Author's Note: I'm still having a hard time with this particular kind of narrative voice, but I thought I'd give it another try. Written for the lovely and ever so awesome Cellzo, who was reviewer #220 of Fade To Black. Hopefully you all will find it enjoyable! :) Story title inspired by the Florence + the Machine song by the same name.

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters, or the lyrics to Maybe This Time. They belong to CBS and John Kander/Fred Ebb, respectively.

His interest is piqued when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees an outstanding flash of red. It stuns him for a second; it's only him and Prentiss at the office at such an ungodly hour, and neither of them is wearing such a captivating color.

At least, that's what he thinks until he sees the flash of red again. This time, he makes the effort to open his office door and search for the source of the color.

What he sees steals the breath from his lungs.

Emily Prentiss is bent over her desk, wearing a skin-tight, scarlet mini dress that accentuates her each and every curve. He tells himself to look away, that it's the gentlemanly thing to do, but he can't, he physically can't as she rises to her full height, her body unfolding almost seductively.

Her back is to him, which is why it comes as a surprise to her when she hears his voice right behind her.

"You have a date tonight?"

She hadn't heard him approach, so she whips around at once, her startled brown eyes meeting his darkened ones. She knows he meant the question to be conversational, friendly even, but the timbre of his voice translates it into something deeper, something more…possessive.

She likes it. A lot.

Licking her lips, Emily cocks her head to the side. "Something like that," she answers vaguely, an enigmatic twinkle in her gaze. Still looking at him looking at her, she reaches for her purse and slings it over her shoulder. "See you Monday, Hotch."

"See you Monday, Prentiss," he responds in kind, watching as her retreating figure disappears down the hallway. He almost swears he sees an extra sway to her hips as she saunters away - because that's what she's doing in those four-inch heels of hers, sauntering.

As Emily enters the metal confines of the elevator, only one thought is on her mind as his last words to her replay on a loop.

He would call her Emily by the end of the night.

She would stop at nothing.

~.~.~

Hotch would never understand why he decided what he did in the split second after she exited the bullpen.

Standing there, by her desk, he watches her retreating figure for a moment longer…

…and then, he follows her.

He makes sure to keep two cars behind and one to the left at all times; he doesn't want her to notice him, but at the same time, there was something…mysterious about her earlier demeanor.

And he loves mysteries.

He wants to find her out. He wants to unravel the enigma that is Emily Prentiss. He doesn't just want to; he needs to.

Because, somehow, he doubts she's going on a date. It's not that she can't get one; she's a beautiful, single woman. Who wouldn't date her?

No, he follows her because it's almost nine o'clock and she has him under her spell.

Ten more minutes of driving finds him at a night club.

A night club.

It's small, tucked away on the far side of the highway. It's not too crowded when he enters, nor is it too energetic. It's not skeevy, either, not like the clubs he's had to visit for cases. There's a small bar on his left, a couple round tables scattered throughout…and at the very front of the space, there's a stage. It's just bee recently vacated, as he can tell from the scattered applause.

He looks around for her, his eyes narrowing and his heart dropping when he can't find her. He's making his way to the bar and wondering if he had followed the right car when he hears it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please help me in welcoming Lauren to the stage."

Lauren.

Hotch turns around and there she is, in that damned scarlet red dress that will surely make an appearance in his dreams to come. But…Lauren? Of all stage names, he muses darkly, his mind running circles as he thinks that maybe…maybe she isn't coping as well as they all thought.

He can't dwell on it for much longer, however, because her husky voice begins filling the room, and all of a sudden, he is lost.

Maybe this time, I'll be lucky
Maybe this time, he'll stay
Maybe this time
For the first time
Love won't hurry away

He watches intently as her hips move from side to side with a cat-like, sinewy grace. She's swaying to the slow rhythm of the song, and he, like the majority of the others in the club, is mesmerized.

He will hold me fast
I'll be home at last
Not a loser anymore
Like the last time
And the time before

Unbeknownst to him, she knows he's there. With the exception of the spotlight bathing her in warmth, the lights are all dimmed, but she can still make out his silhouette at the bar, nursing a drink. Scotch, her mind adds. It's probably scotch.

And it is.

The fact that he followed her should make her feel apprehensive, but instead, she's filled with a warmth totally unlike that the spotlight is providing.

Everybody loves a winner
So nobody loved me;
'Lady Peaceful,' 'Lady Happy,'
That's what I long to be
All the odds are in my favor
Something's bound to begin
It's got to happen, happen sometime
Maybe this time I'll win

He is still gazing at her when the song ends and she takes a bow, her body curving in such an inherently sultry way that, for a moment, his mind is completely wiped blank.

She uses this to her advantage, of course.

~.~.~

This time, it is she who startles him.

"I have to say, I had the feeling I'd see you here tonight."

He actually chokes on his scotch at the sound of her voice, and when she rubs circles on his back to soothe him, his coughing only gets worse. When his airway finally clears, he looks up to see her smiling down at him, her pretty red lips stretched wide over her gleaming white teeth. "You okay?" she asks, chuckling slightly.

"I'm fine," he responds, offering her a smile of his own, albeit a small one. He hadn't expected to get caught, but he knows he can't leave now, not when so many questions are shining in her gaze. So he says the only thing he can think of.

"You look stunning."

She sidles up beside him and finally takes a seat, watching as he signals for the bartender to get her a drink. "Thank you," she practically purrs. "For the compliment and the drink." She's not herself tonight; but she couldn't care less.

He's on the same page as her, of course; he notices everything. "Don't mention it. But…" He bites his cheek in contemplation of his next query. He raises an eyebrow, too. "Lauren?"

Her smile fades slightly, though not all the way. She shrugs it off elegantly, and something tells him this isn't the first time she's had to explain. "What else would I call myself?"

He's wondering if he should be worried at her nonchalant air…when, suddenly, she grabs his hand.

"Dance with me," she implores.

In his mind's eye, he sees her still on that stage, the spotlight teasing out hidden fires in her hair. He doesn't want to say no to her, but the logical side of his mind is putting up a fight. As usual. "No," he eventually murmurs. "I can't dance."

But, in true Prentiss fashion, she persists. "Sure you can. I've seen you before." There's a pause. "Either we dance or we talk, and something's telling me that you don't want to do the latter."

She has him there.

So, he relents, and walks her to the bit of space in the middle of the club that had been cleared for occasions just like this. On instinct, she wraps her arms around his neck, and his snake around her waist. He barely has time to take in the lyrics to the song being sung in the background, or muse about how perfectly their bodies fit together, when she fuses her lips to his.

~.~.~

They go home together that night.

He tells her that this can only be a one-time thing. She agrees, but at the same time thinks that maybe…maybe the next time she sings at the club, maybe they'll do this again.

They do.

And then, she drops to her knees before him, and in no time at all, has him screaming her name.

Not Prentiss.

Not Lauren.

Emily.

THE END.

Author's Note: Like it? Love it? Please please please leave a review; short or long, signed or anonymous, they always make my day. :)