Page 25 of Caught in His Sights

Caleb peers over his shoulders, and his eyes widen in surprise, then narrow as he assesses the situation. He hesitates for a moment before stepping aside to reveal me to Officer Pritchard.

The officer tries to maintain a professional demeanor, but his cheeks flush with embarrassment when his focus latches onto my bare legs.

“Oliver.” Caleb strides over and cups my hip. “It’s not the delivery man. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” He shoots the officer an exasperated glare.

I pout and cling to Caleb’s shoulders, playing up my role of sex kitten for all I’m worth. “But you promised you’d be right back with whipped cream.”

The officer’s face turns even redder, and a small sense of satisfaction fills me at his flustered blush. “I apologize for disrupting your morning, but we had an anonymous tip that you’re here under duress.”

I flutter my lashes at him. “Well, the handcuffs haven’t come out yet, but give us another twenty minutes, and they might.”

Caleb swats me on the ass hard enough to sting. “Behave.”

My breath catches, and I suddenly question the decision to ditch my pants. My boxers aren’t up for restraining my excitement at the brief flash of pain.

Caleb smirks, well aware of the effect his little punishment has on me.

The expression vanishes, though, before he turns to address the officer. “Now that you’ve verified Oliver is safe and sound, I assume you can leave?”

The officer hesitates, his eyes flickering between Caleb and me. “Actually, I need to speak with Mr. Kent alone.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow and looks at me, his focus dropping to the slight tent in the front of my shirt and my bare legs. With a sigh, he pulls off his polo and ties it around my waist, covering me down to the knees.

My attention latches onto the muscular chest and black inkwork, now on full display. The design hugs the curve of his torso on the right side, stretching from the bottom of his ribs to his hip.

None of my reports contained information about a tattoo.

He fixes the officer with a warning stare. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Warning delivered, he strides to the kitchen, leaving us alone.

“Please, have a seat.” The officer gestures toward the living room.

I step off the stairs and walk over to perch on the edge of the armchair, forcing him to sit on the couch.

He takes out his phone to reference his notes and clears his throat. “So, how did you come to be here, Mr. Kent?”

I cross my ankles. “I arrived in Caleb’s car, as you said.”

“And where were you before coming here?”

“His family’s estate.” I see no reason to lie when traffic cams can prove we left the city.

“How did you and Caleb come to be together?” he asks, struggling to keep his attention off my bare legs.

“He wanted to discuss an article I had written, and we hit it off.” Also true, kind of, sort of, in a roundabout way.

“Your neighbors reported hearing glass breaking inside your apartment. Can you explain that?”

“We got a little… passionate and knocked over a lamp.” I lower my head to hide my amusement at the officer’s obvious discomfort.

“Are you here of your own free will, Oliver?”

My head lifts, and I hold his eyes. “There’s no other place I’d rather be.”

The sound of a plastic bottle cracking open fills the air, and Caleb joins us in the living room.

“Here you go, sugar.” He hands the water to me. “You’re probably parched from earlier.”

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