She stood suddenly and faced him. Her hair, falling from its ponytail after a long day's work, framed her face and seemed to shine in the dim light. Her lips were slightly parted as though she might say something, and he could just barely hear her breathing. Her eyes bore into his, searching desperately, for what he didn't know. Everything about her was suddenly intoxication for him.
Well, maybe suddenly is the wrong word. For a while now, his partner had, in his eyes, looked different. Her voice seemed softer, less like an interrogation and more like a lover whispering in his ear. He knew it was his imagination; no one else had noticed a change. Stan definitely would have said something. No, this change was purely inside him.
She seemed lost. He, however, knew exactly what he wanted to happen next. He studied her, trying to determine her mood exactly so he could predict her reaction. She was not in a bad mood, he decided. She had just gotten a new witness who was very cooperative and enthusiastic, which (much to his surprise) hadn't bothered her. He decided it was worth a try.
So he did it. In one swift move he put a hand behind her neck and gently pulled her face toward him. Their lips met and he could swear his head exploded. She tasted like lemon and butterscotch, and her skin beneath his hand was like the finest silk. He was so lost in this storm of sensory bliss that he almost didn't realize she was kissing back. Her hand found his waist, and she almost shivered when she felt how muscular he was, how strong.
He felt suffocated, but in the most wonderful way. She leaned back and stared at him for a few seconds. Then, her usual sarcastic smirk lifted the corners of her mouth as he smiled at her. She sat down at her desk, grabbed a pen, and started filling out a form. For him, that smirk told exactly what she was thinking. And what she was thinking was, "I knew it."