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She might appreciate the position a little more if a) she could remember anything about her life before she started working at Ubiquity, b) the damn voice in her head would just shut up already, and c) her boss wasn't a complete dickhead.
As she searches for solutions to the first two issues, and hopes the third will work itself out in performance reviews, she uncovers more petty backstabbing than an episode of Real Housewives, and a conspiracy as old as Lucifer's descent from heaven. On top of all that, if she forgets the cover sheet on her TPS report one more time, she's absolutely going on final written warning.
Now Ronnie’s struggling to keep her sanity and job, while stopping the voice in her head from stealing her life. She almost misses the boredom of data analysis at Ubiquity. Almost.
Enjoy an excerpt:
Every inch of me wanted to close the distance between us, to rest my hands on his still heaving chest, to see what it would be like to kiss him. Was I even allowed to do that? Michael was one of the holiest of holy. Was he above that kind of thing?
A flicker of memory flashed through my thoughts. Gabe hadn’t been. This felt different though, more subtle, but at the same time more alive.
Something clattered behind me. Michael had dropped his practice weapon. His palms glided along my arms until he reached my fingers. He loosed each one, and the wooden blades fell to the ground.
He rested one hand on the back of my neck, eyes searching mine for a moment. He dipped his head in and pressed his lips to mine. My pulse raced in response, and I leaned into the gesture. This was different than last night. It was safe, and gentle, and all consuming. I could lose myself in this sensation.
I kissed him back, nipping at his bottom lip. My hands slid along his chest, memorizing every inch of definition through his thin shirt. He groaned and tangled his fingers in my hair.
His lips parted, and I darted my tongue into his mouth. My skin burned with need, and my chest clenched with something achingly familiar I couldn’t quite grasp. I shifted my weight against him, sighing at the friction. His free hand rested at the small of my back, fingertips grazing my spine. I trailed down his chest and tugged the bottom of his shirt.
About the Author:Loralie Hall is a full time corporate geek and a fuller time writer. Her spouse is her muse and their cats are very much their children. When they’re not spending way too much time gaming, they’re making the world more good by vanquishing one fictional evil at a time.
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