The only light came from the observation window where an agent interviewed a murder suspect in the adjacent room. Patrick Jane had quickly determined that the suspect had not committed the crime. Keeping an eye on what unfolded through the window, they split their attention with comments to each other. He and Teresa Lisbon, the only occupants of the observation room, were seated in what anyone looking would have to judge as an intimate arrangement. Perhaps they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice.
Jane leaned back, comfortable in a common government-issue chair, pushed away so that only his knees were under the table. One leg crossed the other, creating the slight illusion that his body was not directly aligned and facing Lisbon who sat on top of the table. Having little guile, Teresa's knees pointed blatantly to Jane, edging closer when she would lean in to make a quiet comment or response.
Jane was very aware of her closeness, his crossed leg a half-hearted attempt to create a little distance while shielding a wakening sensation in his core. Nothing that didn't happen ten times a day. He lay an arm across the top of his crossed leg, just a bit of an anchor. Jane couldn't help sizing up just how effortlessly he could catch Lisbon's hand, resting at the end of a knee, if he chose. Hell, he could do it with his far hand, easily! Unconsciously, he toyed with his mouth.
When Lisbon leaned forward to make her next comment, Jane judged her to be past knee-to-knee if they were both sitting in chairs. Their knees would be entangled. One of them would have to open to accommodate the invasion of the other's legs! Lisbon had to be aware of her posture and proximity, but was choosing it for some reason. It really was too close, if a co-worker entered the room. If they had been in a private setting, it would probably be his move.
Lifting the arm from his crossed leg, Jane placed its hand above Lisbon's knee without stretching. He grasped her, squeezing the flesh of her leg as one would hold ripe fruit before plucking it from the tree. She gasped and started to pull back but Jane held her fast. Raising her own resting hand, Jane caught and held it firmly with his other hand.
Lisbon hissed and said in a low voice, "Jane! What are you doing? Let go." She wiggled the leg he held firm.
"Steady." A warning that he wouldn't let go until she was.
She stilled and glared at him, green eyes wide and clear, with a dangerous light, over her furiously blushing cheeks. Jane slowly released her, looking right into her.
"What was that about?" In her most private heart, she wished he was making a pass. But that was just foolish. Jane would never do that here. It wasn't something she even needed to think about.
"Do you really want to be so close to me, so . . . intimate . . . if someone were to walk in?"
"Intimate? You've got to be kidding."
Jane held up a hand as a caution to stop. "Just take a minute and look." He watched as she noted their proximity and positioning and then reddened even more. He wouldn't tell her that he was within two feet of being able to pick up her scent. All he had to do was lean. Lisbon's brow furrowed and tears came to her eyes as she scooted just a few inches down the table.
"Easy, Lisbon. It's all right. I just wanted you to see, be sure it's what you want to be doing. If it is, you make me a lucky man!" He smiled broadly and tilted his head. She would be able to think he was joking if she wished. "It's not that I want to be so far from you. In fact, it feels a little sad right now. But I know you don't want us to be the subject of gossip any more than we are already."
"No. You wouldn't either."
"Oh, I wouldn't care a bit, Lisbon. If I wanted you, I'd still keep myself in line for you. But for myself, well, I'd be all over you all the time. I wouldn't be able to help being close to you, touching, handling you in quiet moments. We'd be known before the week was out."
Lisbon was silent, unreadable, not looking at him.
"Now, maybe you should move further down the table before someone comes in." Jane watched her, wishing he could hold her on his lap, kiss everywhere he could reach, hug and cherish her in a way that could never be mistaken.
Lisbon got off the table and, pulling the empty chair further from Jane, sat in it, eyes lowered, looking a bit glum. "If you wanted me . . . "
"I should have said, 'If I could show you how much I want you . . .'"
Her head still down, an insistent smile curled her lips, one Lisbon couldn't quite tamp down in a half-hearted struggle. Maybe later. Maybe Jane's attic . . .
Jane watched, and adored her.
The two looked as Agent Van Pelt opened the door and came into the room. She saw nothing amiss.