[ for as eager as marta had been just seconds ago in reacquiring kovacs' attention (something she has resolutely decided not to investigate for the safety of her sanity), to have it now laid over her like this feels a lot like trying to break through the surface of a massive tidal wave, like receiving a little too much, all at once of what was meant to nourish her. she does her best, of course, straightening her spine, tipping her chin up when he leans in close like that, literally caging her in. it's an intimidation tactic, or so she tells herself, and she's had just enough alcohol churning inside her that the reflex to kowtow to it is somewhere else, asleep. ]

Jealous?

[ the word comes out in a half-sputter, half-laugh. but whatever it is she means to say after, to dismiss such a silly idea, falls dead on her tongue as her throat catches around a familiar (and far too telling) gag. she swallows it back, hastily shifting gears. ]

You sound like a motorcycle engine on a good night. I'm surprised the walls of our office haven't caved in yet.

[ yes, very good. smooth. she very nearly forgets she can feel the sides of his hand pressing lightly against her thighs, scorching through the material of her skirt. ] ]

And her name's Sandy, by the way.