A/N: Thanks so much for all your kind reviews. I wish I had time this week to answer them all individually, but I want you all to know that they encourage me and reward me for my work, and I appreciate every one. I'm having some medical issues, so I'm not sure how long until my next chapter, but I will do my best and will at the very least write in "my head" so I can put it down as soon as possible. As promised, please be aware this chapter is rated M, but as always, I try to make these scenes tasteful and from a place of affection and love. I hope you like it.

Chapter 7

Within an hour, they'd arrived at a stalemate, both kings, Lisbon's bishop, and one of Jane's pawns the only pieces remaining on the board, deadlocked. He'd paid more attention to her mouth than to his own playing, moving haphazardly on instincts alone when it was his turn. Still, he'd nearly beaten her.

"Rematch?" asked Lisbon, annoyed that she'd been so close to beating him and was denied her victory.

He took one look at her face, one eyebrow arched in challenge, green eyes gleaming with determination, and he felt something inside melt a little. His own eyes widened briefly, but then he tamped down those dangerous emotions and reached for her hand, his handsome features reflecting a determined expression of his own.

"Not on your life," he proclaimed in answer, rising and pulling her smoothly from her chair and into his arms. His mouth swiftly descended upon hers, and the previous hour's frustration guided his desperate movements. He felt overwhelmed and undone by her, gratified beyond measure when her fingers slid into his hair, trying to bring him closer and deepen the kiss. He was happy to oblige.

They moved as one toward the hallway, their lips still fused, hands straying beneath clothing as they headed toward the bedroom, their journey punctuated by passionate pauses and gasps of pleasure. Her fantasy of having him in her bed was about to come true, and when he tore his mouth from hers to work at the buttons on her blouse, she began to tremble uncontrollably. His hands were none too steady either, and she laughed nervously.

He looked up from his task and gave her a smile so sweetly endearing she felt her galloping heart momentarily seize in her chest. No! It's too soon for that, she thought dazedly. Way too soon.

His suitcoat had been abandoned somewhere in the hall, and she didn't have the patience he was showing with her blouse. She pulled roughly at his expensive shirt, a few buttons bouncing soundlessly onto her carpeted floor. They exposed each other's chests at the same time, and as she leaned forward to taste his smooth flesh, he reached behind her to release her bra. He tasted clean and faintly of salt, smelled of soap and spice and man. As her tongue teased each flat nipple, he shuddered and cupped her bare breasts, his thumbs brushing their rosy peaks until her knees began to weaken and she forgot in her own pleasure what she was trying to do to him.

He found the side zipper of her skirt and it slid with a whisper down her shapely thighs and delicate knees. When she was clad only in her lacy black tap pants, he swept her off her feet and tossed her gently onto the tall king-sized bed.

She inhaled sharply in surprise to find herself thus, but came up on her elbows to watch him finish undressing, her heart beating loudly in her ears. He wasn't self-conscious at all, obviously wanted to be naked with her on that bed as quickly as possible. He was as beautiful and tan as she'd imagined, arms and legs leanly muscled like one who spent a lot of time in the water.

"Do you surf?" she asked suddenly, an image of him riding the waves so strong in her mind that she knew it must be true.

He paused at the waistband of his boxer briefs to look up at her in surprise.

"Why yes, Miss Lisbon, I do when I can. How did you guess?"

"Maybe I'm psychic," she said saucily.

His lips quirked, and he held her eyes as he pulled his underwear down over the full bulge in front. Their smiles faded as desire shot through them both, and he walked with predatory intent back to the bed. He reached up and dragged her by her ankles across smooth silk to the edge of the bed, and, still standing on the floor, drew her legs apart. His hands slid up her legs to her trembling inner thighs, and he reached for the lace at her hips. She lifted so he could remove the final barrier between them, and he peered in awe at the carefully trimmed beauty he'd unwrapped. He felt himself grow impossibly hard.

He traced her softness with the fingers of one hand, watched as her eyes glazed over when he began to explore further, slipping one long digit inside her body, while his thumb circled the firm bud just above. A moment later, his mouth replaced his thumb.

"Ohhhh," she breathed, her hands going automatically to his hair. His scratchy whiskers lent an erotic contrast to the smoothness of his tongue and she nearly whimpered with each lavish swipe.

While her fingernails raked his scalp, he plundered her core with his tongue, tasting her honeyed sweetness, bringing her to the brink of madness and then beyond. Her cries rent the stillness of the room, and as her thighs clamped his head closer, he licked more deeply and she came apart again.

She released his head, her arms and legs going limp, her mind deliciously blank. With a final kiss to each silky thigh, he stood up straight and Lisbon heard the unmistakable sound of a tearing condom packet. A moment later, Jane found the small step stool at the side of the bed. He crawled over to lay naked beside her, a beatific smile on his face.

"Thank you for that," she said after a few minutes, when she could finally speak. "It's been a difficult week."

He chuckled at her understatement. "You're welcome. The pleasure was all...well, maybe not all mine."

"I'll see you tomorrow in court, then," she said, and then yawned.

He turned his head to look at her, shocked he was being dismissed like some sort of…gigolo.

"What?" he said tightly.

And then she opened one eye and glanced over at his crestfallen face, her lips drawing into a smile that brought out her dimples. She was totally messing with him. No one else was ever able to do that. This woman did things to him he couldn't even begin to explain. All he knew was that he wanted her with a single-minded clarity he had never known before.

He cut off her bark of laughter by rolling on top of her, taking her breath away again as his naked body covered hers. He kissed her nearly senseless once more while she felt his hard fullness pressing eagerly against her stomach.

"Check mate," he whispered against her lips, just before he joined his body with hers.

She moaned as he moved within her, instantly reawakening her passion. They fell into an instinctive rhythm, perfectly in tune with the beating of their hearts, with the pattern of each shallow breath.

"My turn," she said suddenly, and he was happy to let her roll him to his back.

She moved achingly slowly at first, reveling in how completely he filled her, listening to the groans of pleasure he made each time she lifted nearly off of him and then lowered herself to the hilt once more. Their eyes locked, and his hands alternately molded to her waist or caressed her perfect breasts. He felt himself falling, losing control in a way he'd never really allowed himself. In truth, he would realize later, he had no choice but to succumb to her wild passion, to her beautiful body, to her undeniable power over him. His movements became frenetic toward the end, and for a few amazing moments he understood what the French meant by le petite mort. Had he actually died for a moment? Perhaps he had, and when Teresa fell upon him, sated, he had found Heaven.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, they ate cheese and crackers and wine in bed, since that was all that was in her kitchen besides a shriveled apple and sour milk. He had left her in search of sustenance, and she heard him berating her shopping habits as he opened the empty refrigerator and cupboards in disapproval.

"I'm kicking you out if you get crumbs in my sheets," she warned when he arrived with a plate piled high and a full glass of wine held precariously in one hand. He set the plate between them on the bed, before promptly stuffing a piece of cheddar between her lips. She chewed, thinking nothing had ever tasted better. He fed her a cracker, then a sip of wine, then a tender kiss. No, she amended to herself, his kisses are infinitely more delicious.

Jane stacked two slices of cheese on his own cracker, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth with one bite. He chewed methodically, watching in amusement as she picked crumbs from her cleavage just beneath her sheet. He was tempted to help her out with his tongue, but he was too hungry and too worn out to make the offer.

"I demand a rematch," she said between bites.

His eyebrows rose, and he spoke with his mouth half full. "Good God, woman, let a man recuperate a bit first before you start making demands." He was sitting cross-legged in his boxer briefs, his hair adorably mussed and falling boyishly over his forehead.

She blushed. "I meant the chess game. If you're staying all night, we may as well…"

He nodded. "Okay. I'll go get it."

"No, you just got back. Let me."

With another cracker halfway to his mouth, he stilled to watch as she folded back the comforter and climbed out of bed, completely naked. She wasn't exactly casual about it, hurrying toward her closet to retrieve a robe, but he enjoyed the view nonetheless, and seriously considered calling her back. He was in his forties and generally needed a little rejuvenation time before going for round two, but with Teresa, he might have underestimated himself. He glanced down at his crotch and grinned wryly. Speed chess. That was a thing, wasn't it?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Much later…

Lisbon mused idly, as she lay breathless and sweaty on her fine cotton sheets, that she would probably be stepping on plastic chessmen for weeks after that last game. At that very moment, she could feel the sharp point of a bishop's mitre pressing into her side. She supposed that's what she got for distracting him in the middle of a game: one minute she was losing, the next he'd swept the pieces off the board and taken her passionately in the middle of it. She smiled to herself, satisfied in more ways than one.

"So, do we call that a draw?" he asked weakly, and she heard him swear softly and toss a chess piece onto the floor.

"You were winning," she countered.

"Which is why you were distracting me, of course."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He snorted. "Your big toe was halfway up one leg of my boxers, and your robe was open to your navel. I was definitely distracted. If you used such devious methods in court, you'd guarantee a conviction every time."

Lisbon's smile dimmed. He'd used the "c" word, and the reality of their situation came flooding back. They were being watched and listened to and followed and threatened. No matter how good he made her feel in this moment, it was only fleeting, and tomorrow all of it would return with a vengeance. She sat up and grabbed her discarded robe. Jane realized his mistake at once.

He reached for her from his side of the big bed. "Hey, I'm sorry for bringing it up. Where are you going?"

"To take a shower."

"May I join you?"

"I need a minute," she said sadly, and she left him for the en suite bathroom. A few moments later, he heard the water running.

"Dammit," he said to the ceiling. He gave her five minutes, and then he followed her, determined to make her forget the outside world that was filled with serial killers and court cases. Hell could very well break loose tomorrow, so they might only have this night. He was determined to make the most of it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Because Ray Haffner's body was found on the grounds of the State Capitol, the CBI was immediately called in to investigate. The sun was just coming up as Cho and Rigsby observed how Haffner had been slumped over the steering wheel of his car in the south parking lot. CSI had taken all the pictures they'd needed from the initial crime scene, and now, as Haffner was hoisted by two burly coroner techs onto a gurney, Cho noticed the dried vomit and foam around his mouth, noted similar spots upon his shirt. The way his face was still contorted, it had obviously been a painful death. More pictures from CSI, then the body was zipped into a standard black bag.

"Looks like poison," said Rigsby, taking a bite of the kruller he'd grabbed on the way out of the office. In the other hand he held a Styrofoam cup of terrible breakroom coffee.

"Yeah," agreed Cho.

"Hey, wasn't Haffner lead council on Sheriff McAllister's case?"

Cho nodded. "Yep. Call the DA's office. Let them know what happened."

Rigsby's face brightened before he could help it. Grace Van Pelt had been prosecuting this case. Not that he needed an excuse to call her, of course. They'd been texting every day since—

"Quit smiling," said Cho. "This isn't good news, especially if he was murdered. Let's hope there isn't a mistrial."

Rigsby took his phone from his pocket. "Sorry, Boss."

"Shit," said Cho under his breath. The body hadn't been carved up at least, but he'd bet a year of Rigsby's fast food budget that Red John was behind this mess.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

From a great distance it seemed, Lisbon heard her cell phone ringing. Something heavy and very warm inhibited her movements, and she struggled to wakefulness.

"Your phone's ringing," came a masculine rumble near her ear. Her eyes opened wide, and she shoved Jane over to his side of the bed. She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, squinting to see that it was Grace calling.

"Hello," she said, on the fifth ring.

"Teresa. Sorry so early. Thought you're usually up by now."

"Long night," she mumbled, sitting up. Beside her, Jane grinned. She swatted his wandering hand away. "What's up?" When he began to laugh at his sophomoric interpretation of that expression, she threw her pillow at him to muffle the sound.

"It's Ray Haffner," she said. "Wayne Rigsby just called me. Capitol police found him dead in his car this morning. CBI is on the scene. Wayne says it looks like it was poison."

"What?"

Jane had heard both sides of the conversation and he was sitting up now, his expression grim. He caught Lisbon's terror-stricken eyes, and he reached for her hand. It was like ice.

"Can't tell yet whether it was suicide," Van Pelt continued. "What do you think this means for the trial?"

When Jane's warm hand squeezed hers, she felt a wave of serenity wash over her. He had this way about him, a soothing calmness, and she wondered not for the first time if he had hypnotic powers.

"Teresa?" Lisbon hadn't answered right away, but now she took a deep breath and managed to pull herself together.

"I don't know. It could be a mistrial, or postponed till a new lead attorney can be assigned or picked by McAllister. Or maybe Partridge will take first chair. We'll just have to show up in court and hear what the judge has to say."

"A mistrial?" repeated Grace in horror.

"Don't get too worried yet. I'll see you in court."

"Okay."

"Thanks for calling, Grace."

They said their goodbyes and Lisbon turned again to Jane.

"I've got to call my boss, Ardilles," she told him.

A five minute conversation confirmed her belief that the trial was still a go as far as the DA's office was concerned. Whether it continued depended on the judge. When she disconnected, Jane was already out of bed and searching the floor for his haphazardly discarded clothes.

"We'd better get going," he said.

Jane's mind was racing. That poison had been meant for Red John. This could only mean one thing: McAllister had somehow seen it coming.

"You think McAllister did this?" asked Lisbon, echoing his thoughts. Her voice muffled as she went into her walk-in closet. She came out and laid a pant suit on the bed.

"Yes," he said simply. She met his eyes, but said no more. She went into the bathroom, and he heard water running in the sink.

Jane slipped on his trousers, found his shirt and pulled his hands through the sleeves. When he tried to button it, however, he found that only the very top button and the very bottom remained. He remembered Lisbon tearing his shirt apart in passion, and he almost smiled, but then he felt a sudden, overwhelming rage.

Red John had tainted this incredible night with Teresa, had killed the man Jane had hoped would kill him. If Red John knew about Haffner's ties to Stiles, it wasn't much of a leap to believe he would discover Jane's own past association. If that happened…he didn't want to contemplate it.

He found his suit jacket in the hallway and put it on over his loosely hanging shirt. Oh well, he thought. If the spies outside wanted a show of proof, this would be it. There was nothing to do now but to face McAllister in court, pretend that he was still playing the game, bide his time until the killer made his next move.

Jane's heated anger turned to ice cold resolve. Anger made people reckless, he thought, more prone to mistakes. Once he saw McAllister's demeanor, he trusted himself to know his next step, but he'd have to remain calm to recognize it.

"Patrick?" Lisbon called from her room. She peered out into the hall to see him standing barefoot, his buttonless shirt gaping open. This was the first time she had ever used his first name, and a tenderness filled his heart.

She walked over to him, sheepishly fingered the placket of the damaged shirt. "Sorry about this. I'll pay to have it fixed, or buy you a new—"

But her sentence was cut off by his kiss, hard and swift and hot, like a branding.

"This is all my fault," he whispered as he released her mouth. "I'll take care of it."

Obviously they were no longer talking about his shirt. Her eyes narrowed.

"What did you do, Jane?"

So it wasn't Patrick anymore, he mused morosely. That was fast.

"Don't worry about it. I need to go by my hotel room and change, and I'll see you at the courthouse. But I want you to call your friend Cho. Get him to send someone to escort you. Please, Teresa."

Her first instinct was to refuse, but what she saw in his eyes made her nod. "Okay. But next time I see you, I want the truth. If you know what happened to Haffner, as the ADA, I need to know."

"And as your lover?" he asked, his tone serious. She took a shuddering breath, but spoke forthrightly.

"If you don't tell me the truth, we're done."

He nodded, and she hated the conflict she saw behind that sea-green gaze, hated that she suspected he'd done something very stupid. He kissed her again, gently this time, before returning to her bedroom to find his shoes.

"I'll see you later," he told her from the front door.

"Be careful," she said.

Their eyes met, speaking the things for them that they could not say aloud.

"You too," he replied, and then he was gone.

Lisbon stood in the middle of her living room for a few moments, her emotions a jumble. From her bedroom she heard her phone ring, and she trotted back to pick it up. It was Cho. He'd saved her the trouble of calling.

A/N: Thanks for reading. My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims and their loved ones in the Las Vegas massacre.