Author's usual notes and disclaimer: I don't own any of the original characters nor the original Inspector Lynley Mysteries – they belong to Elizabeth George and the BBC. I have borrowed the characters from the TV-Show and solely own the ideas of my stories and the developments I've let them go through.

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Author's note and summary: A one-shot. Heat. Undressing. Poor summary.

Enjoy a...

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Strip

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He's talking but I do not listen to his words. I don't even remember the topic. All that reaches my nerves is his voice. That timbre I would recognise out of a million voices. It still sends shivers down my spine when there is nothing else of interest or other distraction. Like there isn't now. It's not important what he says. He speaks and his voice reaches my innermost instincts. I indulge in ignoring what he says. I just lean back in my seat and watch him for a while. I still love to do that after all those years.

He takes off his jacket without interrupting his monologue and hangs it on a hook at the wall right next to him. Under the jacket his sleeves have been rolled up already because it is a warm afternoon. For my liking it is too hot but that may as well originate from that hot man in front of my eyes and the thoughts that pop up in my head.

He could do with less clothes.

He takes a sip of water and opens the top button of his shirt as if he had read my mind. I guess he does read my mind all the time. Sometimes I'm probably an open book for him although I usually try to hide it. His eyes met mine for a short moment. I could swear there was a twitch of a smile in the corner of his lips. I know I'm smiling too.

Unfortunately he wears no tie. I love the sound of the silk swooshing through the tunnel of cloth of his starched collar every time he puts it off. That sound would fit now. Fortunately the top button was not enough so he gives me the joy of watching him opening the second top button too. There are a few curly hairs on his chest that now peep cheekily out of the open collar. Years ago when I first have seen him naked, or half naked in nothing but a towel that is, they have been as dark as the mop of hair on his head. Like at his temples it is slightly grey now. We all don't get any younger.

I sigh.

He's still a very handsome man and I still love to simply look at him although we now have worked together for more than ten years. Closely together. Even closer in the last years. And he still is my boss, I suddenly remember, but somehow this idea thrills me in a way I never have thought possible.

Naughty girl! I think to myself and divert my eyes to the grounds. He shouldn't see my smug grin.

He has not seen it but when I look up again his eyes meet mine again. I briefly smile and he answers it with the slightly mocking eyebrow I actually love to see arching now. The accompanying smile he gives me, and always only me, makes my knees weak. I wonder if he knows that I'm sometimes short before melting when he looks at me that way. He always leaves me in a state of jelly.

I have to chuckle.

It makes his smile turn a bit more mischievous than usual and I become nervous. When he starts raking his hand through his hair, I openly answer his smile but I'm a bit uncertain now. When his smile turns into a broad grin, he's got me. My face blushes and I try to think about something else but the boring cricket results are only a short distraction because I've had to help checking them earlier this day and it has been such a sizzling close moment; together bent over the tiny fonts of that newspaper; we both without our reading glasses, our heads bumping and our shoulders nudging into each other; physically and suddenly also mentally touching when his eyes bored into my soul and I have dissolved under his pensive look over that newspaper.

This moment's memory now turned my attention fully back on him.

It's really hot in here. I open the top button of my blouse but better stop there. I think I can see his eyes are narrowing. But his monologue still goes on. I remember another moment when his shirt has been soaked with hot tomato soup after the chase of a criminal through a restaurant and its kitchen. He has put it off very quickly and in an instant stood with a bared chest in front of me. Not now. Now he opens each button very slowly. As much as I like shirts popping open and buttons flying through the room I'm glad that he doesn't rip it open now. I can enjoy each one for a few seconds before he opens the next. With a similarly slow movement he pulls his shirt off his pants, then pushes it open and rakes his hand across his chest. His fingers slide through his chest hair and he looks thoughtful.

He looks straight into my eyes.

I do not avert them now.

As if he has to scratch himself there he moves his hand to his shoulder thus pushing the shirt over it. It falls to the ground and keeps lying there. He doesn't mind. I swallow and briefly close my eyes. His arms seem more toned than they once used to be. He has had a period of letting himself go. His tummy was more and his muscles less. I'm glad he has caught himself and obviously is doing regularly workouts nowadays . He hasn't tried it yet but I think he is able to carry me on his arms in front of his chest.

I wish he would carry me away from here right now.

I swallow again when his hands go to his hip. He has stopped talking for a second with his hands akimbo. Is he waiting for an answer? I do not react. Instead I watch his fingers hover in front of his belly for a moment before he opens his belt. Swoosh! it makes when he pulls it through its loops. For a moment I wonder if it would leave deep weals if he ties me up with it but dismiss that thought right away. He never would do that. He never would harm me. Although I can imagine that he ties me up with something softer.

Later!

Now he's opening the button and oooooh sooooo sloooowly the zip goes down. I swallow hard and look at the ceiling but it won't help. I'm very excited now and have to blink my eyes to keep a focussed look. His hands are on his hips again. This time they shove his pants across it until they fall to his ankles and they lie there with his shirt. Since his hands are still in that area he goes on with his underwear. His fingers slide under its waistband and even a bit deeper taking the dark silky cloth down with them inch by inch.

Then he turns.

Ah, blimey! I sharply inhale and realise that I expectantly have stopped breathing. But he would not give me the pleasure. In the exact moment that he has been to reveal his best parts he has turned his back to me so for now I'm left to enjoy the look of the firm cheeks with their sexy dips I so dearly want to dig my nails into. Nervously I wriggle about in my seat. Meanwhile I'm feeling a bit damp but it is no wonder. He now held one of his arms stretched upwards and the play of his muscles in his back makes me want to get up and touch them.

Slowly rake my nails across his arms.

Leave a wet kiss in the middle of his shoulders.

Press my naked body against his skin.

Let my fingertips tickle his side while my arms encircle his waist.

"Sh!" I hear but I don't react. My hands have not yet reached their target.

"Sh! Barbara!" Oh, my goodness! That's Winston whispering into my left ear. I turn and look into a juicy, knowing grin. With a naughty undertone in his voice DC Nkata said "Stop undressing him!"

I blush deeply. The day has been warm and while I have listened to DI Lynley's presentation of major crime statistics my mind has wandered onto dangerous grounds. My imagination of him slowly undressing for me, something that never ever will happen, has led me into a hot volcano of my deepest fantasies. In fact he's still decently dressed and only has taken off his jacket. But it still is a warm day and I for one am burning.

"I'm not undressing him, you cheeky sod!" I hiss at Winston and give him one of my death-glares. He keeps his grin.

He has undressed himself. I think and blushing even more but with a suddenly smug grin I turn my eyes back to the handsome dark-haired appearance at the white board in front of us.

Winnies wry chuckles though keep me in the real world this time.

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A/N: This may or may not be continued. And it may or may not even turn into something M-ish.