Disclaimer: I don't own nothing about The Blacklist.
She was sliding her hand up the wall to turn off the light when she realized the desk lamp was on and not the ceiling fixture. Heading across the room, she reached over the desk to extinguish the lamp when a soft sound had her wide gaze flying towards the shadows.
He was draped over the sofa with an arm flung across his face, gave her a weird sense of déjà vu.
Straightening, Liz allowed her hand to fall away. It seemed the man couldn't find anything big enough to accommodate his body. She wondered absently why he hadn't left, and took the opportunity to study him without him being aware. It was only when she could see his lashes casting dark shadows on the slash of his cheekbones that she realized she'd moved across the room and was standing staring down at him like an infatuated adolescent.
Darn, she thought, biting her lip, getting all excited about this man. Turning to go, she spied a blanket over the back of the sofa and reached for it an instant before hard fingers clamped over her wrist. In less time than it took for her heart to jerk hard against her ribs, she was flying through the air to land with a bone-rattling thud that knocked the air from her lungs. She barely managed a strangled oomph as a heavy weight rolled her across the floor.
They came to an abrupt stop against the solid desk with Liz's wrists shackled over her head. A large hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her shocked gasp. Blinking, Liz found herself staring up into a dark face lit with fierce green eyes. For an awful moment she visualized him whipping out a knife and slicing her throat before she could draw her next breath. She felt him everywhere—heat and hardness pressing her soft curves into the floor. During the tumble, one long, hard thigh had found its way between hers, effectively pinning her down. All she could do was gasp and stare into gleaming green eyes as she waited for his next move.
One second she could see her life flashing before her eyes, the next he was cursing and rolling away to lie silently and rigidly beside her. The suddenness of the move stunned her and all she could do was try to calm her jagged pulse and smooth her ragged breathing. All she could think was, What the heck was that? It had been scary and...darn it...she hated to admit it a little exciting.
She was a sick person.
She felt rather than saw his head turn.
"You okay?"
And he was insane.
Sucking in air, Liz lowered her arms and pushed her hair off her face before rearing upright to glare down at him.
"Are you insane?" she demanded furiously, then snapped her mouth closed when she realized that maybe it wasn't the most sensitive thing to say to someone suffering from PTSD—if that's what he had.
Not surprisingly, he didn't look the least bit amused by what had happened. In fact, he looked mad— well, that made two of them—and embarrassed. Embarrassed? What did he have to be embarrassed about? She was the one who'd gone flying through the air.
He scrubbed a hand over his face with a weary sigh and growled, "Sorry..." so softly she almost didn't catch it.
Her jaw dropped open. "Sorry? You're...sorry?" She was getting hysterical again and made an effort to lower her voice, even though she felt she was entitled to a little hysteria. "You can't attack people like that and just say sorry, Red."
He turned and scowled, his brows flattening across his forehead in a heavy line of frustration. "What the hell do you expect me to say? Besides, it was your fault."
Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. "My f-fault?" she spluttered, and when he smirked she had to get a firm grip on her temper before she gave in to the urge to smack it off his face.
"Hey, you were bending over me," he pointed out reasonably, as if he had women bending over him all the time. "What wasI supposed to think? I thought youwanted to wrestle me to the floor. Iwas just being accommodating."
Liz stared at him openmouthed for a few seconds as his words sank in then uttered a sound of disbelief. She drew up her legs and shoved her hands in her hair before dropping her forehead onto her knees. She snickered helplessly for a few beats. "You are such a liar," she said when she could talk without gasping.
He lifted the arm he'd slung over his face to crinkle his eyes at her, his poet's mouth pulled into a crooked smile. God, that little grin was appealing.
"Says who? You?" He made a rude sound. "For all I know, you were just looking for an excuse to roll around on the floor with me.You know, finish what you started earlier?"
"What you started, you mean," she retorted.
"Me?" He shook his head. "You have a defective memory there, Sweetheart."
"And you're delusional. I ought to throw you out." Another mocking sound accompanied the yeah-right look he sent her and she narrowed her gaze. "You don't think I can?"
"Babe, I know you can't." He sounded so arrogantly male that she straightened and stared at him.
"Excuse me," she demanded frostily. "Did you just call me babe?"
He grinned and said, "Uh-huh," with the kind of look that had a bubble of laughter rising in her throat. Darn. She didn't want to find him irresistible, but there was just too much to like. Despite...well, everything.
Blowing out a breath, she dropped her head back against the desk, suddenly exhausted by her ping-ponging emotions. "Well, don't. It's demeaning."
"It is?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "Why?"
Liz snorted. "You ask that when you probably call every woman you meet babe because it saves you having to remember their names."
Red was quiet for a moment, as though he was seriously considering her accusation, before finally shaking his head and saying. "That's not true. I don't call the Donald Ressler babe." He gave a shudder.
Liz caught herself smiling when she couldn't afford to. He was too big, too macho, too...everything. Everything she'd told herself she didn't want in a man. Everything she was finding alarmingly likeable.
She pushed out her lower lip and blew out a frustrated breath. "You're changing the subject, Red. It isn't normal for anyone to think they're being attacked in their sleep. I was just reaching for the blanket."
"That's what you say," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her when she rolled her eyes. Snagging her wrist, he tugged her towards him, tucking her body beneath his when she lost her balance. Liz once again found herself staring up into his handsome face while his body covered hers.
"What are you doing?" she squeaked, realizing his hard thigh was pressing against places that hadn't seen any action in a long while. It was mortifying to admit those places were turning liquid with heat.
tbc
AN: Well, this idea crossed my mind. I still don't really know what direction to give it, but I want to put a little sparks between them and some funny moments. Should be just one shot, but I changed my mind. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are appreciated. :)