Notes: This is a follow up to Willing and Able, written because I wanted to see where the muse would take me. I'm happy with where we ended up. And wow, these two are so much fun to write!
XxX
Emily knew she was in trouble the minute she opened the door. Derek had taken one look at her, whistled in appreciation, and then promptly told her to change. To her dismay she was halfway to the bedroom before it occurred to her that she was her own woman, who chose her own clothes, and he really shouldn't be ordering her to do anything in her own house. Unless of course he was ordering her to strip; she'd already made up her mind to maybe think about considering that. If he played his cards right. And ordered nicely. Maybe.
So she turned around, hand on hip, making sure that he got a good look at her legs in the process (which, after all, was the whole reason for donning a short, clingy skirt in the first place), and with as much haughtiness as she could summon asked, "Excuse me?"
He at least had the curtesy to look a little abashed. Not a lot, because he had the look of a man who was up to something, but enough so that the urge to smack him was fading. "Please change?" he tried.
"You might find me a little more amenable to your . . . request . . . if you told me what exactly it is about my outfit that you object to."
"I don't object to any of it," he said, eyeing her up and down and leaving her with no doubt whatsoever that he was telling the absolute truth. "In fact, you can wear that outfit anytime you want and you won't hear a peep out of me. But I have something planned and that skirt, amazing as it is, would only get in the way."
Her interest was definitely piqued now so she decided to play along. "What should I change into?"
"Jeans, pants, whatever you like. You can keep that shirt on though," he said, and she smiled as she noticed him noticing the way it accentuated her in all the right places.
"Jeans it is," she replied as she walked into her bedroom, deciding to wear the ones that fit her like a second skin. She quickly changed, pulled on some boots, and re-entered the living room. Derek was sitting comfortably on the couch and flipping through a magazine, looking for all intents and purposes like he belonged there. "Damn," he said when he looked up and saw her. "Those legs really do go on forever."
Emily laughed. She knew she looked good, but it never hurt to have validation. "You've seen me in jeans before."
"I've never seen you in those jeans," he denied. "And they are something else."
"Stop, you'll make me blush," she teased.
"Oh, I plan on doing just that before the night is out," he retaliated.
Suddenly she didn't feel quite as confident as she had moments earlier. But she couldn't let him know that, so she put on her 'I-am-woman-hear-me-roar' face and bluffed, "Bring it on, baby."
"Em, you're going to get yourself into a whole lot of trouble before the night is over," he promised in a low, raspy voice, as he rose from the couch and came to stand in front of her.
Emily's smile didn't falter as she was almost overwhelmed by the sheer masculinity of him. She was very proud of that. She'd faced down serial killers that had left her less nervous than she was right now. Derek's subtle cologne was making her stomach do flip flops, and the leather pants he was wearing (and how the hell she hadn't noticed that until now was beyond her) left her fingers itching to grope his butt just to see if it felt as good as it looked. "We can only hope," she said, matching his tone and letting her eyes take in the whole Derek Morgan experience, from head to leather-clad toe.
"Are you checking me out, Special Supervisory Agent Emily Prentiss?"
"Duh," she retorted with a roll of her eyes. "Wasn't that the point of those pants?"
Derek grinned. "Well, no actually. But you'll find out soon enough. Here," he gestured, and handed her a leather jacket that he must have hidden somewhere, because she surely hadn't been that distracted by his butt to have missed it. "Put it on."
"You'd better be heading somewhere with this, Morgan, because I'm getting a little tired of you dressing and undressing me."
To his credit he didn't say anything. But the way he looked at her spoke volumes. "Wait," she protested when she realised what that sounded like. "That's not what I meant. I, oh hell, you know what I meant."
"Em, relax, I know what you meant. Now can you put the jacket on so we can go?"
"Okay, okay." She slipped into the jacket. "Where are we going?"
"My place."
She faltered, just a little, before asking, "A little presumptuous, don't you think?"
"You just have a one-track mind, don't you?" he smirked. "I like that. But you can pick your mind up out of the gutter. I'm just going to cook for you."
She let that remark go because she couldn't remember the last time a man had cooked for her, and she was prepared to give him a little leeway if it was true. "You're going to cook for me?"
"Yes."
"And that requires jeans and a leather jacket?"
"No, the ride over to my place on the back of my bike requires that."
He had to be joking. She was not getting on the back of a death trap. "You're not serious."
He nodded. "Absolutely. Now let's go."
"I haven't been on the back of a bike since I was sixteen," Emily protested. "You know, back when I was young and stupid and didn't know the statistics for motorcycle fatalities."
"You'll be perfectly safe, I promise."
She shook her head. "I can't."
"Yes, you can. You can do anything you set your mind to. Besides, I won't let anything happen to you."
She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm really uncomfortable with this."
"Emily," Derek said softly. "Trust me."
Despite her misgivings she allowed herself to be ushered out of the apartment and tried not to mind that she was so easily swayed by him. "You're a good driver, right?" she asked when she spotted the bike.
"I told you, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. Ever," he added so quietly that she couldn't be sure that he even said it in the first place.
"Okay, but if we crash and I die I'm coming back to haunt you," she threatened, as she watched Derek straddle the bike.
He donned his helmet and passed one to her. "I'm not going to crash and you're not going to die."
"I'd better not."
"Woman, just get on the damn bike."
"Don't you 'woman' me. I may be paralysed with fear right now but I can still kick your ass."
"Point taken," he chuckled. "But I have a cheesecake in the oven and if we don't leave soon it'll be ruined."
"You're really cooking for me?" Emily asked, tentatively settling behind Derek.
"I really am. Now hold on. And remember to lean with the bike."
Her arms circled his waist. "I know, I remember. I don't remember being this terrified though."
"You'll be fine. I've got you."
Despite the fact that she was the one hanging onto him for dear life, she believed him. "Okay."
"Ready?"
"I think so."
Derek started the bike.
"Wait, stop," she said, taking her helmet off and getting off the bike. She took a few steps away from him to clear her head and took a deep breath.
"Em, if you really don't want to do this then we'll catch a cab back to my place. I don't want to push you into doing anything you don't want to do."
"It's not that. It's . . . can you take that helmet off for a minute and come here?"
Derek complied and waited for her to continue.
"We're going to be doing a lot of talking tonight, aren't we?"
"Hopefully among other things," he joked, but then sobered up when she didn't react. "Yes, we're going to be doing a lot of talking tonight," he agreed. "There are a few things we need to work out."
"Right. So in the interest of me not thinking about this all night, I'm just gonna do it and get it over with. It's the only way I'll be able concentrate," she said cryptically.
"You're just gonna do what?"
"This," Emily said, as she stepped into Derek's space and kissed him. She thought that she'd surprised him, because for a moment he didn't respond. Then, before that thought had even cleared, she thought that maybe he didn't like strong women after all, and if that was the case then whatever they were doing was doomed before it even started. She wondered how she could have completely misread everything, or if he'd been playing her all along, and then she wondered if the ground would open up and swallow her whole if she prayed for it hard enough. But then he groaned softly and pulled her snug against his body, and his lips were all softness and silken fluidity and warmth. She knew then that she hadn't misread anything, and that she'd fight and claw her way out of hell itself if she had to, because nothing was going to stop this kiss. She wound her arms around his neck and then it was her turn to groan as his tongue gently explored her mouth, and then she lost the ability to think at all.
She missed him when they broke the kiss, but her arms were still around his neck and he was still holding her tight, so when his forehead came to rest softly on hers she smiled and tried not to mind the absence of his lips too much. Derek smiled back and cleared his throat. "And how am I supposed to concentrate on anything after that?" he asked.
"I blew your mind, didn't I?" she remarked smugly, feeling very satisfied with herself.
"I'll say," he agreed, and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I knew you'd be that kind of woman," he added with a grin.
Emily let her hands wander down his back until they found their prize. "And just what kind is that?" she asked, squeezing him softly.
"The kind you want to spend a lifetime kissing," he replied, and she knew she was in a whole lot of trouble when he kissed her again and she almost forgot how to breathe.
But she found that she didn't mind at all.
End