Page 7 of Surprise Me Tonight (Claimed on Sight #1)

Callum

I was prepared.

Mentally. Logically. Strategically.

I’d braced myself for cardigans. Something floral, maybe. Loose trousers, sensible shoes. The kind of outfit that says “I’ve got Tupperware in my bag and tissues up my sleeve.”

Not this .

Not this bloody dress.

Green, fitted, hugging every curve like it was made for her. The neckline low enough to show just a hint of her ample cleavage, the fabric smooth over her full hips, pulled in at the waist. She is the image wet dreams are made of.

I was supposed to be in control.

Instead, she walks in, tablet in hand, hair tucked behind one ear like it’s no big deal, and I forget what I was doing. Forget what I was meant to say.

Because I don’t know what to do with her like this.

Something’s changed, and some selfish part of me wants to believe it’s because of me. That she wore this dress with me in mind. That she’s braver, more sure of herself, because of me. The thought makes me feel like an arrogant bastard.

It has to be the job. It must feel good—liberating, even—to be back at work after so long away. Maybe this role has given her back a piece of herself.

She isn’t hiding anymore. Not behind loose trousers or a hunched posture. She’s here in my office, in a dress that skims her curves and dares the world to notice, even if she doesn’t quite believe it yet. And I can’t look away.

I shift in my chair and adjust the folder in front of me, to hide the hard on that is tenting my trousers.

She doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me like she’s waiting for something.

I clear my throat and nod towards the paperwork. “Shall we?”

Because if she keeps looking at me like that, I won’t be thinking about work. I’ll be thinking about how fast I can bend her over this desk and show her how much I want her.

Stella appears at the door mid-morning, tablet in one hand, the other resting lightly against the frame.

“Do you want a tea or coffee?”

I glance up. “Yeah. Coffee. Black. No sugar… please.”

She nods. “Where’s the machine?”

“In the kitchen. Through the living room, on the right. It’s on the counter next to the window. ”

She disappears again, footsteps fading down the hall.

I try to focus on the email in front of me, but the image of her walking away in that bloody dress is still stuck in my head. It’s the way it moves… no, the way she sways in it. Intentional or not, it’s in my head now, and it’s not leaving any time soon.

A few minutes later, she’s back.

“Sorry, Callum, I can’t find the filters.”

I lean back in my chair and sigh, louder than necessary. “Of course not.”

Pushing up from the desk, I walk past her and head towards the kitchen. I don’t look back, but I can feel her eyes on me. My shoulders tighten without permission.

When I step into the kitchen, she follows, staying just behind me. The space is as pristine as I remember — every surface wiped clean, everything lined up like it’s afraid to be out of place.

I stop in front of the cupboards and open the one above the kettle.

“Top shelf,” I say, tapping the box of filters with two fingers.

She steps in beside me, close enough that her arm brushes mine. She tilts her head up, squinting slightly before stretching to reach the box.

“Bit high,” she mutters.

I don’t think. I just move.

One step forward, into her space.

I reach up at the same time she does, deliberately not rushing, close enough to feel the warmth of her back against my chest. The scent of her… it’s clean and fresh with a hint of lemon.

She goes still .

I grab the box and slowly lower it, her hand brushing mine as I do.

She turns her head slightly, only just… enough that I can see the blush rising along her cheek.

I should step back.

I should return to my office.

But all I can think about is the shape of her body in that dress and how bloody tempting it is to stay right here for a moment longer.

Too close.

Way too close.

A low growl slips out before I can stop it. She has that effect on me.

Stella takes a step back, her body lining up with mine. She stills the second her bum brushes against the hard-on I’m very much not able to hide.

No way she didn’t feel that.

I lean down just enough, my mouth near her ear before I can talk myself out of it.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

My voice drops, slow and deliberate, wrapping around that last word like a promise. Anything.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

And I don’t wait. I step back, turn, and walk out of the kitchen before I do something even more fucking stupid. My jaw’s tight. Shoulders tense. Heat still buzzing low and hard in my stomach.

Back in my office, I shut the door behind me and sit down harder than I mean to.

Idiot! What the hell was that?

I’ve handled negotiations worth millions with less adrenaline than what’s currently punching through my system. All because she smells like lemon and shows of her curves in the best possible way.

And now she’s in my kitchen. Alone. Probably wondering whether she should call Jess and report me for being a bloody creep.

I wouldn’t blame her.

That was too far.

She didn’t say a word, didn’t look back, but it doesn’t take a genius to know I crossed a line.

Any minute now, I’ll get the message. Or Jess will. And I’ll lose her before she’s even had the chance to really be part of my life.

Brilliant, just fucking brilliant.

I rub a hand over my face, exhaling through my nose.

This is exactly what I told myself not to do. Exactly why I should’ve hired someone boring, someone clinical, someone I didn’t want to see bent over my kitchen counter.

I press the palm of my hand to my forehead.

Keep your distance.

No matter what she’s wearing. No matter how she smells. No matter how badly you want her.

Keep your fucking distance.

I’m still sitting there, staring at my screen without taking in a single word, when the doorbell rings.

Not once. Twice.

I frown. I’m not expecting anyone .

A minute later, footsteps echo down the hall — Stella’s, light and quick, followed by a second pair. Heavier. Confident.

The office door creaks open. She walks in with a mug in one hand and Jasper at her heels, grinning like he’s just pulled off a heist.

She crosses to the desk and sets the cup down in front of me, the soft clink on the coaster somehow louder than it should be.

“Your coffee,” she says, voice low but steady.

Then she looks at me — properly this time — and everything shifts.

It’s there again. That thing from the kitchen.

Her gaze drops to my mouth, then snaps back to my eyes.

Her cheeks flush, and I feel the heat of it right down my spine.

But there’s no anger in it. No disgust. Just awareness.

And something deeper I can’t quite name.

Something I’m not sure I’m allowed to want.

She’s the one who breaks the moment, turning to Jasper with a polite smile.

“Would you like a coffee, Mr Corbin?”

“Jasper… please,” he says, still watching me like he knows exactly what just passed between us. “And I’d love a cup of tea. If it’s no trouble.”

“Not at all,” she replies, already heading for the door.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Jasper drags a chair from the corner, turns it around, and straddles it like he’s settling in for the main event.

“What the hell did I just walk into?”

I stare at the coffee in front of me like it might answer for my sins.

“Nothing. ”

“Mate.” He raises an eyebrow. “You are talking to me. I know you. Something is going on here.”

I get up without a word, walk to the door, and shut it. Firmly.

Jasper’s watches me, but he doesn’t say anything.

I drop back into my chair, lean forward, elbows on the desk, hands steepled in front of my mouth.

“This is her first day.”

“Right,” he says, like he’s agreeing to something obvious.

“And I’ve already nearly said something I shouldn’t. Done something I shouldn’t.”

His smirk fades. Slightly.

“She’s not even doing anything. That’s the thing.” I shake my head. “She’s just... here. In that bloody dress. Being competent and polite and walking into rooms like she belongs in them. And it’s driving me mad.”

Jasper watches me for a second, then says, “Right. So just to be clear — we’re not talking about a woman who came in flirting, or batting her lashes, or sitting on the desk in a miniskirt.”

“No.”

“We’re talking about a woman who offered you a coffee and blushed a bit.”

“Yes.”

He leans back, slow and thoughtful. “So the problem is... you.”

I exhale, sharp. “Fuck off.”

He grins. “You fancy her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s always that simple. ”

I rub a hand over my face. “I don’t know what it is. She’s not the type I usually go for. She’s older, certainly curvier, and she doesn’t try to impress me, and she’s not playing the game. But she’s in my head.”

“Maybe because she’s not playing the game.”

“Maybe,” I mutter. “Or maybe I’ve just completely lost the plot. Either way, this can’t happen.”

Jasper folds his arms. “You going to tell her that before or after you start imagining her naked every time she brings you a cuppa?”

I give him my best glare. He answers with a grin like he’s won something.

“Look,” he says, “you’ve been alone a long time. And this place? It’s quiet. Quieter than you’re used to. And now you’ve got this woman walking in every day with curves that clearly are effecting that little brain between your legs. Of course you’re rattled.”

“I’m not rattled.”

“You’re rattled .”

I take a slow sip of coffee and stare at the desk.

“She’s going to be in that office. Every day. Across the hall. In my house.”

“Yup.”

I shake my head again. “This is going to be a fucking disaster.”