Page 37 of The Spy
Fucking hell.
I stood up rapidly and hid my crotch behind the chair. "These fit. That works fine."
Tabatha met my gaze then, and then she did the one thing she knew I couldn't take. She licked her bottom lip and lowered her gaze, and my dick kicked in my trousers as I tried to remind myself we were not fucking doing this.
The phone rang in the office, and Genevieve excused herself.
Tabatha shook her head. "Don't look at me like that."
"Exactly how am I looking at you?"
"I don't know, but stop."
I took a step toward her. "Just what am I doing? You look a little unsettled, Miss Smith. What seems to be the problem?"
I was close now.
Close enough to scent her. Close enough for the flirty length of her skirt to brush my fingertips.
This was too close, and I knew I was playing with fire.
She pressed a hand on my chest. "How do I look, Gabe? Good enough to eat?"
My cock twitched again, and I swear to God, she could feel it. My voice was low as I growled, "It doesn't matter what you're wearing. You're always good enough to eat. I can almost taste you. You must be all spiced honey and addictive."
And then I deliberately snapped the control back down on my libido and stepped away.
"The garter suits the dresses. But whenever possible, fucking wear pants."
And then I turned and stalked out.
Yes, I was being a coward. But there was only so much I could fucking take. Because I had to remind myself I was training her to appeal to another man.
12
Tabatha
Do not fuck this up.
I ran my hands through my hair and scooped it up into a messy high bun.
I'd had straightening products put in it and had it trimmed and blown out within an inch of its life. Despite the cut, it was still long enough to hit my waist when straight.
I had also been given the whole art-chic makeover, complete with a black pencil skirt down below my knees, black heeled boots, and a vermillion red blouse showing just enough cleavage to make me interesting, but not so much as to distract from the actual art.
I looked the part too. My makeup had been done expertly, and I had been shown how to repeat the process. Left to my own devices, I usually slapped on tinted moisturizer and lip gloss.
Fingers snapped in front of my eyes. "Pay fucking attention. This is your life."
Shit. I blinked rapidly. "I'm well aware of that. You yelling at me is not going to help the situation. I'm focused. I know the backstory inside and out. I can do this."
The muscle on his jaw ticked. Granted, I had a habit of irritating him. But I couldn't figure it out this time.
"Do you understand that this bloke is a potential terrorist? And that at any given moment your life could be in danger?"
"I'm not a fool, Gabe. I'm ready."
His voice pitched lower. "Do you understand exactly what you're going to have to do?"
