Author's Observation: Wow, you readers are amazing! You know by now that I have a scientific mind. I watch, I observe, and I draw conclusions. What I conclude from the reception this piece has gotten so far, is that ya'll love the promise of puerile pleasures. Well, as promised previously, I'm working up to it. Anticipation is half the experience, though, and like Booth, I don't give it up on the first date (or the second). But if we keep going on together, eventually something's going to happen. ;)

Author's Promise: A couple of you asked if Brennan would get her 'proof.' These are one shots that are all about catching someone with inconsistent behavior and Brennan might find herself caught in a future chapter. Let's just say Booth has some 'catching' of his own to do and evidence will be provided in due time, but first the poor guy needs some time to collect himself.

The Premise: Ever notice how desperately Booth avoids any attempt from Hodgins or Sweets when they actually do try to exchange 'guy hugs?' Yeah. We're onto you, Booth. This piece is sweeter and much more romantic than the previous (or next) installment of this series. Essentially, I changed one single detail about the 'canon' portions of this scene and that one tiny change leads to much larger revelations. See if you can spot it.

The current chapter is a soft M for sexuality.

Episode tag for Glowing Bones in the Old Stone House.

The Catch in the Contradiction

Second Catch: Guy Hugs

~Q~

Be there at eight, she'd said, and he was always punctual because the Army didn't do tardy. (Neither did Temperance Brennan, for that matter.) The man paused a moment to check his surroundings before he lifted a hand and rapped his knuckles sharply on the pecan portal.

When his partner opened the door, the heavenly scent of melted cheese reached over the threshold and pulled Seeley Booth into the room. He imagined the trailing fingers of a feminine hand tickling his nose and drawing him forward, a personified wisp of fragrant bliss. He grinned at his partner. "What is that amazing smell?"

"I made macaroni and cheese," she answered. "I'm just about to take it out of the oven."

He followed her into the dining area and was greeted with a table already set, twin candles burning, a freshly poured and chilled beer pressed into his hand, and a chair pulled out for him. Brennan made herself busy throwing a salad together while he sat and watched. A few minutes later, she was pulling two single-serving casserole dishes out of the oven.

"You know, you should let me help," he remarked, suddenly feeling a little bit guilty over the work she'd clearly gone to.

Brennan's reply was immediate and brusque. "No." Then she grinned impishly. "Cleaning up. You can do that."

She carried the two small casserole dishes to the table took her seat beside him.

"Great," he muttered, not quite thrilled with the idea of cleaning despite the guilt of having his fiercely feminist partner serving him. But the sight and smell of the food in front of him magically erased any discontent he was feeling. "Wow. Mac and cheese. Bones, this looks fantastic!"

"Yeah? Really?" He'd never seen Brennan so uncertain before. She looked happy but also a little bit shy. Wearing a hopeful smile, she placed the napkin in her lap and waited for him to begin.

Booth glanced over the table, taking in all the food she'd made. "You shouldn't have. All this work, just for me?"

"What? No." She blushed lightly. "I mean, it wasn't that much."

Taking a forkful of the steaming, golden, oozing noodles, Booth lifted it to his nose. The rich, gooey scent of melted cheddar and gruyere cheeses danced into his senses and straight to his heart. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach: well, he hadn't even tasted it yet and already he was in love. Taking that first bite, he savored it, let it melt warmly over his tongue.

The cheeses were hot, sweet and tangy, with a nip of spice and a slightly sour bite of gruyere. Ecstasy flooded his mouth, his senses. God, this was incredible, nearly orgasmic. Almost reluctantly, he ended the first taste with a slow chewing and swallow, relishing the entire experience. He was breathless. His stunned eyes lifted to the woman who had prepared it.

Unbelievably, Brennan looked hesitant. Uncertain. Waiting for his verdict as he nearly writhed in her gastronomic paradise.

He knew she was waiting to hear what he thought. "This is unbelievable."

Another shy smile. "Do you like it?"

"Like it? I want to be alone with it!"

She laughed and a soft blush warmed her cheeks. Her eyes fell to the table. "Carly said I could go with my instincts. So I put in a little fresh-ground nutmeg."

"Well, she taught you well," he assured her. "Thanks, Bones."

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze, but he could tell she was pleased to have pleased him. "We have to eat, right?"

"Right. We always gotta eat." Booth dove into his next bite, his mind spinning with the import of actions over words.

Sure, they had to eat. They ate together with near daily frequency—the Diner, pizza, Thai, Chinese, sometimes Indian, sometimes Mexican. Mornings with coffee and pastries. But never, in the two years they'd worked together, had she cooked for him. He'd never known she could and certainly never thought she would do something this … domestic.

Gazing at her thoughtfully, Booth watched her sample her efforts and noted that she didn't enjoy it nearly as much as he did. Brennan stuck mostly to the beans and greens, as usual. He knew she generally stayed away from heavy, savory foods like noodles and cheese and yet, she'd prepared this especially for him. This means something, his instincts warned him.

The macaroni and cheese was the centerpiece, but she'd included green beans, a tossed salad and home-baked sourdough bread. She'd served him his favorite beer. She'd lowered the lights and lit candles. She had her hair down, tumbling loosely over a lovely red peasant blouse that complimented the warm brown waves of her hair and sparkling crystal of her eyes. This was more than a meal, much more than a simple meal between friends. It felt like a date.

He met her eyes, felt again that certainty that something was shifting between them. Brennan was uncharacteristically reticent tonight, averting her gaze and concentrating on her food much more intensely than usual. He wasn't sure what it meant, but decided he should finish the meal while it was hot.

Plunging back into the melting cheese dish, Booth contented himself with enjoying her culinary masterpiece. She gradually relaxed, laughing with him over shared jokes and the ease of a deep friendship forged over years of shared experiences and stolen fries. All too soon the meal had ended and they lingered at the table. He finished off a second beer and she sipped at a second glass of red wine.

When they finally began clearing the table, Brennan tried to tell him she didn't need help cleaning up after all. A brief skirmish found him wrestling a dish cloth out of her hands and pushing her out of the kitchen while she laughingly resisted. "At least let me put the dishes into the dishwasher. Booth!"

"Bones!" He mocked. "This is not one of your crime scenes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You turn into a raging harpy when the FBI techs don't collect your evidence 'just so.'"

"Collecting evidence from a grave has to be done properly or I lose the context. Context is everything."

"There's no context to loading a dishwasher."

She smirked and darted past him to stand guard over her dishwasher. "You haven't seen anything until you've seen me react to an improperly loaded dishwasher."

"It doesn't matter how the dishes go in. The water swishes around everything in there. That's the … swishing sound … that you hear when it's running." He tapped her nose playfully.

Folding her arms, Brennan declared primly, "There is a right way and a wrong way to load a dishwasher."

"Of course there is," he chuckled. "Fine. You can stand there and direct me since I know how much you love to boss me around."

Brennan shoved him roughly enough that he laughed and nearly lost his balance. She sputtered, "I am not bossy!"

"Oh, you're bossy and violent." His waggling brows took the sting out of his words.

"I'm not bossy," she repeated stubbornly. "I just have high standards."

He teased, "So you agree that you are violent?"

"Want to find out how violent I can be?" she threatened, twisting her hand into his t-shirt and pulling herself closer.

"Careful," he warned. "I bruise easily."

With an amused snort, she pushed him back. "Pansy."

Booth burst out laughing. "Pansy! Where did you hear that?"

"What." She frowned. "I said that right. Someone who's weak."

"No, you got it right. I just never expected to hear that from you." Booth had taken the first dish and started rinsing.

"Read it in a book somewhere." Brennan glided out of the kitchen to retrieve the serving dishes still on the dining table. He snapped her on the backside with the dish cloth as she passed.

The scent of sweet wax drifted into the kitchen moments after Brennan blew out the candles. Booth considered the oddly domestic scene he was participating in: a home-cooked meal, playful banter, cleaning the kitchen. It should be like this every night. If he was honest with himself, this was exactly how he did want to spend every evening, and she was who he wanted to spend those evenings with.

He watched his partner efficiently wiping down the table while he rinsed the last of the dishes. As often as he told himself they weren't compatible and there was no way a relationship between them could work, moments like these proved him a liar. There was no one he got along better with, no one who knew him as well as she did (she'd surpassed even Cam by this point), no one he enjoyed spending time with more. He set the last dish into the dishwasher and straightened with a start as the realization hit him. She was the only one he wanted to be with.

He remembered the teasing words hurled his way by Special Agent Tim Sullivan a few months ago, words he'd vehemently denied. "Do you want her? … You do! You have the hots for your partner!" Booth had insisted that wasn't the case, all but standing aside to let Sully try to win Temperance Brennan's heart. Then Booth had suffered the unbearable torment of seeing Brennan kiss Sully, seeing Sully's hands on her, seeing her happy with someone else. While Booth had hesitated, telling Brennan people who worked together couldn't be romantically involved, Sully moved right in and claimed her.

Those had been some of the worst months of his life.

Yeah, all right, Sully was right. He did want her. What sane, straight male wouldn't? She was beautiful, intelligent, honest, fiercely courageous. There were moments when she was sexy as a soldier's dream, yet she could be as innocent as a child. Under that hard, prickly shell he'd discovered his partner had a warm, generous heart. He kept telling himself they were too different, but in moments of absolute clarity he knew he'd fallen in love with her somewhere in the first few days of knowing her.

He'd just never known how she felt, if the feelings he held so closely guarded were reciprocated. All this time, Booth had been certain it was one-sided, but tonight was calling it all into question.

Brennan had returned to the kitchen and began putting the leftover beans and salad away. Booth took the serving bowls she handed him and watched her out of the corner of his eye. What was he supposed to think about this evening? Remembering their conversation in the car earlier that day, the comment she'd made came back to him. "Carly says cooking is a way to express love." He couldn't help but wonder why she had cooked for him, what it meant that she'd gone to such trouble so unexpectedly.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Bones, did you ever cook for Sully?"

She only hesitated a fraction of a second before answering with her back turned towards him. "No, I didn't."

"Never?" He was surprised. His mind went blank as implications started knocking on the door of his consciousness. Acknowledging those implications threatened a great deal of confusion and a thrill that was as terrifying as it was promising.

"Why?" she asked, turning towards him with a puzzled frown.

He shook his head and tossed his shoulders, quickly backing away from the question. "Just curious."

Keeping her eyes on him inquisitively, she tilted her head and watched him rinse the last of the serving dishes and place them into the dishwasher. Finally Brennan stepped closer and glanced into the dishwasher he was about to close.

He pushed it closed firmly and locked it. "Bones, if you're going to rearrange it, will you at least wait until after I've left?"

Her eyes lifted to his again, and he felt the breath rush out of his lungs. There were times when she did that to him, winded him with just the silvery lights that glowed so brightly in her gaze. Brennan's eyes were stunning, the first thing he'd ever noticed about her and the one feature he would never forget.

"Sure," she agreed quietly, a lilt of amusement coloring her concession.

Proffering his arm, Booth waited for her to loop her arm through his and led them both back into the living room. The sensation of her brushing up against him sent tiny shocks throughout his body, the faint perfume of her gently teasing his nose. He was far too aware of her, on far too many levels. This was getting dangerous, the line between them blurred and fading rapidly—as if she'd drowned it under too much cheddar and Gruyere. Though part of him wanted that line obliterated, there was another, larger part that feared the consequences of erasing it. Their partnership hinged on getting along, on friendship—risking it for romance was akin to risking everything.

"Wow, it's getting late," he suddenly stated, thinking he should escape before he acted foolishly.

"It's ten," she confirmed.

"I, uh … I should get going." Disengaging from her, Booth stepped back. "Gotta get to work early tomorrow. Thanks for dinner. It was great. Really great."

Her warm pewter eyes rested on him again. "You're welcome."

He grabbed up his jacket and started towards the door. When he reached it, however, something pulled him back into the room. He just had to know. "Bones…"

She was close enough to him that he nearly bumped into her when he'd unexpectedly turned around. He felt compelled to ask the dangerous question despite the trepidation he'd just shunted aside. "Why did you cook for me?"

The answer came so fast he suspected it was rehearsed. "I wanted to try a new recipe."

He shook his head, daring to challenge her. "You said something earlier today, about cooking being a way of loving someone."

Brennan's body tensed. She stepped back, retreating quickly.

Before she could escape Booth reached for her arm and grasped it firmly, holding her near. With his free hand he brought her chin back to him. Their eyes connected and hung helplessly together. "Did you mean that," he whispered.

Fear had dilated her pupils and shortened her breaths. "Booth…."

"Why didn't you cook for Sully?"

Trying to withdraw, she shifted her eyes to a spot behind him. "It … it didn't come up. I don't know."

"Why me and not him," he persisted.

"We're partners," she tried. "Right?"

He shook his head slowly, a smile working its way onto his lips as he detected her nervousness. "Partners don't cook candle-lit dinners for each other."

"They don't?"

His smile was growing broader, more confident. "No."

He could see the gears turning in her head, could almost hear the clacking of thoughts tumbling rapidly through her agile mind. What she came up with knocked him sideways.

"Angela says guys don't hug each other."

Speechless at being busted, he settled for a charm grin instead. He knew his eyes were twinkling at her and she was not immune. "They don't?" he echoed, feigning confusion.

"I've never seen you hug Hodgins or Zack, and when Hodgins tried to hug you today I saw you push him away." Her eyes lifted to his again. "Is it a partners thing?"

With eyes smoldering, Booth drew her closer. It was time to stop pretending. "No, Temperance. What's happening between us isn't a partners thing."

"What's happening," she inquired softly.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I like it. I want it to keep happening."

"Why do you hug me," she asked faintly, her eyes holding his.

"The same reason you cooked for me," he replied, and knew it was true. Her expression shifted, turning tense and steamy, uncertain and curious. He was lost in the stormy seas churning in her eyes. He couldn't help but add, "The same reason you want me to kiss you right now."

She gasped as he pulled her fully into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. The first touch was teasing and tentative, a brushing of sensitive skin, a whisper of startled breath. The second kiss held them more firmly together, her warm lips clinging to his when he started to draw his away. A third touch poured molten heat into his body and clenched the muscles of his gut with the first shock of electricity. By the fourth kiss his own breath was running short, his heart thundering in exhilaration and the electric fire raced throughout his veins. He plunged his hands into her hair, heard her moan faintly, felt her melting against him. When their lips found each other in a fifth kiss, sliding hotly against each other, he nearly lost his mind.

He pushed her back against the door, their bodies straining together. Her hands had found his back and were frantically covering as much real estate as she could reach. Their mouths connected and moved, the erotic contact sending delicious prickles of energy to every corner of his body. His fingertips tingled and the hot mass growing between his legs was demanding attention.

"We gotta stop," he groaned and tried to make good on his word.

But Brennan's lips held his stubbornly, her teeth enforcing the action with tender nips. Her whimpered disagreement was the sexiest sound he'd ever heard. Dropping his palm to cup her thigh, he lifted her leg and pressed himself against her, as if to give her a warning. She arched into him, her own hands bringing him even closer.

"Jesus!" he hissed. The way she was responding was tearing his self control into shreds. Pulling himself back to the knife-edge of insanity, he soothed her by pressing kisses against her throat, her jaw, the curve of her ear. "Baby, we gotta slow down."

"Don't want to," she muttered against his neck. Her fingers combed through his hair and tugged his mouth away from the sensitive skin behind her ear. "Don't call me 'baby,'"

A throaty chuckle escaped him. "Fine, I'll call you Temptress."

"That's not my name," she breathed against his jaw, her lips working him into a frenzy.

He growled and jerked her head back, pulling himself away from her scalding touch. "You're tempting me to ravage you."

He took her in another deep kiss, this one introduced his tongue to the rich cavern of her mouth. They dueled passionately, until he finally had to retreat from her temptation again. As much as he knew he shouldn't, Booth couldn't resist sliding his open mouth against her neck again, his tongue darting out to lick and nip at her smooth, fragrant skin.

"Maybe I want you to," she dared.

"I'm not that easy," he rumbled against her throat. "I don't give it up until the third date."

"Define 'date,'" she demanded as she ran her hands over his pectoral muscles.

Booth groaned and tried to set her away from himself. "A man and a woman, dinner, a movie. Some conversation."

"We've been doing that for two years, Booth." Her eyes blazed into his, their color heated to the pale blue flames of a welder's torch.

"Why did you cook for me?" he challenged her again. "What does it mean? Because if we do this, Temperance, it will be making love."

"I know," she agreed. She met his gaze boldly. "With some people it can't be 'just sex.'"

He'd said that to her a few months ago and now she was repeating it in this context, when his body, mind and heart were screaming for her. Reaching up to stroke his index finger against her lower lip, he felt poised on the edge of fear and hope. "What are you saying? I need to hear you say it."

Vulnerability shown in her eyes, their liquid depths opening to him the secrets of her heart. "So do I," she confessed shyly.

"You need to hear me say I love you?" he confirmed quietly. "Don't you know that already?"

Her eyes told him she didn't.

Gently, sliding his hands into her hair and lifting her face to his, he whispered his truth. "I love you. I've loved you since the day you stood up to me and told me to prove it. I've been proving it ever since, just waiting for you to catch up. I'll spend my life proving it to you, if you let me."

Tears glistened in her eyes, spilled over and rained over her cheeks. "I'm scared, Booth."

Tenderly brushing her tears away, he asked, "What are you afraid of."

"The way I feel about you. The way you make me feel. What if I'm wrong again? What if it doesn't work? I can't lose you…."

Hearing the pain and uncertainty in her made his heart constrict. It was all there, everything she felt and feared, everything she wanted but was too afraid to reach for. "Do you love me, Temperance?"

"Yes," she sighed. "I tried not to but I can't help it. It's too late."

"It's perfect," he contradicted. "Don't be afraid of this."

Taking her mouth again, the change in tone between them shifted seismically. He made love to her with his mouth, his lips and tongue caressing her delicately. Sensing she'd never been kissed with such tenderness, such adoration, he put everything he'd ever felt about her into his touch. Their mouths melded, their bodies fused, and though he'd been with plenty of women over the course of his life, Booth had never felt anything like this. Brennan had taken his soul and he didn't want it back—he wanted hers instead.

His hands slid down her back, molded her waist and traced the curve of her hips. She moaned again as their kiss spiraled out of control, as the compulsion to get closer—closer—took over them both. To an outside observer it might almost look like they were fighting as each grappled to bring the other into themselves. Her hands jerked his t-shirt free of his jeans and plunged underneath, searing him when they passed over his sensitized flesh. He needed more skin, more opportunities to touch her, so her blouse had to go. A moment later it fell to the floor and he explored the curves he'd revealed.

"God, you feel so good."

"I love you."

It was getting out of control. He wasn't sure which one of them had spoken. Maybe they both had. Her hands were dipping into the waist of his jeans; his were lifting her camisole over her head. A remnant of rationality warned him to slow down, to take this slow with her, but his body screamed for release in her arms. How could he resist her muffled groans and the sensuous pressure of her body and hands surrounding him.

A moment later they were both shirtless and pressed torso-to-torso. Their hands frantically mapped new territory and he had her pressed into the depths of her sofa only seconds later. Her legs fell open, letting him rest where he most wanted to be. Finding the clasp on her bra, he had her bared to him and his lips found her breasts.

His tongue flicked rapidly over the firm nubs, teeth grazing over her smooth skin as he gently bit and suckled her. Brennan cried out, arching her back and offering herself. He plundered what she'd given, taking everything and groaning as her hips thrust up against his desperately. "Please!" Her hands had gone to his pants, fumbling with belt and button.

The haze of desire clouding his reason thickened until he didn't know how they'd gotten to this point. Their clothes were gone and he was poised to enter her, their eyes fused and their bodies following a moment later. With excruciating care he slid in gradually, felt her body give way, felt her spasm and gasp with the exquisite sensation. She lifted her hips, trying to bring him deeper into her. Her heat enveloped him, clinging and stroking, holding him safe.

The intense pleasure of their joining robbed him of words and thought itself. As they moved together, warm waves of almost agonizing pulses rippled from the point of union and spread out under his skin like ripples on a pond, reaching even the furthest edges. He was almost afraid he was dying, the way his body was shattering. He felt her moving with him, heard her sobbing cries, and knew it was just as powerful for her.

"Love you," he moaned into her mouth. "Love you…" He felt it building to an unbearable intensity, felt the tsunami gathering force in his depths. He couldn't hold it back much longer.

"Booth! Oh God!" Brennan's body writhed beneath his, bucking wildly as the pleasure exploded and took her under. She screamed mindlessly, caught in the grip of a force beyond imagining.

He felt her throbbing around him and his own release surged with an anguished cry. His body turned itself inside out, the waves of ecstasy rippling from the center and taking his breath with them. The pleasure stormed every nerve and sinew, leaving him boneless and sated at last.

Collapsing against her, he came to his senses slowly. As his heart slowed, he gathered her into his arms and pressed kisses over her flushed skin. They panted together, drifting leisurely back to a changed reality that neither would have anticipated an hour ago. Opening his eyes, he was shocked to discover tears leaking out of hers.

"Bones, are you okay?"

Her face crumpled and a sob worked its way out.

"God, did I hurt you?!"

"No. I don't … I never…."

He'd rarely found his partner lost for words, the fact that she was now had him worried that he'd pushed her too far, too fast. Running a gentle hand over her head, smoothing her hair, he tried to show her she was safe. "I'm sorry. It was too much, I should have stopped us."

She shook her head, however, trying to pull herself together. "It's not that. I wanted to."

Relieved, he kissed her tenderly. "Then what?"

"I've never felt … that. What…?" Her confused gaze pleaded for an explanation.

"You mean you've never made love," he pointed out softly. He shook his head, feeling a bit stunned himself. "Before this, I never did either. I only thought I had."

"It felt like I was dying."

"No, sweetheart, you weren't," he breathed. "It was amazing. You're amazing."

"It's just chemicals. How can that…?"

Pressing another tender kiss against her forehead, he shifted sideways and pulled her against his side. "Sex is just chemicals. That was making love, the feeling of love between us—it's so much more than just chemicals. That was us."

"Is that what you meant?" She still sounded a bit dazed, but was growing more thoughtful. Temperance Brennan couldn't refrain from analyzing for very long.

"What I meant?" he queried, realizing she'd jumped to a conclusion he couldn't see yet.

Her eyes met his, suddenly confident. Trusting. "When you said with some people it can't be just sex. Is this what you meant?"

He considered it for a moment, recalling the day he'd gazed so intently at Brennan and told them both that sex between them was too complicated to even consider. He'd meant tangled relationships, that sex and work or sex and friendship couldn't mix. But for all his talk of being a people person, of trying to be the 'heart' person she'd believed him to be, Booth acknowledged he'd really had no idea what he was talking about. Despite having never suffered for lack of feminine company except by choice, he'd never felt this connected or engulfed by another person. Looking into the shimmering gaze of Temperance Brennan he saw what he had instinctively known all along. It could never be merely sex with her—it would always be something transcendental, almost spiritual.

"I guess I did, but I didn't realize it at the time."

The fine line that often bisected her left brow when she was deep in thought made a reappearance. He chuckled fondly, torn between kissing it away or letting her always busy brain have its way. The typical products of her contemplation amused him, amazed him, enthralled him. He loved the way her mind worked, mining through layers of ordinary perceptions to triumphantly emerge with her sparkling gems of unique insight.

"So you weren't thinking of me when you said that?"

Unable to continue resisting the lure of her soft skin, Booth brushed his fingertips across her cheek, trailing them to her shoulder and down her arm. His eyes followed where his fingers led, feasting on her lovely curves. "Oh no, I was definitely thinking of you when I said that."

Her eyes opened wide. "You thought about having sex with me?"

The clear astonishment in her voice made him laugh outright. "Of course! Practically daily. You are absolutely beautiful and I am a man after all."

Cheeks inflamed, she shut her eyes and wondered why she was surprised. Of course. Those steamy gazes, the way his eyes had so often held hers. Of course, she should have realized. Though she was laying beside him completely naked, minutes after having made passionate love with him, the sudden epiphany that he'd thought about doing this before unnerved Brennan. She felt exposed and vulnerable, awkward.

Noticing the burning embarrassment consuming her, Booth was intrigued. "Are you saying you never … thought about it?"

"I—" She hesitated, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "I wouldn't let myself. You … you're my partner and you always seemed so proper, I just…." Drawing another deep breath, she tried again. "I wouldn't have been able to look you in the eyes if I'd have let myself go … there … so…."

"So … no?"

"No." And her face was about to spontaneously combust. "I would always stop it if my thoughts started to stray. Just, think of something else. Or I'd write, sometimes."

That last little confession plunged somewhere deep below his waistline. Booth's mouth went dry. He sat up, suddenly looming over her with a lascivious grin. "You wrote…? You wrote about Andy and Kathy, when you were trying not to think of me?"

Was it possible to burst into flame just from mortification alone? Brennan couldn't quite believe what she'd inadvertently admitted. She struggled to sit, to jump away and put space between them.

"The cases!" she exclaimed desperately.

Laughing, he snared her wrists and pressed her back down. "I knew it!"

"No, you're not Andy," she breathed on a sigh, torn between salvaging a sham of pride or letting him win—because this was going to feel good—and endure his insufferable male posturing forever afterwards. His mouth on hers decided the outcome. She moaned at the delicious contact, marveling that he could defeat her so easily.

"I've read your books, Bones." He teased and nuzzled his way from her mouth to the sensitive skin behind her ear. "You want me to do all those things Andy does to Kathy."

Really, it hadn't been a fair fight.

~Q~

Author's Note: Did you catch the one changed detail? It was candles.

Now you get to see my needy, insecure side. I'm still not comfortable with graphic but I'm working on it. (I gotta tell you, posting these feels like leaving my diary open in a room full of readers.) Feedback would really help: what was good, and more importantly, what needs improvement. All comments and advice will be gratefully received and profusely thanked in a PM.

Next up in about two weeks is one of my favorite moments that didn't go far enough. (ahem.) Prepare for anger, angst, and a very ... risky ... way to prove a point.