A/N: Waterbaby and I continue to be so appreciative of your inspiring reviews! Thanks so much for taking the time to let us know what you think. Sorry this chapter is later than I would have liked, but it is very long, so I hope that makes up for it.

Chapter 3

Jane awoke a few hours later on Lisbon's couch to complete, blessed silence. For a moment, as he looked up at Lisbon's office ceiling, he could almost imagine that the last twenty-four hours had just been a crazy dream, that he wasn't suddenly able to read people's minds for real. He took out his cell phone and looked at the time. 12:23 p.m. No wonder it was so quiet; everyone was out for lunch, and Lisbon's team was working on the Kincaid case. He sighed and stood up, the desire for a cup of tea almost overwhelming.

He only felt slightly dizzy as he got to his feet, but it quickly faded away. His headache was less intense, and he walked with relative clarity to the breakroom. He filled the electric teakettle and rummaged in the cabinet for tea bags and the tea cup he'd hidden in the back behind the #1 Boss mug and the old tin of artificial sweetener no one ever used. About a month ago, he'd brought one of his mother's old Fiestaware cups—turquoise blue-that had been in the cupboard of their Airstream during his entire childhood. If he was going to hang around the CBI very often, he needed a sturdy tea cup with just the right balance in the handle, like a fencer's perfect sword. A "civilized cup," as his mother used to call them. Of course, no one need ever know the sentimentality he'd felt about her old dishware, only that it helped him think.

He heard Lisbon before she had fully entered the room, wondering if she would find him in the breakroom, making his usual stuffy cup of tea.

He responded to her before a normal person would have known she was even behind him.

"Tea's not stuffy," he corrected her, "it's…invigorating. Don't knock it…"

How the hell does he do that?

He turned to see her hesitating in the doorway, her eyes wide in disbelief at his powers of perception. She blinked once, and forced away her musing.

"You look better than you did earlier. Not as pale."

Her thoughts backed up her words, and he nodded while the teakettle began to simmer. His lips quirked.

"Thanks. Any breaks in the case?"

"No," she said with a sigh, moving to make a fresh pot of coffee. We are at a solid dead end. That poor little girl, wherever she is. "Nothing new, and the rest of the team is still out canvassing for leads."

"Let me talk to the widow," he said, and it suddenly occurred to him that he would be able to look into Mrs. Kincaid's thoughts and see if she was really keeping things from them. "You know as well as I do that she is the one who would gain the most by her husband's death. Crimes are usually committed against those closest to the victim, and Kincaid was rich as Croesus."

We've thought of this already. You must think we're total morons.

"We've already had this conversation, Jane, and the answer's still no. Cho's already been at her, and he's the best interrogator I've ever seen," she said tightly.

Jane frowned.

"I know you're not idiots," he said defensively. "But another set of eyes and ears couldn't hurt. That's why Minelli took me on, isn't it?"

She regarding him silently for a moment, but her thoughts were anything but.

This is a stupid idea, Teresa. Don't fall for his crap. It would be a waste of time, and we need the mother to be as calm as possible to make cognizant decisions.

Still reeling from her earlier (and somewhat accurate) appraisal of his character, he felt compelled to prove her wrong.

"I swear I'll be on my best behavior. The moment I seem to be stepping out of line, give me one of your disapproving nun glances, and I'll get the hell out of there."

He took a step toward her, but this time she stood her ground. He heard her tell herself she wasn't going to let his charisma intimidate her anymore. He almost smiled at that, but at the same time it was difficult to hear that she was wary of him for any reason. He abruptly changed tactics, taking a respectful step back to give her space again. She softly let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Look," he said, trying for his usual casual tone, "I really want to find the bastard who nearly blew me up, so I promise I won't screw around with a potential witness. Besides, if you don't let me do what I do, I'll claim that you forfeited our deal, and I'll be by your place this evening to collect you for our date."

Her mind went totally blank for a moment as she regarded him, as if she were suddenly stripped of her ability to think. He liked this power he had over her. But then, she spoke.

"This is blackmail, you know," she said angrily. I should have known he wouldn't play fair. But what do you expect from a womanizing fraud?

He chose to respond to the words she'd said aloud; the rest was too uncomfortably close to the truth.

"It's not blackmail if you both want the end result," he said quietly, capturing her gaze and holding it.

You wish, buddy. But even her own thoughts were sounding uncertain, as if she were trying to convince herself he had no effect on her. He was finding out that this woman, so strong and together on the outside, was masking an endearing vulnerability within. And part of that vulnerability had to do with his proximity.

"Fine," she relented, outwardly ignoring his stab at seduction. "But I'm only allowing this on the off chance you can see something we missed. And unless you find that little girl, there will be no dates with me, tonight, or any night, got it?"

"Ay, ay, Captain," he said, saluting her with two arrogant fingers.

She turned with a silent groan to prepare her coffee, while he retrieved milk from the refrigerator. A thought occurred to him as he dunked his tea bag.

"Why are you back here if your team is still out there investigating?"

She paused. Shit, she thought.

"I came to catch up on some paperwork."

"Liar," he said with a grin.

Even if he couldn't read her mind, he would know the real answer: she was worried about him.

"I'm not lying. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"She doth protest too much, etcetera…Be that as it may, I'll be happy to accept your offer of a ride back to the Kincaid's."

"I didn't offer."

"You were about to."

I so hate him.

"You secretly adore me," he countered her unspoken thoughts. "No use denying it." His smile was the height of smugness.

She snorted derisively. "Yeah, right. Let me at least finish my coffee, Carnac."

"You forgot the Magnificent part of my title."

"No, I didn't."

Jane merely smiled and sipped his tea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"She didn't do it," said Jane, after his interview with Kincaid's widow. "Not the kidnapping, not the bomb."

He'd led her out to the beautiful veranda in the back of the family's incredible mansion, away from the loud thoughts of the grieving widow and her equally distraught family. Well, all but her brother-in-law.

"You're sure?" she asked, and he could hear no doubts in her voice or in her mind. It warmed him somehow.

"Yes. But her brother-in-law did."

"What? How do you know?"

Jane hesitated. No way he could say this without sounding like the charlatan he used to be. "I uh, got a good read on him."

Her mouth formed a straight, cynical line. "Well, did you get a good read on where Charlotte is by chance?"

"No. But I believe I could, if I could talk to him alone. Could you go in and arrange that? Send him out here to me?"

It was too loud inside the house at the moment, too rife with emotion and words, both spoken and unspoken. That was why he had escaped outside.

"And I'll need something more of Charlotte's," he continued, for once slightly ashamed by employing his old tricks.

"You've already done that with her Teddy bear. You got nothing, as I recall. Why bother with another cheap prop?"

"I know it's not real, Teresa, but I need to use one of her possessions as a catalyst to get him thinking about where he put her. He's guarding his thoughts right now, and I want to force those unwanted thoughts into the forefront of his mind. He's taking no chances that I might be a real psychic."

"So you're admitting all that insight from a person's possessions is a load of crap?"

"Not entirely. Someone's possessions give me clues about their personality. And in this case, it will allow me to better pull out the information from his mind."

She sighed in disappointment, and her thoughts about him were painfully sarcastic and skeptical. "You still maintain you can read minds? Seriously?"

"Yes," he said, and it was strange not to be lying about it now.

She must have seen the sincerity in his eyes, but she chalked it up to self-delusion—not exactly what he was aiming for.

I can't freakin' believe this. He actually believes his own shtick now.

She put up her hands in surrender. "Fine. I'll ask him to come out here, but I'm going to be present during your questioning. No way I'm leaving you alone with him." Especially if he's a killer, she continued in her mind.

His smile was wistful, and he reached out, picked up a lock of her dark hair, rubbed it briefly between two fingers before letting it fall again. She trembled slightly at his touch, at his nearness, and her mind went pleasantly fuzzy.

"You can never quite manage to have complete faith in me, can you?" he asked softly. "And yet you still throw me lots of little bones. I'd say your feelings for me are rather…mixed."

That's an understatement, she thought, taking a step away from him. But I really wish I could trust you.

"I'll go get Jasper Kincaid for you."

"You can, you know, Teresa," he said to her back. "Trust me."

But by then she was too far away for him to hear her answering thoughts.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A few minutes later, Jane sat on the comfortable patio settee next to Lisbon, holding one of Charlotte's little hooded sweatshirts. It was pink, with multicolored unicorns scattered about among kittens and rainbows. Across from them, Jasper Kincaid, tall, dark and handsome, sat in a matching chair, looking composed and slightly skeptical. Inside Jasper's mind, Jane felt that he had built up some sort of psychic wall against Jane's mental probing. Interesting, but damned frustrating.

"She's near a body of water," Jane said, closing his eyes to better show his communion with her spirit. He felt Lisbon's slight nudge of her knee against his. She wasn't believing this bullshit at all.

Really? Sheesh.

Jane did his best not to smile, but nudged her back, gently, enjoying the brief thrill he felt at her touch. He listened closely to Jasper's thoughts, but still got nothing.

And then, as he clutched the little girl's hoodie, images began to flash unbidden into Jane's mind. Charlotte. She was near the water, for he could see a familiar bridge as if he were looking out a window, could almost feel the cold fog enclosing him. His body stilled, and he saw a city spread before him, a pyramid-shaped building dominating the horizon. Then his view changed, and he was looking at the interior of a luxurious house, a girl's bedroom fit for a princess, pink canopy bed, a doll house, shelves filled with books, stuffed animals and toys, all with the Kincaid Toys logo.

Hi. Who are you?

A little's girl's voice echoed in his brain as clearly as if she were sitting beside him.

With a startled gasp, Jane dropped the hoodie like a snake, his frightened eyes flying open.

"Jane?" said Lisbon, the concern in her voice coinciding with her own surprised thoughts. Her small hand gripped his arm. "You okay?"

Jane swallowed, his eyes refocusing on the present and his immediate surroundings—the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the Kincaid's landscaped garden around them. Then his gaze fell upon Jasper.

"Where the hell is she?" he growled.

The man's cool expression faltered a moment in hesitation.

"If I knew, Mr. Jane, I'd certainly tell Madison. She's going crazy with worry. My brother's dead because of the kidnappers. Why would I want to continue hurting my family like this?"

"Because you want what your brother has: his company, his wife…his child."

"You get all that nonsense from touching a sweatshirt? You're out of your goddamn mind." He stood abruptly. "I don't have to sit still for this crap." He turned to Lisbon. "Why don't you do us all a favor and get this swindler the hell out of my house. He's only upsetting everyone."

"Since when has it become your house," asked Jane casually. The man's mouth formed an angry line, and for once, he heard Jasper's inner voice very clearly: Asshole.

But in that brief moment, Jane also sensed something else—fear. Without another word, Jasper went back inside through the wide French doors.

Lisbon looked back at Jane, not daring to believe, but unable to get past the obvious trance he'd been in. "You saw something, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Jane, grimly. "She's in San Francisco, I'm sure of it, in a house she knows well."

How could he possibly know that?

"Because I saw it myself," Jane answered her unspoken question. "And because…Charlotte spoke to me."

He was just as shocked at this realization as Lisbon was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A call to Van Pelt led to the discovery that Jasper Kincaid owned a house in San Francisco, on a Nob Hill street overlooking the Trans-America Building, the Oakland Bay Bridge in the distance. Without alerting the family, Jane, Lisbon, Cho and Rigsby travelled by SUV to the address a ninety-minute drive away. When they arrived, a blond little girl was being shoved into the backseat of a black Lexus sedan, a matronly woman getting hastily in the driver's seat. Lisbon, who had been driving, pulled their SUV across the steep driveway entrance, effectively blocking the Lexus from escaping.

The team got out of the car, guns drawn.

Jane slowly disembarked once the woman was cuffed, Lisbon calling the San Francisco PD for assistance. He walked up the driveway to the car, opening a door to the backseat. A pair of wide green eyes in an angelic face greeted him.

It's you, she said, her thoughts calling out to his.

Fuck, he thought.

She gave him a stern look, very similar to one of Lisbon's. Mommy says that's not a very nice word.

You're right, he thought back at her, shocked that not only could he hear her thoughts, she could hear his. Sorry.

He squatted down in front of her on the driveway, his hands going to her delicate upper arms as he looked deeply into her pale eyes.

"Are you afraid?"

She laughed. "Of course not," she said, sounding wise beyond her years. "Nanny is nice. She bought me red velvet cupcakes from the bakery."

How old are you? he thought, experimentally.

"Four," she said out loud.

And you can hear my thoughts?

Yes.

Can you hear everyone's?

Sometimes, but I don't like to. Uncle Jasper taught me how to push them out, so I do that when it's too loud. He stops me from listening to him too.

How?

I don't know. You look like the prince in my book.

Jane smiled, charmed in spite of himself. "And you look like a little princess," he said, just as Lisbon came around the car to join the conversation.

What's your name?

Patrick.

Mine's Charlotte.

So I've heard.

"Is everything all right here?" she asked cautiously, looking the little girl over critically for possible injury.

"Yeah," said Jane, rising. To his wonderment, Charlotte took his hand, which completely engulfed her tiny one. He didn't let go, and was surprised how much he didn't want to.

"Why are they taking Nanny away?" asked Charlotte, frowning as Cho put her caregiver in the back of the SUV. "Did she do something bad?"

Lisbon bent her knees beside the girl, mimicking Jane's recent pose. "Charlotte, honey, has anyone hurt you since you've been away from home?"

The girl was genuinely surprised. "No. Uncle Jasper said Mommy and Daddy had to go on a business trip, so I was staying here with him and Nanny." She looked up at Jane. Where are they? I want to go home now.

Jane purposefully made his thoughts go blank, before reciting in his mind the scores from the last fifty World Series games, in order. This wasn't the way a child should find out her father was dead, and by her own uncle's hands.

Once the nanny was secure in back of the SUV, Cho and Rigsby drew their weapons again, removing the keys from the Lexus to open the front door to search the house.

"I wanna go home," said Charlotte, her voice trembling for the first time. Her eyes began to swim with unshed tears.

"I know, sweetie," said Lisbon, "but we have to make sure everything is safe first. A nice lady will be coming to take care of you for a little while."

Jane looked helplessly at Lisbon, who stood again, and taking out her phone, moved out of earshot, and Jane heard her tell herself that she needed to call Child Services. The girl would need a complete examination by a doctor, and would remain in protective custody until her mother could be cleared of John Kincaid's murder, or another, more reliable relative could be found.

Poor kid, Lisbon was thinking sadly as she waited for someone to answer her call.

Can I stay with you? Charlotte thought, squeezing Jane's hand.

I'm not very good with kids.

Because you don't like them?

He supposed he needn't bother lying. Not usually. But I like you.

Cho and Rigsby came out of the house. "Clear," Cho reported to Lisbon. She nodded, still on the phone.

Jane heard the men's thoughts, filled with awe at the luxuriousness of the Nob Hill residence mixed in with pity for the pretty little girl who had the bad luck to have such a shitty uncle. Cho took out his own phone then and turned away from him and the little girl.

Van Pelt can go pick up that son of a bitch, he was thinking.

Jane assumed he meant Jasper Kincaid.

Leading Charlotte by the hand, he went up the stairs to the house, feeling the unfamiliar need to shield the child from the serious phone calls and the arrival of the police.

Do you like magic tricks? He asked her, using his mind. It was even more surreal to have someone reading him too.

Yes, but magic is fake.

Not when I do it.

You can't fool me.

Wanna make a bet, kid?

And so it went between them, this easy, unspoken communication as they entered her uncle's house and she showed him the bedroom he had already seen through her eyes. And she was right; he couldn't fool her, not with quarters behind ears or disappearing trinkets. She successfully read his thoughts every time, and told him exactly how he'd done the trick afterwards.

By the time the woman from Child Services arrived, Jane found himself almost…reluctant to let the child go.

"Miss Summers will take you to a very nice place," said Lisbon, after introducing the pretty young woman to Charlotte. "There will be other children to play with."

Charlotte held tightly to Jane's hand and looked up at him with watery, pleading eyes.

I don't want to go. I want to stay with you.

It won't be for long.

Will you come and visit me?

Jane hesitated, and found himself thinking, Yes.

Promise?

Yes.

At Charlotte's insistence, Jane walked her to Miss Summers's car, parked on the street.

"Be a good girl," said Jane, because that was what one was supposed to say to small children.

I'll try, but no guarantees.

Jane laughed aloud, causing the other two women, not privy to their silent conversation, to look at each other with questioning glances.

Charlotte hugged him around the waist, and Jane's hands found their way atop her soft curls.

"I'll see you soon," he said aloud.

"Okay."

She likes you, thought Charlotte, glancing toward the women.

Jane focused on Miss Summers' thoughts, but could find no such evidence beyond the usual feminine appreciation of his good looks.

No, silly. Miss Teresa.

Sure enough, when he looked at Teresa, he could feel a veritable flood of her warm thoughts and feelings wash over him regarding how he had been so gentle and kind to Charlotte.

And you like her too.

"Get in the car, you little urchin," he said roughly, and once Miss Summers had helped her buckle in in the back seat, he shut the door behind her. Without another glance at the child, Jane put his hands in his suit coat pocket and walked back toward the SUV, empty now since the police took the nanny away. He leaned against the passenger side door.

Good-bye, Patrick, he heard Charlotte inside his head.

Good-bye, Squirt.

And then Miss Summers drove them away. He ignored the brief, unfamiliar tightening in his chest. Too many heavy muffins this morning, he thought.

Lisbon soon joined him at the SUV.

That was the sweetest thing I've ever seen, she was thinking.

"Not a fan of children, eh?" she said, gently mocking him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "That one wasn't quite as annoying as most of them."

She grinned. Sure.

She reached down and touched his arm. "How did you know he had her?"

He looked down at her hand, felt it seem to burn through his sleeve. It wasn't any safer looking into her eyes, especially with the first expression of pure admiration she had ever directed his way. It was a bit unsettling, but in a very good way.

"I told you. I get readings and insight from people's belongings."

"That's not exactly what you said earlier, but anyway, you actually seemed to know where she was. How—how can that be?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he replied sincerely. "It just…came to me."

"Well, I for one am very grateful. And I'm sure her mother will be too if we clear her of colluding with Jasper Kincaid."

"She didn't have anything to do with this. It was all Jasper. I'm sure you'll find he's been named replacement CEO in his brother's will. And I would hazard a guess that he's in love with the widow."

"Bastard," said Lisbon.

"Definitely."

A thought suddenly occurred to Jane. He smiled. "It would seem, Agent Lisbon, that you owe me a date."

His first thought was that she would resist, or at the very least, try to get out of it, but to his pleasant surprise accompanied by the subsequent leap of his heart, he sensed nothing but warmth from her at the prospect.

"I guess so," she said, and she blushed prettily, but turned back toward the approaching Cho and Rigsby to talk shop before he could catch any formed words in her mind.

On the way back to Sacramento, Jane was treated to Rigsby's disturbing dreams about Van Pelt as he napped in the backseat beside him, and the words of Cho's latest classic novel as the written words flowed through his mind. Jane recognized the text as being from All Quiet on the Western Front, and because he'd read it as a teenager, he was easily able to tune it out. Lisbon's thoughts, however, were truly fascinating.

They flitted from the case and all the monotonous paperwork that would go along with its closing, the upcoming debriefing with Minelli, to sympathetic thoughts about Charlotte. Jane had long ago guessed that Lisbon had lost her own parents, but sensing her memories about her lost father touched him on a personal level. He could relate to her as a fellow orphan, smiled as she recalled the last time she and her father had gone fishing on Lake Michigan. The sadness that suffused him when she resolutely pushed the memories out of her mind cut through the usual wall that separated him from experiencing true empathy. He felt her grief, admired her fortitude, felt saddened by her longing to forget.

But then her thoughts turned to him. She hazarded a glance at him in the rearview mirror, and she met his eyes, sober with understanding. The connection shook them both, and her focus shifted purposefully back to the freeway traffic.

What the hell was that? she asked herself. This man is a fraud, a selfish, self-centered, egotistical playboy. He's nothing but trouble, and I'm not going to fall for his insincere lines or his stupid sexy hair or his freakin' ridiculous smile. We'll go out on this one date and that'll be it. Under no circumstances will I let him sweet talk me or-God forbid—let him kiss me.

And then, against her own personal pep talk, she allowed herself to imagine what his mouth would feel like on hers. She wanted the kiss to start out slowly, to be tender and seeking. Then he would draw her to his body, slide his hands into her hair and deepen the kiss. It would be hot and wet and sweet, with just the right amount of tongue—because she hated it when a guy went straight for the tonsils. He grinned as she thought of that particular caveat, felt his body grow both hard from her vivid fantasy.

A fast-moving semi barreled past them, waking her from her personal interlude, and she chastised herself to get her mind back on the damn road.

No. No. No, Teresa. He is absolutely, positively off limits. You're not going to be stupid enough to let him seduce you, not going to be added to the endless list of women he's loved and left. Damn man-whore.

Well, that was unkind, if not wholly accurate. He frowned and picked off a piece of lint from his Tom Ford slacks, as her amazingly entertaining mind drifted back to the interrogation to come with the Kincaid family.

Twenty minutes outside of Sacramento, however, she was pondering what dress she'd wear on their date. There was the green one, which she knew brought out her eyes, but it sometimes felt uncomfortably tight in the hips. It depended on the time of the month, whatever that meant. The brown one fit perfectly, but she wondered if it was too staid—after all, she wore it to church sometimes. He hoped she'd settle on the black one, specifically because she was worried the cleavage it exposed would be too much for a first date.

Jane felt like a kid anticipating Christmas morning; he couldn't wait to see what he'd find under the tree.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Merry Christmas to me," he muttered under his breath two nights later, when Lisbon walked into the bar on the bottom floor of the apartment building where he lived. She was wearing the black dress, and her previous cleavage concerns did not disappoint. Apparently she'd erred on the side of their original agreement, opting for maximum cleavage enhancement. He downed the last of his Scotch and rose to meet her, taking in her fabulous dress and killer figure.

Her eyes scanned him too, and she apparently liked what she saw—he had a secret passion for good evening wear. Her thoughts were disjointed but definitely flattering. When his grin came, slow and knowing, her hand went self-consciously to her chest, and he wondered if her heart was pounding as erratically as his was.

Before he could read her mind, he'd thought she might have a bit of a crush on him, but since he'd gotten into her brain, his assumptions had been totally thrown out the window on a daily basis. Why, just the day before, she'd thought he was a bottom feeding womanizer, but after Charlotte's rescue, she was suddenly thinking about kissing him. It was confusing, because this woman was a walking contradiction, but it was also infinitely exciting to him because she left him wondering what to expect. He would have thought the ability to read her mind would have bored him; but the more he knew of her inner life, the more intrigued he became.

"I should engage in friendly wagers more often," he murmured, surprising her with a kiss on her cheek. He lingered there, inhaling the scent of Mandarin oranges and some exotic spice he couldn't identify. Her skin was smooth and deliciously warm, and he found himself fighting to keep himself from kissing her passionately in the middle of the bar.

"Would you like a drink before we go to dinner?" he asked.

God, yes.

"Why not?" she said instead, with admirable casualness.

He took her by the hand and led her back to the barstools, and she hopped upon one with ladylike aplomb, her dress riding up just enough for him to behold a delicately muscled thigh, firm calves, and a pair of killer red high heeled sandals. He didn't bother hiding his interest, delighting in her blush as he joined her on a neighboring stool. She ordered a shot of whiskey, and he seconded that.

"To Charlotte," she toasted.

He nodded. "To Charlotte." And they both drank.

"Did you go and see her?" she asked, not meeting his eyes directly. She was testing him.

"Yes. This morning. She's doing fine, but misses her mother and her cat—not necessarily in that order." He and Charlotte had had another surprisingly nice visit, and he'd read her favorite fairy tale, "Snow White and Rose Red." He'd changed the ending a bit on purpose, and when she'd giggled and corrected him, the glow he'd felt had stayed with him the rest of the day.

Lisbon smiled, and he was treated to her lovely dimples. "Will it offend you to say I'm pleasantly surprised?"

"No, because I'm inclined to share your disbelief. She's a good kid. My previous experience with children was limited to carnival imps and screaming infants on airplanes."

"Oh, there are still plenty of those. You haven't met my five nieces and nephews."

"Five?"

"And one on the way. When I visit my brothers it's like I've gone to the zoo, only the animals aren't in cages."

He chuckled, waving to the bartender for refills.

"But you still keep going back for more."

"Of course. Family is everything."

In the brief silence while they drank, Jane heard her mentally kicking herself for her careless words. She knew he really had no family, at least none that was close to him. Once again he bore witness to her tendency to blame herself for everything. He toyed with his newly empty shot glass.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Teresa. I'm happy being a loner. Besides, think of all the baby shower gifts I don't have to buy."

She looked at him narrowly. No one is really happy alone. "Hmm," was her verbal reply.

He didn't argue.

"Well, enough of this depressing conversation; I've got a wager to gloat over. You hungry?"

"Famished."

He got up from his seat and took her hand to help her, keeping it firmly in his even after she stood securely on her own two feet.

He led her toward the elevator, and he felt a slight tug on his hand.

No way he's taking me up to his room on a first date. She came to a sudden stop at the edge of the elevator landing.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"To the best eatery in town," he replied smoothly.

"There's a restaurant at the top of this apartment building?" One eyebrow shot up cynically.

"Almost at the top," he said with a wink, as the elevator dinged its arrival.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Jane."

"That's good, because I have no plans to sleep with you, despite the lovely way you fill out that fabulous dress. It was definitely the right choice, by the way."

"The dress or my decision not to sleep with you?"

He laughed. "Both, I suppose. So you can relax and enjoy the evening. I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

"Well, considering I've never actually witnessed such an occasion, I'll reserve judgment."

"And yet you still got on the elevator with me."

"A deal's a deal. I never renege."

"How very honorable of you," he teased. "And since you are in the mood to take a risk, I have another deal to propose."

The door slid open on the tenth floor, and Lisbon preceded him out to the rich, maroon carpeted landing.

"Room 1515, all the way at the end," he directed. When they reached his room, he removed his key from his pocket and unlocked the door. She stepped into a softly lit room, the view of downtown Sacramento and Tower Bridge through the wall of glass was incredible. Her thoughts were suitably impressed.

"What deal are you proposing?" she asked, turning around to admire the rest of the living area, with its tasteful modern furniture, hardwood floors and expensive Oriental rug.

It's beautiful, but cold. This place doesn't really suit him.

He frowned at that. True, he'd hired an interior decorator to design the apartment décor as she'd thought befitting a successful businessman, but in the end he'd had no feelings either way about the place, only that it looked satisfactorily rich, far from the carnival circuit Airstream he'd grown up in.

He moved to the kitchen, poured them each a glass of heady red wine.

"Jane?" she prompted. He still hadn't elaborated on his next proposition.

"Aw, the deal. Or, to be more precise, the new deal." She took the glass of wine from his hand and she followed him back to the kitchen. "Another minute, please, and I'll tell you. Patience."

Jane grinned, knowing without seeing that she had childishly stuck her tongue out at his back.

Patience, my ass. Ohhh, something smells heavenly, she thought. And when he removed his suit coat and put on oven mitts to bend to the oven, she drew in her breath at the sight of his well-tailored trousers stretched tight over his sexy ass—or so Jane heard her mental appraisal.

He set a bubbling pan atop a trivet on the kitchen island. "Et voila," he proclaimed. "Hope you like eggplant."

"I do," she said. "Eggplant parmigiana is my favorite."

"Now how would I know that?" he teased.

"Psychic maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, then, if you really are psychic, what am I thinking now?"

He stopped after he set a tossed salad beside the casserole, looked into her eyes and into her thoughts.

She was thinking that she was totally impressed by his cooking abilities, by his rescue and kindness to Charlotte, by his humor and his good looks. But she didn't want to be. He was a known scoundrel, a charlatan, an asshole. But somehow in the space of a couple of days she had seen beneath all that, found him to be as intriguing as he found her. Jane heard all of that as clearly as if she'd said it aloud.

But she wasn't ready to say any of that, and he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it spoken. His face relaxed into an easy grin.

"You're wondering if there's garlic bread. Well, of course there is."

He took a foil wrapped package from where it had been warming in the top oven and added it to the menu.

"Well," she said, oddly relieved that he couldn't really read her mind, but of course, that was impossible. "You seemed to have thought of everything. Let me help you serve." She moved around the granite counter to look for the plates.

Soon they were sitting at the dining table, food on their plates, candles lit, wine in their glasses. From his pocket, Jane withdrew a remote control and pointed it toward the living room.

"How about some ambiance," he said, an amused light in his eye. She was expecting something cheesy, he knew, like Barry White or the soundtrack to Bolero; so when the hidden speakers began playing German polka music, she jumped a little in startle. It took her about two seconds to get his joke and she laughed heartily, as he'd hoped she would.

"How's that for Italian-German fusion," he said with a wry smile. "That was the closest I was willing to come."

She took a tentative poke at her food. "No sauerkraut in the parmigiana? Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Mine has never been in question. How about yours, Teresa? Eat up, and I'll give you a chance to show me."

She took a bite, the rich vegetable dish bringing her mind and tastebuds to gastronomical ecstasy. He took a fortifying drink of wine as he watched her chew, eyes closed.

"Oh my God, Jane. This is delicious!"

"Thanks. Have some bread."

She took some from the proffered basket, dipping it heartily into his homemade marinara.

"Now, no more teasing. Get to it," she said, tearing off a ladylike bite of bread with her teeth.

"Okay. I was thinking that since you only went out with me because I won our bet, the chances of receiving a good-night kiss from you are pretty slim."

She nearly choked on her eggplant, and he refilled her wine glass. She took a grateful gulp.

"Well, you'd be right there, buster," she said. "I don't kiss on the first date."

He frowned. "What is this, the 1950's?" He lowered his voice to a condescending whisper. "I hate to tell you this Agent Lisbon, but in the twenty-first century, some couples even have sex on the first date."

She blushed, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin. "I'm fully aware of the century we're in."

Her mind flashed tantalizingly to an encounter with a tall, dark-haired man; Walter was his name, apparently. Interesting.

"So, uh, I propose that if you have a good time on this date, against all your preconceived notions about me, that you'll reward me with a kiss at the end of the evening."

She set down her fork in favor of more bread. He liked a girl who wasn't afraid of carbs.

"What's to stop me from faking my disappointment in the date and leaving later, alone and unkissed?" But belying her words, he'd seen the pulse jump in her pretty throat.

He leaned forward, eyes steady on hers. "No woman ever fakes with me."

Her answering laughter came from deep in her belly, making her eyes sparkle merrily, her charming dimples creasing her face. She was magnificent.

"Yeah, right," she managed eventually, wiping her eyes. "Every man thinks that. Do we really need to have the When Harry Met Sally conversation?"

"We don't have to have the conversation, Teresa, but I would love to hear you moan."

Her smile instantly faded, and he would have thought he'd gone too far, except her eyes grew luminous in the candlelight.

I bet you could make me moan, she thought, and his heart skipped a beat. He had the dizzying feeling that he was circling the drain now, on his way to becoming totally lost.

"How about I give you my answer at the end of the date," she said.

"I'll work harder if I know there's a reward at the end."

She shook her head. "You'll work harder if you still think you can change my mind."

Who was the psychic one here?

"Fair enough," he conceded, his smile warm.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, they'd finished their dinner, and sat in Jane's living room, polka music replaced with slow jazz, finishing dishes of rich chocolate mousse. He was still recovering from the sensual thoughts he'd heard when she took her first bite of the decadent dessert.

"I have to say, Jane, I'm impressed. Best meal I've had in a long time." She'd slipped off her red heels and sat with one leg beneath her on the white couch. Her hair gleamed in the low light, and her green eyes were soft and more relaxed than he'd ever seen her.

"Enjoying your date, our we?" he asked coyly.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Oh, he knew, all right. She was happy and pleasantly buzzed by the wine, and not a little turned on by both the chocolate and his nearness. It occurred to him that sex with her tonight might not be totally out of the question. He filled her glass again.

"Getting me drunk is not the pathway to a kiss," she warned him. I'd really like to remember it.

"It will only enhance the experience," he promised.

"Make me forget how bad it was, you mean?"

"I've never heard any complaints," he replied smugly.

"And we're back to how women try to spare men's feelings. Women are very intuitive. They know how fragile the male ego is. They aren't above lying to protect him if he has other qualities she's interested in, or, if she's simply a nice person."

"I'd rather she not lie about things like that."

"Said the professional liar," she quipped.

He wasn't offended. "Be that as it may, if a woman lies about a man's prowess, she's only hurting herself. How can he learn what she really wants if she's too nice to tell him? She dooms herself and the relationship to continued disappointment."

Her eyes narrowed, and she absently took another sip of wine. "Tell me what mortal man can withstand such criticism."

"Me."

She snorted a laugh. "Okay. As part of your reward-should I decide to bestow it-I will offer my sincere, heartfelt critique of your technique, to your personal edification, of course—"

"And to your own future benefit," he added sagely.

"Well, naturally," she said, toasting him with her glass.

He waited a beat, experienced her sweet anticipation for a moment, not to mention his own. Jane found he was suddenly impatient, uncharacteristically nervous and agitated, and he was finding it increasingly difficult not to reach for her and cover her beguiling, crooked smile with his hot mouth. Normally it was the buildup, the waiting that increased his excitement, that paid dividends for them both in the bedroom. He'd encouraged her to be patient earlier, but his own patience was hanging by a very thin thread, and he was boggled by how fast his desire for her had grown.

He stood for something to do with his pent-up energy. "Dance with me," he said impulsively. In for a penny…

She looked up at him, taken aback by his sudden intensity. He made himself appear outwardly relaxed, pasting on his usual cocky smile. When he held out his hand, she took it with only minor hesitation.

Without benefit of her high heels, she was delightfully petite in his arms, and he found himself feeling strangely protective of her, though he'd seen her tackle a perp twice his size.

Her thoughts were dreamy, romantic, and he could feel the increased thrum of her pulse in the small hand he held between them. She liked his smell, liked the feel of his arms around her, liked the soft carpet beneath her feet. She told herself he'd plied her with too much drink, but she wasn't exactly clawing to get away.

When the song ended and another took its place, he felt her smile against his chest. For once, he didn't mind that a woman might leave a trace of powder or lipstick on his expensive shirt. I love this song, she was thinking, and that, to Jane, was worth way more than his dry-cleaning bill.

He pressed his luck by pressing himself closer to her lithe body, by pressing his lips against the top of her sleek hair. She sighed and drew her arms up around his neck, her mind gratifyingly blank, hips swaying, and he wondered if it really was the wine that had caused this incredible change in her attitude toward him.

"Teresa," he murmured, and he knew she must feel his rapid heartbeat beneath her ear.

She looked up at him, slightly off-balance. "It's not the end of the night yet," she said huskily. "I need more time to decide."

That was most definitely a lie, according to her unspoken words.

"Well, I for one can't wait anymore," he said, and then his lips found hers.

As much as he wanted to crush her mouth to his, he remembered what she'd thought about her ideal kiss, and he began slowly, nibbling at her lips, brushing his gently against hers. His hands slid up (per her previously expressed desire) to slip into her hair, and he tilted his head to introduce his gently seeking tongue. He focused on making the kiss as thorough and arousing as he could, not too wet, not too forceful, not going for the tonsils, reveling in the soft sounds she made at the back of her throat. His own mind was so full of trying to make the kiss close to her idea of perfection, that at first he didn't hear her mind switch on with unflattering clarity.

Jesus, it's like kissing a robot. What, is he going through a checklist or something?

Ouch.

He raised his head and looked into sober eyes that were filled with disappointment.

A/N: Aw, Karma strikes again for Jane. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks so much for reading! Waterbaby is up next, though she is away on holiday and it might be a couple of weeks before she gets a chance to write. We appreciate your patience, and I'm sure her chapter will be worth the wait.