11. ALL IN

They made a pretense of working the rest of the day. Well, Lisbon actually worked for real, but they were both eager for the day to end and just barely made it to the professionally acceptable cut-off time of five o'clock before they nonchalantly took their leave of the rest of the team, Lisbon claiming fatigue and Jane claiming that she needed him to help her home—"You know, with Will and everything."

They cooked together, revolving around and brushing against one another, sharing quiet laughter and talking about nothing in particular in low voices, the air of intimacy unbroken by Will's sweet, babbled attempts at joining the conversation.

After dinner, Teresa gave the baby his evening bath, and Jane "helped" her, mostly by standing behind her and massaging her neck and back and kissing everywhere his hands roamed over her. They spoke very little, each reveling in the touch and feel of the other. Bath over, she handed Will over to him so he could finish the nightly ritual of putting the little boy to bed while she took a shower. Once Jane had tucked Will in, he joined her.

Stepping in behind her, his arms circled her waist, and he marveled at how small she felt in his embrace. She had put her hair up to keep it dry, but shorter stray strands had formed spiraled curls that lay dark and soft against the fair skin of her neck, tempting him to nuzzle her, alternating slow kisses with gentle scraping bites that made her gasp as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. When she arched, her body moved forward away from his, and his hands slid firmly down the water-slickened skin of her abdomen to pull her back flush against him.

He kissed and nipped down the side of her neck, and when his hands smoothed down to her inner thighs, she moaned and leaned her full weight into him, stretching and recoiling, rubbing her back and hips against him. He moved one hand back up her body, fingers splayed across her stomach to hold her in place as the other reached for her body wash. He had noticed her fondness for the stuff, and it amused him that she kept no less than five different scents in the shower from which to choose—he guessed—according to her whim or mood. Popping open the cap of the newest bottle, he wondered where in the world a woman got peppermint-scented body wash. He would ask her later if he remembered. Bringing the bottle around to her front, he squirted some soap into his other hand then returned it to its place on the shelf. Still reaching around her, he rubbed his hands together and worked the soap into a lather, then began to wash her from her shoulders down in long, firm and purposeful strokes, pausing periodically to linger, massage or squeeze at her pleasure. She liked the slow, sensuous pace he had set, and he needed the control. They didn't speak, communicating only through touch, him searching out her desires and her rewarding him with a moan, a gasp, a shudder when he was successful at finding them.

She was enjoying his taking the lead, and when the shower ended, she saw no reason to not let him continue. Still without words, he stepped out and pulled her to him, holding her against him as he toweled off her back then moving away just enough to wrap the towel around to her front, massaging her through the thick, fluffy fabric. Then, he drew her, towel and all so she wouldn't get chilled, to the bedroom.

All evening he had been touching her, teasing her just a bit in a delicious foreplay that was a kind of love-making all its own, so that, by the time she laid down on the soft, pale gray-blue sheets, she was so sensitive to his touch that her body was humming.

When he drew back from her slightly, she realized there was a single candle burning in the room, on the dresser, a few feet from the bed—just enough to cast a warm glow over them. He pulled the towel away from her, looking at her body before he reached for her. Her eyes were closed for the most part, but she would open them at times to see him looking intently, his gaze following his touch as it moved over her as if he were studying, trying to memorize how her skin and curves and swells looked under his hands. That sight aroused her almost as much as his actual touch, and her eyes would fall closed again, weighted by the near ecstasy of it. "Committing me to a room in your memory palace?" she wondered lazily, not wanting to speak, fearful of breaking the spell he had woven over her. She would ask him later . . . if she could remember.

She willingly, hungrily accepted everything he gave her and gave back in return, a push and pull of desire and pleasure. She wasn't surprised he was so good with his hands, driving her over the edge before she cradled him with her body and returned the favor. Even then, his hands didn't still, and when she thought she had nothing left, she shattered again at his coaxing, the first words he had spoken since before their shower.

He had always known that Lisbon wasn't like what he knew and assumed of other women. It did surprise him, however, when she moved away from him to the other side of the bed. He had wanted to fall asleep holding her soft warmth against him and wondered if this was yet another intimacy issue through which they would need to work. She lay on her stomach, the comforter covering her only to just below the dip of the small of her back, the soft curve of her breast visible beneath her. He reached across the nearly arm's length of distance she had put between them to stroke her there, and she pulled away just the few inches necessary to take herself out of his reach. His face immediately registered concern, and she hastily explained.

"The way you touch me . . . I can't . . . " She took a deep breath in and then released it.

"Touching you, feeling you, makes me want . . . It's not that I'm not satisfied—I am . . . I am." Another deep breath. "Just lying against you makes me want more. I need to calm down, and I can't if I'm near you."

It was a major confession on her part. He leaned across the distance between them and touched his lips to the side of her head.

"Other than the fact that I'm already missing you, I can't find anything to complain about in that."

She smiled at him, grateful for his understanding and easy acceptance. "Good night, Patrick."

He slid out of the bed, and she raised her head, frowning at him.

"Where are you going?"

Any worry he might have had that she didn't want to be close to him dissipated at the note of anxiousness in her voice.

"Just going to blow out the candle and get cleaned up a bit. I'll be right back."

Looking over her shoulder, she watched him walk around the bed to the dresser, pausing to pick up his shirt and jacket from the floor and drape them over the back of the chair she used as a catch-all. Her gaze swept over his body, silhouetted nude against the candle briefly before he bent to blow it out. Yearning for him stirred in her again. It was only their first time together, and she felt addicted. She wasn't used to having so little control. She closed her eyes and groaned into her pillow.

When he came back to bed, he could just make out her form by the faint bit of moonlight that glowed around the edge of her curtains. She was sleeping, her hair falling around her face and down her back in a tangled mess. He chuckled at how frustrated he knew she would be in the morning, trying to brush it out and get it under control. He wondered if she would let him talk her into putting it in two loose braids before she came to bed tomorrow night. Pocahontas Lisbon. He chuckled again and slid under the comforter then reached over to pull it over her as he lightly kissed her once more.

Settling back into his pillow, one hand beneath his head, elbow crooked out to the side, he smiled up at where he knew the ceiling was in the darkness, remembering how she had looked and felt and tasted. Exquisite. It was the only word he could think of that came close to describing her. When his breath hitched and a sweet warmth began to stir in him again, he willed himself to force the tantalizing images from his thoughts. He needed to get himself under control, and he needed sleep. He listened to the rhythm of her breathing and matched it with his own, feeling the peace of her nearness wash over him. Even in this relaxed state, complete control escaped him. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he reached over and took hold of the end of one strand of dark, soft, curling, tempting hair.

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He came awake slowly, pulled from sleep by the feeling of a slight pressure moving back and forth on his chest. As he drew nearer to consciousness, he could feel a pleasant warmth on his skin along his side, his arm and over his hip and thigh. Teresa was awake.

He judged by the faintest bit of daylight peeking around her curtains now that it was very early morning. He liked being able to tell time by her bedroom curtains. He was only momentarily distracted by that thought.

She was lying against him, one hand rubbing back and forth across his chest, the other arm supporting her weight as she hovered just over him, looking down at where she was touching him. One of her legs lay across his hip and down his thigh, curving to the inside of his leg, and it took great willpower not to move against her. Instead, he lay for a moment watching her.

Finally, he stilled the movements of her hand. Taking it in his and raising it to his lips, he kissed each fingertip lingeringly, his eyes looking into hers. She turned her hand in his grasp and, lifting his fingers to her lips, did the same. He rolled her to her back so he was leaning over her, their gazes still locked. He slid his free hand down her side, over her hip and behind her thigh, tugging at it to raise her knee, her foot braced flat on the mattress. His hand slid along the outside of her leg to her knee, holding it in place as his lips brushed the sensitive skin on the inside of it. Slowly, torturously, he kissed his way downward along the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes, and her breath gathered in anticipation as he moved down the bed. Contrary to what he had said a few months earlier on the subject, the man had absolutely nothing for which to apologize.

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They had drifted back to sleep with only a few hours left before they had to get ready for work. He awoke when he felt her roll away from him and get out of the bed.

"Where are you going?" He whispered after her, his voice still husky with sleep.

"T'start the coffee. And tea," she answered, leaning back across the bed to kiss him. He watched her walk around the bed and pause at the chair to take hold of his shirt. She felt something hard and angular beneath the fabric and when she picked it up, she realized what she had touched was in his jacket pocket. Instinctively, she started to reach in for it, curious as to what he was hiding. She must have thought better of it because she drew her hand back sharply and smoothed the pocket flap back into place. Slipping his shirt on, she buttoned it as she walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

He rose quickly and quietly from the bed and walked to where she had just stood. Reaching into the pocket, he removed a small cube-shaped box, took off its lid and shook its contents—another smaller box covered in velvet—out into his hand. He walked back to the bed and laid it on the nightstand then crawled back under the covers, waiting for Teresa to return and make him get up.

Five minutes later, she was back and trying to do just that. She leaned over him and tapped his chest.

"See, here's how it works. You get up and go to the office. The office doesn't come to you."

He reached up with one hand and took hold of the front of his shirt—which he thought looked only slightly better on her—and pulled her down to him as he lifted himself to meet her in a kiss, which she willingly returned. When he tried to deepen it, she pulled back. Taking a firm hold on both of her wrists he used her off-balanced weight and sudden tenseness against her, pulling her hard and fast, propelling her over him and into the bed on his other side. She yelped as her back hit the mattress. Before she could think, he had rolled onto and against her side, his leg draped across her hips, holding her in place beneath him. Still grasping her wrists, he raised them above her head, took them in one hand and proceeded to unbutton the shirt with the other. She didn't struggle against him, even when he leaned in to kiss her hard. He released her lips and trailed softer kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

"I wish you were this tenacious about your paperwork."

He chuckled into her neck, and the vibration did something to her.

"Don't bring up work. I makes me feel like I'm in bed with my boss."

"I would have thought that was at least a 2.3 on your kink-ometer."

"More like an even 3, but it would be a lot higher if I actually took her in her office . . . a firm 7 at least. Higher if we leave the door unlocked, but with the blinds pulled . . . and if we were interrupted by . . . "

Was he actually imagining this scenario? Something gathered warm and tingling in her abdomen.

" . . . Rigsby."

The warm and tingly dispersed in a sparkle with her surprised laughter.

"That would just be cruel. I think we'd put him off eating for the next week."

He laughed, low and throaty, and the warm and tingly was back. He saw desire wash over her, and he groaned, burying his face in her hair on the pillow.

"We need to leave for work in two hours, and we have to get Will up and ready to go." He couldn't believe he was being the voice of reason.

"It might save time if we shower together." She made it very difficult.

He shifted his head sideways and bit her neck then flicked it with the tip of his tongue, and she shivered against him.

"Where did you get peppermint body wash?"

"What?" She smiled, taken by surprise at the unexpected question, her wrists still held captive above her head. He had pulled the now partially unbuttoned shirt open and was running his nose across her chest, just atop the swell of her breasts, inhaling deeply as he went.

"You have peppermint body wash." He raised his head to look down at her. "Where does a woman go to get peppermint body wash?"

"This bath and body shop in Old Towne. It's just a little place—only one room."

She smiled up at him tauntingly.

"They have a new fragrance called 'Green Tea'."

His whole face lit in a grin, and she laughed at him, her eyes sparkling. She looked happy and beautiful. Perfect.

He had waited long enough and was done waiting. He released her right wrist and, keeping hold of her left, scooted off of her and to the side. Reaching for the little box he had laid on the bedside table and cupping his fingers around it, he popped it open, wiggled it contents out and dropped it on the floor. He turned back to look at her as he laid on his stomach and situated the weight of his upper body on his elbows. Taking a deep breath, he slid the ring on her third finger.

She drew her hand away from his and looked at the three perfect emerald-cut diamonds settled into a thin white-gold band encrusted with tinier versions of the same sparkling stones. She was quiet a long moment. She wasn't saying anything.

"Can I take your not jumping out of the bed and pacing the room lost in one-sided discourse on all the reasons why this would be an absolutely terrible idea as a yes?"

"You don't think this is a little soon?"

"As far as I'm concerned, we've been in a monogamous relationship for the past several years. I'd say it's overdue."

He swallowed, and she realized he was nervous. She was suddenly overcome with a feeling of how dear he was to her. She never wanted to leave him and certainly never wanted him to leave her. The thought of waking up like this every day for the rest of her life—and going to sleep like she did last night—held considerable appeal. The thought of waking up without him couldn't even be considered.

She pulled him down and kissed him full on the mouth then bit his bottom lip gently before kissing her way to his ear.

"Will you still cook for me?"

"I'll do whatever you want if you keep this up."

"Good. As long as you remember your position in this relationship."

"I'll remember all of them. And be perfectly willing to learn a few new ones if you want."

They were trading soft kisses with one another now, and he had moved closer to her, leaning over her and holding her against him. Something occurred to him.

"Almost-wife mine?"

"Hm?" She really didn't want to be distracted by conversation.

"Earlier . . . why didn't you take this out of my pocket? I know you were curious."

She stopped what she was doing and drew back to look at him.

"It was a reflex—wanting to see what you were hiding. I remembered what my last bout of curiosity caused. And I do trust you, enough to let you have some secrets. It didn't feel right touching it just because I haven't gotten used to that yet.

"No more secrets. And I give you carte blanche to touch anything of mine anytime you want."

She decided to take him at his word and kissed him as she reached under the cover between them. He collapsed against her and groaned.

"We have to leave in a little over an hour." He wanted it on the record later that he had tried to warn her when she would be irritated over running late.

"Perfect," was all she said as she kissed him again. Their lips pulsed against each other in a slow rhythm. He reached between them and popped the last button open on his shirt.

They were forty minutes late to the office.