She's all black curls and blood red satin and sweet Lord, did she look good.

Not that he didn't appreciate all female forms, in all of their differences and imperfections, but this, this marked the end of his sanity. This was something entirely different. This wasn't the smart, strong business-woman who willingly handed them her money and let them use her cars, jets and bought them new weapons. Oh, hell no. This was the dark side with the sultry eyes and the sexiness exuding from her entire being. This was the side of her that God-help-him, he wanted to see more often.

It's not as if he hasn't seen her in evening attire before but that had been a black and gold number that, while gorgeous on her, wasn't nearly as memorable as the sweep of blood red satin she's chosen to swath her beautiful body in for whatever charity event she has to attend. It's the kind of dress you'd expect to see on some sort of ethereal Goddess from Roman mythology. It's loose and drapes her body with thin straps and a v-neck that reveals a teasing amount of cleavage. It cinches in at her hips and drops to the floor in draping folds of blood red. It's not necessarily the kind of dress she would wear often but when paired with the black heels and the black cashmere wrap with just the barest hint of sparkle to it, it's the kind of thing he wishes she'd wear more often - and it makes him wonder what it'd look like on his floor.

Of course then, there's the matter of her.

There's the dress and how gorgeous she looks in it but there's also the matter of her. She's a woman. Of that there is no doubt. Her curves make him more than aware of that. There's also the dark sultry eyes with the fluttering eyelashes and the loose black curls that always had a sexily tousled look about them. The deep red dress accentuated her dark complexion and drew attention to the long, slenderness of her arms. All of the seemingly ethereal parts of her that bring him to the conclusion that he is doomed. Okay, maybe that was a little overdramatic but the woman is torture.

She probably knows it too.

She's probably all too aware of the fact that everytime his eyes catch a glimpse of her, his jeans become slightly uncomfortable. In some way, she's probably both aware and completely oblivious as to what exactly it is that she does to him. She knows, to a certain extent anyway, that she makes him uncomfortable when she dresses in something that wouldn't be considered business appropriate. He's not in any sort of rush to clue her in on certain other aspects of his discomfort when he sees her out of her usual professional clothes - oh. Bad choice of words.

He watches her from his loft that conveniently overlooks the rest of the office. She practically glides across the room, heels clacking against the glossy wood of a freshly waxed floor and presses the button for an elevator. She shifts her small clutch from one hand to another and adjusts her wrap while she waits for the elevator. His eyes darken with lust, raking over her body and appreciating every satin sheathed curve and every inch of bare skin revealed to him.

She turns in the elevator and her eyes flit up the loft, chocolate brown immediately meeting the darkened oceanic blue of her business partner's gaze. She just smiles slightly, holding his gaze as the doors close in front of her. She doesn't see his eyes widen nor does she see him rush to the bathroom to take a cold shower and relieve some discomfort. All she had seen in those few seconds before the elevator doors closed was the gaze of a man who wanted her. It had been genuine want in his eyes, something she hadn't seen in a man's eyes since Marshall. Something that made her feel sexier and more confident in her dress.

Later, she decides, she'll let him give into the want she had seen in his eyes.

Ilsa Pucci was going to make Christopher Chance see red in a whole different way.

I was bored. My muse decided to humor me with this. Whatever the hell you want to call it. I didn't know exactly which characters I would use until I started typing and it turned into Human Target. So here you go. Leave me some love, Dolls.

Love ya,

RobertDowneyJrLove

P.S. "My journey took me somewhat further down the rabbit hole than I'd intended and though I dirtied my fluffy white tail, I have emerged, enlightened." - Sherlock Holmes, 2009. How I feel when my muse decides that I should write without informing me what it is until it's finished!