Page 25 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

A yelp made them both turn toward Daphne, who was stumbling back from the shelving while a cat yowled at her feet before darting across the concrete floor.

In two long strides, Calvin had his hands on her arms to steady her. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said, breathless as she hunched over, folder hugged tight to her chest. “Did you see that cat?” She pointed to where the animal had run. By the time Calvin had turned back around, Daphne was already hurrying toward the exit.

“Davis?”

“That’s just Dumpling,” Barela called out. “She won’t hurt you.”

“I’m allergic!” Daphne said, almost sprinting away.

What the hell was she doing? Had she seen something? Were they in danger?

One hand on his holster, Calvin scanned the area as he followed her. He kept one eye on Barela as his blood thrummed. They passed the two carpenters and were back out in the main yard within moments.

“Daphne! Slow down!” Calvin called out, jogging behind her. He watched her toss her hat and vest on Barela’s desk as she booked it out of the contractor’s office. Calvin did the same and turned to the contractor, who was staring at them both like they’d lost their minds. “Thanks, Mr. Barela. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

“Is she okay?”

“It’s a bad allergy,” Calvin lied.

“Gosh.”

“Thanks again,” he said, and rushed out the door to find Daphne huddled next to his truck. She was doing something, but she had her back to him.

“What’s going on? What was that about?”

Daphne glanced over her shoulder, and ...

Was sheblushing?

“I panicked,” she admitted.

“About what?”

After scanning their surroundings and finding them devoid of other people, Daphne turned. Calvin’s eyes bugged as he saw the state of her shirt. She was wearing a dark-blue button-down tucked into gray pants, which was pretty similar to what she wore every day. Office-appropriate, staid, conservative clothing. Except her button-down had lost a few buttons at some point and had a big horizontal rip across the chest area. It was being held closed by Daphne’s clenched fists.

And she wasn’t doing a great job.

The rip in the fabric cut across her breast, so Calvin got a clear view of an expanse of skin he had no business viewing. Her breast was lovingly cradled by red lace.

Red lace.

The woman dressed like the accountant she was, except she wore undergarments likethat.

As Daphne tried to paw at the fabric to cover herself, the middle of the shirt gaped open and gave him a view of the little red bow and sparkly charm dangling right at the base of her cleavage.

Tearing his gaze away, Calvin turned, cleared his throat, and stared at the overcast sky. “I, uh. Your shirt’s ripped.”

“How perceptive of you. That’s why you get the big bucks, Einstein.”

He glared over his shoulder, but while his back was turned, Daphne had dropped her hands to fiddle with the working buttons of her shirt, and now he could see even more red lace cupping perfect breasts. Had she always had those things hiding under there? Full and lush and ...

His mouth watered, and he forced himself to turn around again.

“My shirt snagged on that shelf, and when that cat ran out, I jerked back.” She clicked her tongue. “Another shirt ruined.”

Calvin’s cock was hard. Why was his cock hard? Apart from the lingerie and the tits, of course. Those tits belonged to Daphne Davis, though. They had no business making him feel like this. Sure, he liked driving her crazy, and she’d used that hot breathy voice the day before, and okay, yes, she was an attractive woman in an abstract sort of sense, but he hadn’t realized ...

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