I love my job. I really, really do. This is, like, the height of my current aspirations but sometimes it can be a teeny bit boring. We've been tracking these results for two days now and while it's really nice to get the same readings over and over again because that's what we were hoping for, it's still boring. Mind numbing, toe tapping boring.

So, I do what I normally do. Watch my boss. My gorgeous red-headed, Viking god of a boss. A genius and not just on paper. He should have won more than one Nobel prize in just about any category you can name. Including peace if you count all the ways he's eased the suffering in third world countries by bring in solar energy and figuring out ways to grow more food in places normally not associated with agriculture.

A bit of hero worship, you ask? Yeah, a bit. But not long after I got here and got over my stuttering tongue-tied inability to talk, I discovered that he's just a man who happens to know way more than most of the men you meet. And sure, I had a crush of gigantic proportions on him until I put two and two together and noticed just how close his bodyguard really was.

I'd have been upset except for the fact that Race Bannon is an all-American guy with a godlike body and a real passion for the boss. At first I thought Dr. Quest was oblivious until I happened to come around a corner while said doctor was trying to perform a tonsillectomy on his bodyguard with just his tongue.

Well, nobody can call Sandra Dee Goodall an idiot. At least, not to my face. And no, I'm no relation to Jane. Although I have worked with a few 'chimps' in my career. But to get back to the lip action. They were like totally hot, trying to absorb each other with hands and mouths. Whew! I ducked back around the corner and fanned myself before going back to the lab.

So now, I watch for the little signs that tell me what's going on in their love lives. Hell, I'm not getting any so I figure it's harmless enough to enjoy them. Not to mention, I can cover for them when we get visitors. They're always on their best behavior but little slips can occur and I just distract who ever from noticing any inappropriate behavior. The government types can be so anal sometimes.

Damn. I wasn't going to go there but the way Dr. Quest is moving this morning tells me that somebody got nailed last night. That and the big smile on his face. Race could only be described as ... smug this morning when he dropped off the doctor at the lab and drove away to the airstrip. We've got visitors this afternoon and he'll be checking over the security. He takes his job very seriously.

Almost as seriously as he takes loving the boss. Dr. Quest is sitting at his desk, squirming a little from side to side. Something beyond just getting nailed is bothering him but his smile never wavers. Maybe the invitation he got yesterday, which sent him so quickly out of the lab, has something to do with his little bliss-outs.

His cell phone rings and with the intercom activated, I can hear his side of the conversation. Hey, a woman needs every little edge she can get.

"Race! ... I'm fine. Turned on beyond belief, but fine ... The silk boxers are giving me fits ... Well, I expect it has something to do with a maniac with a razor ..."

I've got my fist stuffed into my mouth at this point to keep back the moans. Oo-o-o, the pictures in my head are going berserk here. I'm going to need a towel for the drool.

"No, love, it doesn't hurt. It just keeps caressing me into a constant state of arousal. Thank God for loose pants and long shirts. Not to mention my lab coat. Otherwise, I'd be flashing Sandy."

Oh please! Go ahead and flash me. I love his laugh. So deep and free. It's as big a turn on as his body.

"How long until they get here? ... Care to help me with my little problem? ... Okay, I'll meet you back in the suite. There's this little ... itch I need scratched."

His voice deepens and suddenly I have this vision of warm chocolate syrup sliding over ... Whew! I've got to pull myself together before he comes in and finds me drooling over the intercom. Besides the next data download is ready and I need to check the results. My little detour into voyeurism can't interfere with this job which I really do enjoy.

"Um, Sandy. I'm going to head out for a little while. Are those the latest readings?" His voice went from apologetic to interested in the space of a heartbeat.

"Yeah. And this looks a little odd to me. See this spike here and then again here." I shuffle through the green bar computer printouts and pretty soon we're both on our hands and knees with the long continuous sheets stretched out on the floor. There are half a dozen anomalies but regularly spaced at 90-minute intervals.

Dr. Quest is completely focused on the sheets so I'm the first one to notice Race leaning against the doorway with his arms folded and a fond smile on his face. I also notice he's looking straight at Dr. Quest's ass and a might fine ass it is. His eyes catch mine and he winks.

"Something come up, Dr. Quest?" His drawl is lazy but it still makes the doctor jump and sit down with a thump. Race saunters over and leans over to give him a hand up. I pretend not to notice while I refold the readings and when I look up again, that big hand is reaching down for me.

It's warm and callused and I really hope I'm not blushing when I take it and let him lift me to my feet. Oh, this one is going into my next fantasy session. I can feel the strength as he easily pulls me up and I'm mesmerized by the ripple of muscle under his shirt. The collar falls to one side just briefly and I spot the hickey.

Way to go, Dr. Quest! That little reminder brings me back to earth and I listen intently to his instructions while trying not to watch the way Race's nipples have hardened beneath the thin cotton or the little flex that ripples across his stomach. But then, the show isn't for me and I can see that Dr. Quest's attention is being sorely stressed.

Finally, I take pity on them both and nodded decisively. "Thanks, Dr. Quest. I know what to look for. I'll call you if anything comes up."

Oh yeah! Something's coming up all right if the bulge in Race's pants is any indication. They leave and I dash to the door to catch any conversation.

"Tease!" That's Race.

"Me! You're the one flexing your muscles."

"Yeah. There's a muscle with your name on it."

Sound of running.

And that's it. I'm left slumped against the door, a whimper in my throat and damp panties.

I really, really love this job.

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End of part twelve