Love At First Sight (Love Comes First 2)

“Callaway,” she says with a grin when she sees me barreling down on her with stalled breaths and tingling skin. My adrenaline is through the roof, but I still can’t manage to find any words. This temptress steals my tongue every time I see her. She breaks my brain. “You look… pretty damn good.”

I glance down at my suit and thank the party gods that I packed my best one. It’s a fitted dark navy blue suit and I’m wearing a white shirt with a light gray tie.

I’m probably looking the best I can, but it’s still nothing compared to her. She looks phenomenal. Nothing but two thin straps on her bare shoulders holding up what looks like the only thin material between me and her naked body.

My mouth starts to water when I imagine her soft pink nipples rubbing against the inside of that dress. Her neckline plunges down, showing just enough of her luscious cleavage to drive an obsessed possessive man like myself crazy.

I want to tell her how stunning she is. That I’ll never look at another girl like I’m looking at her. I want to tell her that I love her and that I will never stop loving her. That I’ll be hers forever.

“You’re late.”

She snorts out a laugh as she walks by me, shaking her head. “You’re full of lines, aren’t you, Callaway? You should teach a class.”

My eyes drop down her toned back and fall all the way to her ass that looks mesmerizing, swaying with every step she takes on her black heels.

I’m cursing myself as I catch up to her. Why can’t I say anything right with this girl?

“I meant… I was waiting to see you.”

She stops abruptly between two tables. Eyes start drifting up to us as she waits for me to make a fool of myself yet again with a grin on her unbelievably gorgeous face. “And?”

“And what?” I ask.

She drops her shoulders and rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Eli. Have you never met a girl before? Well, let me explain something to you. When a girl makes a grand entrance wearing a dress she spent a month’s salary on, you compliment her.”

“You look—”

“Too late.” She spins away and I hear a few chuckles from the people eavesdropping around me as she heads over to her table.

I watch her smile as she takes a seat. “Hello, everyone! Sorry to be late. I have a little puppy with bone cancer and I had to wait for my neighbor to bring him here so I could give him his shot. She was too squeamish to do it.”

My palms are all sweaty as I look around the table at all the men’s eyes on her. This girl could have any guy she wants and I really want that guy to be me. I need something big.

A grand gesture to grab her attention for good.

“Yes,” I whisper when it hits me.

I run back to my table just as Mr. Brown is about to say something. “Good, you’re back, Eli. This is important. I’d like you to hear it. Nolan and I were discussing—”

I snatch my phone off the table and race out of the hall, ignoring Mr. Brown. He can take his nine figures and keep it for all I care. I have something to get that’s way more important than money.

Getting Carrie is all I care about now.

My pulse is racing as I dial the phone in the quiet of the hallway. It rings twice.

“Brooke!” I say when my sister answers. “I need your help. Badly.”Chapter SixCarrieI know I’m torturing this man, but I don’t know why it’s so fun.

I can feel Eli’s eyes on me from across the room, but I haven’t looked over at him once. Although, that’s definitely taken some effort. He’s incredibly hot and he’s looking scorching in that fitted navy suit that is so lucky with the way it gets to be glued to his big arms and broad shoulders. It took everything I had not to run my hands along the soft material to feel the hardness of him underneath.

“Are you finished?” the waitress asks me as she reaches for my plate.

“Yes, thanks,” I say as the staff clears our table. We just finished the main meal and the DJ is warming up the place with some 90’s music.

After the upbeat song finishes, the DJ plays a slow song by Mariah Carey and a few couples make their way over to the dance floor.

I’m itching to look over at Eli, but I keep my eyes glued to the table.

“Would you like to dance, Carrie?” Mr. Miller asks in a tone that’s more of a statement than a question.

“With who?” I respond, looking at him blankly.

“With me,” he answers, his tone harshening.

“I think it’s time for the coffee,” I say, looking around in a panic. “And the desserts must be on their way.”