AN: Thank you so much for the reviews everyone!... Here we go...

Chapter 4

Standing stiffly, her arms plastered to her sides and her hands fisted, Erin wore a tight-lipped expression and bloody murder in her eyes. She was going to kill David Rossi. Point blank. And she'd heard enough serial killer stories that she could hide the body and not get caught.

He, boorish ass that he was, was smirking, nearly chuckling with glee as he stood waiting for a beverage at the very crowded Mean Green Coffee Bean Shop. No, he hadn't kissed her. Moments before, he'd leaned in and bewitched her with his pure, animal magnetism...

Too bad that animal was a skunk.

She'd barely gotten in a perceptible nod, when he'd leaned back and proclaimed, "Good! Let's go."

He'd stood, leaving her sitting, dazed and bewildered. "Go?"

"Yes. My coffee is nearly empty, and yours is undrinkable. Come on," he'd commanded. A second later, he'd taken her hands and wrenched her to her feet, and soon after, they'd ended up where they were now, waiting in a very long line.

"This is hardly pleasurable, David," she snipped, still a dash irked.

"Trust me."

She glared at him, her eyes wide with dismay. "Trust you? I'd rather trust Satan."

He smirked at her. "You don't mean that."

She shot him her frostiest, haughtiest look. "At least I know what I am in for with Satan."

He chuckled then. "Don't get your pretty panties in a twist, Erin. There'll be kissing later."

She scoffed, instantly affronted. "That isn't why I am upset."

He didn't bother commenting. That was even worse than if he did comment. He recognized the words as a lie as much as she did and didn't even feel the need to argue them.

Damn.

God help her, she did want to kiss him. Badly. Kissing David Rossi was one of the premiere pleasures in life. In fact, all the pleasures he'd talked about...she wanted to experience them. Sadly, what he'd said about her was true. She had a staid, responsible life void of a lot of passionate pursuits. It wasn't in her nature to go toward hedonism. However, even if she had a nature that was hedonistic, there wasn't a time in her life that she could indulge it. She'd been a mother and a career woman for most of her adult life. She was too busy gnawing and scratching her way to the top to pamper her personal side.

"Wait. That was wrong." He said that comment out of nowhere, gratefully ignoring her last statement to her ever loving surprise, only to add, "Come to think of it, you don't own pretty panties—do you, Erin?"

Because they were packed in like sardines in a can, he'd said that loud enough the person in front of them turned to look. She could feel her cheeks, neck, and ears heating with an uncontrollable blush.

"Please keep the volume of your voice down!" she hissed under her breath. Before she could stop herself, she shot back, "And you haven't seen enough of my panties to know what I do or do not own."

Shut up, Erin! she chastised herself. Do not give that man ammunition!

Hesitantly, she looked over at him, only to feel her heart race at the look in his eyes.

"Oh, really?" he drawled.

Too late!

He leaned closer to her, his warm breath near her ear. "What are you wearing right now, Erin? A sweet, lacy bikini that makes a man want to remove it with his teeth?" he asked in a low voice that sent shivers down her spine. "Or a thong that begs a man—at least this man—to kiss each one of the cheeks it separates?"

A wash of wetness pooled in her serviceable cotton panties at his dirty talk. For the first time in her life, she wished she was wearing those panties he described...if only to rile him up, of course.

"Or even better," he growled, the words vibrating all the way to her nether regions, "no panties at all..."

Before she could respond, he pulled her in front of him, his strong arm wrapped around her waist. "Then I could move this"—he tugged her beige business suit skirt roughly—"discretely...so no one would see."

"You don't like...exhibition?" she asked, disliking the pant in her voice.

"No."

"Really?" she said, trying desperately to regain some of her composure. She snorted. "I thought you were more depraved than that. The kind that would like to put on a show."

"I don't like to share," he growled, wrapping an arm tighter around her—so tight, a credit card wouldn't fit between them.

A thrill ran through her at his possessive tone. He didn't want to share her with anyone?

Before she could use that to her advantage, he chuckled low, a wicked little laugh, and continued. "Oh, yes, I can see it now...I'd slide that skirt up and lower my hand...slowly, not to draw attention...and then I'd touch you where you need touching the most...where it's hotter and wetter and far, far sweeter than any cup of espresso we're going to get." His voice held a husky, dark quality that mesmerized her. "Right there, right now...and no one would know but us."

Oh, yes...

Despite her wishes to remain immune, she shuddered at his words. She wanted that. Never in her fifty-three years of being had she thought of doing something that wicked in the middle of public. She couldn't believe she was thinking about it now. Maybe in her twenties, or even thirties, this could've been an option, but now...

"Of course, you are probably wearing white cotton panties, so it's a moot point."

Abruptly, he took her hips and moved her forward. She hadn't even realized she'd been leaning against him for support. Her knees shook, and she nearly wobbled. She turned and glared at him, feeling foolish yet again for falling under that asshole's spell.

"We're up, bella," he said, a muscle in his cheek ticking with displeasure. "Step to the window."

JJ saw Hotch stumble out of the corner of her eye, and she paused, jogging in place. "Hey, are you okay?"

A strange flush covered the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, which only added to his classic appeal. "I'm fine. I...ah...hit a rock or a rut."

"Oh, okay," she answered, and they began running in their usual stride.

However, as they ran, she realized something was bugging her. From the look he'd had and his hesitant answer, she had a feeling that wasn't the whole story. Still, she figured she shouldn't press. Really, he was probably just embarrassed that he'd stumbled. Men were weird about that kind of thing; they liked to appear invincible.

But he only blushed after he looked at her.

She shook her head. Probably, it didn't mean any—

"Can I ask you something?" she blurted out, interrupting her own thoughts.

He arched a dark brow as he jogged. "What is it?"

"Why were you blushing?"

"I was?" he asked, and the same flush he'd had crept back over his straight, perfect nose.

"Hotch," she answered, "you're doing it now."

The most adorable flush blush grew from the bridge of his nose to his ears as he shook his head and chuckled. "I thought I might be doing that."

Aha!

"Well," she started, giving him a leading tone when he didn't say anything more, "who were you thinking about? A girl?"

Normally she didn't pry, but she wanted him to know that she was available to talk to. Hotch was far more than a boss to her. He was her friend, too.

Like lightening, he shot his gaze to hers. "Why do you ask that?"

JJ smiled encouragingly. "You asked me for relationship advice, and then you stumbled and blushed. Obviously there was someone on your mind."

He stared at her for a moment, and then he smiled back at her. "You're getting to be one helluva profiler, JJ."

"Oh, that's not profiling," she replied nonchalantly. "That's women's intuition."

"Pardon the mistake," he said apologetically with a brilliant smile that caused her insides to flip. He rarely smiled, but when he did...it was magic. No one had a smile quite like Aaron Hotchner. It made him look younger, relaxed, and even more classically good-looking.

They continued jogging, and the conversation dwindled again. JJ looked over at him as he ran. She'd always thought of him as handsome, but she'd never had the time to study him. She was wrong; he wasn't just handsome—he was the definition of the word. She knew what Prince Charming was supposed to look like. She'd read enough storybooks to Henry. Hotch was it. Tall, broad shouldered, with a chiseled jaw, thick wavy hair, and darkly intense eyes that could see through to her soul.

So...who was his Princess? His very lucky Princess...

"Were you thinking about a girl?" she asked again.

He chuckled. "I thought we'd moved past that."

"You didn't answer," she replied.

They rounded the corner to make it back to the training field and the bleachers, and he still hadn't replied. She realized then that she was pushing, and she didn't like to push. She wasn't that kind of person. It drove her crazy when friends of hers didn't know when to stop prying for information.

Besides, it didn't make a difference to her if Hotch was thinking about someone or seeing someone else.

Did it?

As they approached the benches, they slowed to a slower walk. She took a deep breath. "Well, I suppose we—"

"Yes."