Disclaimer: I own nothing of this story. All credits go to Caroline Anderson and the creators of Ghost Whisperer.
Summary: Jim treats Melinda to a romantic night in that leads to more than just dinner... One-shot fic. Jimel
Hopelessly Romantic
Jim's car pulled up in her drive at two minutes past seven, and as Melinda watched him walk up to the door, her first reaction was relief.
He was wearing a dinner suit. Wear something suitable for dancing, he'd said, and absolutely the only thing in her wardrobe that qualified even slightly was a evening gown she'd bought after Andrea had complained she hadn't anything nice to wear for a night out.
So that's what she was wearing, a sleek, olive green silk gown that fitted her like a glove, but flared at the hips, and did incredible things for her figure. She'd been hovering in her bedroom, waiting to see if she was hopelessly overdress.
Her immediate problem dealt with, she allowed herself to study him as he strode purposely towards her door, and her mouth went dry.
What was it about men in dinner suits? No, not men. Jim. He looked stunning. The stark contrast of the shirt against his skin, the cut of the suit emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and hinting at the lean, powerful muscles of his legs. 'He looks magnificent,' she thought, and felt suddenly totally out of her depth.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, she picked up her bag, checked her reflection one last time and headed down the stairs, her long coat covering the dress and giving her something to hide behind. Dredging up a smile, she opened the door.
"Hi- you're ready," he said, sounding surprised, and she smiled faintly.
"Of course I'm ready," she said, wishing it were true, and stepped outside. The night air was cool, and she shivered with anticipation. Her turned up her coat collar, snuggling it closer, and brushed a teasing kiss over her lips.
"You're taxi awaits, ma'am," he murmured, and, closing the door behind them, he ushered her to the car and settled her in.
He's treating me like royalty, she thought, and stifled the sudden desperate urge to giggle. He open the other door and slid in behind the wheel, throwing her a fleeting smile before pulling away. They hardly spoke on the journey to his house, and she got the strangest feeling that her was as nervous as she was.
Jim? Nervous?
They pulled up outside his house, and he ushered her inside and through to the kitchen.
"Sorry it's not very glamorous," he said with an apologetic grin, "but I have a choice of leaving you in the sitting room alone, or having you with me in the kitchen, and I've just got a few finishing touches to put on thing. Let me take your coat."
Melinda felt her chin come up a notch. Would he approve, or would her think she'd gone totally over the top?
She turned her back to him and allowed him to slide it from her shoulders, and his soft intake of breath gave her confidence. She turned back to him and was gratified to see the warmth of appreciation in his eyes.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice gruff, and he draped her coat over the back of a chair and eased a finger round his collar under the bow-tie as if it was strangling him. "Let me get you a drink."
He pulled a bottle out of an ice bucket in the sink, an deftly twisted off the wire cage holding the cork.
"Bubbly?"
"Mmm- with a difference," he said, twisting off the cork inside a tea towel and pouring the smoking liquid into two tall flutes, handing her one. As the bubbles settled, she could see a thin, brown stick bobbing in the glass. She sniffed curiously.
"Vanilla?" she said. He smiled and lifted his glass to hers.
She met his smoldering his eyes over the top of the glass and wondered why she didn't just catch the fire. Her nerves evaporated, driven off by the intensity of his eyes, and she smiled back a little unsteadily. Without taking her eyes from his, she sipped the wine.
It tasted- interesting. Different. Fragrant and heady- and if she wasn't careful, that's exactly where it would end up, going to her head. She lowered the glass.
"So, what else is on the menu?" she asked, even more curious now.
He smiled now and tapped the side of his nose. "You'll see."
"I will- I intend to watch you."
"No. You'll put me off. You look too damn beautiful in that dress, you're distracting me to bits. Go and sit on the other side of the table before I forget all my good intentions and make love to you on it."
a warm tide of color ran over her skin, and she retreated to the safety of the far side of what until recently had been a simple piece of furniture. She regarded it warily, the with curiosity.
"No," he said, his voice gruff, and then turned back to the stove, leaving her with a temptress's smile playing around her lips.
She tested the air. Asparagus, and something vaguely seafoody- not fish, but something that teased her memory, scallops? He'd just put a tray into the top oven, and he was steaming something on the hob- the asparagus, she'd bet.
He put a little pan on beside the asparagus, then poured the contents into a bowl, lifted out the bright, fresh spears and placed them into a warmed dish and turned to her, clicking his heels and smiling.
"Dinner is served, madam," he announced.
"Shall I lay the table?" she asked, and he chuckled softly.
"It's done. Bring the champagne."
She followed him, the two flutes and the bottle in hand, and he led her into a room she'd never seen previously. It was dark, and as her eyes adjusted her heard the flick of a lighter and the soft glow of the candles illuminated the table, casting an intimate pool of light that sparked on crystal and silver.
Good heavens. Jim really had pulled out all the stops. There was crisply folded linen napkins on the table mats, and finger bowls that he filled with hot water from a flask. The scent of citrus filled the air, and he seated her and then took his place at right angles to her, close enough that their knees brushed as he sat down.
He placed the dish of asparagus between them, picked up a spear and dipped it in the butter, then held it to her lips.
Oh, good grief. He was going to feed her... She opened her mouth and bit in the sweet, juicy stem, butter running onto her lips. He brushed it away with a blunt fingertip, then touched it to his tongue. Heat shot through her. 'How could eating be so incredibly erotic?' she wondered, but this was just the appetizer.
She picked up a spear and fed it to him, absurdly aroused by the sight of his strong, white teeth biting cleanly through the pale green flesh. My goodness, she thought, at this rate we won't get through the first course.
She'd reckoned without Jim. He fed her the last morsel, left her with a murmured command to stay put, and came back moments later with a steaming dish of scalloped shells, topped with a crisp, golden breadcrumbs and smelling absolutely heavenly.
"Scallops and oysters," he told her, "with wild rocket and basil salad. Open wide."
The flavor burst on her tongue, and she picked up her fork and returned the favor.
She thought she'd never tasted anything so delicious in her life. He was right, he was a good cook- and his presentation was faultless.
The dishes were cleared away, and he reappeared with a plate of fresh fruit- strawberries, frosted grapes, slices of pear, apples and banana, juicy triangles of pineapple- and in the center of the plate was a dish of melted dessert chocolate.
Jim poured her a glass of dark red wine and she raised her eyebrows.
"Cabernet sauvignon- it's a very good one, very fruity with lots of body. It's stunning with the chocolate."
She laughed. "I believe you," she said. "You've been right about everything else."
He dipped a slice of pear into the chocolate and held it to her lips, and the contrast of the bitter chocolate with the sweet, crisp flesh of the pear was astonishing. She sipped the wine, nodded and set t down.
"You're right. Here."
Melinda fed him a strawberry, then some of the pineapple, and as he bit into it a dribble of chocolate ran down his chin.
"You're a messy eater," she said gently, and, leaning forwards, she stroked it away with her tongue.
A deep groan erupted from his chest and he lent towards her, but she backed away, shaking her head. "Uh-uh. We haven't finished yet."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm sure you've got some trick up you sleeve with the coffee," she said, and he gave a strained laugh.
"How did you guess? Are you ready for it?"
She chuckled. "The coffee?"
"The coffee."
"Absolutely."
He whisked away her chair for her with all the skill of a maître d', and she allowed him to lead her to the sitting room.
Soft music was playing, and on the coffee-table there was an array of tiny truffles and marzipan fruits dipped in dark chocolate- not the chemical-flavored bought variety, she realized, but homemade, sculptured by his own highly skilled and industrious hand.
"When on earth did you find time?" she asked, as he came back into the room with a tray and set it down beside the sweets.
"Nothing took long," he told her, and she realized it was probably true. Everything had been very simple, apart from the scallops and oysters, and even that was probably a quick dish to prepare.
It was the thought that had gone into it which touched her, the care and attention to detail.
"Coffee," he said, passing her a tiny little cup filled with a black, fragrant brew with a touch of...
"Nutmeg?" she said, puzzled, then shook her head when he smiled.
He picked up a little marzipan orange and held it to her lips, but he didn't release it. Instead he waited until she bit into it, then put the other half in his mouth.
She swallowed, the sweet almond paste gliding down her throat, fragrant and smooth. She sipped her coffee, hot and strong and strangely refreshing, and then, picking up a truffle, she held it to his lips and copied his actions.
It left her fingers covered in chocolate, and he caught her hand and drew it to his lips, their eyes locked, suckling each fingertip in turn until her body hummed like a bowstring. Heat pooled in her and a tiny moan escaped her lips.
Without releasing her hand, he drew her to her feet and into his arms, his hands resting lightly against her spine. They swayed gently to the music, their bodies scarcely touching, the warmth of his hands, the hard brush of his thighs against hers and the feel of his shoulders under her hands their only points of contact.
Easing back, she reached up and caught one end of his bow-tie and pulled it slowly undone, then slipped the button free and pressed a light, taunting kiss against the hollow of his neck.
His hand slid lower, easing her against him, and she felt the heat of his arousal burning though the fabric of her dress.
His head dipped, his breath warm against her ear, and she felt the soft graze of his jaw against her throat. He nuzzled closer, his lips burning a trail down over her collar-bone, her eyes, her chin, then finally settling against her mouth with a ragged sigh.
He tasted of dark, bitter chocolate, fragrant coffee and sweet-scented almonds, and the combination was unbelievable erotic.
His tongue traced her lips, coaxing them apart, and then he deepened the kiss, the moist, hot velvet of his tongue delving into her mouth again and again, challenging her, dueling with her until she grew bolder and returned the caress.
His groan erupted against her lips, his hands urgent now, trembling against her as they cupped her breasts, and she threaded her fingers through the soft, silken stands of his hair and drew him closer, clinging to him in case she should fall.
He lifted his head, resisting her, and stared down into her face with eyes of fire.
"Melinda, I need you," he said, and the simplicity of the words nearly brought her to her knees.
"I need you, too, Jim- now, please..."
He released her, easing away from her with obvious reluctance. Holding out his hand, he led her through the house without a word, upon the stairs, along the landing and into his room.
"Close your eyes," he murmured, and she heard the scrape of his lighter wheel against the flint. "You can open them now," he said, and she did so, knowing what she'd find and yet still touched by the beauty of the flickering flames in every corner of the room.
Big church candles, tiny floating lights drifting in bowls of water, tall, slender tapers in simple glass holders- each was beautiful, but the total effect was incredible, unbelievably romantic- and in the midst of them all was the bed.
It was huge, a beautiful mahogany four-poster made for loving, and the simple ivory bedspread was scattered with rose petals.
"Oh, Jim," she whispered, and looked up into those amazing blue eyes that seemed to reflect the flame of every single candle, focusing them all into a fire so bright she thought it would consume her.
"Undress for me," she whispered, and he gave a gruff, startled laugh.
"I thought that was my line," he said, but his hands came up and stripped away the bow-tie she'd already undone, his fingers trembling too much to manage the buttons.
"Help me," he pleaded, and she stepped closer, slipping the buttons free one by one until his chest was revealed to her. She slid her hands inside the fabric, parting it, and presser her lips to the warm, smooth skin. There was a light scatter of hair in the center, just enough to tease her lips, and she moved the shirt aside until she found one taut, flat male nipple and took it gently in her teeth.
He groaned and rocked against her, and suddenly her patience was gone. She needed him, and she needed him now. She was done with subtlety and foreplay, and she thought id she didn't feel him against her skin in the next few moments, she'd surely die. She dragged the shirt aside, whimpering when it caught in his wrists, and he wrenched it free.
His trousers followed, kicked aside, with his shoes and socks, leaving him utterly naked and breath-stealingly beautiful.
"How does this come off?" he asked, his chest rising and falling sharply as he stared in frustration at the gown.
"There's a zip- at the back."
He found it, sliding it down until it parted, and the top part fell away, spilling her breasts into his waiting hands.
"Dear God, Melinda,' he breathed, and then his lips found them, his breath hot against her skin, then cold as it fanned across the damp trail of his tongue. His fingers unzipped the second half of the gown, and it fell to a pool at her feet, leaving her standing there dressed only in a tiny black lace thong that Andrea had sent her for Christmas as a joke.
It didn't seem like a joke now. His eyes flared and he drew her into his arms and held her there for a moment, his body almost vibrating with the tension running through it.
"Lie on the bed," he ordered softly, and she climbed up and lay down, suddenly self-conscious in front of him.
"You're beautiful," he said, his voice raw with need. He closed his eyes, as if he were counting to ten, she thought, and then opened them again and reached out to the bedside table, lifting a foil packet in trembling fingers.
"No," she said, reaching out and covering his hands with hers. "You don't need to do that. I'm on the Pill."
Hi breath left his body in a harsh gust. Dropping the little wrapper, he knelt at her feet and drew the tiny scrap of lace slowly down her legs. It went the way of their other clothes, and then he came down beside her and drew her into his arms, the heat of the contact making them both gasp.
His mouth found hers, fierce with hunger, and then he lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. "God help me, Melinda, I'm not going to last ten seconds."
"Neither am I. I want you, Jim- please. Now."
He moved over her, his hands threading through her hair, fanning it on the pillow, and his eyes locked with hers. Then he was was there, inside her, with her every inch of that long, glorious climb to oblivion, and when she reached the top he was there with her still, his harsh cry mingling with her own as she crested the peak and fell headlong into his arms.
Jim was stunned. He'd never known anything like it in his life, and he didn't think it was anything to do with all the preparation or scene-setting. He had a feeling that if he'd just taken her there and then on the kitchen table when she'd arrived, it would have been the same.
He'd have to try it later, he thought, his free hand idly stroking the smooth, satin skin of her back. The other hand was meshed with hers, cradled on his chest, and one slim, and silky leg was wedged firmly between his thighs.
Melinda was asleep and he was taking advantage of it to get his emotions in order. He snorted softly. Not a chance. There was no way his emotions would ever be the same again, he realized, and the thought terrified him.
He loved her.
"What's wrong?" she murmured.
"Nothing." He drew her closer. "Come here."
He made love to her again, slowly this time, kissing every inch of her until she wept with frustration, then taking her to the peak again and again until he couldn't stand it anymore and went with her, tumbling even further into the fathomless abyss of love.
Hope you love it.
Monkeywand