Her hand clenched on the phone. If he’d been that way from the start, she wouldn’t have known any different, but David hadn’t just been polite to her when she came onboard the Schoolboy Choir team. He’d been sweet and funny and warm. So many times toward the end of her relationship with Eric, when her ex-fiancé had done or said something that hurt her, it was David she’d called.
She’d never told him the real reason why she was calling, had always made it about work, but he’d made her feel better nonetheless. It had taken her several months to realize David was shy, but it wasn’t the kind of shy that left him tongue-tied or lost. He just needed a bit of time to get to know people, warm up to them. When he did, his loyalty was etched in stone, his support unconditional.
That support had helped her deal with far more than he knew.
And now… he was polite and reserved and she missed him. So many times, she had to fight the urge to take hold of those strong, solid shoulders and shake him, tell him to stop it!
Even though he was meant to be a client and nothing else.
Bracing herself for the horrible, polite message to follow, she opened his e-mail. Her mouth dropped open.
He’d sent her a memo.
And it had nothing whatsoever to do with the bar fight.
Reasons Why You Should Give Us a Shot
Introduction: In this memo, I, David Rivera, explain why you, Thea Arsana, should seriously consider entering into a relationship with me.
First, let me address what I believe is your main reason for not dating me: that I am a client. This can be easily remedied. You own an agency in partnership. Your partner, or, if Imani has no space on her books, one of your senior associates, can take over the Schoolboy Choir account. If you’d prefer not to move the account, you can have Imani vet anything that has to do specifically with me. (Speaking as a member of SC, we want you, no one else.)
Second, while I admit I am a couple of inches shorter than you and two years younger, I have absolutely no hang-ups about either. I don’t think such a small age difference matters, and I’m fairly certain my maturity levels are acceptable. I point out that I, too, am an eldest child. As for the height thing—I seriously love those heels you wear. Never will I be so stupid as to demand you wear flats.
Not when watching you walk in heels is one of my all-time favorite things to do.
I’m also in good shape. I realize I’m not as pretty as Noah, or as built as Abe, or have a dimple like Fox, but I have been told I have good teeth. Therefore, I’m not physically deficient.
Third, I think you’re hot. Extremely, combustibly hot. If I could, I’d keep you in bed for a week running, naked and mine, and I’d still not have enough. I think every part of you is hot, but I’m particularly turned on by your mind and your legs. You should see the fantasies I have of seducing your mind with my words while I stroke my hands over your legs, rub my fingertips along the inner skin of your thighs.
You don’t mind calluses, do you, Thea? They come from drumming so intensely over a long period. All that physical work also means I have plenty of stamina. I can go as long and as hard as you want, or as slow and as deep, or any combination thereof. Hard and deep. Slow and long. Hard, deep, long? I can do that.
Your choice.
Or if you prefer it gentle and lazy, I can do that too. (Though we’d probably have to burn things down to a simmer with a hard, fast bout or three first.)
I’d be careful as I stroked you, but I’m afraid my touch would be a bit rough, a fraction abrasive, especially when I reach between your legs and use my fingertips to squeeze that pretty, plump, hard little—