Chapter 10

Safe With You

Penelope

As Hotch drove, Penelope's mind kept replaying that unbelievable first kiss. In the aftermath, she'd been lightheaded, embarrassing herself by stumbling out of the SUV and staggering into the restaurant like she was hammered. Even worse was the possibility that she might have to make a discreet trip to the bathroom once they got back, to change her underwear. Sweet mother of Anakin Skywalker, who knew the man could kiss like that? she thought giddily. Here I was thinking we could have a nice, quiet evening in front of the TV, talking and laughing – and now I'm going to be spending the next two hours trying not to attack the poor man or salivate all over him like one of Pavlov's pooches!

"Now who's quiet?" Aaron baited, snapping her out of her stupor.

"Sorry!" she cheeped, whirling around to face him. "I didn't mean to space out on you like that."

He peered curiously over at her. "Something on your mind?"

To save face, she coated the truth in a bit of humor. "If you must know, I was reconsidering my disdain of those old-movie heroines who swooned after they got smooched."

"That good, huh?" Hotch chortled, clearly flattered. "I was worried I'd be rusty."

"Worry no more, my beautiful boss-man," Garcia replied wittily. "You could make more working the kissing booth at a county fair than Reid could on a weekend in Vegas."

Aaron actually laughed out loud, such a rare, sweet sound that she forgot all about being discomfited. "You know, I'm supposed to be making you feel better," he reminded her, "not the other way around."

"You are," she assured him. "Besides, it's nice to think I help you, too."

"You do help. More than you know." He shot her a lovesome look. "I've had more fun tonight than I have in years."

"Night's not over yet, Slick," she pointed out with a smirk. "More fun is on the agenda."

"Good." Garcia melted; for just an instant, the warmth in his tone had gone red-hot. The rest of the ride home was spent in a deliciously fervid silence.

When Hotch walked into her living room and she turned on the lights, he did a double-take. "I see you've done some redecorating since you left your apartment," he remarked, doubtless a polite way of saying, Wow, this place actually looks normal.

"Yeah, I sold the last of my old furniture a few months ago. I guess I just needed a change." What she actually meant was, After Kevin left, I couldn't stand the sight of anything that made me think of him, so pretty much everything had to go! It had taken a few weeks to adjust to the lack of toys and random objects cluttering every available space, as well as the bright pastel colors of her furniture and walls, but these new surroundings suited her current frame of mind perfectly – cheery and bright, but wiser and more sober.

Aaron cast a sympathetic glance her way. Being a profiler as long as he had, it was easy for him to perceive the motivations behind the altered scenery. "Sometimes change can be a good thing."

"It can," she agreed. "You're here. That's definitely a good change."

"For me, too." His steady gaze was comforting. "Are you still hungry?"

"Yes!" she gasped, infinitely thankful for the change of subject. "If you want to bring the bag in the kitchen, we can get some plates and something to drink."

Busying themselves in the kitchen was an effective distraction. Hotch made himself useful opening a bottle of shiraz at her suggestion, while Garcia made plates for each of them and got out the silverware. When they'd trotted back to the living room and put dinner and wine on the coffee table, Hotch knelt by her video rack. After a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Have I stumped you, Master Profiler?" Penelope chuckled.

Aaron's broom-thick eyelashes fluttered, as they often did when he was trying to find something diplomatic to say. "Your collection is a bit eclectic," he finally replied. He looked for another moment and withdrew one from near the bottom. "How about this one?"

"The Count of Monte Cristo?"

He shrugged. "It's a classic. I remember liking the book when I read it in high school."

"Well, fellow nerd, you are in good company," Garcia grinned. "One healthy dose of swashbuckling period drama, coming right up!" She put the disc in, then joined him on the couch for dinner.

By the time Abbé Faria burrowed up through the floor on the TV, they'd finished with dinner, and the mutual glances were too lengthy to ignore. Once again, knowing he wouldn't, Garcia took the lead. "Can I lean?" she simpered. "I promise not to take advantage of you."

Hotch's brows raised. "You promise?" he challenged playfully.

"No," she sheepishly confessed.

The dark-haired agent chuckled under his breath. He put his arm on the back of the couch and gave her an inviting nod. "Come on."

Beaming, she scooted over and snuggled against the profiler with an arm around his stomach. Hotch's arm descended to rest on her back, and he kissed the top of her head, making her sigh with contentment.

She buried her nose against his breast, inhaling his fragrance. Gosh, he smells good. The cologne suited him well – warm and woodsy, yet subtle and sophisticated – and beneath it was his own scent, softly masculine and clean. Garcia was glad she'd seen the movie more than once; there was no way she could watch it right now.

She closed her eyes, relishing his closeness and how oddly natural it felt. It dawned on her that now that she was next to him, his heartbeat in her ear and his breath tickling her neck, she didn't feel nervous anymore. A torpid smile crept over her features as his hand occupied her hair, stroking it as tenderly as one would pet a kitten. Wow. I could die right now a happy woman, she thought languidly.

"You awake down there?" Hotch teased dryly.

"Mmm. And supremely comfortable," she said contentedly, squeezing his middle. "For such a tough guy, you make a surprisingly good pillow."

"I hope that's the wine talking," he chuckled. "Otherwise, I must be a bad date, if I'm putting you to sleep."

"I wasn't sleepy, just relaxed," Penelope corrected him, reluctantly sitting upright.

Hotch shook his head good-naturedly. "Right. Because I'm boring you."

Her face twisted into a sardonic grin. "Is Chinese food your kryptonite? Because your Super-profiler skills are failing epically if you think that you bore me."

"It's not like you to be this quiet. Or relaxed," he pointed out.

"I know. It's weird. But you make me feel comfortable," she said quietly, smiling. "I feel safe with you."

His eyes softened. He understood precisely what she meant. Love had to be a terrifying proposition after dating an unsub who tried to kill you, and even more so after giving your heart to not one, but two best friends, who knew all you had to offer and still found you wanting. But she trusted him. With her life – and with her heart.

This time, she didn't have to ask. Aaron's lips melded passionately against hers, shutting out all coherent thought. Her fingers slid up into his black hair, weaving through its short, silky strands as her mouth opened to welcome him back. No longer frozen by the man's amazing ability to kiss, she managed to prove herself his equal in that department, winding her tongue in dueling circles that dared him to capitulate. The kiss was so intense that it barely registered when he tilted her backwards onto the couch – until she felt his hands creep beneath her blouse and clamp firmly over her breasts.

"Mmmph!" she gasped into his mouth, vaguely cognizant that between the two kisses and now this more intimate touch, her panties were ruined. But even that awareness slipped away as Aaron's thumbs pushed the cups of her bra down and worked insistently into her nipples. Garcia squirmed anxiously beneath him. Groping for something solid to hold onto, some anchor to keep her sane, she yanked the tail of his shirt out of his jeans and grasped the warm skin of his back. Her nails grazed lightly as his tongue left her mouth and blazed a fiery path of kisses down her neck. Desire overwhelmed her; she wanted to touch him, to make him feel the burning sensations his hands already induced in her. Instinctually, she slid a hand between them. Her palm wouldn't fit in the narrow space between his belt and his stomach, so she stroked him through the fabric instead.

A gutteral noise escaped his throat. He'd liked that – maybe too much, because he stopped then, much to her dismay. Hotch stared down at her, brown eyes heavy-lidded with desire. "Sorry. I didn't intend to go that far," he muttered, pulling away.

"Honey, I was right there with you," she reminded him breathlessly.

"I know," he murmured gratefully, "but if I hadn't stopped myself just now, I wouldn't have been able to." He sat up stiffly on the edge of the couch, turning away and running his face through his palms.

Penelope managed to get herself up, although awkwardly. She re-situated her bra and stared at his back, mystified. "You wanted to stop?"

"I think it's pretty obvious what I wanted," Hotch scoffed.

She shook her head. "Then… why didn't you keep going?"

"Because I don't want to rush you," he explained quietly. "Nothing is going to happen between us unless I know for sure that's what you want."

Despite her lustful frustration, Garcia couldn't help but be touched by his gentlemanly gesture. She turned off the forgotten movie, stood and reached for his hand. "Get up."

Aaron's chin lifted to look at her strangely. "What?"

"Get up," she repeated, smiling when he took her hand.

"I don't understand," he murmured, rising from the couch.

"You will in a minute. Come on."

Garcia led a confused Hotch through the hallway into the back of her house. The light from the living room illuminated their way, but just barely. His head turned right and left, examining his surroundings. "Penelope, is this your bedroom?" he asked as they stopped.

"Yes." She released his hand so she could turn and stare hopefully into his inscrutable face. "You said you needed to be sure, so… here we are."

Aaron's expression softened so sweetly, it stung. "Come here," he sighed, pulling her into his arms and kissing her forehead. "You don't have to do this. We can wait."

"I don't want to wait." When Hotch looked confounded, she went on. "I spent seven years waiting on a man that didn't want me. Now, I'm standing in front of one who does. Someone I never dreamed I'd have a chance with." Being so exposed in front of him wasn't easy; she had to take a deep breath to keep her voice from trembling. "Aaron, I don't want to waste any more of my life waiting. Please?"

When he let her go and stepped back, Garcia was afraid she'd been too presumptuous, too forward; afraid he was going to leave, and this would be over before it even began. But then she saw what he was doing, and a tear of pure joy slipped down her cheek. God bless him, he had only moved back so he could unbutton his shirt.

"Let me help," she offered, reaching for the buttons halfway down. She hadn't undone more than two when Hotch's tongue suddenly plundered her mouth with a fury that demanded her response. Buttons forgotten, she wound her arms around his neck and poured her entire being into this kiss; passion, gratitude, admiration and affection, all communicated without words in this storm of emotion. But his hands tugging her shirt up brought her back to earth. She reticently drew back, allowing him to shimmy the pink garment over her head and toss it to the floor. Her capris quickly followed.

Aaron's eyes roved wantonly over her skin as he unclasped her bra for the second time and slid the straps down her arms, exposing almost cantaloupe-sized breasts to his view. "Incredible," he said huskily, dropping to lave one of the pink buds and suck it back so that it lightly grazed between his teeth.

Penelope's mouth hung agape. Was there nothing this man wasn't good at? Her fingers twined restlessly through his hair. Meanwhile, his hands invaded more southern territory.

A sharp breath escaped him as his fingers found their target. "You're soaked," he remarked, not seeing her blush in the dark. "When did that happen?"

Awkwardly, she smiled. "Um… I told you, you're a good kisser."

"You did. And now you've shown me." Gratified, he raised up to kiss her again, leaving his hand where it was and appreciating the noises she made as he worked his fingers. "Can I see all of you?" he petitioned between kisses.

Like I could say no while he's doing what he's doing, she thought, love-drunk enough to agree to almost anything. "Only if I can see you," was her condition.

"You really want to?" Hotch actually seemed surprised, enough to withdraw and arch an eyebrow.

Garcia's lips parted in disbelief. Shoving all judgment about what Haley had done to this poor man's self-esteem to the background for now, she let actions be her answer, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and casting it aside. She undid his belt and his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, along with his arousal-tented boxers. "Oh. God." Her eyes bulged suddenly with trepidation. No wonder he always wears those loose suit pants! In other circumstances, she'd have been tempted to make a 'big gun' joke, but the thought of where that thing would be going in short order was enough to induce a full-on fight-or-flight panic.

Thankfully, her apparent shock boosted rather than bruised his ego. "Are you all right?" he asked gently, cupping her face with his palm.

When she finally found her voice again, her words spilled out so fast, they almost ran together. "No, I'm not all right! I am going to die. You are going to be the death of me. I'm not saying it won't be a hell of a way to go, but sir, I am officially terrified!"

Aaron chuckled; whether at her slip of the title 'sir' or her fear of his blessed anatomy, she didn't know. "I won't hurt you," he promised faithfully. He tilted her face up to look at his eyes, and she was surprised by the depth of affection residing in them. "We'll take it slow, okay?"

"Slow," she repeated, as though it were the first word she was learning of a foreign language.

For the first time, Hotch took the lead, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her towards him. "Slow," he echoed for her reassurance, as he unhurriedly finished undressing them both.