Standard disclaimers: All characters are property of the folks who created due South, and it's their own fault I'm borrowing them for this little adventure -- they made 'em too durned interesting and down-right fun to ignore! I'm not making any money off this, Lord knows, and it's all in the name of good clean fun, so I hope they don't sue me. ;-)
Rating: PG-14.
Season: Second.
Author's Note: All I have to say about this story is that when Meg Thatcher starts talkin', you don't argue. g
© 1997, Grace Macy
". . . You came to me, straight out of nowhere,
Taking me where I'd never been.
. . . I want you here with me, pray for our destiny,
Here on this mystery ride.
. . .Open my eyes, there's so much light.
I feel alive when I'm with you.
With every end, we'll begin again."
-- Belinda Carlisle, Runaway Horses
Meg Thatcher lit each candle with a smile, picturing his face as he came into the room, imagining the way his eyes would widen in surprise and delight. She was certain about the surprise, relatively sure about the delight -- surely even he couldn't resist the soft glow of the candles would lend her skin, shining off the satin of the long gown. It was a masterpiece in itself: midnight blue so dark it was almost black, perfect compliment to her pale skin and dark hair, cut to display everything to advantage. Diamond studs twinkled in her ears, half-hidden by the fall of her hair, elegant but understated, as she preferred everything about herself to be . . . as he was.
Meg smiled and then nearly jumped at the soft knock at the door. Determinedly slowing her heart, which was no easy task, she cleared her throat. "It's open," she called, while a little voice in her mind started murmuring, Oh god oh god oh god. . .
She told it to shut up.
She heard the front door open and turned from the last candle as a voice sounded. "Inspector?"
"In here," she replied, and timed his steps perfectly, smoothing the gown over her breasts and lifting a softly smiling face to greet him as the doors of the study opened.
As she had imagined, his eyes widened, taking in everything with a practiced, but no less surprised, gaze. "Inspector?" His voice was faint with shock, and she smiled and stepped forward to hand him a glass of wine before he could say anything more. Not that it looked like he was capable of it at the moment. As she had hoped, his eyes lingered on the curves the gown hinted at, and he swallowed at the flash of bare thight that showed through the high slit at one side. He took the glass numbly and stared at it for a second before returning his gaze to her.
"Thank you so much for coming," Meg said.
"Um, I'm guessing there aren't really any important papers. . .?"
"No," she admitted with a little smile. "I've been looking forward to this all day. And wanting it for so much longer. . ." She let one hand rest lightly on his arm, then trail down to his hip. Oh, please please please, don't let him say no! I don't think I could stand it.
His voice started working again and he stared down at her, his eyes wide. "Looking forward to and wanting what?" he asked slowly.
She smiled softly, letting all her emotions show in her eyes, hoping he was as good at reading them in normal people as in suspects. "Seducing you," she answered, and raised herself up to her toes a bit, leaning into him, and kissed him.
He stood frozen for a moment, too startled to respond, then the warmth of her kiss got through to him and his mouth opened under hers. Soft, sweet, but hungry nonetheless. When they finally pulled apart, he realized his arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her tight agianst him. She moved her hips, rubbing slowly, and he groaned. "Inspe -- ah, Marg -- ah --"
"Meg," she supplied, smiling at his dazed look. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."
He shook his head slowly, gazing down at her in wonder and confusion. "You're right," he said. "I have -- I had -- no idea . . . Ah, why. . .?"
"Why tell you now?" Meg said. "Maybe because I finally wised up and realized that if I didn't, I might lose you to someone else."
"There isnt anyone -- I mean -- ah --"
He looked so bewildered that she stepped back, a frown starting. "I'm sorry," she whispered, embarrassed and afraid . . . and angry with herself for even trying. Now she'd made a fool out of herself and -- "I shouldn't have -- that is, I should have known you wouldn't want --" She turned away and went to the stereo, set her wineglass down on the shelf, and turned off the soft music that had been playing.
"No!" he exclaimed, upset at himself. How typical that he wouldn't know how to respond, say the right things, that he would give her the impression that he wasn't interested! He hurried to stand behind her and trapped her hand in his own as it left the stop button. "It's not that," he assured her, wondering at the way she froze at his touch, a fine tremble starting in her hand. "You just surprised me . . . I mean, I didn't think you even liked me. . ."
Meg shook her head, her throat suddenly dry. "I do like you," she said. "A lot. The way you always had an answer to everything, with a smile and that little twinkle in your eyes. You infuriated me so much . . . it took me a while to realize it was because you were the one person I couldn't bulldoze. I'd gotten so used to having to do that, to prove myself worthy of respect . . . and it didn't work with you. You wouldn't be bulldozed no matter what; you made me re-evaluate things, about myself, about a lot of things . . . and I loved that about you. . . I just didn't know how to say it, show it. I thought . . . well, I thought you didn't like me, so why bother."
He smiled and placed his glass beside hers, then put his freed hand on her shoulder, wanting to see if her skin was as soft as it looked, as he'd imagined it would be. It was, and the trembling in her increased. Encouraged by the way her breath caught, he lowered his head and kissed the nape of her neck softly.
Her breath was released in a long sigh and she tilted her head back, leaning it against his shoulder as his mouth moved gently on her skin. Up the side of her neck, slowly, his breath tickling, then to her ear as he whispered, "I do like you, Meg. I like you very," a nip at her ear, "very," back to the side of her neck, tracing the sensitive tendon there, "much." He turned her around and caught her mouth.
The kiss was longer, hungrier, this time, showing her just how much he meant what he had said. It took her breath away, leaving her shaking, her arms wrapped tightly about his shoulders to keep her from falling. Good god, but the man could kiss!
He pulled away after a long time and gazed down at her. "You know, you always infuriated me too," he whispered, and touched her face gently, stroking the lines with a reverent touch. "I could never reason with you, and it started to sink in after the train thing, that it was on of the things I loved about you. That you'd always give me a fight, a challenge. It was . . . fun . . . but I didn't think . . . I mean, especially after that . . ."
She shook her head. "It was a kiss, nothing more. We both knew it couldn't be anything more. And that night, lying in bed, I realized that as much as I cared about Benton, he wasn't the one I'd wanted by my side then." She continued, almost shyly, "He wasn't the one I'd wanted to kiss me. . ."
"No?"
"No." Meg smiled up at him, her heart full of joy, pounding with excitement and desire. "I wanted you, Ray," she whispered. "I've always wanted you. Make love to me. Please. . ."
Detective Ray Vecchio reached for her with a slow smile. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, and did what he'd wanted to do for a very long time.
The End