DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

Checkmate

By Joodiff

Almost the moment she reluctantly sits down next to him, Grace knows she's in trouble. The sort of trouble far more appropriate for a hormonal teenager than a mature, experienced woman who is, coincidentally, an eminent forensic psychologist of many years' standing. It's not the fact that he's looking particularly dapper and well-groomed that morning, nor the fact that there's a definite glint of devilment in his eyes that automatically tells her that he is just in that sort of mood. It's not even the fact that he's deliberately forced her into incredibly close proximity, though that, inevitably, has something to do with it. No, Grace knows she's in trouble the moment he leans past her to pick up the file they are supposed to be going through together and she catches the sharp, spicy scent of an unfamiliar and doubtless extremely expensive aftershave.

Not only is he dapper and well-groomed, and far too good-looking, regardless of age, but he smells nice, too. Damn.

"Problem?" Boyd asks her smoothly.

And, of course, there is that dark velvet voice. Deep and well-modulated. Terrific.

"No problem," Grace assures him gravely.

"Good."

And that neat, goatee beard really suits him. Really suits him.

" – in Bethnal Green. You're not listening to me, are you?"

Grace blinks. There's a faintly indulgent note in his voice, but the merest touch of burgeoning impatience, too. She rapidly searches her mind for clues. Manages to come up with, "DI Harper thinks his suspect may be linked to the Rogers murders in Bethnal Green."

"Good save, Grace. I'm impressed. Now, can you at least pretend to be giving me your undivided attention?"

Oh, if only you knew, Detective Superintendent…

The minutes tick past slowly. She's really not terribly interested in DI Harper's arduous hypothesis. She's much more interested in the fascinating mix of muted colours in eyes that appear very dark at a distance. And then she realises that those fascinating eyes are staring straight at her and that his head is tilted slightly to one side as he studies her with an entirely uncharacteristic amount of tolerance.

"Okay," he says, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Go on, I'm listening."

Confused, Grace asks, "What…?"

"Traditionally, a meeting comprises of two or more people, Grace; but one of us isn't here. I feel like I'm delivering a soliloquy."

Oops.

He really is just too good-looking. Damn. Again.

And instinct is a bitch sometimes.

Grace kisses him. She doesn't mean to. It just sort of… happens. One minute she's gazing at him, the next she's leaning forward and she's brushing her lips over his.

And damn, yet again. Closely followed by its friend, oh, fuck.

But she's right. He does smell nice. Very nice.

Boyd is absolutely rigid, and when she pulls swiftly back, he's wearing the sort of archetypal rabbit-in-headlights look that isn't good for any woman's ego. In fact, Grace doesn't think she's ever see anyone look so utterly stunned.

Oh, fuck, indeed.

Instinct may be a bitch sometimes, but it can also be a saviour. Grace is on her feet instantly, and she can hear her own voice gabbling, "I just remembered, I'm supposed to be meeting Eve in the lab to discuss – "

But she doesn't think he's listening. He's just staring blankly at her.

She's out of his office door and halfway across the squad room before the roar goes up.

"Grace! Grace…?"

Spencer – who to Grace's massive good fortune is sitting with his back to Boyd's office – visibly jumps and looks round, expression almost as startled as his DSI's. Grace raises a hand at him as she heads away. "Can't stop, Spence, sorry."

She isn't sure where she's going, but upwards is good. Upwards is heading away from dangerously good-looking men who smell too nice for their own good. Or, indeed, her own good.

Grace makes it to the depressingly utilitarian concrete corridor with its even more depressing run of rectangular exterior windows before she hears the pursuit. By the sound of it, he's taking the stairs two at a time.

Wonderful.

She hears him round the corner at the top of the stairs, knows without looking that he's cornering so fast he's skidding slightly. And now the roar is behind her, "Grace!"

With as much dignity as she can muster, Grace halts and turns to face him. Boyd is bearing down at speed, but he slows as she stops. Slows, but continues the advance. And he doesn't stop. Nor does he seem to be paying any attention to the concept of personal space.

And he really is very tall when he's just an inch or two away. Or less, in fact.

"A word of advice," he says, and his hands are suddenly cupping her face firmly but remarkably gently. Grace stares at him mutely, not quite able to process what is happening in this dull but dangerously public space. "If you're going to steal a kiss…"

And, of course, he kisses her. Deeply, expertly and very, very thoroughly. And for far longer than is actually necessary to prove his point.

He draws back slowly, continues, "…make sure it's worth it."

His hands drop away and he smiles, amused and just the tiniest bit smug. He winks at her, so quickly she thinks she might have imagined it, and he strolls away, heading vaguely in the direction of the lab. As he heads out of sight, he starts whistling. Jauntily and very deliberately. Damn, damn, damn.

Checkmate.

- the end -