She was stunning, and he noticed her. Tall, with long dark hair and olive skin, she was the kind of woman who made other women look awkward. He watched her slide gracefully onto the stool beside him and his body reacted when the light, musky scent of her perfume wafted over him. He could tell by her body language that she was very interested. She kept glancing toward him, waiting for him to speak. Her upper body leaned slightly in his direction. She was a woman used to masculine attention. He would have bet money that it was a rare occurance for her to actually buy her own drinks. Her eyes flittered over his body, coming to rest somewhere between his knees and his waist. He noticed. After a moment, her eyes strayed up to meet his. They were warm and welcoming, seductive, and he felt drawn to her. Her smile would melt a glacier. She exuded a confidence and a raw sexuality that was rare in any person. She was not new to the bar scene.

She continued to look at him, and his body continued to rebel against his mind. She ran a perfect pink tongue over full red lips and he groaned to himself. His mind wandered over what that tongue could do...

Six months ago, he would have talked to her. He would have charmed her and then gone home with her. A couple drinks more and he'd do that tonight. But he looked away.

He slid off the stool and pulled out his wallet. He handed several twenties to the bartender. "Get the lady started, Stan." He gave her a sad smile of regret. "Good night."

It had started to rain again and he walked in the rain. The cold, wetness did him a world of good. It sobered him up and calmed his body down. Dark and seductive was nice. She would have been a great time. But he had something better. He had stability at a time when his life was anything but stable. He had a woman of understated beauty and unexpected passion. Memories of what had transpired before he'd left the apartment heated his body once again and he swore at himself. It was pretty damn good...great, if you want the honest-to-God truth... Was she being honest or kind? Anything that tall, dark and seductive could do to his body, Alex could do better, because she had the added benefit of owning his heart. Nothing could compete with that. Seduction and passion led to sex, and that could be an amazing experience. He was used to sex and he enjoyed it. But with Alex, it was more than sex and more than amazing. With her it was love, and that was a new experience for him. As obvious as it was what dark-and-sensual wanted from him, and as convinced as he was that she could more than satisfy him physically, he craved more than that now. He needed a connection, and the only one he connected with was Alex. He headed for home.

She heard the key in the door, and she was surprised that it slid into the lock on the first try. When the door opened and he walked in, his steadiness also surprised her. He dropped his keys on the table beside the door and turned toward the couch. She could not express her relief that he had come home. This wasn't over yet; they still had a way to go. But she had thrown down the gauntlet and he had picked it up. She was afraid he was going to cast it aside, but he hadn't. She watched him. He was soaking wet and not entirely steady on his feet, but she expected worse. "Um...I...I'm going to change." He indicated his wet clothes.

Her gut roiled at the possibility he was going to go back out. "Are you home to stay?"

He nodded and headed back to the bedroom. She waited for him. She relaxed when he came back out wearing sweats. She was even more relieved when he dropped onto the other end of the couch and did not go into the kitchen for another beer. "Uh, what are you watching?"

He was striving for normalcy and she gave him that much. "The Notebook. I found it on one of your movie channels."

"Bittersweet."

"It fit my mood."

He looked at his hands. "Sorry."

Now she felt bad, and she had no reason to. She wasn't in the wrong this time, although she admitted her role in the events that led them to where they were. She wasn't always in the right, but at this moment, she was. She looked at him as he made several false starts to speak, but she refused to make this easy for him right now. He knew where she stood; she had been as clear about that as she knew how to be. It was his turn.

He shifted uncomfortably, oddly unnerved by her. He had no reason to be uncomfortable around her, and he never used to be, but things had changed. He had changed, without ever realizing he had, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. Remembering how rough he had been with her earlier, he was inclined to think not, but she said she had enjoyed it, and now he had no idea what to think.

He had always been one to let the lady dictate the pace and intensity, and he could not explain what had come over him. He was never passive, and he always delivered whatever it was his current partner wanted; he had done that with her. But then she had to keep going, to overwhelm him in a way she never had before. She had to push him past his ability to keep things in check. Thinking about it now, though, the release had been a long time in coming. It was something he'd really needed, and he was amazed that she seemed to sense that. Maybe their connection really did go two ways. Maybe she could sense his needs as readily as he could sense hers. He was so used to one way connections he didn't quite know what to do with this one.

So what about now? Could she feel his uncertainty the way he could feel hers? What was the right thing to do now? She had made her play; it was his turn. She had given him everything she was willing to give. Now he had to give something in return. "Would-would you really have done it?"

"Done what?"

"Left...like you said?"

She wouldn't look at him. Quietly, she said, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Do not turn this back on me, Goren. You're the one who left first. You were the one who ran away. I was just going to let you keep going if that was what you wanted to do."

"Oh."

"I'm not playing games any more. You need to own up to your feelings and deal with them. You have to quit running away from everything, especially yourself. If you can't manage that, let me help you. I am not going to turn my back on you unless you force me to...and if that happens I won't be around to pick up the pieces."

"I've pushed you that far away?"

"No, idiot. You've drawn me in that close. I will not stand by and watch you fall apart, Bobby. If you won't let me help you, then I can't stay around to watch what happens. It won't be pretty. Leaving you would break my heart. Watching you self-destruct would kill me."

He closed his eyes, propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose. An image of the woman in the bar came forth, unbidden. Interacting with her would be so much easier. He wouldn't really have to talk at all, and his body reacted to the thought of action with no words. But then, another image chased it away...the image of his partner, laying beneath him, her face moist and flushed, her breathing ragged, heart rate skyrocketing...

He felt her move from her end of the couch, catching his breath when gentle fingers threaded into his wet hair. He sighed softly and turned his face toward her. Kneeling on the couch beside him, she softly said, "What are you feeling?"

"A hundred things," he muttered in reply, his voice husky as he let his hand come to rest on her hip. "I can't sort it out right now."

"Try," she encouraged. "Let's start with your mother."

"Can I start with you?"

She laughed, feeling better than she had in a long time at the playful spark that had been so long absent from his eyes. She kissed him softly and repeated, "Let's start with your mother or we won't get anything done."

She felt his hand move down to slip past the hem of the sweatshirt she'd put back on when she got back from the bar. In retrospect, she realized she probably should have stopped him right then, but she thought she could handle it. As his hand came into contact with her skin, he answered her. "I don't know what to feel about her. I...I don't want to lose her, and I can't explain why it's so hard for me to let her go."

His fingers were gently stroking her side, easing their way closer to her chest. He could have had this conversation with her but for two things, and avoidance, for a change, was not one of them. The first reason was that he'd simply had too much to drink to concentrate properly on a serious conversation. The second reason got started when exotic and seductive slid onto the barstool beside him and supercharged his desire for his partner.

His thumb caressed the side of a small breast and she groaned, her train of thought heading out of the station at breakneck speed. Before she could stop herself, she covered his mouth with hers and straddled his lap. "I thought you wanted to talk," he muttered into her mouth.

"Shut up and keep kissing, dammit," she muttered back, shifting her hips against him to force a deep moan from his throat.

She didn't have to tell him twice.

She wanted to finish her movie, and he was reluctant to leave her, even to go as far as the bedroom. So she lounged in the corner of the couch with his head in her lap and played with his hair while he slept. Okay, maybe they should have talked some more before getting physical again, but she realized she wasn't going to get too much out of him tonight. She'd call Ross in the morning and let him know they wouldn't be in; he'd be okay with that, she was certain. He had a sense of how unsettled and on the edge Bobby was, and he trusted her to settle him. Ah, if he only knew...

Which presented another problem...Ross was not Deakins. If this had happened on Jimmy Deakins' watch, she felt certain he would have let it slide had he ever found out. She did not trust that Ross would be so accomodating. Where Deakins had been fine with giving Goren the leeway he required to get the job done, Ross preferred a more by-the-book approach and Bobby was bucking under the yoke of that restraint. But little by little, Ross was learning that her eccentric partner worked best when left alone. He got the job done in his own way. Somehow, though, she doubted Danny Ross would overlook this.

So there was one solution and only one: Ross could never find out--just what their relationship needed: new stress. With a sigh, she looked down at her sleeping lover. Lover...she had to get used to thinking of him in that way, and she was finding out that it really wasn't all that difficult. She'd been wanting to think of him like that for years. Was having, ultimately, so great a thing as wanting? No, it wasn't. It was oh, so much better...

A/N: My muse toyed with the idea of adding a new dimension of conflict by letting him go home with tall, dark and exotic, but ultimately I decided I didn't really want to see Confused implode. So I took it the other way (you are welcome). And, yes, there is more to come...