A/N - thank you for the reviews. This update happened because it snowed so much today I couldn't go to work - so I guess thank you to the snow as well.
It had to happen...
Part 8
He should have expected that the atmosphere would be intimate and romantic – although he was grateful that the effect was subtle rather than overpowering. He watched as Jenny looked around, taking in the candlelight, the strains of soft music and the small tables that were perfect for holding hands over. When she raised an eyebrow at him he concluded that she was more amused than intimidated.
They probably talked more than any of the other couples in the restaurant; who seemed to be intent on gazing into each other's eyes – but that didn't matter too much, because he was rapidly learning how much he enjoyed talking to her.
When she asked him how he had ended up as a Federal Agent his natural reticence was sufficiently overcome to at least attempt to answer her. He didn't go into too much detail – but he did tell her that when his tour in the Marines had ended he had found himself involved in an investigation led by an NCIS Agent who had, somehow, recruited him – and then taught him everything he knew. She seemed to understand not to probe too deeply; that he had told her as much as he could.
But it had been a very long time since a woman had roused this much curiosity in him – enough to prompt him to ask in return, only half joking, if she'd grown up wanting to run the family firm. She sipped her wine and gave the question serious consideration before replying, "I'm not sure it was a conscious decision – but one of my earliest memories is visiting my father in his office on Saturday mornings, on my way to ballet class."
He had to smile at the idea of her as a tiny ballerina, despite the pain caused by the thought and the memory of Kelly; who had wanted to take ballet classes with Maddie Tyler. "There was no one else – my sister wasn't interested, still isn't, and the business was in trouble. I suppose I thought it would only be for a couple of years – clearly it's turned out to be a little longer than that."
"And the business is still in trouble?"
"No – business is good, so good that a couple of our competitors have made very generous offers for the company." She shrugged, "in uncertain times great thinkers are in fashion and we have a great thinker or two on our list."
"Will you sell?"
"It's a possibility, though I don't know if I'm ready to abandon 200 years of family history." He wasn't even going to attempt to comment on what he was sure would be a difficult decision. But he wasn't going to be silent either.
"Your father trusted you." It wasn't a question, because for all her lack of confidence in certain aspects of her life, nothing he had seen made him doubt her will or her intelligence. "You'll make the decision you need to make." The more he thought about it, the more he wondered what had happened to her.
They had finished their main course when he had his answer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the couple they'd already encountered twice, leaning across their table, entwined in an increasingly passionate embrace. "Not everyone's honeymoon is miserable then," she said – following his gaze. It was the very last thing he had expected her to say and the echo of pain in her voice was enough to tell him he needed to word his response carefully.
"I didn't realise you were married."
"It was a long time ago, for a whole three days. One of those times when you're glad you let your attorney talk you into a pre-nup."
"Wish I'd learnt that lesson," he commented dryly, though in fairness that would have involved listening to his attorney at all.
"Just how many times have you been married?"
"Too many," he countered and then, because of the way she was looking at him he added, "more than twice."
"You're braver than I am," her attempt at normalcy wasn't entirely convincing, "I couldn't go through that again."
"Bad ending?"
"Well, we didn't last to the end of the honeymoon. I suppose you could say that we weren't compatible and that he didn't appreciate the fact." He stilled at her expression, the desire to actually hunt this guy down and hurt him growing with every second.
"Did he hurt you?"
He almost didn't want to hear her answer – and even though she shook her head and said, "not physically, " he knew that damage had been done, damage that had never entirely healed.
Carefully he reached over and touched her hand, wrapping his own around it – letting his touch anchor her in the present and keep away the bad memories he could see were crowding her now. She bit her lip and then almost in a whisper said, "I hate that he can still upset me like this," and her expression was so painfully beautiful that he couldn't stop himself from raising her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss to her fingertips.
For a moment she melted, his touch reassuring and somehow reverent at the same time. No one had ever looked at her this way, made her feel anything like this – but just as she could feel herself responding to him she remembered where she was, who she was and that none of this was real.
She pulled her hand away and mumbled an excuse before pushing her chair back and heading hastily for an exit. She needed to get away, to clear her head and regain some precarious control on her traitorous senses.
He was shocked for a fraction of a second, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be protecting her and that he couldn't let her just disappear into the night on her own. He followed her rapid progress, relieved when he realised that she wasn't heading outside.
"Jenny," he caught up with her just outside the ladies room, grasping her wrist before she could disappear inside. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," he just stared at her, still holding onto her wrist, seeing the tumult in her eyes and knowing that there was more to this than she'd told him. "I hate feeling like this."Angrily she swiped at a tear on her cheek – wishing he would stop looking at her as though she was something important and special. "I can't pretend the way you can, it's not just some undercover mission to me."
"I don't pretend." He told her, his tone firm and calm. He pulled her closer; releasing her wrist so he could rub his thumb over the path her tears had taken. "This isn't part of the mission."
"What isn't?" Her eyes were mesmerising – wide with surprise, dark with passion; he was going to get lost in them, in her. There was no reason to answer to her question with words.
She shivered as he lowered his mouth to hers, the heat of his body sending her senses spinning and making it difficult to think about anything but the careful rhythm in the way their mouths were moving together. She arched into him, hungry for more, parting her lips at the barest of pressure; granting him entry, moaning softly as he tasted her.
"It's good to know we aren't the only ones who can't keep their hands off each other." The voice was amused, but more than enough to break the mood. As they drew back from each other Jethro glared at the young man whose insolent comment had derailed that precious moment and drew a rapid but genuine, "sorry guys," from the man in question.
But it wasn't some simpering idiot he was bothered about and Gibbs was charmed and relieved when Jenny dropped her head onto his chest. He tangled his hand in her hair, not willing to let her out of him embrace – though in fairness she seemed more than content to stay put.
It was the couple who, only moments before, had been all over each other in the dining room. Since it had been their display of affection which had, in a tangential way, led to the kiss he was prepared to be generous, taking his irritation down a notch.
"Can we buy you a drink to make up for…" when the young man ran out of words and just sort of gestured his wife rolled her eyes.
"What my charming husband means is – would you like to join us for a drink? We're about ready to come up for air and actually talk to someone else for a while." Clearly she was going to be the diplomat in their relationship.
Neither of them was hungry, so the remains of their dinner were abandoned in favour of a drink at the bar. Jenny had to admit that she wasn't paying too much attention to the conversation, which was thankfully about the local area, rather than about weddings.
Jethro had introduced them only using first names and he had been vague about his job, offering only that he was 'in security'. Jenny was sure that their companions, who were called Nick and Amy, had no idea what that meant and were a little too intimidated to inquire further.
The admission that they hadn't left the hotel all day didn't seem to cause any surprise – although Amy blushed when she realised that they had been the ones to witness their interrupted tryst in the garden that morning.
Jenny did listen for long enough to gather that they had been riding and to murmur wistfully that she hadn't been riding in ages – but there were other things demanding her attention and she gratefully gave into Jethro's pull and let her awareness of him block out what was going on around her.
He was resting his hand on her shoulder; his thumb rubbing gently back and forth and, though it could have been a soothing gesture, combined with their close proximity it stoked the fire the kiss had lit; keeping her body humming with desire.
She tried to remember why this wasn't a good idea but his touch, the warmth of his body so close to hers were, for now, effective defences against her fears. She pushed her glass of wine aside and reached for the bourbon he had ordered, watching him over the rim of the glass as she took a sip. His eyes darkened and her stomach clenched in response, almost unconsciously she moistened her lips and heard his sharp intake of breath as his eyes avidly followed the gesture. All she could think about was the hovering passion in the way he'd kissed her and shakily she replaced the glass - fearing that it would slip from her fingers.
She let her hand drop onto his thigh – enjoying a moment of power when she felt his muscles tense. She squeezed lightly; drawing his attention away from the desultory conversation and back to her; though really she doubted it had ever gone far. "Perhaps we need an early night?" she said quietly.
It was difficult to resist the lithe line of her body as he followed her upstairs. Letting his hand drift a little below the small of her back he watched the emotions chase themselves across her face. Her forwardness in the bar had surprised him; maybe it had surprised her as well. Nick and Amy on the other hand had smiled conspiratorially as they made excuses and hurried off together. Under no illusions about what the early exit meant.
He gave serious thought to pushing her back against the wall and kissing her again and almost gave into the impulse. He probably would have if he hadn't decided they were likely to be interrupted again. He definitely wanted them to be alone the next time he kissed her.
Her confidence faltered as they reached their room. He seemed entirely too comfortable in this situation and she knew that all of the things about him that attracted her, had surely attracted other women as well. His assurance wasn't arrogance or bravado – it would be far easier to dismiss if it were.
But he reached for her as soon as the door was opened and she went willingly into his arms as he kicked the door shut behind him, flicked the lock and fumbled for the light switch. Kissing him almost made the fears go away – certainly the urgency was mutual. She slipped her arms around his waist and ran her hands over the muscles of his back.
He let his mouth drift to her throat, lips travelling over exposed skin as she moved her head to allow him better access. He tugged her closer using the tie of her dress and they stumbled across the room together towards the pulled away from her for long enough to shrug off his jacket and then unfastened the shoulder holster – stepping to drop the gun on the bedside table.
She shivered as he moved away from her, feeling the loss of his touch though it was warm in the room. But that went away as he returned to her side, stroking his hands over her face, his expression intent. Her eyes closed and she turned her head, blindly seeking his palm and then pressing a kiss to it as she had that morning in the garden.
This time there was no one to interrupt them and he breathed her name as he drew her to him. His hands still framed her face as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly, reveling in the way she curled her hand into his hair, holding him close. Coming up for long enough to catch their breath he let his hands drift over her body – skimming her sides, grazing her breasts and then resting on her waist. He pressed a kiss below her ear, feeling her squirm as he nibbled the skin there and at the same time gentle pulled on the tie to her dress.
As he'd thought, the tie was the only thing holding the dress in place; his investigative instincts were clearly still functioning. He drew the dress further apart, exposing more of her body. He sat down on the bed, taking a moment just to look at her, admiring her pale, creamy skin, the sprinkling of freckles on her chest and lacy black bra that her breasts were encased in. He leant forward and kissed her stomach, watching her muscles tighten, puffing out a breath against her skin and seeing goose-bumps rise.
Jenny felt too exposed suddenly; his eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them and it was as though someone had flicked a switch in her – or doused her in cold water. She was standing in front of him, practically naked and all she could think about was that it was impossible that she would please him. Already she could imagine his disappointment and she knew she didn't want to see that in those eyes.
"I can't do this!" She pulled away, drawing her dress back around her as she turned from him.
He watched her for a moment, taking in the rigid line of her back, the way she was holding herself as though she was expecting some sort of blow to fall. He stepped up to her touching her shoulder briefly, refusing to be pushed away. "There's no pressure," he said before backing away, giving her space.
She watched as he moved carefully around the room, only distantly realising that he was pulling the blankets and pillows they had stowed in the wardrobe that morning – intending to sleep on the floor again.
"You don't have to sleep on the floor tonight." She couldn't look up at him to see his reaction, "it can't be good for your back and the bed's big enough."
"You sure?" He stopped a short distance away from her and she risked a glance in his direction. He was looking at her as though she was fragile, broken and she hated feeling that way. She nodded firmly, not trusting her voice and didn't wait to see his response – the bathroom was the closest thing she could find to a safe place and she retreated to it once again.
She took off the makeup she'd borrowed and splashed cold water onto her face knowing that what had just happened deserved an explanation, but totally unable to give it. She'd been humiliated, berated, insulted in a hotel room years before, on what should have been one of the happiest days of her life. She could remember locking herself in the bathroom, listening to her husband pounding on the door, telling her that it was her fault – that he hadn't known he was marrying someone who was frigid.
And if she hadn't been before, she probably was afterwards. His words had become a self-fulfilling prophecy, driving away her confidence from her earlier relationships. She'd had sex since – but not made love. There had been meaningless encounters with men she barely knew, didn't care about and only under the influence of considerable amounts of alcohol. And she had hated herself more every single time.
Gibbs hesitated, not sure that sleeping in the same bed was a good idea but ultimately persuaded that she wouldn't have made the offer if she didn't at least want him close. But he was annoyed with himself for not being more careful with her. She'd told him a little, he could guess some of the rest and that meant he should have made sure she felt safe and secure – not hesitant and vulnerable.
He was under the covers on the side of the bed nearest the door when she emerged from the bathroom. All of the lights had been turned off and the firelight cast dim shadows across the room. He felt the covers shift and the bed dip as she turned on her side, back to him. He sighed, letting the tense silence engulf them – he thought about saying something to her, but wasn't sure he could find the words or that she would want to hear them.
She tried to will her body to relax, so she could sleep – but it was reluctant to co-operate. Her muscles felt tense, her breathing was still shallow and awareness of the man lying beside her crawled over her sensitised skin like tiny spiders.
It was going to be a long night.
Her mind had that moment on continuous playback and she cursed her own stupidity, how could she have let old ghosts effect her? Jethro hadn't done anything to rouse those fears in her, but he deserved a partner who was as bold and confident as he was – not someone paralysed by the fear that she would disappoint him.
She rolled over, blinking back tears – remembering how his touch had made her feel and wanting to do nothing more than bury herself in his arms until she felt safe again.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, not sure if he was still awake, but needing to say the words to him anyway.
Gibbs bit back his instinctive response to those words, this wasn't the moment to talk about weakness, "you have nothing to be sorry about," he told her.
Falteringly she reached out and touched his shoulder, drawing her hand slowly over his back as though she thought he would shrug her off. Instead he reached behind him, captured her wrist and pulled it around him, so that she was spooned behind him and their hands were entwined on his stomach.
As they lay together he knew she was relaxing; he could feel her heartbeat and the soft whisper of her breathing. He was entirely too aware of the way she was pressed against him and that their bodies were only separated by his boxer shorts and thin t-shirt and the silky gown she wore.
He wasn't sure she realised how easy his body was to rouse again. But he forced himself to lie still when she pressed her lips to his neck and dipped her fingertips under his t-shirt to trace a pattern on his stomach. It was a very pleasant torture, letting her take her time to explore. She drew his t-shirt further up – her hand stroking over his hip and stomach as her mouth trailed over his neck, towards his ear. He bit back a groan as she pressed closer still – her body plastered against his and so intent was she on touching him he didn't even think she noticed that she was rocking her hips against his.
"Jenny," he breathed and she stilled. He turned onto his back and looked up at her; in the firelight her eyes were luminous. He tangled his fingers in her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, then to the place her neck joined her shoulder and finally he kissed her gently on the mouth.
They kissed and caressed for what felt like hours – a slow, sensual exploration that somehow managed to shut the rest of the world out. The way she touched him told him more about what had happened to her – but her initial hesitancy ebbed slowly away as he coaxed her into communicating where and how she liked to be touched. His t-shirt was slipped off first and a little later she lifted her arms so he could pull her gown off and cast it aside.
He pushed her back onto the bed and covered her body with his before she had the time to feel nervous about the fact that they were almost naked. Although now there was no way to hide just how aroused he was.
Her fingernails dug into his back and her head moved back and forth on the pillow; her hips rose to meet his, her legs parting instinctively – the demand of her body clear. But he didn't think the problem lay with her body and he knew he needed to make sure that her mind was in no position to deny her.
He'd kissed and touched her everywhere; she'd never felt this alive. She wanted him so badly now that everything else was of secondary importance. Impatiently she tugged at the waistband of his shorts and he shifted so that she could push them off, enjoying her assertiveness and then returning the favour, removing her last items of clothing with the same sensuous pleasure.
His mouth was at her breasts, tasting her – his fingers flickered at her centre, slipping through heat and wetness. The slow stroking and the suckling was edging her higher, her body felt like it could explode any moment – the release a fingertip away, but she wanted him inside her.
"Jethro, please," she breathed – her voice cracking with need and desire. She felt him smile against her skin and then move away for long enough to reach for the drawer of the bedside table where the condoms were.
He kissed her as he slid into her, his tongue stroking against hers – movements she echoed as she lifted her hips to meet his thrust. He felt her grimace of pain and stilled for a moment, but the moment passed and he pulled back, then pressed forward again. She tightened around him and he knew she was close, they were both close – the foreplay had been intense and though on another night he might have ridden that edge, drawn things out even further – he wasn't sure he wanted that now.
He picked up the pace, their moans coming in unison. He wasn't so worried about being careful with her now; she was moving with him, his thrusts becoming deeper and more forceful.
He was all she could see, hear, smell and taste. His touch burned through her – inside and out. The low coiling pleasure started at the pit of her stomach and she buried her head in his shoulder, letting it build, the pressure relentless. She felt his movements change – the strong, steady rhythm faltering.
She forced her eyes open, watching the blaze of heat and passion in his eyes and it was his expression that pushed her over the edge – coming apart for him with a low howl of pleasure. He lasted a heartbeat longer, enough time to see her face suffused with naked sensuality from the climax, before pressing deep into her and staying there.
As they panted together he pushed her hair back from her face, kissing her cheek, feeling the heat that he suspected was part blush, part the result of their very strenuous work out. He rolled over onto his side, pulling her with him and slipping out of her, "don't go away," he told her, crawling out of bed and heading to the bathroom to clean up.
She rolled into the space that he'd occupied - appreciating his gesture, but hoping he didn't take too long. The fear of rejection was a quiet voice in the back of her mind and she tried hard to shut it out, reminding herself that her body was still trembling from what he'd done to her, from what they had done together. But the seconds he was away felt far longer than they really were.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he crawled back into bed and then reached for her hand – raising it to his lips as he had hours before in the restaurant. She stroked his cheek, the smirk in his expression making her smile and then bury her face in his shoulder, laughter bubbling from her.
He stroked her hair; letting the feeling of being sated and relaxed settle over him – and judging by the way her breathing evened out, over Jenny as well. As she fell asleep she shifted a little and he tucked her into his side, so that her arm was draped over his chest. Her buried his hand in the soft weight of her hair and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. The last thing he saw before he fell asleep was her lips curving into a slight smile.
TBC
