Six for Gold

She looked stunning. Actually, that word didn't do her, or that dress, justice. She looked, well, he wasn't sure there was a word for how she looked. She wore a simple sleeveless dress that ended just above her knees, the gold lace hugging her curves in all the right places and lending her skin a warm glow. Her nude heels made her legs seem to go on for miles, and her dark hair, loosely curled and gathered in a bun at her nape, softened the angles of her face and contrasted sharply with the lightness of the rest of her outfit. A few tendrils fell from where they were secured, and he longed to touch them, just to see if they were as soft as he'd imagined.

JJ waved to her, and he found his breath stolen from him as he watched her glide across the room to them.

By God, if she was going to dress like that, he was going to make every State's dinner mandatory.

But he wasn't the only one that had noticed her beauty; the eyes of every man in the place tracked her every move as though enchanted.

Jealously sprung up out of nowhere and swelled low in his stomach, and he wanted to make them turn away.

Forcibly.

Fortunately, his momentary lapse in mental control went unnoticed as Morgan let out a wolf whistle.

"Damn, Princess. You sure clean up nice!"

She rolled her eyes back at him.

"You have toothpaste on your collar."

He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He watched as she danced with the boys, Reid's attempt to lead ending with a bloody nose for the head of White Collar after his not-so-graceful meeting with the floor. He would probably have to go smooth things over with the man at some point, though he was of the firm opinion that an agent, especially the head of a department, should be able to catch himself with something other than his face. He'd keep that to himself though.

He nursed his third scotch while she waltzed her way through the agents from Counterterrorism, switched to Coke while she swayed with a few of the statesmen. Even Rossi had taken her for a spin around the floor when an especially raucous Latin number came on.

Now, though, he was looking on as she began her third dance with a Congressman's aide. He hardly looked old enough to vote, and he clearly hadn't mastered the art of subtle class that floated alongside most of tonight's esteemed guests.

Basically he looked like a train wreck and thought he was God's gift to politics and humanity.

And he clearly couldn't take a hint, because Prentiss had tried to get rid of him ten minutes earlier.

As she shot the smarmy man yet another look of disdain, he decided that it was high time someone stepped in.

Besides, he hadn't gotten to dance with her yet.

Downing the rest of his soda, he stood and went to rescue his agent. When he was close enough to notice the placement of the aide's hands, a little too low and a little too tight for his liking, he wished he had stepped in sooner. Anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach at the discomfort on her face, and he had to resist the urge to put the other man's head through the wall.

Maybe he could have Reid trip him.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts – he could decide on appropriate action later – he tapped the man on the shoulder and smoothly cut in, immediately leading the noticeably relieved Prentiss to the other side of the dance floor. He moved them along to the music, the steps of the complex waltz coming back to him as the notes of the song swirled around them, and she relaxed into his hold.

"Thanks for rescuing me."

He looked down and saw her shy smile, returning it with a grin of his own.

"Anytime."