“I spilled…tea on myself. I was changing.” The hand holding the skirt pointed back to the washroom. The action pushed against Nevin’s firm hold, Adela biting her lip as it caused her to yank the material farther up her body, exposing her. Words fled. “I—”“Enough, Ms. Tilman.” Marcus Yeats sat in one of the thickly padded client chairs set near the door. Another Compliance Officer stood beside him, tall, muscled and bleak-faced. Her gaze flicked across his name tag. Boyd Swain. Swain. He’d had his hand up her shirt in the grav-lift. Fuck.Marcus steepled his fingers under his chin, the stark ceiling lights picking out the ice in his blue eyes. “You’ve been on my fingers three days in a row.”Adela pressed her lips together, her face burning. How could she deny it? But how could she explain about Idaeus? Sorry, my invisible alien lover forced you to slide your hands between my legs for his benefit? Not exactly a cogent argument. “If it’s any consolation it was nice while it lasted…?”
