and down before closing the door behind him. “I’m not going to even ask what’s going on here. Thanks again, hon.”

He shuts the door and I chuckle, unable to control the muscles in my face from breaking out into a grin.

“I, unlike my dad, am going to ask.” I lean against the wall and keep my eyes on Caleb’s. “What are you wearing?”

“This? Honey, I put this on for you. You didn’t like me in my suit, so I thought I’d wear something a little bit more casual for you.”

He tips away from the wall and comes toward me slowly, his gaze intently upon me. He’s even more sexy than I remembered, and the memory of him was one that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since last night when I ran away from him at the Boat House.

“Casual?” I say, my breath hitching in my throat. “I thought you banker types like deck shoes and polo shirts. Not...whatever this is.” He keeps walking toward me, his eyes flashing and the muscles under his t-shirt flexing, his arms all corded muscle and smooth skin.

He keeps getting closer to me, his eyes fixated on mine the whole time. God, I could melt right now, and as he keeps coming toward me, I feel myself getting wet.

There was never a time I’d get wet just from looking at a guy before I met Caleb.

Shit, I’m not getting wet from looking at him. I’m getting wet from the way he’s looking at me.

Control, exacting command and power. That’s what he is. He knows what he wants. He’s not like the guys I know. The guys who fumble around and then brag about getting a hand job lasting ninety seconds. Those guys don’t know what they’re doing. Like Zoe said last night.

But Caleb? He’s the real deal. And I’m impossibly turned on by how he’s looking at me right now.

He licks his lips and bites down on his bottom lip, and I imagine it’s my lip he’s nibbling on, sucking it into his mouth while he grinds his lips expertly against mine like he did last night.

“Ava,” he says calmly, stopping right in front of me and looking down intently. “Why did you run away from me last night?”

And it’s a good question. I don’t know what to say. There’s a million reasons. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing - literally. I wouldn’t have known what to do next. A man like him is used to bedding women who know how to move, who know what to do. They’re as experienced as he is.

And then, did I really want my first time to be with a stranger?

In public?

In a dark hallway where we could get caught?

I wanted the first time to be special. But I’ve never met anyone quite like Caleb.

“I don’t know why,” I say softly, looking down. I try to not let myself be distracted by his little short shorts, but good lord are they distracting. I’m in a vulnerable place, because the absolute truth is that I don’t know why I ran away. I can name all the reasons I think I did it, but none of them really answers the question. “Maybe I was afraid.” I look up at him, and his face changes from lustful to sympathetic, all with the minor change in how he’s looking at me. He softens, but he’s still as strong as ever.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, putting his hands on my shoulders. His grasp is strong and reassuring. “There’s no need to be afraid. I’ve got you.”

He brings his hands down my shoulders, to my arms, and brings me in close to him.

“I’ve got you.”