She'd never imagined it could feel like this. All her previous experience with foreplay suddenly seemed cheap and colorless compared to the tangled mess of nerves she'd become in his hands. He left her aching with need and shivering with anticipation. It took a moment for her to force her brain to process his question before she dragged him to the floor.

"Um." She had to think. "Upstairs. On the left." He nodded, leading her by the hand, once again echoing an earlier moment between them with roles reversed. At the base of the stairs, he pulled her back into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Hey," he murmured, pulling back to search her eyes though it cost him dearly to stop now. "Are you sure about this? I mean, really?" He held her tightly against him, one hand cradling her face. Making it clear that he wanted her but only if she was certain. The endearing insecurity in his eyes left her weak, heart knocking against her ribs. She couldn't turn back now.

Nodding wordlessly, she toed off her shoes, simultaneously reaching between them to release her own belt and the clasp of her slacks. Then she lifted each foot like she was going to stretch her quads and slowly pulled off each sock, leaning into him as she did so her breasts brushed against the hard wall of his chest. Her eyes never left his face.

"Okay," he whispered, staggered. His hands joined hers to push the waistband over her hips until the fabric pooled at her feet. He let his fingers slowly graze the curve of her ass along the panty line. Then he changed track hurriedly, lifting under her thighs until she was forced to wrap her legs around his waist. She gasped at the sudden weightlessness, conscious that he might not be able to support her. But before she could protest, he was carrying her up the stairs with effortless speed.

Their eyes stayed locked together as he reached behind her to open the bedroom door. She was mesmerized, unable to fathom anything beyond the realization that Rigsby was taking her to bed. He didn't bother to hide his feelings now. Gently, he set her down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of her, placing a lingering kiss over her heart. For a moment, he didn't move. He just held her, breathing her in with slow, even breaths.

When he finally pulled back, she could see everything in his heart plainly written on his face. A small, frightened part of her shied away from the depth of emotion in his eyes. Somewhere in a buried corner of her heart, a lone alarm bell sounded, warning her not to take this step with him while she was uncertain of her own feelings. He loved her. Not only that, he said he needed her. His feelings were clear. Her own were far, far less defined. Another part of her simply sighed in girlish pleasure, longing to tell him everything he wanted to hear. It was this part, too long devoid of romance, that now urged her to live in the moment. To tell him she loved him too, if only to make him happy.

All of this warred quietly under the surface in the seconds she was trapped by his gaze. Bruised by the unrelenting emotion pouring from the man before her, she forced herself to stop thinking. She couldn't process her own feelings fast enough to react the way she knew he wanted her to. Instead, she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his until his eyes all but crossed with need. She wanted this, wanted him. For more than just one night and for more than just her bed. Later, she would think about what it all meant. Right now she wanted to feel.

She poured as much of herself into the kiss as she dared, as though doing so would make him understand without words. His arms surrounded her, his hands traversing her back, shoulders and breasts. A trail of electricity followed his fingertips to where they tangled in her hair until the heat once again built to fever pitch. "I love your hair," he growled against her lips. "You have no idea what it does to me. It makes me hard just thinking about it."

Instinctively, she pulled back, staring at him. He flushed at her expression, reminding her of a little boy caught swearing. It was so odd to hear him say something so sexual, especially directed at her with his voice rough with need. It sent a wave of delicious heat through her. "Um… sorry," he whispered. "It just slipped out."

"No, don't… don't apologize. It's just a little weird, I guess." The sight of her palms pressed to his bare chest made her smile. "In a good way." All this time, she'd told herself she'd never be able to see him as anything but a co-worker. She'd been sure that if they ever kissed or went on a date she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about the job. But this was Rigsby. Wayne. And all she was thinking about was running her tongue all over his body."Wayne…" His eyes came up from where he'd begun idly coiling her hair around his finger, waiting for her to collect her thoughts.

"Hey, you never called me Wayne before." He thrilled at the sound of his name on her lips even as he cringed at his loose tongue. After months of keeping thoughts and feelings bottled up and tucked away, his internal filter didn't seem to be functioning. Perhaps it was the idea of her bare legs wrapped around his waist just moments ago. Or maybe it was the breathy sounds she made. Maybe there wasn't enough blood left in his head to keep the filter working as it should. Whatever the cause, his inability to think before speaking made him feel inexplicably defenseless and young, like a teenager on prom night.

"That's not true, you know." She bit her lip against a smile as he blinked at her. "I have called you that before. Don't you remember?" A grin spread across her face at his look of confusion. Neither had ever mentioned what happened between them when he was hypnotized. Suddenly, she was dying to know the truth. "Oh, please. You really don't remember?" The kiss we shared in front of God and country… and Lisbon.

"What?" He shook his head, more bewildered by the moment. She sighed.

"Okay… picture Jane leaning over you. He asks you to close your eyes and picture the thing you most want to be doing at that moment, anything in the whole world. Then, he tells you to open your eyes and go do it. Any of this sounding familiar?…" she trailed off, watching for any sign of recognition. Nothing. "Then you get up. I'm walking away and you… you follow me, and…" She made a forward motion with her hand, beginning to feel a bit mortified. Obviously, the impression left by their first actual kiss had not been strong enough to penetrate his hypnosis hazed mind.

Before her embarrassment could take hold, however, Wayne shot to his feet, pacing the length of her bedroom like a caged animal. Stopping at the far end, he turned back to her with a look of astonishment.

"Oh, my god. Wow."

"What?"

"That was real." A statement rather than a question. She waited for him to continue. "All this time…" Lost in his bemusement, he looked absolutely ridiculous standing in the middle of her bedroom looking totally confused with an erection straining the front of his pants. Then he looked at her with strange intensity. "I kissed you, didn't I? In front of everyone. I really thought… I thought it was a dream… a really good dream." Her eyes narrowed.

"You do remember! I knew it!" she declared, pounding her fist on the bed. If he'd been next to her, she would have smacked his arm.

"Well, sort of." He frowned. The ease with which he's been hypnotized still troubled him. "All of that stuff is pretty fuzzy. I wasn't sure if it was a dream or not for a long time. I mean, when I started remembering, it felt like remembering a dream. And I'd had dreams—" He cut off with a guilty look.

"What?"

"Uh, nope," he said. "You'll laugh."

"Oh, so now you're holding back? Fine." Deliberately, she crossed her arms, causing her cleavage to deepen invitingly. His eyes clouded with desire.

"Okay, okay. You're killin' me, Van Pelt," he murmured, echoing a sentiment he'd expressed early in their working relationship. Exhaling a blustery breath he continued hesitantly. "I had dreams like that before the whole hypnosis thing." She raised her eyebrows, waiting. "I've had dreams… about you since shortly after we met. Dreams where we'd be at work and I'd suddenly give in and… well, you pretty much know the rest. It's almost exactly like what happened, at least as far as I can remember," he finished quickly. But his face went ruddier yet and she knew he wasn't being entirely honest. The dreams probably went a bit farther than kissing.

It was oddly touching, the way his personality was sometimes at odds with his size. A man in his position could easily fall into the womanizing jock cop stereotype. And she imagined, on the rare occasions she allowed herself, that his sex drive was more than a match for that sort of lifestyle. Instead, he was respectful, kind, gentle even. He didn't even swear that often. Yet, here he was, blushing over an erotic dream. At least, she assumed that's why he continued to look so thoroughly abashed.

She leaned back on the bed, letting the movement pull the hem of the camisole higher on her stomach. "Do you remember that case at Bright Arch? The camp?" His eyes dropped to the skin she just exposed and his eyes darkened.

"Uh-huh. What about it?" he said distractedly, stepping back toward the bed.

"Well," she paused, biting her lip. "I have dreams too. It's perfectly natural."

"Very natural," he agreed, looking down at her now. "Tell me."

She paused, unable to verbalize the more explicit parts of the fantasies her unconscious mind supplied. "If memory serves, when I came out to the camp, you were all wet and standing around in your underwear. That made for some… interesting dreams later."

Someday, she would tell him everything. How hot and cranky she'd been after driving out by herself to join everyone else in the field. How much hotter she felt after spying his body through the trees before she realized just who she was ogling. And no matter how many times she repeated in her head that the delectable man who was nearly naked in front of her was a colleague, just a colleague, she'd hardly been able to keep from staring at the smooth expanse of muscle slicked with water. Not to mention a chiseled torso that narrowed perfectly, drawing her eyes to a pair of tight black boxer-briefs that made her mouth water.

She had to force herself to take several deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, cursing her over active mind. The rest of that day she'd been deliberately curt with him, throwing up her usual shields with more force than necessary. Walking through the woods with him, she remembered wondering how it was possible he could still look sexy wearing a kid-size t-shirt and jeans.

For a solid week, and occasionally thereafter, the scene replayed in her dreams. Except they ended up together in the soft grass where she could explore that delightfully hard physique he normally kept under ties and button up shirts.

"Glad you enjoyed the view," he teased, looking smug. Nodding casually, she levered up onto her knees to face him, trying to keep a straight face.

"I did. It's a lot like the view now. But you need lose these," she said, indicating his pants. Delicately, she reached out and pulled the zipper of his fly down, then leaned forward until her lips were a whisper away from his. "So I won't have to dream anymore." With a growl, he took her mouth again as he quickly rid himself of the pants. She arched her back long enough to pull the camisole over her head, blood pounding as his eyes took in her body. For an instant they paused again, breathless with anticipation. Then, with lips fused, they moved in unison, divesting themselves and each other of the last articles of clothing between them. Heat and longing spiraled together as they became desperate for one another. Her hands raced over his skin as she writhed beneath him, crying out when his lips closed over her breast and lingered there adoringly while clever fingers got busy elsewhere. With every movement, every look, every caress, he seemed to be devouring her slowly, memorizing each inch of her with torturous patience. His fingers moved against her, teasing and testing until she was gasping under his touch.

Perfect. Every inch of her skin, sculpted and soft, molded to his palms like warm clay. He was determined to savor every detail even if it killed him. Too clearly could he recall feeling that all consuming despair when she had tried to gently rebuff him. Though it seemed like days ago, the pain of it lingered in his mind like the memory of an unpleasant aroma. Making love to her was a gift, one he would not waste. All his imaginings of this moment were trampled under the staggering reality. He'd take her higher and farther than she'd ever been, cherishing each and every breath, touch, sensation. He'd drive himself crazy in the loving of her body.

That is, if she would let him.

Obviously, he had neglected to account for Grace's impatience. With each touch, her hands stole away a little more of his purpose. Any hesitance on her part faded away as her slender fingers boldly closed around him with a gentle squeeze. An involuntary cry escaped his lips as she feathered her fingertips up and down, soft and persuasive. He trembled slightly under the first womanly touch he'd known in months. Snatching her hand away, he pinned them over her head and slowed the pace considerably with deep, steamy kisses that gave them time to feel the erotic press of bare skin against bare skin.

When he pulled away, her eyes were dreamy and her hair fanned gloriously on the surrounding pillows. Finally, here was Grace, with all her defenses peeled away. He sighed softly, feeling a familiar pang near his heart. Then she bucked her hips against him, shifting until one leg hitched around his waist. Gasping, his tenuous control slipped a little more. Then she rolled away, giving him a second to catch his breath only to lose it again as he spied the small square package she retrieved from her bedside table. Gladly, he abandoned his earlier plan to move slowly. Thought evaporated entirely as she paused to rip the package open. Together, they rolled on protection with anxious fingers before he pressed her back against the pillows and lost himself to her all over again.