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Tagline: On Space Station Gamma, Courtney and Gib discover love while working undercover during the holiday season.
Blurb: Courtney Caine and Gib Gallagher incur the head of security’s wrath. The top man for Space Station Gamma punishes his two best shadow operatives by putting them in charge of all the decorations for the upcoming holiday season, and they have to pull off creating the glitz and glamor without blowing their covers.
Excerpt:
Courtney Caine paced back and forth in the small interview room of Outpost Five, Space Station Gamma’s security hub. The ass chewing she’d just received still burned and the man who caused it offered zero help. And the new assignment to fix their screw up sucked balls.
She stopped and whirled around. “Dammit, Gib, how the hell can we pull this whole ‘get the station ready for every damned holiday ever’ thing McCall wants?” Warren, the head of security, had to be out of his mind.
No, more like pissed off and looking to make two of his undercover agents pay the price.
Her fellow ass-chewee, Gib Gallagher, tilted his handsome head to one side and pondered her question. Courtney wished the guy didn’t look good enough to eat. Tall, built, and rough around the edges, the exact type she tended to go for. And a prime candidate for the security forces, which put him out of her reach. She avoided workplace relationships like the Tanthiac plague—who needed the awkward vibes after it inevitably ended?
Gib snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. We could arrive under the guise of a brilliant omnisexual designer with his overworked and harried assistant in tow.”
She frowned. “You couldn’t pass for an omnisexual. No way.”
Gib scoffed. “I’ll have you know if a hot dude or smokin’ alien asked me for sex, I’d totally consider it.”
And if she asked? Yeah, he’d absolutely entertain the idea. Alas, she would never broach the topic.
Couldn’t. Even if she wanted to.
Courtney rolled her eyes. “Really? What kind of guy would you be attracted to?”
He answered. “Someone buff, tough, and rough. Oh… and tall. Maybe with dark hair.” He waggled his eyebrows.
She snorted. “You moron, you just described yourself. That’s not omnisexual. Hell, I don’t think there’s a name for wanting to screw yourself.” She shook her head. “I don’t even want to know what kind of alien you’d be into. Probably a thick-skinned, scaly Scathian,”
He wrinkled his nose. “No way. Their scales would chafe too badly and the slime green coloring kinda skeeves me out. Now the blue-toned Caprisians are another story—wait… you think I’m buff?” He waited a beat. “Of course you do. That’s how we landed in this mess in the first place.”
Damn. The. Man. She would not take full responsibility.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Uh uh. You’re not laying the blame on me. How do you figure it’s my fault?”
He smirked. “You shouldn’t have been checking out my ass. We wouldn’t have lost Beno if you were focused on the job.” His brow arched, daring her to counter.
