Another appeared beneath it.
Are you asking me out on a date?
Her composure wobbled, a fraction. As if they hadn’t already obliterated the line past dating and gone straight to waking up tangled in her sheets.
She rolled her eyes and typed back.
No.
A second message followed immediately.
I’m feeding you.
The dots appeared again.
That sounds suspiciously like a date.
Eleanor shook her head, smiling despite herself. The man had seen her naked; he didn’t get to be coy.
You can starve if you’d prefer.
The reply came back almost immediately.
Seven o’clock work for you?
She hesitated for half a second, a flicker of nerves chasing through the steady thrum of anticipation.
Then typed:
Seven is fine.
She set the phone face down, but the office’s silence only made the memories louder. A sudden, involuntary shiver traced the length of her spine—not from the chill of the air conditioning, but from the phantom sensation of Reid’s hands sliding up her ribs. It was a phantom memory, deep and stubborn, a vivid replay of the way he’d pulled her against him until there wasn't a breath
left between them. It was distracting. It was unprofessional. And it was entirely beyond her control.
A moment passed.
Then another message came through.
Looking forward to it, Counselor.
Her stomach did an undignified little flip. She could still hear that voice, low and rough against her ear two nights ago, promising things that had made her forget how to think.
Before she could answer, one more popped up beneath it.
P.S. — Should I expect your Irish bloodhound to be there too?
Eleanor laughed softly out loud this time.
She typed back:
Deck is out of town.
The reply was instant.
Well, now I’m definitely coming.
She shook her head and set the phone down again.
