Suddenly the door clicks. I look up as it opens slowly. Caleb steps inside, and my heart leaps inside my chest.
He’s wearing a tuxedo.
The luxurious black jacket is fitted across his lean and sculpted frame, exquisitely cut. A crisp white tuxedo shirt is underneath, but there’s no tie—which I love. The shirt is unbuttoned a few notches—probably because his neck is so big from all the resistance training he has to do to keep it strong enough to withstand g-forces—and the white cuffs just peek out from the end of the sleeves. His pants are perfectly cut to fit his athletic body.
I notice his hair is tousled a bit, and there’s dark stubble shading his jawline.
My eyes meet his, and I see he’s appraising me in the same way. But as I stare at him, I find myself unable to speak.
Caleb isdevastatinglyhot in a tux. But with the hair and the facial scruff? He’s rugged and refined, all rolled into one.
He walks closer to me. I have to remember to breathe.
“Apologies for the tuxedo,” he says, the hint of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. “And for the conference room. It’s not exactly the way I’d want to have coffee with you, but it’s the best I could do with my schedule tonight and wanting to protect our privacy.”
I don’t respond right away. I’m inhaling that clean cologne on his skin, and damn it, he smells as good as he looks.
“You look beautiful, Isla,” he says softly.
God, I love the way my name sounds with his British accent!
“Thank you. And I know you apologized for the tuxedo, but you look good in it.”
“Thank you.” Caleb’s gaze travels down my body, and then he stops when he gets to my left arm. “You’re wearing it,” he says.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“The bracelet.”
I glance down at it. Caleb moves closer, and I think my heart is about to explode in my chest.
“You’re wearing it,” he repeats. “I hope that’s a good sign. Because I have a good feeling about tonight. And I hope you do, too.”
Chapter Twelve
“Do you mind if I take off my jacket?” Caleb asks. “I hate being so formal.”
“No, not at all,” I say.
He slips out of the tuxedo jacket and drapes it over a chair at the conference table. I study how the white tuxedo shirt stretches across his lean, sculpted body. I notice he has platinum cufflinks in his cuffs, which tells me Caleb pays attention to details. But he still has the stack of bracelets on his left wrist, rows of black leather alternating with silver ones, and a huge platinum watch, too.
It’s very, very hot.
“Now, if we were in a coffeehouse, I’d be asking what you want to drink,” he says. “But it looks like tonight all I can ask is if you want decaf or regular.”
I smile at that. “Ask me why I need decaf.”
“Isla, why do you need decaf?”
Isla, Isla, Isla.
Not that I’m a narcissist, but I think I could hear Caleb say my name all day long and not grow tired of it.
“I need decaf because I will have wretched insomnia if I don’t. There. Spoken like a little old lady. Still interested in getting to know me?”
The corners of his mouth tip up in a playful smile as he leans against the conference table, spreading his palms behind him casually.
GOOD GOD, HE LOOKS LIKE A MODEL IN A PHOTOSHOOT.