two minutes to spare for a desperate dash to the bathroom to pee out all the Red Bull, coffee or Mountain Dew. Sure enough, the next list of bugs would be waiting. And the cycle of finding everything wrong with the game before it went live would continue.
During quieter times, like this week, I eased up on watching the clock and they knew it. But their spontaneous coffee klatch was irritating me right now. Or I was just paranoid thinking they were talking about me.
Everything changed the minute the door opened again. Katya walked in and strode directly to her workstation without even acknowledging the cluster of her coworkers.
They, however, looked at her. Then, looked at me, looked at each other, and abruptly scattered like cats who’d just had a bucket of icy water dumped on them.
My eyes darted back to Kat. I caught the silky fall of long, fiery red hair to her waistline, the way those jeans hugged her ass. Before I could even catch my breath, that familiar rush of attraction threatened to take over all thought. I swallowed. Then my automatic suppression system kicked in and I forced myself to look away before I spent too much time drinking her in. It was one of my most important rules. I called it the six-second rule.
It was a little like gazing at the sun. I should never stare at her for longer than six seconds. But rather than having my retinas burned out, I risked my mind wandering into dangerous territory. Inevitably, I’d start dwelling on the fact that she had the most gorgeous ass in those new dark blue jeans she was wearing today. Or I’d obsess about the stretch of t-shirt fabric across her perfect chest. And thoughts might lead to actions.
And actions would definitely cause drama and bullshit that I’d said goodbye to years ago.
With the co-worker whispering gone, I still felt the odd inquisitive glance thrown my way from the other workstations. Whenever I caught one, I glared in return and was left in peace. Slowly, I turned back to my screen and replaced my headset. Time to scan the first bug reports sent in this morning from our beta testers.
I wasn’t at it five minutes before that forbidden distraction brought herself to me. I had to spend much more than six seconds thinking about her because she was in my face. Her soft, sweet-smelling hair brushed my cheek as she bent over my workstation to murmur to me.
“I found something I think you need to look at,” she said a little louder than normal, as if she wanted everyone nearby to hear. I shot a questioning glance at her. “Section 583-A. Can you pull it up?”
What the hell? I’d signed off on that days ago as clean. With a frown, I did as she asked and pulled up the notes on that section. She bent even closer to me so I could feel the warmth of her body near mine. It irritated me for some reason. Probably because her nearness—and her hotness—had been bothering me over the past year. Because I couldn’t have what was so near—and I’d resolved that I would never have it.
Her long, glorious hair brushed my face again and—good God, that smell. The scent was this intoxicating mix of coconut, lavender and other spices I couldn’t name. Maybe nutmeg. It was subtle. And heady.
And it caused a surge in my blood pressure every time. She placed a hand beside my keyboard to support herself as she pointed to the screen. I focused on her thin hands, her long, graceful fingers. Her nails were trimmed short so she could type faster but with chipped blue nail polish and little glittery charms. She was the perfect mix of tough tomboy gamer girl and dazzling feminine beauty.
And I’d resolved, months ago, for the sake of my sanity, to stop thinking about her like this, secret wife or not. Frustratingly, it hadn’t been a successful resolution so far.
I chided myself for finding her scent irresistible and fought down those beginning tendrils of arousal. It had been too long a stretch since I’d had sex. The haze of desire was so strong that I hadn’t realized that she was talking. I also hadn’t realized that she had no intention of discussing the supposed bug on section 583-A.
“—setting up an appointment with the immigration office for our interview.” She was talking in a low voice. I blinked, crashing back to earth as I pulled