Note: So this has been up on AO3 for a bit, not sure what kept me from putting it on here but it's here now! Hope you guys enjoy. Be warned...final chapter is a strong M. :) Not like weird or anything. Just. Strong. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think if you get a minute!

"It is just the way of things, Jack. You must learn not to be jealous."

"The way of things! For a man to flirt openly with a woman in front of the man she is stepping out with?"

Phryne closed the door behind them with a knowing grin. "If you noticed, I did not flirt back."

Jack frowned at her. "That isn't the point. A man should have some decency. A man should know better."

Phryne gave him a coy smirk, reaching out to clasp her hands together behind his neck. "Jack, most men do not hold themselves to your high standard. Most men are drooling puppies over the women they find desirable, and once they have her attention, they will do anything to keep it."

"What you are describing, my sweet, are boys, not men. A man is in control of himself at all times. A man does not let his head be turned by just any floozy walking down the street—do not be offended, Phryne, you know I don't mean you. My point is, a man saves his attentions for the right woman. A man is careful about showing his affections, is delicate about revealing himself and his feelings to the woman he wants." He suddenly switched to a sly, sultry, grin and spanned her waist with a large, sure hand.

"A man takes the time to learn what makes his woman tick, and once he does, she is putty in his hands, powerless to resist him. Not the other way around."

He was not half wrong, and she wondered how much time he had put into learning what made her tick, for her powerlessness was indeed growing by the day. Yet she would argue with him anyway. "Is that what you think, Jack? You think I am powerless to resist you?"

His grin was extremely self-satisfied. "I believe we are inching towards that goal."

She narrowed her eyes. "You are a fool, Jack Robinson. If I have learned anything in all of my experience—experience that vastly outstrips yours, might I add—it's that when it comes to matters of the boudoir, women have all the power. It has been the way of things since Eve. All a woman must do is flash a bit of flesh, bat her eyes and crook her finger and the male, if he feels any attraction at all for her, will be in a puddle at her feet."

"Hmm," replied Jack, looking thoughtful, "I think being a puddle at your feet is something I would recall. And you flashed a reasonable amount of flesh my way, even before we took up with one another."

"Arrogant man," she scoffed. "You believed I was using all the weapons in my arsenal? What I employed against you was small potatoes. The most novice level of flirtation which I engage in with practically every man of my acquaintance. Of course you could resist me, but had I been trying in earnest to seduce you, you wouldn't have had a chance."

"Is that so?" He silently considered her words for several moments, watching her closely. Phryne could see a plan formulating behind his eyes and she wondered what she had set into motion. "I propose a wager then, Miss Fisher," said Jack, looking more mischievous than she'd ever seen him. "You are so confident in your skills of seduction. If you can bring me to my knees with your wiles, I'll allow you free rein of my case files for any murder you happen to be investigating from this point forward. If I get the better of you, however, you hand over...the Hispano, how about. What say you?"

The stakes were high. Excitingly so. He must be confident indeed. But then, so was she. Phryne leaned close and grasped the knot of his tie between her thumb and forefinger. "I'll take that bet."

He gave a little swallow and she saw just a flash of uncertainty in his dark blue eyes. "Good. Starting now. First to break and beg for relief loses."

"Excellent. This will be fun, Jack."

He shook his head smilingly. "Don't be silly, my dear. This will be brutal. This will be war. A battle of the sexes. I wish you all the luck."

She grinned coquettishly at him. "Thank you, Jack darling, but I will not need it."

It would be a challenge, but Phryne liked a good challenge. It was true that the inspector was more gifted than most men when it came to resisting feminine wiles. It was a bit of a fib that she had only used novice flirtation on him before she was finally able to reel him in only a few months ago. In reality she had tried every sultry look, every illicit touch, had arranged her body in the most tempting of ways, at least as far as decency allowed, and he had generally returned her efforts with a seemingly unaffected straight face.

Of course she knew now that there had feelings building behind that straight face. But he had rarely even let her catch him looking at her body, let alone drooling over it, as had so many men before him. He had come to her delicately and with intention, as he had just described. And the process had been quite delicious. Though frustrating, at times.

She recalled their ordeal at the chalet back in July, when she had practically handed him an invitation to visit her bedroom during the night, only to have him brush her off with "It's too great a risk, Miss Fisher," and make a swift exit.

She had comforted her pride by explaining it to herself, guessing he was speaking of risks beyond merely getting murdered in one's bed—risks of the heart, she had hoped. And his hurried departure had not been a lack of response to her enticements, but rather a need to remove himself from her presence before he gave in to his baser instincts.

Yes, there were certainly moments when she had managed to fluster him. That one time when he had arrived for dinner to find the lights dimmed and candles lit. She had spotted him nervously examining his surroundings, fiddling with a pair of chopsticks, clearly unaware that the table had been laid by Mr. Butler under the impression that it was Lin Chung that Phryne was expecting for dinner, not Jack. He clearly thought she had orchestrated a romantic evening for the two of them and had been markedly unsettled by the idea.

But that had been when their relationship was still young. More recently had been their encounter in the gentleman's club, when she had quite literally thrust her breast against his mouth in order to to maintain her cover. Yes, he had certainly been flustered then, but there hadn't been any time to relish in her victory or gauge how deep his reaction to the intimate contact had been.

And how could she forget the time she had attempted to dress him as Mark Antony? There was something about toying with his tie that seemed to press Jack's buttons. She remembered the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he'd swallowed nervously, attempting to dismiss her with a plea in his eyes. "If you really want a Roman soldier, I'll take it from here."

If she had decided to make certain demands of him in that moment, he would have no doubt succumbed and they could have moved things along much more quickly. She had been too lenient with him. But then again, he had technically still been married at the time, and she hadn't wanted being with her to be something he regretted or felt ashamed of.

But yes. She had held power over him in those moments, and even now that they had known each other intimately, and she no longer needed to exert that power, she would get the better of him again. It may even be easier now that he knew precisely what she could do to him. Of course, that knowledge went both ways.

Still, she knew that with all his defenses up, he would be a tough nut to crack. But Phryne had no qualms about playing dirty to win access to those case files—and to lure him back into her arms.

As part of her battle preparations, Phryne did not contact him at all for three days. Let some tension build, let him stew a bit. She had expected him come round after work at least by the third day, which had been his daily habit before the wager, but she did not hear from him at all. It would appear he was developing a strategy similar to her own.

Determined to take control of things, she telephoned him at the station on the afternoon of the fourth day with no contact and was happy to find he answered it himself.

"Hello, Jack. Come by for drinks tonight, will you? I need a consult."

"I am sure that you do, Miss Fisher. I'm eager to see what is troubling you." Sarcasm and seduction mingled in his voice, and the result was quite stimulating. She would let him think himself on top for the time being. He would be singing a different tune tonight.

Jack had prepared himself mentally, from the moment he had received Phryne's call, for what he would face tonight. He imagined her answering the door completely nude. He imagined her in any number of beautiful pieces of lingerie, dancing sensually for him like the minx that she was. He allowed his imagination to run rampant, exploring every carnal image of her he could summon until he was confident there was no possible way for her to surprise him tonight.

He was ready to do battle. He shrugged on his coat and placed his hat on his head, bidding Hugh a good evening before climbing into his motorcar and finally allowing himself to mull over the many weapons he might use against Phryne tonight.

He had a short debate with himself, then recalled each and every one of those lascivious images he had conjured in his office. Then, with only a twinge of embarrassment, he draped a handkerchief over his thigh and addressed himself quickly and efficiently with his hand. It may not guarantee his complete safety tonight, but it would make it that much more difficult for her to make him lose control entirely.

Once he was finished, he felt a moment of shame. Practicing self-abuse while sitting in his dark car outside the station was as good as a declaration of just how much control she had over him. But he wanted to get the better of her. Just this once. And he wanted that infernal car, too. If anything, he might be able to talk her into buying something with a few more safety features.

When he arrived on her stoop, the door was opened by Mr. Butler in his dressing gown, rather than Phryne, and Jack found himself smirking at her misstep. With an old man in his nightclothes being the first thing Jack saw, he had that much more time to get his head in the right place. His thoughts were anything but erotic as Mr. Butler said, "Miss Fisher is in the parlor, Inspector. If there's nothing else, I wish you a pleasant evening."

The jovial old fellow disappeared up the stairs and Jack helped himself to the parlor where Phryne was sitting, fully dressed in a simple gray silk frock, half-heartedly perusing a book.

Jack knew a trap when he saw one. For one thing, the Honorable Phryne Fisher did not wear gray. Black, perhaps, even dove, but never dull, dreary gray. And yet the silk draped pleasingly over her slender, graceful limbs, regardless of the drab color.

"Miss Fisher," he greeted, removing his hat and holding it in front of him between clasped hands.

She looked up dramatically, pretending she was noticing him for the first time. "Jack! You made it." She gestured to a faceted crystalline tumbler filled with two fingers of amber liquid, set beside his habitual spot. As if he was over for their routine post-case chat. She was trying to lure him in, give him a false sense of security. Well, it wouldn't work. He was onto her.

"Ah. Am I just here for a whiskey and a tête-à-tête?" He asked, stripping away his coat. Making a last minute decision, he removed his waistcoat and tie as well, unbuttoning his collar and rolling up his shirtsleeves in a way she had told him before that she liked.

"Mmm, yes," she agreed as she looked him over, her eyes hooded and feverish. "I was hoping we could be casual." She stood and walked behind him to the door, which she closed and latched. Not daring to look back at her, he took a seat in his usual spot, leaning back in the chair and sipping his whiskey.

It wasn't until it was too late, until the whisper of silk sliding over skin broke the silence, that he looked up.

Phryne Fisher was no longer wearing gray. She was no longer wearing much of anything.

Her nipples were enticing little points beneath the luxurious amethyst silk of her camiknickers and his mouth went dry at the sight of her. Her plump, luscious backside peeked out from beneath her lingerie as she took a few steps closer to him and he could hardly breathe. Suddenly his thoughts came only in choppy, panicked terms. He had to maintain his distance. Keep her at the other side of the room.

"Perhaps I should call Mr. Butler in to make us something more festive," he muttered desperately, sitting up straighter in his chair, knowing his voice didn't sound half as unaffected as he would have liked.

"Would you really like to be responsible for giving Mr. Butler an apoplexy?" she purred, toying with one of the straps of the undergarment. "I for one should not." She pursed her lips, staring very directly at him. "In any case, I sent everyone to bed early and told them they were not to enter the parlor under any circumstances, lest they see something they won't soon forget."

Her words sent a spectacular chill down his spine and he smoothed a hand down the back of his head, though his hair was not mussed. Yet.

He should not have allowed so many days to pass before seeing her. He had not been prepared for how the sight of her after even that small amount of time would affect him, and she was even lovelier than his imagination had been able to prepare him for.

Pull yourself together, man. Think of your pride. Think of that beautiful car.

In this moment, filling his hands with her bottom and pulling her flush against him seemed far more important than either his pride or winning her car. He took several calming breaths to steady himself.

It had been easier before. Before he knew the distinct flavor of her skin, the exact texture of her areolae beneath his tongue, the corrupt, unspeakable ecstasy of burying himself deep, deep inside of her.

But he knew those things now. And knowing them made it even harder to deny himself.

What had he been thinking, making this wager? He was a dimwit and a fool and he was going to be that drooling puppy she had described if he couldn't get a handle on himself.

"New knickers?" he commented, hoping his voice didn't sound as choked as it did to his own ears. "You know I like red on you better, but purple suits you well."

She smiled at him knowingly, then looked down to watch herself push one of her thumbs over a straining nipple. "Thank you, Jack. But this is nothing, I've just ordered this luscious little teddy from Paris, wait until you see—"

Jack fought to turn the tables on her but it was no easy task as his thoughts had turned just that quickly to mud. He cleared his throat, hoping to give strength to his voice. It still came out a little hoarse which probably worked to his advantage. "The whole point of lingerie, sweet Phryne, is to give a man the opportunity to momentarily visualize what is beneath it before whisking it off, forgotten on the floor, clearing the way for more worthwhile activities. Whether you get it from Paris or the Block Arcade matters not to me." As he spoke, he stood and walked assertively towards her until the points of his oxfords were inches away from her bare toes, his nose nearly brushing hers. He was going to regain control. He just had to try very hard not to look at her. And not to think about how she looked. At all.

He could tell he had her attention because she seemed to have forgotten what to say next, instead gazing hazily into his eyes, her lips parted slightly. He lifted his fingers to her breast, lightly pinching the nipple she had thumbed moments before, his body screaming with heat and lust at the sound of her needy gasp. It was a dangerous game he played. Tempting her affected him just as much, if not more.

"Silly man," she finally responded, gulping, "Lingerie is primarily meant to make a woman feel lovely, even if it is hidden beneath her clothes."

"Oh, I see," he graveled, twisting her nipple carefully and dipping his head to graze his teeth along the shell of her ear. "So you thought you'd strip down to your camiknicks just to feel lovely, is that it? You hadn't thought at all of my reaction?"

She didn't answer, and her hands came up beneath his arms to grasp him over the shoulders, anchoring herself against him. He thought her in the midst of a swoon, the battle won, but suddenly a warm, bare thigh insinuated itself between his legs, pressing deliciously against the very area he had been keeping at a purposeful distance from her. At the same time, one of her hands reached down to grasp his left buttock rather forcefully. He gasped out loud at the simultaneous sensations and released her as if scalded, backing up into his chair and dropping himself into it. A little shaken by the intensity of his reaction, he drained the tumbler of whiskey in a single fiery swallow.

"It's late," he muttered, trying to breathe normally. "I should be going." There was a roaring beast inside of him, demanding to be let out, not caring a whit about bets or pride or cars. All that beast cared about was throwing Phryne down onto the chaise, or even the floor if it was more expedient, and tearing the expensive purple silk she wore into many little pieces.

But he wasn't ready to wave the white flag just yet. They had only just begun. So his only choice was to retreat and remount the assault when he had his head together.

"But Jack," fussed Phryne, attempting to pout through her triumph. "You only just got here."

He was already gathering his jacket, waistcoat, and hat, but he spared a moment to give her just a little something, something he hoped would leave her wanting. He pressed a hard, slow kiss to her lips, tasting her deeply but not touching her with any other part of his body. When he pulled away, he flattered himself that there was a dazed, wanton look in her eyes.

"Good night, Phryne. Thank you, as always, for the nightcap."

And he removed himself from her presence as quickly as he could. As he rushed down her front steps he grudgingly tallied the score. Phryne: 1, Jack: 0. He would need to raise his game if he meant to defeat her.