Page 6 of By the Letter

He rose to stand and turned toward me. Though I couldn’t see his eyes, I felt them raking over me. “Best night I’ve had in a long time. Wish it hadn’t ended that way.”

I shook my head. “Please don’t worry.”

Circling the bed, he pulled on his pants, then stopped next to me, dragging his knuckles along my bare throat.

“Glad I met you.”

“Me too.” I allowed myself to lean into his hand for one beat of my heart before straightening. “Bright side?”

He huffed a laugh. I’d asked him the same thing online at the end of each conversation we’d shared. It was something I’d started with my late husband and still carried with me.

“Bright side was you.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Goodnight, sweet Goldie.”

“Goodbye,” I whispered, but he was already gone, gathering his shirt and heading for the door. He left without looking back, the lock clicking behind him.

Alone, I slipped my mask off and wiped my sweaty face with the sheet. Then I got up, pulled on my clothes, and slipped my feet into my shoes. Once I was back to myself again, the ache between my legs was the only evidence the last few hours had happened.

With one last look around room ten, I left too, putting a close to the hottest, most carnal night of my life.

Bright side: I now know a night like that is possible for me.

Chapter Three

Shira

The soft fuzziness ofmy night in room ten stayed with me for a little more than a week. Eight days of going into GoldMed’s office, trying my hardest to keep my late husband’s company afloat when it was sinking so steadily, I couldn’t bail fast enough. Eight days of trying my damnedest to be the confident, fearless leader my employees needed at the helm when that wasn’t me in any way. Eight days of Roman Wells walking the halls, being friendly and amiable with every person but me.

Roman had a reputation in Denver as a shark. He swooped down on companies in need of capital or restructuring and bought up their debt or shares at a rock-bottom price. He often made aggressive moves within the companies he invested in,which ruffled feathers, but on the flip side, he rarely failed to turn those businesses around.

I’d been looking forward to meeting Roman in person, and eight days ago, it happened unexpectedly. My assistant and right-hand woman, Terry, had been out to lunch, so the knock on my office door had surprised me. Roman hadn’t even given me a chance to say “come in” before entering.

From behind my desk, I looked up…and up…and up. Of course, I knew what Roman Wells looked like from photographs, but seeing him in person took me aback. He was tall, six and a half feet if I had to guess, but his grin softened the intimidation factor in the rest of his rugged features.

Well, for most people, it would have. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my suddenly dry mouth, and I seemed to have forgotten what to do with my hands. I didn’t like surprises. Being put on the spot made me freeze and lose track of my brain.

“Hey, sorry to show up unannounced, but I was in the area and thought it would be nice to meet before all the formal introductions at the board meeting.” He strode into my office, still smiling. “I’m Roman.”

“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” I looked at my computer, at the calendar that held my appointments. There weren’t many—I handled most things through email—and the few I had had been scheduled well in advance. “Tomorrow at nine. It’s right here.”

He pulled up short. “Right. Like I said, I was in the area—”

I typed his name in today’s slot on my calendar as my heart thudded. What was this reaction? Why was this man’s presence making me feel on the verge of a panic attack? My palms were so sweaty my hand practically slid off my mouse.

“You look busy,” he stated dryly, clearly unimpressed. “Too busy to even tell me your name so I can confirm I’m in the right office.”

Flustered, I looked up from my computer, finding this huge man studying me like a specimen under a microscope. I would have liked to do the same, but not when he was staring back at me.

Averting my gaze, I answered him. “Shira. I’m Shira.”

“Hmmm. Okay, Shira.”

“Okay, Roman,” I echoed, sounding sarcastic even to my ears, which I hadn’t meant. Dear god, why couldn’t my mouth cooperate? I was a disaster.

In my periphery, Roman folded his arms over his broad chest. “I thought we might be able to build a rapport despite what I’ve heard about you. It seems I was mistaken.”

I forced myself to look at him again, my brow raised. I wanted to ask what he’d heard, though, in truth, I wasn’t certain I could handle hearing it. Being called things like “ice queen,” “cold,” “boring,” and “void of personality” even once was enough for a lifetime. After ten or twenty times, it was impossible not to take to heart.

I took so long to think of how to reply, Roman shifted on his feet, exhaling heavily through his nose. If only I could explain I didn’t do well with surprises. I needed time to prepare for conversations with new people—especially six-and-a-half-foot men with hands that could crush a small sedan and faces so roughly hewn they could have been carved from a boulder. This man was so outrageously handsome, I would have needed even more time than usual to prepare.

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