Patrick Jane had a secret. But the object of this secret, one Teresa Lisbon, was not aware of it yet.
It all started when they were on another undercover assignment, in the art world again, no less. Patrick and Teresa, or rather, "Payton" and "Tessa", their undercover identities, were riding "home" in a limousine following a spectacular gala in the Austin Art District. By all accounts, the operation was a success. They'd made the required contacts as directed by the Art Crimes Division, and their backup team made the initial arrests. Since there was a second event-a luncheon-the following day, they were to maintain their cover for an additional day.
Alcohol had flowed freely and "Payton" and "Tessa" spent the rest of the evening without inhibitions. In a gallery full of good food, copious alcohol, and none of the eyes of their FBI coworkers upon them, Patrick and Teresa felt free. The next day, the social blogs would also comment on the beautiful people, including that glamorous new couple from California. (God bless Wylie and the complete background cover he fabricated for them, Teresa thought as yet another camera flash blinded her.)
In fact, Agent Vega was quite impressed the next day when Gomez Hyatt, the celebrity gossip blogger, even included a blind item about a certain couple's "interlude" in the cloakroom.
Now they were alone, in a limousine, no longer "Payton" and "Tessa" to the outside world. Until this moment in the limousine, Patrick had thought that their steamy interlude in the cloakroom was the highlight of the night. The pink dress he'd bought her, no panties, no bra...who knew that the pink dress would not wrinkle when bunched up around her waist? But it was clear, as his hand rested on Teresa's knee, and he listened to her slightly tipsy declarations of just what she was going to do to him once they got back to their undercover home, that what happened in the cloakroom was small potatoes compared to Teresa's promises of high class "artistic" action.
Just thinking of the cloakroom caused Patrick's body to react.
At one point in the evening, after the business of crime was taken care of, Teresa had taken a little longer coming back from the ladies' room, so Patrick, naturally concerned-they were still undercover, after all-had gone to the foyer to look for her. Giggling, she emerged from the ladies' room, teetering and tottering on her high heels. With a grin born of sheer happiness on his face, Patrick steadied her, keeping her from stumbling. And as always, he appreciatively scanned her from head to toe.
She was perfection, even if slightly inebriated. In fact, he enjoyed seeing her like this: silly, sexy and carefree. She rarely got a chance to be that way-and had only succumbed to the alcohol he'd plied her with because she was unarmed for this assignment (they'd gone through a metal detector at this event.) How could he have such longing for her body-he'd been more than celibate for so long-when he'd just made love to her that morning?
If truth be told, his favorite part of this woman was the space between her ears, but he often vacillated between being a breast or leg man when around her. Oh hell, he was Team "Everything Lisbon" all the way, all the time.
After steadying her, as he helped her back to the salon where the event was being held, they passed the coat-check.
It was unattended.
Eyes met, and Teresa's smile widened, and before they knew it, he was pressed against the far wall of the cloakroom, out of sight of passersby. Somehow, her dress was up around her waist, bunched in his hands, and he was unzipped and buried all the way inside her.
They were both laughing uncontrollably, as Teresa jumped up to wrap her legs around him. Loving a woman in law enforcement, with its physical strength requirements, was proving to be an unforeseen advantage. And Patrick had no problem at all with Teresa being the aggressor. This evening, no foreplay was required; the entire evening had served that purpose. An intelligent, beautiful, sexy, enticing woman. An intelligent, beautiful, sexy, enticing man. With eyes only for the other. Available only to the other. Just being together at this stage in their relationship was foreplay. But the undercover nature of the evening? Icing on the cake.
It was over just like that-quick, exhilarating, illicit and joyful.
Now they were alone again, in the privacy of the limousine. Her pink-hued dress had once more made its way up over her knees. His hand moved up and down her closest leg. Over the smoothness of her knee, and down the front of her leg. Then back up again, up up up over the rounded terrain of her knee to the softer flesh on her thigh. A gentle squeeze on yielding flesh, on thighs that could be at once soft and yet strong as steel. Then upward.
Slap!
She playfully swatted his hand. "Not in the limo, too close to the house," she explained.
Instead, he trailed his hand back down her leg, transfixed by her legs and feet. It was then that he knew he'd have to ask her. It was then that he knew that he'd have to tell her his little secret. About what he really liked.
But first, he'd take her "home". Take her to bed. And let her follow up on her promise of "artistic" sex in the huge California king bed in their undercover residence.
He did not tell her that night. Not because he chickened out, not because he didn't want to, but because, when Teresa said she was going to get "artistic", well, she treated him to a night that most men would write to Penthouse about. A night that required sleeping in the next day.
That morning, before "Payton" and "Tessa" left to conclude the undercover assignment, he wondered how they'd even be able to walk out of the house unassisted.
But having moved from the back recesses of his mind to the forefront, his secret nagged at Patrick. How would she take it? Would she do it? She certainly seemed adventurous.
Maybe he shouldn't ask her. Things were so good between them and even better in the bedroom and the various other places where Lisbon allowed him to have sex. The living room and kitchen of her home. Against an FBI conference room door, after hours, Jane having ascertained that there were no surveillance cameras. In the Airstream, of course. And best of all, outside behind the Airstream on a soft pile of blankets, looking up at the stars, unable to decide which stars shone brightest: her eyes as she made love to him, or the stars above.
Hell, what was the worst that could happen? She'd laugh him out of bed? Surely, something as benign as what he had in mind wouldn't gross her out.
And if she said 'no', well, he'd live with it. But if she said 'yes', he'd be beyond thrilled.
It was not as if he was asking if he could wear women's clothing, or do something kinky (though Lord knew what Teresa would describe with that adjective...) No, he'd simply be asking her to wear...the boots.
For Patrick Jane was a boot fetishist.
But duty called, and "Payton" and "Tessa" went on with the work of the day.
