CHAPTER TWENTY: Still Not The Last Chapter

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[There be smut here.]

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Buzz McNab reported for duty on Monday morning, had to take a break after an hour to get control of his emotions, and then settled in to work as hard as he'd ever worked in his life.

Carlton was pleased, and Juliet very much enjoyed that he didn't want anyone to see it. As much as he'd doggedly tried to get McNab to 'man up' over the years, she knew he valued the big guy for more than his persistent adoration.

"We're almost back to where we should be," he commented to Juliet the next day. "The Chief and I have reviewed the candidates for the new detective's position and we'll turn our top picks over to you this afternoon."

"To me?"

"Well, you're the Head Detective. You'll have to work more closely with the new guy than anyone else, so you get to make the final call."

He said it matter-of-factly, as if he didn't realize that not so long ago, he wouldn't have relinquished this type of decision to save his life.

Some day, she would have to explain to him how remarkable this moment was, and what an enormous expression of trust. Trusting her in the field, and trusting her to be careful with his heart—these were givens now, but to trust her with the details of what had been his closely-guarded job?

Juliet stopped him walking back to his desk. "These candidates… are any of them from the patrol division?"

"Yeah. Silvers and Micelli. The other two are from—"

"When you were on patrol and the uniforms kept pranking you," she interrupted, "were either Silvers or Micelli involved?"

Carlton went quiet, studying her. "Micelli was there the day I got doused with red paint. Silvers stayed out of all of it. I'm pretty sure I heard him telling a few of the others off once."

"Why are you even giving Micelli a chance?"

He was still quiet. "He's got the ability, and Vick likes him."

Juliet tried to read him—the parts he didn't want read. "You didn't want to tell her about that day."

Carlton sighed and headed toward his desk again, but Juliet followed him. "Look," he said in a low voice, "this is part of life, okay? Guys do stupid stuff in large groups and sometimes they have regrets, and I'm not exactly known for my winning personality. If he comes up here, he'll have to work his ass off just like everyone else."

She frowned, folding her arms and staying put even after he sat down and tried to wave her off (like that would ever work again) (and he knew it, but he was uncomfortable and wanted the conversation to be over) (like that would ever work again either). "Carlton."

"O'Hara," he said deliberately. "You get the final say. Pick the candidate who's going to do the best job."

"Then I'll tell you now it won't be Micelli. It won't be anyone who knowingly participated in or did not actively try to prevent the harassment of a fellow officer. We don't need bullies on the force."

He leaned forward, his voice still low. "You sure you're not just taking up for the target here out of a specific personal interest?"

Juliet arched one eyebrow. "I admit the fact it was you they were harassing pisses me off, just like it kind of pisses me off that you want to write it off simply because it was you."

He was startled, his blue eyes widening momentarily. "Juliet—"

"This is where your ego and arrogance should kick in, Carlton. Keep that Micelli file. I won't even look at it." She marched back to her desk.

In a few minutes he called her desk phone. "How mad at me are you?"

"Not very. Can we have dinner tonight?"

She turned in time to see his bemused expression, and he smiled as he said yes.

That's what I like. You smiling as you say yes.

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Juliet commented over coffee one morning that Spencer was evading her calls to come pick up his stuff.

Carlton had helped her stack everything of Spencer's in the master bedroom, which was stripped of everything else. She was giving him the bed they'd bought together—Carlton refused to think about that—and keeping the one from the guest room, which had been hers to begin with.

It seemed a lot of the things they bought together she was turning over to Spencer, and many of the housewarming gifts she was quite cheerfully boxing up and labeling as his.

She did keep the ninja kunai throwing blades he'd given them, he noted.

"After having to fight off that guy right here in the house, I can see the benefit of having access to other weapons," she remarked. "Besides, Shawn will only hurt himself. Or Gus. There'll be blood. Gus will need therapy. Really, it's best I keep them."

He snorted back laughter at the time, and now as he sipped his coffee, decided he might have a word with Henry about this. There was no need for Juliet to have to worry about getting Spencer to accept his responsibilities, and collecting his piles of crap was one of those responsibilities.

However, when he arranged to meet the elder Spencer early Saturday morning at Stearns Wharf for some fishing, Henry didn't want to talk about his son.

"Come on, Henry. You still have some influence over him."

"You know better than that."

"I do not. You and Guster are the only two people who've ever held sway over his normally bad judgment."

"Thanks," Henry said dryly. "He moved out last week. Got a place over near Juliet. He quit talking about her and now he's just brooding."

"I don't care about the brooding. This is simple. He needs to come get his junk."

"I know." Henry handed him a thermos of coffee.

"Okay, I get that you're not his keeper, and neither is Guster. Fine. But if he doesn't pick up his crap, Juliet's moving out anyway and she's not taking it with her. The landlord will have every right to sell or destroy everything left behind."

"I know." Henry sipped his own coffee. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Carlton considered baiting his hook with Henry. "I want you to tell him that if he keeps dodging Juliet's calls, all his precious eighties memora-crappia is getting tossed."

"Harsh. But realistic."

"Whackaloons. Both of you," he muttered.

Henry only chuckled. "I'll make my truck available but I can't make him use it. You talk to him."

"Screw that."

"Well, since you're apparently close enough to Juliet now to be speaking on her behalf, why not go directly to the horse's patootie?"

"Dammit, Henry."

Again Henry chuckled. "Okay, I'll talk to him. Congratulations to both of you, by the way, on regaining control of the station. It's good to know Karen's at the helm again."

"Thanks, and I'm not speaking on Juliet's behalf."

"It was just a theory. Everything… going okay there?"

Carlton gave him a suspicious look. "There where?"

"Why do you always make this so hard?"

"Because you're always so damned nosy."

Henry shrugged. "That's fair."

Carlton had to settle for out-fishing the son of a bitch just to get his blood-pressure back to a normal level.

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There was An Incident.

Juliet, as the weeks passed, struggled daily to resist the urge to kiss Carlton again. It was incredibly difficult to be strong—even when the kiss was going to be chaste. She could not have him thinking of her as some kind of tease, leading him on when so far as he knew, it might be toward the axe.

He couldn't really think that. Surely he knew she was his.

But he was so very tempting, all lean blue-eyed tension and strength. It was as if once she'd fully opened the window to really take in the view she'd had for years, it became all she wanted to see. To touch. To envelop and be enveloped by.

Judging by the looks he gave her sometimes, looks he probably thought she didn't see—all heavy-lidded blue desire—he hadn't lost his edge for her.

Over the first month of his return to the SBPD, she called upon him frequently to help her pack in the evenings. It was oddly comforting to have him get to know the pieces of her life, from her knick-knacks to the arrangement of the clothes in her closet. Sometimes they had dinner out, and their morning coffee routine had been fully re-implemented.

Best way to start the day… so far.

The work, their police work, seemed bafflingly easy at the station. She was working well with Silvers, her final (and easy) choice for the new detective's position, and Carlton was learning how to best apply his new authority. Although he didn't get to go out in the field as much, he was still slinging decisions and monitoring multiple actions at one time, and had zero time to be bored or restless. She reported to him throughout the day, just as he reported to Vick, and from where she sat at her old desk, he looked damned good at his.

It won't be long now, she thought. I'll get settled in my new place, and we'll... begin.

But first... there was An Incident.

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It was ten days before Juliet's move, and Carlton was at her house to dismantle a curio cabinet she didn't trust the movers to handle right, while she packed up some of her kitchen supplies.

He couldn't remember where she'd put her toolbox, so he went to the kitchen and found Juliet standing on the counter trying to reach the top shelf. She turned too quickly at the sound of his voice and the second she started to tumble, he launched himself forward to catch her.

She fell backwards against his chest with an oof, and he tightened his arms around her middle as he set her down, his heart thumping.

"Dammit," he said breathlessly, "don't do that. I'm tall. You're supposed to ask tall people to reach high places for you."

"Sorry," she said just as breathlessly, and it might have been his imagination that she kept her head close to his cheek, so he could feel her soft hair. "I needed a legitimate reason to get your arms around me."

He laughed a little because what else could he do, and he squeezed her, but when he started to let go, Juliet held his arms in place firmly.

He didn't mind much. Hold me as long as you like. You smell so good and you're so damned soft all over.

Juliet kept holding on, and though he knew he'd regret it later, he gave in to his own urges and nuzzled her throat, her skin like silk against his lips. She rested against his chest, stroking his forearms, and when he kissed her jaw she turned her head to capture his mouth.

It had been too long. Carlton knew, instantly and irrevocably, that he'd never again go a month without kissing this woman. He could wait for the rest of it, but the kissing was mandatory now.

So good. So intimate and loving and arousing. Her lips and tongue were delicious and sensual and he felt completely engulfed within this moment.

She sighed out yes, and grasped one of his hands, moving it a little higher on her abdomen.

He stopped the kiss, searching her dark blue eyes, because he was terrified now but he wanted to touch her and she seemed to want him to touch her… and at her nod of encouragement, he slowly slid his hand up the rest of the way.

Through thin cotton tee and bra, he felt the curvy weight of her breast, just as he felt her nipple hardening, and he kissed her again more fiercely, his mouth owning hers. Or maybe it was the other way around.

Making a sound like a purr... or a plea, Juliet pulled his hand under her tee and then up, her demand clear, and Carlton's fingers found their way under her bra to touch her... his nerve endings frying as his fingertips caressed her nipple directly. So soft, and so… perfect.

He could no longer see sense. Apparently neither could she: she clasped his other hand and moved it to the waistband of her jeans.

"Juliet," he breathed, knowing damned well his own arousal was evident against her backside.

"Please," she begged.

Dear God, the woman I love is begging me to touch her.

He leaned against the counter, legs splayed, drawing her closer to his body, and at first he stroked her through the denim, exploring the soft fabric covering her thighs, his own thighs pressed to hers. He kept kissing her, tongue tracing hungry lines across her lips, and Juliet ground herself to his palm, wanting more.

He wanted to give her more. Everything.

She put one shaking hand to the zipper of her jeans and lowered it, and he wasn't sure whether either of them was breathing now, and even though this was absolutely not the right time or place, it was beyond his powers of self-control not to slide his hand inside her jeans and panties... and down.

Down across softest skin, down where she wanted him to touch her, and where he most certainly wanted to be.

He could feel her undulations, and her want.

And there was so much want, hers mixing with his into a heady concoction of utter desire.

Sending his warm fingers exploring—as if he had any say what they were doing—he marveled at her intense and silky heat. Juliet put her head back, gasping, and Carlton continued his implacable explorations, one hand teasing her breast as the other played between her thighs on damp bare skin, and it shouldn't have been that fast, because only a few minutes ago she was standing on the counter and he wasn't even in the room, but it was that fast, and he was proud to do it for her.

Little moans, little undulations, her eyes closed and her breath coming faster and faster, and he loved her so and desired her so and right now, in this place, she was his.

Her orgasm seemed to radiate through his hand and arm and body as if he were truly sharing it with her. He slowed his fingers as she rode through it, her soft cries anxious as he pushed her on to another one, pressing himself to her from behind.

"Carlton," she gasped. "Please…" She slipped her hand between them, caressing him through his jeans, and the feeling of her hand there… holy crap, there… almost did him in.

She wants it all now.

But…

But he couldn't give her that, not here. Not now. Not without her conscious decision about what she wanted from him on a permanent basis.

Juliet quivered, leaning against him, making him feel as if she were the most perfect bedding in the world, totally surrounding him with her heat and desire and unmistakable emotion. Her caresses between them continued, and he had to stop her from killing him.

Slowly, Carlton withdrew his hands from her clothing—from her delicious wanting body—and turned her into his embrace, holding her tightly and not letting her move from his grip. Gradually her breathing slowed to normal, and he pulled back only far enough to kiss her forehead.

"Carlton," she whispered.

He smiled, and kissed her luscious mouth gently.

"Let me," she tried.

"No." One more kiss, one more squeeze. "You make me weak, Juliet."

And that was all he could say. She would have to speak first, because he would not let her be led astray by hormones. If Juliet was going to choose him to be her man, he wanted her to make that choice free and clear.

He whispered that he'd come back tomorrow night to do the cabinet, and he'd see her in the morning over coffee.

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Juliet did not sleep that night. After Carlton left, she made it to the sink to splash cold water on her face, and then she simply stood there trembling until she could function enough to take a shower and get into bed. It wasn't even eight o'clock but all she could do was lie there and feel everything over and over again.

His hands on her.

Carlton's warm, long-fingered wicked hands.

Touching her.

Bringing her blinding pleasure.

Carlton's hands.

Carlton's mouth… seeking hers.

There was a small bruise forming at the base of her throat and her only regret about it was that she hadn't been able to feel his mouth that hungry elsewhere on her body.

What must he think of her?

She had to talk to him. Now. It was nearly midnight but she had to know.

"Do you think I'm awful?" she asked as soon as he picked up.

"What? No. Juliet, no."

"Do you think I used you?"

"Stop."

Her eyes were misting over because she had meant to be so strong, to leave him alone until she was in the new place and everything was settled—that was her mantra—but tonight she had essentially seduced him into touching her in the most intimate way a man can touch a woman.

And she wanted him all over again. She wanted all of him, more than his hands and mouth, everywhere.

"Juliet," he said huskily. "I think I might have used you."

"No. Absolutely not. That was all me."

"Uh, I didn't exactly need to be convinced to—" He cut himself off. "Stop. Please. We got caught up in something that's maybe been brewing awhile. It's okay. Just… sleep. Tomorrow we'll have coffee and solve crime and it'll be okay."

"Carlton, I—"

"Sleep. Please."

"Come over," she whispered, trembling all over again.

Carlton was silent for a long time. "Sleep, Juliet. This isn't the time for us. Sleep."

But there was no sleep.

And their time was coming.

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