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“I wasn’t talking about the fertility clinic. I was talking about sex,” he says.
I turn to face him, my mouth drops open. “Gabriel, it’s not... how could we maintain a professional relationship if ... well, if you...we.”
I cover my face with my hands.
“Very articulate.”
It’s then I realise Gabriel is teasing me.
“Are you laughing at me?” I ask, my eyes clash with his twinkling ones.
“Maybe just a little,” he adds, holding up his thumb and forefinger, which I slap playfully. “Look, all I’m saying is, if you don’t want to wait another month. There are other options. We can go to a clinic, or you and I could be very clinical about it. No kissing, minimal touching. Just my cock, depositing my sp?—”
“I get the picture,” I say, my hands flying to my cheeks once more. “You seem to be enjoying this way too much for someone who is usually a grouch and serious.”
“Maybe seeing you coated in my sperm has made me lighten up a little,” he adds. I groan. “Anyway. Think about it. It’s an option.”
Gabriel flicks the button, and the doors open, letting me know this conversation is over and it’s time to get back to work. Only Gabriel could drop that kind of bombshell and return to work like he just asked if I wanted a cup of coffee.
The afternoon is a write-off. My conversation with Gabriel was not something I can get out of my head. Is he mad? We can’t have sex. How will that be professional? It’s been hard enough looking him in the eye, knowing his sperm has been swimming around inside me. How much harder will it be if I feel his body stretching over mine. Feel his body shudder as he coats my insides with his cum? Just the thought is getting me hot and heavy. My breasts ache, and my pussy contracts. Damn my hormones.
I close down my laptop. I’m glad my door is closed. My concentration is gone, and I totally blame Gabriel for the problem.
It’s five o’clock, so I grab my things and make my way to Gabriel’s office.
“I’m calling it a night,” I say as he looks up.
His brows furrow as his eyes flick to the clock. “Okay,” he says.
I walk in and close the door behind me. “Okay... okay!” I say. “This is all your fault! You’ve distracted me.”
Gabriel sits back in his chair, his arms folding over his chest. “Distracted?”
I growl, and his lips twitch. The nerve of the man.
“How distracted?” he asks.
“I have a million what-ifs running around my head. Tell me this, how can you and I go back to being professional if we... you know... do the deed?”
“Do the deed?”
With those words, Gabriel loses his composure. His face crumples as he tries and fails to contain his laughter.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
I huff, and cross my arms over my chest. What’s happening? I’m turning into the grumpy one while he’s laughing.
“Leah, professional is a construct. It’s what we decide. We could decide to be unprofessional by having dinner together, or we can keep it professional as we have done. It’s how we view what we do, not the act itself. In this case, we can choose to be clinical.”
I stare at him open-mouthed before snapping it shut. Typical Gabriel, an answer for everything. His argument has bones... or does it? I can’t think straight anymore. All I know is that I appear to have very unprofessional thoughts about Gabriel Frazer.
“Fine. Can you keep it clinical?” I ask, my hands move to my hips, my gaze never wavering from his.
“Yes,” he says. “Can you?”
“Of course,” I say, ignoring the heat radiating from my face. “Fine,” I add.
“Fine,” he says before adding, “Fine, what?”
