A Day Off
The decision about going was unquestionably made before even ending the phone call, when his hand instinctively reached for the suit jacket he'd carelessly tossed over the back of the chair earlier.
Eager to see everything he just heard from Spence with his own eye, Boyd's now impatiently standing halfway to the door in her hall, car keys in one hand and mobile in the other. And judging by the scowl, more than displeased to encounter an unanticipated hindrance in the form of her. For someone whose norm is to plainly override obstacles like that, it is to Boyd's credit that he at least attempts to solve the situation via discussion this time.
''I do have to go there myself!'' he insists once again, sounding genuinely exasperated being forced to justify something as self-evident as joining his team in action. ''I need to check...''
''On Spence?'' Grace cuts in pointedly. ''He called to keep you updated not because you're indispensably needed out there.''
Overhearing the phone conversation, she clearly detected their younger colleague's reluctance towards the possibility of his boss showing up and taking charge himself.
''What's the point in laying your own career on the line to ensure his promotion to DI,'' she continues with a disapproving head-shake, ''only to carry on treating him as some rookie just out of Hendon who can't be trusted to decide anything on his own?!''
His expression reflecting true indignation, Boyd's voice rises in instant aggrieved protest against such allegations. ''Don't be ridiculous! I am not going there because I don't trust Spence! ''
Boyd's abrasive but sincere concern for his younger colleagues could so easily be mistaken for excessively authoritarian leadership. Dissensions and clashes of strong egos were quite common in the squad-room of the CCU, with occasional manifestations of rebelliousness even. Regardless all that, Boyd had somehow succeeded in turning the bunch of misfits he's gathered around him into one of the most trustworthy and loyal teams in the entire Met.
The real reason behind Boyd's compulsion to rush to that grim and chilly riverbank wasn't the need to keep control over his subordinates, but the wholehearted desire to give his fair share.
During her first months in the CCU, she often wondered what triggered it's charismatic leader to take on the grim and ungrateful field of police work that several other high ranking officers reportedly had resolutely declined. But Boyd stubbornly stuck to the job, making success out of what was initially considered to be a short-time experimental project. When he finally trusted her with the details of his tragic back story, she figured out the reason.
As masochistic as deliberately putting oneself into a position where the very personal and exceedingly hurtful experience got reminded on daily basis might seem, it still offered some cold consolation in providing answers and closures to others. So he continued to carry out the self-imposed mission with admirable dedication, without any reservations or excuses, at times not even recoiling from overlooking some impeding rules and regulations.
In her report she repeatedly pointed out that despite his difficult character and somewhat unorthodox methods, Peter Boyd's uncompromising commitment to the job makes him highly valuable for the Met, therefore the higher-ups should rather acknowledge him for that instead of throwing a spanner in his works. And by all means should she.
''Do as you think is best then,'' Grace resigns with an acquiescent shrug.
An expression of slightly incredulous relief spreads over Boyd's face, bringing to mind a schoolboy who's against all hopes escaped detention and got permission to go out and play with friends.
Hiding her smirk, Grace walks to the mahogany chest of drawers under the large mirror in the hallway and pulls open the one containing her spare keys.
''Here, take this with you. I want to have a nice hot bath and go straight to bed after that. I don't particularly fancy coming downstairs in the middle of the night to let you in whenever you choose to return.''
Boyd's already occupied with pulling on his notorious dark coat, the one that's claimed to be bulletproof according to some anonymous wisecracker in the Met.
''Don't worry, I won't be that long at all!'' he hastily assures. Unconvincingly.
The proffered key gets shoved in the coat pocket and then the front door falls shut behind him. A moment later the impressive silver Audi takes off from her driveway.
Part of her totally shares his curiosity and enthusiasm, wishing she could go with him.
Not a good idea, considering the risk of exposing their little ploy. As far as their colleagues know she should be on her way to Edinburgh already.
If they'd both turn up at minimum notice now, furthermore in the same car, their bright and perspicacious younger colleagues might easily start drawing some unwelcome conclusions. If not Spence, Frankie and Mel surely.
That behavioural analyses conference was in her schedule months ago already. When the event got cancelled unexpectedly, it was Boyd himself who suggested with uncharacteristic generosity that she should take a day off nevertheless. The conversation took place in her bedroom, being wrapped in each others embrace after a tough working day, so this might have had a great deal to do why it felt impossible to fully enjoy a free day unless spending it in his company.
Introducing her plan to Boyd required smart tactical approach of course, and on this occasion the strong rebellious streak in him proved helpful actually. When her proposition got the predictable negative response at first, she carefully avoided slipping into excessive coaxing, just expressed genuine regret that his irrevocable responsibilities and obligations won't enable them even a little bit of quality time together.
Boyd listened without saying anything right away, but she didn't miss the hint of defiance forming in his glance.
Next morning, having slept on it, he finished the routine squad-room team meeting making a surprise announcement about his absence on that particular day. He remained vague about the reason, but in his case nobody doubted it had to be a solid one.
It came to her through the grapevine merely an hour later that the upper echelons had 'most definitely' forced Boyd to attend some form of psychological counselling. She barely managed to hide her amusement at the thought that 'technically' he did have an appointment with a shrink arranged.
Nothing seemed to jeopardize their conspiracy this afternoon when she left the headquarters a little before her habitual time, as could be expected from someone who's got a long journey ahead.
Boyd stoically stayed at his over-loaded desk, evidently determined to take care of a month's worth of paperwork before calling it a day.
None of their colleagues suspected anything behind the polite conventional good-byes they exchanged, the swift sly wink he gave her invisible to anyone else.
When Spence called about the unearthed grave hours later, he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams to catch the boss in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laughing and joking while chopping vegetables.
Grace heaves a disappointed sigh, seriously fearing that the sudden turn of events might ruin their plans altogether, and starts to put the ingredients intended for their now cancelled supper back in the fridge. The unsolicited alternation of evening plans has robbed her of appetite and there really ain't much point in cooking anything substantial while it's not clear what time or if at all Boyd will come back. A glass of good red wine and a few healthy snacks that she can take along with her to the bathroom will be sufficient for tonight.
Everything's back in order in the kitchen, so she turns off the light and heads upstairs. No reason why she shouldn't still make the most of her solitary night off.
The clothes she's wearing get quickly replaced with a fluffy plum-colour velour robe.
Pouring a generous drop of her favourite bath essence in the bottom of the large old-fashioned bath tub first of all, Grace turns the water on and perches herself on the edge with a glass of red wine. Relishing the splendid aroma that instantly fills the bathroom and savouring the drink with small sips, she can't help smiling back at her own reflection in the oval mirror above the sink.
She wasn't keen at all to go along with her hairstylist's suggestion to try something completely different, but the outcome really turned out to be an utterly positive surprise. She's never got as many compliments on her looks as she's received from her friends and colleagues recently.
Surprisingly enough the total makeover campaign in the unit was initiated by Boyd. It happened while working with the reopened ritual murder case. The perpetrator had returned to his gory habit after years of silence, people's lives were at stake, so racing against time the whole team practically lived at work. By the end of the week even the ever-impeccable Boyd was seen around with stubbly cheeks and rumpled suit. They naturally expected their boss to appear in his usual sleek self on Monday. To everybody's surprise the beard had undergone some expertly trimming, but it was still there, perfectly harmonizing with the thick mane of steely hair. She liked that wolfish look of him a lot. What she disliked was Boyd's most infuriating habit of claiming his sudden change of style to be a means of self-protection to prevent her treating him like a schoolboy.
She might be guilty of occasional lecturing, but there was no secret the true cruel headmistress sat in Assistant Commissioner Dyson's office and the 'bright' idea to order Boyd's psychological evaluation from her came from the very same origin.
Boyd's whining, complaining and taking his reluctance out on her made the task even more uncomfortable. She truly feared to loose a friend in the process of painting the proverbial portrait. Luckily, the initial distrust overcome, Boyd turned out to be relatively cooperative, maybe deep down he even was a bit flattered to get such extra attention from her.
Grace allows the foam to rise almost to the rim of the bath tub before turning off the tap and easing herself cautiously into the fragrant water. No chance of Boyd returning any time soon, so she doesn't have to worry about the recurrence of the kind of flooding they managed to create in her bathroom a few weeks ago.
She knew Boyd was summoned to an extraordinary meeting in New Scotland Yard that Friday afternoon. The upper echelons received their requested report the day before, so it wasn't hard to guess what the topic might be. Not just Boyd's career but the future of the unit was at stake and she spent the whole evening on tenterhooks, wishing he would call and let her know how did it go.
That phone call never came, there was a sudden knock on her door instead. To discover him standing there, broad smile on his face and a bottle of exquisite wine in his hand, really took the load off her chest. The overwhelming sensation of relief considered, it was quite excusable both of them drank a bit more than usual that night, which in turn lead to a very open and unreserved conversation, flirtatious even. But that was all, she drew a firm line there and he made no attempt to cross it either. At one point they both became too drowsy to sit up any longer, so she went upstairs to bed and he obediently agreed to spend the night on her living-room couch.
She woke up next morning, clearly feeling the after effects of the glass or two that in hindsight should have stayed in the bottle last night.
She hadn't forgotten about her house-guest, but it was relatively early and she expected him to be still fast asleep for at least a couple of more hours . Enough time to do something about her slightly under the weather feeling. And she knew an easily attainable remedy. Be it gnawing headache or nasty cold, over-fatigue or just bad mood – a good hot bath never failed to make her feel better, the only trick was to pick the right one from her rich collection of aromatic bath oils.
Living all by herself must have completely estranged her from the habit of locking the bathroom door, she realised with a shock when Boyd suddenly popped his head in without any warning. The wicked grin betrayed he didn't pull that door open by accident. An attempt on a wayward juvenile joke most likely, so an adequate response from her would have ended everything in the bud.
Too baffled to say anything she just ducked herself self-consciously neck deep in the water, seeking coverage from the already waning foam.
Her coyness called forth an amused snort. ''I thought you'd appreciate a chance to get to know me better!''
Ordering him out loud and clear would have been perfectly justified after that. But how could she when the irresistibly smiling shirtless man on the doorstep just exuded sex appeal?! She did get to know him, up close and personal as the saying goes. It didn't matter that there was much more water on the bathroom floor than in the tub in the end. Nothing mattered that weekend, until the early hours of Monday morning when it was no longer possible to ignore that in just a couple of hours time they both had to go to work.
The ''where do we go from here'' discussion took place on her firm initiative and with his grumbling participation. For two people who so often had radically different opinions, they reached consensus amazingly effortlessly this time. Neither had any illusions things would be easy, but neither was willing to call everything off without at least giving a try.
The joint effect of relaxing warmth, soothing bath oil and good wine is already creating real danger she might fall asleep in the water. Grace reluctantly forces herself to get up and reach for the towel. She wraps herself in the soft robe to preserve the pleasant warmth in her body and saunters to the bedroom, yawning lazily. A peek outside brings an involuntary grimace of repulsion on her face. The unpleasant dampness and chill can be sensed through the glass even. She quickly draws the curtains to hide the desolate late autumn view from sight.
Curling up in her warm and comfortable bed and pulling the duvet up to her chin, Grace wholeheartedly sympathises with her colleagues who might still be doing their work out there somewhere.
She gets a few good hours of sleep before the loud clunk of keys dropping on the table downstairs reaches through her slumber. It's not done on purpose though, the fact that Boyd chooses not to put on any light proving his actual aim not to disturb her in case she should be asleep. Alas he doesn't know his way around the house well enough and an hollow thump marks an unexpected encounter with some piece of furniture in the dark. The instant muffled cursing following the incident makes Grace chuckle to herself, knowing far too well what explicit language Boyd's capable of on occasions like that.
Slow and weary footsteps start ascending the stairs, giving pretty good idea how dog-tired the man must be.
Considering it best to allow him to get his much-deserved rest, she quickly rolls over and hides her face in the pillow in order to leave the impression of being fast asleep.
As the tentative ''Grace...?'' receives no response, Boyd unceremoniously peels off his clothes and sinks heavily on the vacant side of the mattress.
'Sorry about tonight... I will make it all up to you tomorrow, I promise.''
Though the mumbled statement is clearly meant to himself rather, it's enough to extinguish any grudge she had against him.
Boyd's breathing becomes deep and relaxed pretty soon after clearing his conscience, so she snuggles cautiously closer to him and plants a tender kiss on his bare shoulder, murmuring exactly the same promise.
The early morning sun has somehow found it's way through the narrow gap between the curtains, striking her straight in the eye.
The duvet feels unnaturally hot and heavy. Grace lifts her head and discovers that Boyd has kicked off his side of the blanket leaving it all heaped up upon her. She follows his example, pushing the excessive covers away.
Undisturbed, Boyd continues snoring, forearm providently bent across the eyes to avoid any annoying ray of light reaching there.
Upper half of the face hidden that way, his bearded chin and cheeks are brought all the more to the fore, adding a rough layer of masculinity to him.
Not that it ever needed any extenuation...
Grace has to suppress a very girlish giggle as her eyes wander down her bedmate's body and reach the region that is in direct contrast with the otherwise completely relaxed body. The exciting tenting of the navy blue trunks is just a common phenomenon of male physiology of course, having nothing to do with her close presence... Well, unless she might be featuring in some naughty dream he's enjoying this very moment.
The desire to reach her hand for some closer examination is very strong. She knows he'd be all in favour of such awakening.
Recalling how very late Boyd came back last night, Grace disciplines herself to pull the duvet back over him to hide the temptation out of sight and leave him with his wicked dreams for a bit longer. She will treat herself with a cup of good coffee in the meanwhile.
Glad to escape the every-morning dressing and make-up routines, she grabs her velvety robe from the bedstead and sneaks downstairs.
The time that takes for the coffee to brew properly can be used to make a quick bracing trip to the mailbox.
Contrary to past few gloomy days the sun's peeking through clouds this morning, making her home-street look a lot more cheerful. It's still pretty chilly outside, so she's happy to return to her warm and cosy kitchen and pour out the deliciously smelling hot drink. Pure luxury to fully enjoy the taste and smell of coffee instead of using it to wash down her sandwich on the run. Not to mention reading the morning paper actually in the morning.
She hasn't finished her cup yet when the stairs already creak under padding bare feet.
'Good Mooo...'' Boyd's greeting breaks into a wide open-mouthed yawn and he stretches himself with pleasure, filling the entire door-frame.
It doesn't surprise Grace at all that his attire is still confined to those familiar blue trunks. She already knows that in case she should say anything, he'd overrule it, declaring that being the only way he could survive in her 'overheated' home. Compared to the Spartan temperature in his own house the difference really is notable, she wouldn't argue that.
Boyd squints suspiciously at the clock on the wall seemingly not trusting the numbers he sees and remarks reproachfully through another mouthful of truly infectious yawn,''I thought the chance to stay in bed till noon was the main point of having a day off.''
''You're having a day off after all?'' Grace raises her eyebrows in well-feigned surprise. ''Won't the dead take offence?''
Boyd grins indulgently.
''The dead you're concerned about are in the lab already and get full attention from Frankie and her pathologist friend. And Spence and Mel will take care of everything else.''
Far too uncharacteristic declaration from him, so she just can't help herself.
''All on their own you mean, without any supervision and guidance?! Are you absolutely sure about this? Poor Spence is only a DI after all...''
This unconcealed irony costs Grace the good morning kiss Boyd was about to give her. He averts his face defiantly, snatches the newspaper away from her in retaliation and starts leafing it in demonstrative search for sports section, completely ignoring her glower. The impish twinkle in his eyes betrays he apparently hopes to provoke her to jump up and try to retrieve what's stolen from her. Where such playful scuffle of two scantly dressed people of opposite sexes could lead, Grace knows by numerous experiences.
Determined not to make things that easy for Boyd on principle, she does get up, but with calm and dignity, informing him in a very matter of fact way, ''I'll make some fresh salad for breakfast while you're reading the paper.''
Never willing to admit defeat, Boyd turns to rather desperate measures to catch her attention.
One quick pull and the loosely tied belt of her robe becomes his prey. The few inches of exposed skin he gains that way are enough to bring a smile back on his face.
''Very funny!'' Grace's eyes turn skyward disparagingly. ''Happy now?''
''Not yet!'' There's mischief and lust in the dark brown eyes.
Another deft and swift manoeuvre and the soft fabric slips off her shoulders.
The next moment her feet are off the ground and Boyd's on his way towards the staircase with her.
''Excellent seduction tactics indeed, Boyd! Schoolboy pranks followed by caveman approach...'' This is intended to be an honest admonition, delivered with due sternness.
He just laughs, stopping for a moment to kiss her ardently and gives her a playful spin around.
Grace would willingly enjoy the luxury of being carried to bed, unless she didn't know about the fierce squash match with Spence barely a week ago, during which Boyd's back apparently suffered considerably more than his pride. She caught him secretly swallowing painkillers in his office only yesterday, therefore letting him run up the stairs with her, reckless and impetuous as he is now, could easily bring quick and unwelcome end to all the fun.
''Bedroom, hm?'' she wrinkles her nose, ''How very conventional...''
The mocking remark hits the target and reconsidering his initial plan, Boyd changes direction.
Good, the velvet-covered sofa in her living room will serve just perfect for the occasion.
But Boyd rushes past it decisively. Nor does he pick neither of the large and comfy armchairs...
Coming to a halt suddenly, he literally lets her drop. Grace yelps in true panic of hitting the floor hard and painful.
Naturally the strong arms reach out just in time to catch her and place safe and sound on the soft sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, her genuinely startled reaction eliciting a fulfilled grin from him.
''Some more unconventional caveman approach for your liking!''
Such infuriating complacency calls for immediate retaliation and Grace's fingers reach for the waistband of Boyd's trunks.
''As much as I love the dirty tricks of naughty girls...'', Boyd's tongue makes a very deliberate move along his lips as he catches her wrist firmly, ''we're going to play it my way this time!''
With just one hand he effortlessly pins her down and the deep, determined kiss muffles all protests. Not that she'd disapprove such course of events in any remotest way - after all he's really got some making up to do for deserting her last night.
Boyd's hands are already cupping her breasts. Without wasting time his lips travel down her neck in a succession of electrifying kisses, heading straight towards his favourite 'playground'. The teenage-boy-like eager enthusiasm with which he throws himself into what he's doing is most wonderfully combined with elaborate technique and the sensations he creates with his lips, tongue and teeth cause her nipples harden near-painfully.
His hands glide across the suddenly hypersensitive skin of her stomach in tantalizing slow motion, sneaking lower. The pretended cautious search is just part of the game and when the deft fingers hit their target, it's done with deadly precision and just the right amount of pressure. Grace has to sink her teeth into her lower lip in order to keep from crying out, but it doesn't help for long.
Boyd's mouth follows the downward route of his hands. The exquisite contrast of the caressingly soft merino wool underneath her naked skin and the exciting prickle of his beard right where it's effect is the strongest makes Grace whimper with pleasure and whisper his name huskily.
She literally feels that broad grin against her sensitized skin and tugs his hair in retaliation. That only encourages the wickedly delicious assault on her.
She wouldn't last for long like that, but Boyd mercifully allows her a brief moment to catch breath.
What's been hidden under the navy blue cotton so far matches the rest of the man perfectly - so remarkable in size and arrogantly upright, so impatient to get into action. She stares at him unashamedly as he kneels above her, smirking oh-so-smugly, vain enough to sacrifice a minute and let her admire the sight before lowering himself between her thighs.
Grace expects him to take her right away, but Boyd seems to be in no hurry suddenly. There's something downright predatory in the way he very deliberately grinds against her, as if enjoying a little play with his catch at first. His grin becomes more and more feral as he clearly sees the effect it has on her.
To feel every inch of that wonderful hardness so close, but still not where she so desperately needs it, makes Grace writhe under him in frustrated anticipation, almost on the verge of begging.
Boyd makes his move all of a sudden. More than ready for him, Grace cherishes every wonderful moment of it - the bitter-sweet sensation of her body accepting him as he relentlessly pushes further and deeper into her, the instinctive sweaty grip of their fingers, their lips meeting in ardent sharing kiss to enhance the union.
Boyd starts to thrust cautiously, attentive to every feedback from her.
Her legs rise and bend almost on their own accord, forming a tight embrace around his waist. That encourages him to go harder and deeper, each of her needy moans seemingly quickening the pace. They're both far too aroused to keep things slow and gentle any longer.
There's more lust than love in his rough, almost bruising kisses. Her hands glide up and down his broad back, fingers digging alternately into his shoulders and buttocks. Boyd adjusts position slightly, so each powerful thrust could meet the most sensitive nerve endings inside her. Her gasps are accompanied by the grunts and curses falling from his lips.
''Peter...'' she nearly sobs, left breathless by sensational and emotional overload as their desperate race finally reaches it's extatic destination.
''Grace!'' he returns almost simultaneously, the hoarse roar declaring liberation as much as declaring commitment.
The all-consuming waves of pleasure subside into happy exhaustion. Boyd rolls them over gently to spare her from taking his crushing weight and she snuggles as close to him as possible, overwhelmed with affection and gratitude.
''Mmmm... lovely breakfast!'' Boyd's contented sigh breaks the silence after a long while of wonderful warm togetherness.
He gives her a mischievous wink. ''What's for lunch, I wonder?''
''Salad,'' Grace offers, face deadpan.
The contemptuous snort that follows is so predictable.
''Seriously, woman... after wearing me out the way you did! I'm entitled to calories and cholesterol!''
"Well, man, go and kill some beast then! And after you've devoured the meat, bring me the skin!'' She pats the fluffy rug beneath them fondly.
"No hunting on a day off!'', Boyd shakes his head with haughty confidence. ''A foray to some nice Italian place - that's another thing. I might even consider taking you with me!'', he generously promises.
''You'd better!'' Grace returns, adding with a sly smirk, ''Otherwise you're definitely going to sleep without any supper at all tonight!''