CHAPTER ONE
Half of the room stared at the diminutive blonde when she walked into the coffee house. Even without the tailored green skirt that molded the curves of her hips or the silk cream colored blouse that draped off her straight shoulders, she was so worthy of the attention she constantly garnered. There was something about the cool self-possession of her stride, those toned calves and a hint of thigh peaking through the hem of the skirt as she made her way to the end of the line. Hair, the color of honey, softly reflected the early morning sunshine. It tumbled down her narrow back in perfect swathes, just begging someone to run their fingers through it. The woman could have been wearing a garbage bag and strangers would still pause a moment to look at her. One of them was a certain female Boston detective whose dark eyes kept straying back despite her efforts to control them.
Jane Rizzoli fidgeted with one strap of her tank top then willed her hand to remain palm-down on the small round table's surface. Most of her irritation was directed inward, impatient at her own lack of control. Since when did she ogle women so openly? A small sigh whistled through her clenched teeth as she stared at the lid of her coffee cup, silently willing herself to look somewhere else! Before she noticed the increased tempo of her beating heart, Jane felt her blood sluice through her veins like water through a tunnel of an amusement park ride. Almost clinically she tracked the progress of improved circulation as it swept just beneath the surface of her skin. Her broad shoulders became rigid but she wouldn't, couldn't shift them to release the tension. A frisson of awareness spiked down her arms, responsible for the delicious sensitivity of her skin. Jane lifted her wrist and took note of the time. Barely a minute had passed since her last peek. Resigned, she unknowingly held her breath, then searched the line of people for the woman.
Within seconds her dark, intense eyes found her a little further ahead than the last time. Resting her weight on one leg while the other was slightly bent, the foot tapping slowly in three inch heels, the stranger had an arm wrapped around her middle while the other held a newspaper. Jane slowly perused the line of her body, lingered at the swell of her buttocks that just screamed 'touch me'. The thought nearly made her squirm. Rays of sunlight from the ceiling casements cut diagonal strips along the brick wall where the customers shuffled in line to order. The transfixing blonde was bathed in a patch of sunshine, her head inclined towards the paper. She absently tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and Jane was riveted. What would it feel like, brushing against my nose? The thought instantly caused her to shift her hips, lean into the table as she rested her upper body weight on her elbows. Had she been on a stake-out, Jane would have been "made" when the woman suddenly looked up and their eyes met. Her stomach felt like it was being folded into itself like dough being kneaded. A warmth, equal parts nervous and eagerness, spread from her chest to settle somewhere lower. Although they were a respectable distance apart with a variety of other objects to look at, Jane wouldn't break eye contact. Slowly, the enigmatic woman arched a perfect brow which made Jane blush then grin. It started out as a hesitant one but as they continued to stare at one another, the grin spread wider across her angular features. Before she was even conscious of it, one of Jane's hands fluttered above her table, a sweeping invitation directed towards the stranger. Her throat seized when the other woman simply nodded then returned to her paper.
As unobtrusively as possible, Jane performed a self- inventory, smoothing down the black tendrils framing her face, adjusting how the tank top stuck to her torso. Inwardly she groaned when she realized she wasn't looking her best this morning. She had just finished running five miles along the trails in the nearby park. Dried sweat pulled at her suddenly tight skin. Aw, God, do I stink? What does my hair look like? Jane tucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she worried and tried to calm her riotous thoughts. The calming inner dialogue helped her to call back her confidence. She just encouraged a stranger to share her table. In the scheme of things, the moment shouldn't have taken more notice than counting a minute within a day. The second guessing abruptly ceased. She knew she was attractive. She knew sharing a coffee wasn't earth-shattering. Jane Rizzoli was a detective and an Italian. All these things combined spoke of her customary confidence. Sticking to the basics of her personality allowed her to gain perspective.
When the blonde sauntered up, the entire pep talk was cast aside like a leaf on an early fall breeze. Jane attempted to swallow past the abrupt dryness of her throat. One hand fisted as the other curled around a coffee cup. The foot she had been resting on the circular rung under the table slipped causing her to stutter forward.
"Maura." she said, her hand extended.
Jane blinked, licked her lips, then cleared her throat. Quickly she shook Maura's hand. It was soft, warm, dry. With a pang of regret, Jane pulled back her hand.
It wasn't conscious, the lowered tone of her voice as she said her name. If she could just stop staring into Maura's twinkling green eyes...
"By your disheveled appearance, running shoes and sport attire, I can deduce you're a jogger. Do you enjoy marathons?"
Say something Rizzoli! What the fuck is the matter with you? "Not really. More of a five mile a day girl."
Maura placed her neatly folded newspaper down on the table. The brief seconds of silence spurred the detective to scramble for something more to add.
Jane seemed to consider the other woman for a moment. "I'm gonna say you're a latte, skim milk, espresso-shot kinda girl."
Surprise registered on Maura's face as a tiny smile curved her pink lips. Jane watched, utterly incapable of not cataloging the woman's movements. "Very close, actually." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Espresso-shots are reserved for days when I haven't gotten the recommended amount of sleep."
Jane laughed, both eye brows raised. "So, you slept good last night?"
"Well."
"Pardon?" When Maura's expression morphed to one of discomfort, Jane hurried, "Oh, yes! So, you slept well last night! Hey, I'm Italian!" She raised her palms in supplication, shrugging a shoulder.
Maura cocked her head to one side, pursed her lovely lips. "Are you suggesting that being of Italian descent automatically denotes the horrid misuse of grammar?"
"Yeah, that's what I said!" Jane laughed at the other woman's puzzled expression. She's just so cute! "It's Sunday morning and you're dressed to the hilt. Killer shoes, by the way."
"I don't know about 'killer' but they are just divine!" Maura flexed her leg forward, her pointed shoe nearly brushing against Jane's leg as she slowly twisted the appendage from side to side. The sharp arc of her calf immediately warranted the detective's examination.
Jane managed a nod. Just heels...bare legs...extended...wrapped around her hip...Coughing into her hand to redirect her very inappropriate thoughts, Jane rushed on, "Pencil skirt, silk blouse, reading the newspaper. Not exactly church-wear. Hmm, a mystery!"
The barista called the blonde's name and with a quick smile Maura headed towards the counter as Jane watched her leave. Her ass gently swayed like a heart-shaped bell. Watching Maura walk away was just as devastating for Jane as witnessing her return. The way her thighs rubbed under the smooth material of the skirt, how one arm gently rocked counter-rhythm to her hips, and the even movement of her shoulders which were slightly pulled back to accentuate her chest all converged to thoroughly capture Jane's attention. Then her dark gaze drifted upwards to Maura's knowing look and Jane was lost. Pertinent details like the surrounding customers and the unknown reception of her interest fell away as Jane continued to stare into the woman's changing eyes, helpless and heady at the same time.
"You must really like my...outfit." It was the barest of pauses but it served to bring Jane out of her hypnotic trance.
If there were a blush somewhere building up within Jane, she refused its arrival. A slew of rejoinders, mostly filthy, blazed through her mind. Reluctantly she allowed them to tumble into the dark recesses of her mind.
Without a trace of self-consciousness, Jane calmly regarded the other woman. "I certainly do." She was rewarded for her simple, straight forward delivery with a delicate pink blush that tinged the other woman's cheek bones.