Disclaimer: I don't own 'Lie to Me' or any of the characters portrayed in it.

Chapter 10

He paced restlessly in front of the window as he waited for Gillian to arrive. Not that he'd ever admit to having a case of nerves, at least not about the arrival of Gillian. If pressed he'd say that he was worried about the weather turning bad again or how his bike would handle the first ride after being garaged all winter. The reality of it was that he'd never been so anxious to get on his bike in his life. He'd missed riding, sure enough, but what he'd really missed was riding with Gillian.

It was odd, he thought. They saw each other every day, talked constantly about a wide variety of things – work and life, touched each other frequently, went through their ups and downs together, and generally shared large portions of their lives with each other. He considered her his best friend and was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. But in spite of all of this, he never felt closer to her than when they were out on the bike. During the harsh winter weather that had robbed him of his chance to ride with her, he'd spent a lot of time reflecting on why he enjoyed her company so much on his rides. So far he hadn't come up with any answers that didn't involve her ridiculously sexy body.

As if on cue, that very same bit of gorgeousness pulled her car to the curb in front of his house, tucking in behind the motorcycle he'd moved out of the garage earlier. She eased out of the car with the grace of a cat and he thought he'd be perfectly happy watching her get in and out of her car all day long. God, was he really that sad and pathetic? Yes, he decided. Yes he was.

She grabbed the leather jacket she'd worn on their previous excursions and opened the rear car door to release Angus. When he'd called her the night before to ask her if she wanted to ride today, she'd worried about leaving Angus alone all day. He'd volunteered Emily's services as dog-sitter and Gillian had readily agreed.

He opened the front door and Angus charged in, sniffing briefly at his shoe before running into the kitchen to greet Emily enthusiastically. Since the hot dog intervention several weeks earlier, Angus had been much friendlier. He no longer bristled whenever Cal touched Gillian. In fact, he'd been present when Cal had hugged her briefly and had barely reacted. Although he'd much rather be touching Gillian, he'd made a point of petting Angus whenever he could, discovering the little dog loved to be scratched between his shoulders.

Today he greeted Gillian with a light kiss on the cheek.

"Ready love?"

"As I'll ever be." She grinned at him.

"That's my girl. Em, were off!"

"Bye guys! Have fun!"

"Will do. See you in a bit."

She tightened her arms around his waist and reveled in the feel of him. God, she'd missed this. Missed him. She almost snorted aloud at how silly that sounded. Was it even possible to miss someone you saw every day? Still, she knew that just because you laid eyes on someone routinely didn't mean you got to see their true, genuine self. While riding with him, she'd been privy to the Cal Lightman most people never got to see - relaxed, fun-loving, and much less cynical. Unlike the general public, she'd known he had it in him, had seen him display similar traits when he was with Emily, but she knew he didn't often let his guard down around other people. She smiled to herself, thinking she was privileged to be one of the select few who got to experience this side of Cal.

He wished his arms were about two inches longer. He'd already adjusted his riding position so that his upper body leaned back more than usual, away from the handlebars and into Gillian's embrace. He wanted to lean into her even harder but didn't want to jeopardize his control of the bike any more than he already had. He didn't understand how it could feel so good just having her arms around him. In some ways it was so innocent – a guy giving a girl a ride on his motorcycle, girl holding on to him to keep from falling off. In other ways it was utterly carnal - the softness of her breasts against his back, the way her hands rested lightly on his jacket, just above his belt buckle, her breath on the back of his neck, the feeling of her thighs on either side of his hips. He was not at all religious, but right then he found himself firing off an impromptu prayer, asking a god he didn't particularly believe in if He could possibly manage to make Gillian's hands move just a little bit lower. Probably it was bad form to pray for a woman to touch you like that, he thought, but he'd suffer the fires of hell gladly if she'd just let her hands wander a little further south.

Moments later, Cal silently cursed the very same god he'd prayed to earlier as the bike's engine suddenly sputtered and died. He guided the slowing bike to the side of the road, grateful there was a solid shoulder on which to park it but seriously irate that stopping meant Gillian would have to let go of him. He cursed again, this time under his breath.

"What's wrong?" Gillian asked, peering over his shoulder at the gauges.

He frowned. "I'm not sure yet. Hang on a sec'."

He tried to restart the bike but when he twisted the throttle to give it gas, there was nothing. He thought he felt a slackness in the throttle grip and decided the most likely explanation was a snapped throttle cable. Damn. It figured the one part of the bike he hadn't checked out the night before would be the one part that broke.

He looked back over his shoulder at Gillian. "You might as well dismount. I think we're going to be here a while," he said. "Busted throttle cable," he said, answering her unasked question. He held out a hand, helped her off the bike, then slide off himself.

They removed their helmets and looked around, surveying the area where they'd stopped. They'd come to rest in a wide, grassy valley in the hills. Off to their right, a small stream ran parallel to the road. On the opposite side of the stream, a stand of oak trees was covered with the pale yellow-green leaves of early spring. Although the temperature was still somewhat cool, the spring sun was warm, and Cal unzipped his jacket. As he did so, he realized that the god he didn't quite believe in had probably just answered his prayer. He was alone with Gillian on a lovely spring day in the middle of nowhere.

"So what now?" Gillian asked.

"Now I do the manly thing and call for help," he replied, pulling out his cell phone and punching a button.

"Hmm." She grinned. "Looks like you've got help on speed dial."

He grinned back sheepishly. "It's not the first time I've broken down and I seriously doubt it'll be the last. Yeah, hi –" he broke off and moved a short distance away to conduct his conversation.

Gillian slid her helmet onto the grip of the bike and shrugged out of her leather jacket. As long as they weren't going to be riding any time soon, she figured she'd let her skin take advantage of the sun's warmth. She pushed the sleeves of her shirt up and luxuriated in the feel of the sun on her forearms.

"Well? What's the word?" she asked as Cal walked back to her, slipping his phone back inside his jacket.

"The word is that they can come get us, but it'll probably be a couple of hours." He made a small grimace, hoping that she wouldn't notice it was utterly fake. "Apparently we're not the only bikers taking advantage of the good weather."

"Whoosh. Wow. Ok. So I guess we just hang out here by the side of the road 'til then?"

He glanced toward the stream. "I've got a better idea. Come with me." He opened one of the saddlebags and brought out a gray wool blanket and a paper grocery bag.

"What's in the bag?"

"Follow me and you shall see," he chimed, heading towards the stream.

They walked through the short spring grass about forty yards where there was a narrow, sandy beach just before the stream's bank. Cal spread out the blanket and flopped down on it. Without waiting for an invitation, Gillian sat down next to him.

"Ok. I followed you. Now what's in the bag?" She put on a grumpy face to underscore the seriousness of her question.

His smile was devilish. "So impatient love. I'm getting to that." He reached into the bag and pulled out a thermos. He opened it and the scent of chocolate wafted through the air.

Her eyes widened. "Oooh, hot chocolate." He poured some into the lid of the thermos and handed it to her. She took an appreciative sip and sighed. "Damn you're good."

He held up a finger, indicating there was more. Reaching back into the bag, he produced a carton of coconut macaroons. Opening it, he presented it to her with a flourish.

"Damn you're really good." He laughed. "So don't tell me that you always carry hot chocolate and cookies when you go riding?"

"Nah, when it's just me it's coffee and granola bars."

"Ah, so for me you went all out."

"Absolutely Foster. Nothing but the best for you my dear girl." They grinned at each other.

Chatting amiably, they worked their way through the macaroons, sharing the hot chocolate. When they'd finished, Cal wadded up his leather jacket, lay down and stuffed it behind his head for a pillow. He folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes to the sun. He figured this was just about as close to heaven as he was going to get. Him and Gillian, alone, in the middle of nowhere, nothing to do, no place to go. The tow truck he'd called could take as long as it wanted for all he cared. He was perfectly happy to lie here in a field with Gillian forever.

Gillian studied him. He seemed completely at ease, ankles crossed, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face was relaxed, a tiny Mona Lisa smile on his lips. She was contemplating how horrified he might be if she simply stretched out on top of him and made love to him right there beside the stream when he spoke her name.

"Jesus Cal! I thought you'd gone to sleep." She clutched her chest. How could he have possibly known what she was thinking?

"Stop looking at me." He spoke without opening his eyes.

"Ok, fine. Stop scaring the bejeezus out of me." Hands behind her, she leaned back and turned her face towards the sun.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that before he spoke again. This time his eyes were open.

"Gillian, do you really enjoy motorcycling?"

It struck her as an odd question. She was pretty sure he'd asked her that before and she knew she'd made a point of telling him several times how much she liked it.

"Yes, I really do." She looked down at him and smiled.

He looked relieved at her answer. "You know, you don't always have to ride behind me. Lots of women ride their own bikes. I'd be happy to teach you, or better yet, point you in the direction of people who can teach you better than I can."

His voice was relaxed but Gillian saw an intensity in his gaze that hadn't been there a minute ago.

"No, thanks." She shook her head. "I'm not particularly interested in learning to ride. Besides, I like riding behind you."

"You do?" The surprise was evident in his voice.

She looked down at him and smiled again. "Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Why?" Dammit, she knew he'd catch that deflection. She hadn't anticipated the direction the conversation seemed to be headed. She looked out into the distance hoping to buy some time to come up with a plausible answer to his question.

"Gillian." His voice was insistent. She glanced at him, surprised to see that he hadn't moved. His eyes bored into her and she had to look away again.

"Why do you like riding behind me?"

She swallowed hard. He had her. She could lie and never hear the end of it. Or she could tell the truth and hope that it wouldn't destroy them both. She took a deep breath and looked at him. "Because it feels good. Because you. . . feel good."

She watched him intently, looking for any reaction to her revelation. All she saw was a tiny twitch in the corner of one eye. Then he smiled a slow, sweet, honest smile she rarely saw. He said softly, "You feel good too."

Her heart skipped a beat, rocked by his honesty. She didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but it hadn't been that. Hadn't been the brutal acknowledgement that he shared her feelings, that he liked the way she felt. Oh God. Did that mean he'd been thinking the same sorts of things she had over the long motorcycle-less winter? She felt her face start to blush.

"Gillian?" Oh God. Already the way he said her name was different, warmer, more erotic. He still hadn't moved, ankles still crossed, hands folded across his stomach, but she noticed a subtle tension that wasn't there before. She forced herself to meet his eyes. He surprised her again with a soft look. "You can touch me even when we're not on a motorcycle."

His words were somewhere between an invitation and a command. She didn't need much of either to reach out to him and gently run her fingers down his exposed forearm, the fine hairs tickling her fingertips. He closed his eyes and she thought she felt a shiver run through him. She laid her palm on the center of his chest and held it there, feeling his heartbeat, his breath flow in and out.

His eyelids fluttered open and he met her gaze. Slowly, he covered her hand with one of his own, thumb stroking lightly across her wrist.

"Gillian." This time there was only invitation. She stretched out beside him, propping herself up on one elbow. Her hand still on his chest for balance, she leaned her face closer to his, only to hesitate when an errant lock of her hair fell between them. He gently stroked it back behind her ear as her lips brushed against his, once, twice. And then they were twined around each other, legs tangled together, hands grabbing frantically, trying to pull closer. He wound his hands in her hair and plundered her mouth, desperate to taste her. He realized she was kissing him back just as vigorously. As their tongues wove sensually around each other, he slid both hands down to cup her ass, squeezing gently. She shifted her weight slightly and the friction on his growing erection made them both gasp. With a sly smile, she moved again, deliberately, this time forcing a groan from him. He growled and pulled her closer, trailing kisses across her jaw and down her neck.

His hand was just about to close over a breast when the loud blast of a horn made them both flinch violently. Gillian rolled off him with a thud and sat up. He bit his lip hard to keep from uttering a string of profanity.

Looking back toward the road, she spoke. "Cal, there's a big, bearded guy in overalls standing next to a large flatbed parked by your bike."

"Of course there is," he said between clenched teeth.

"Oh, he's waving." She knelt and waved back. "I'd better get up there and deal with him while you, uh," she glanced at his erection, "compose yourself."

He couldn't contain his frustration any longer. "Fuuuuuuuck," he growled to the world at large.

She stood up, brushed herself off, and gave him a wickedly hot look. "Soon," she said and turned to walk back to the bike.

It took a second, but the meaning of her comment finally sunk into Cal's hormone addled brain. He scrambled to his feet, quickly gathered up the debris of their picnic and hurried after Gillian.