Barbara McCauley - Callan's Proposition

He felt an odd catch in his throat as he stared back at her. She wore a high-collared gray sweater, and he realized it was the first time he’d seen her without a business suit—well, other than last night, but she had been wearing her suit then, too, or at least most of it. He looked at the oversize sweater she had on, the big, black-rimmed glasses, the tight knot of blond hair at the base of her neck, and he wondered why all this time she’d been hiding behind a facade of plain, when she really wasn’t plain at all. She was actually kind of pretty. More than kind of, he thought. She had really soft, smooth skin, her eyes were an unusual shade of gray-green, and that body, well, hot damn, that body was—

“Cal, hello, anybody home?” Reese waved a hand in front of his face and pulled him out of his illicit thoughts. “What’s the matter with you?”

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