Rock Redemption

Thea, now dressed in sleek black pants that hugged her butt and a soft, silky T-shirt of midnight blue under a dark gray blazer that nipped in at the waist, had come to say good-bye to Molly since the two women had missed each other that morning. Narrowing her eyes when she saw him, Thea ostensibly spoke to the entire band—but he knew the words were directed at him.

“If you want me to continue putting out fires for you,” she said, “do not do anything that interrupts my vacation.” A blistering look that was very definitely focused on David. “And next time someone tells you to put ice on a bruise, you listen!”

Then she was gone, her luggage already in the trunk of the car that was taking her to the airport for her flight to the Indonesian island of Bali, home to her parents and little sisters. He watched her step inside the car, its taillights fading far too quickly into the night.

Even then he didn’t send the memo.

No, he waited until the minute before the concert was about to begin before pushing Send and turning off his phone. At least this way, he wouldn’t be able to torment himself by checking for a response until after the show.

Thea had barely sunk into the comfort of a cushioned armchair in a quiet corner of the airline’s frequent-flyer lounge when her phone chimed. Putting down the glass of champagne she’d allowed herself in anticipation of the first real vacation she’d taken in over a year, she picked up her phone. It was impossible for her to simply ignore it—hazard of having a profession where a single leak or news report could change the trajectory of an entire career.

You never knew if it would be for good or for bad until it happened.

Seeing the message was from David, she felt her abdomen tense. He’d hardly spoken to her today, not that she could blame him. She’d been so worried about that eye of his that she’d snapped at him twice when all she’d wanted was to grip his jaw and check for herself that he was okay. He’d probably written her a nice, polite apology for not contacting her as soon as he was picked up by the cops… Only the thing was, Thea had had it up to here with David being polite to her.

He was polite to her when she had meetings with him and the rest of the band. He was polite to her when she called to ask him his views on particular publicity options. He was polite to her when she joined the band for di

And nothing else.

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 fu

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 ru

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—

Thea closed her eyes, took a deep breath. It didn’t do much good, her chest heaving and her pulse a brutal thud against her skin. Mind filled with the potent erotic imagery he’d conjured up and thighs tightly clenched in a futile effort to contain the sudden throbbing ache in between, she stared up at the ceiling of the lounge.

All she saw was David’s hand on her thigh, the small scar he had across the first knuckle of his right hand a slash of white against the dark gold of his natural skin tone. His arm was hard with strength and dusted with tiny black hairs, muscle and tendon flexing under his skin as he teased and played with her clit using those callused fingertips before thrusting a single finger deep into—

She squeezed her phone so hard that she heard the case crack, her body rigid and nerves gone haywire. When it was over, she collapsed into her seat in stu

He’d made her orgasm.

With nothing but the pressure of her thighs on her needy flesh and his words. The damn man had figured out her weak point and he’d aimed his missile right at it: her mind.

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Acknowledgments

A special thanks to Leena and Dave Shalloe for their help with beta reading and particularly the musical aspects of this book.

Thank you also to Sharyn and Jayshri for your wonderful feedback, and to Ashwini for being all-around awesome.