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He lifted a brow. "Who is waiting to exhale?"
I rolled my eyes. "Not a who. A what. A movie, specifically, starring Angela Bassett. Very nineties. Totally worth the watch."
"Whatever. I need to speak to you about last night."
My stomach went into freefall, but I kept my face impassive. I would not let him see me sweat. I put up a hand. "Sorry, Gabe. Is this urgent? Related to a current mission? If not, I need to get to training."
He crossed his arms and leaned on his desk, forcing his top two buttonholes even farther apart on his shirt and putting those divine pecks of his within sight. Why was this man so hot with a shirt still on his body? Demethi.
"Yes, it is work related, and you know it."
"Sorry, boss, you need to wait until later to talk to me about whatever you’ve got. Didn’t you just say you questioned my work ethic? Right now, I am on duty. And I don't have to see your ugly mug until twelve noon."
He chuffed out a laugh. "My ugly mug? You are such a goddamn pain in my arse. What the fuck was that in the wardrobe?"
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
"Ugh, real fucking rich, Smith."
I shrugged. "I can't hear arseholes who are trying to distract me from my job. You are going to have to talk to my HR representative."
"You're a fucking spy. You don't have an HR representative."
"Really? Because the things I'm asked to do sometimes really do require some HR assistance."
"Shut it."
He was in a mood today. "No, I won't. Matter of fact, when Saff becomes Ops Command, we're going to have a whole discussion about the harassment that goes on."
Abruptly, he pushed away from his desk, stalking me. I tried to open the door, but I’d already shifted too far away. Instead, I backed into a wall as he approached quickly.
He towered over me, and I wasn't short. I was five foot five. Perfectly average. He was just a giant with dark moss-green eyes and thick dark hair that usually fell over his brow whenever he ran his hands through it.
"Answer me. What the fuck was that?"
I just stood there, silently staring up at him. What could I say? That I’d been acting on instinct?
"Answer the question, Tabatha. What the fuck was that on the mission last night?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. The part where we found the sex cult, or when you danced badly and stepped on my feet?"
"I'm not playing a game with you. It shouldn't have happened."
"You're going to have to be more clear." I was desperate, panic seized me and pounded inside my chest cavity.
There was this sound that emanated from somewhere in the region of his chest. It sounded like a half purr-half growl, and I wasn't sure it was entirely bad, but God, I could feel the vibration. And I wasn't even touching him. He wasn't touching me either, which, if you asked my damn panties, was a travesty.
"The kiss, Tabatha."
I tilted my chin up. "Considering we have a no sparring outside of training rule, I don't think you want any of this smoke."
A wicked grin flashed over his full lips. And oh God, soaked panties. Gabe Webb grinning like that should be a hundred percent outlawed. But there he was, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat who wanted to lick my cream.
Yes, please.
No. No. No licking creams.
Do not think of licks from the boss.
