Author's Note: I'm so grateful for your kind, positive words to me regarding the last chapter. It makes me happy to see you all enjoyed the ending; I've had that one dialogue exchange outlined and written out since I first started writing this story. :)

I'm sure many of you have noticed the recent rating change of Kiss The Cook from T to M. Just to answer any questions you all might have, this is solely for the purpose that I adhere to FFN's recently reinforced guidelines. The content of this story won't exactly shift into a new…dimension or anything. That being said, the later part of this chapter will be somewhat mature. ;)

As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer in Chapter One!

"Quite frankly? I knew it wouldn't work out in the end because...Haley wasn't you."

Emily had figured that would be his answer, but she still felt her breath catch at the back of her throat. So her suppositions had been correct; Hotch still had feelings for her, just as she still had feelings for him. Unabashed hope began to warm her body. Eight years was a long time, a very long time. But for them? It hadn't been long enough to absolve their heart's basic desires; and for that, Emily was unbelievably grateful.

But where did his admission put them? Does this mean Hotch wants to rekindle the romance we once had? Emily asked herself, her heart racing. Surely he does; or else he wouldn't have answered me in the way he just did.

Right?

Carefully, Emily brought her gaze up to meet his, her eyes shining with a certain mysterious emotion she wasn't surprised to see in Hotch's darkened hazel orbs as well. She didn't know how to answer him. She didn't know if she could; her throat was so constricted. For a moment, she almost forgot how to breathe. It had been too long since she had felt this way; so incredibly head over heels. As Emily took stock of her condition, she found that she had missed the feeling. She had missed the way a single glance from Hotch - from Aaron - could send shivers of desire down her spine, the way she melted in his arms with a single kiss, the way he made her feel so...complete.

She wanted that now. She wanted that more than anything.

But she had been quiet for too long, and Hotch was beginning to get antsy. Dropping his gaze to his dinner, he gave an awkward half-smile. "I-I'm sorry," he murmured. "I pushed too far, didn't I? I just -"

Emily's head shot up. "No...no, no, no, you didn't push too far," she said immediately, reaching around her glass of wine to touch his upturned hand. "Not at all. Aaron...to be honest, what you just said...it's been the same for me. Eight years is quite the long time. But every time I went to a bar, or met up with a guy some friend recommended...I always ended up comparing the men to you." Her head fell to the side when he gave her hand a squeeze. "And trust me; none of them could compare. You were always handsomer, sweeter, funnier...more gentlemanly and more chivalrous." An endearing chuckle passed her lips. "Whoever said chivalry is dead obviously never met you."

Slowly, Hotch brought Emily's hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her palm, then to each finger. When he spoke, his voice was low and rumbling, and he still didn't quite meet her inquisitive gaze. "Haley...she was the only one. I mean, I didn't - there wasn't anyone else. I-I couldn't." He scoffed a little at himself, then ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He was the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI; he had chased down, interrogated, and put away the nation's worst criminals without even batting an eye. But here he was, stuttering and tripping over his words like an ordinary fool; all because of the extraordinary woman seated before him.

In the way that she always had, all those years ago, Emily expertly noticed the conflict raging inside of him. Gently, she tilted his head up with a single finger, leaning forward so that he had no choice but to look straight at her. "You don't have to explain yourself, Aaron," she said softly. She tugged on the chain of her necklace, then reached out to show him the red jade pendant. "You see this? 'Independence'," she said pointedly. "We're each our own person, with our own lives, our own decisions. What matters now is that our paths have crossed once more, eight years after the fact. The past is the past."

Finally, Hotch smiled, and it was a genuine one at that. "I know. I just haven't thought about this is a very long time, and now that I am...I hate that we never really saw each other after you got on that plane."

"Me, too." Emily's voice was a whisper. "We saw each other twice -"

"Twice."

"- but it wasn't enough." Emily remembered the fit of desperation they both had been in as they raced to Emily's Connecticut apartment. They had barely got inside before Hotch had her pressed up against her door, her leg wrapped high up on his waist, her hands in his hair, her lips on his neck, and -

Hotch picked at his food, then smiled a little before feeding Emily a bite of his fettuccine. Her resulting laughter was all he needed to soothe his conscience. "I really did think we would be able to make it work," he said after a beat; and his tone was conversational, light. Curious.

"I hoped it would." Silently, she finished what little of her dinner remained, relishing in the comfortable silence that wrapped them into its embrace. "I missed you, Aaron."

"I missed you, too." And God, he really had. It had been unbearable some nights, waking up without his Emily in his arms. It had felt so wrong.

Once again, Emily fidgeted with the necklace she was still wearing; the necklace he had given her for her birthday. "You know...this necklace isn't the only thing of yours I kept."

Hotch gazed at her intently, lazily stroking her cheek as she spoke. "Oh, really? What do you mean?"

Her cheeks reddened just slightly; so slightly that, for a second, Hotch thought he was imagining it. So Emily Prentiss still blushes at the things I say, he noted with an amused tilt of his lips. For some reason, that revelation made him unspeakably happy. Maybe, just maybe...things would be the same between them.

"Your key," Emily said finally. "Your spare key; I kept it, too. I didn't even know you had slipped into my pocket. But when I landed in Connecticut and found a quaint little place to eat lunch...I was looking for some spare change, and instead, I found a key. That was sweet of you, Aaron. It made me smile."

She deliberately left out that seeing his spare key in her empty palm had also reduced her to tears.

"I almost forgot about that," he admitted, and Hotch couldn't bring himself to feel ashamed at the fact that his voice was so breathless. "I wasn't sure if you'd find it, to be honest. I..." He brushed his thumb along her cupid's bow. "I'm glad it was able to put a smile on your beautiful face."

Before Emily could even take stock of what was happening, Hotch had guided her into a tender kiss. It was a risky move; at least, that's what Hotch believed. He hadn't known if that was what she wanted, or if they were back at that place. He hadn't been sure - he couldn't have been sure - that she was ready to pick up from where they left off. But he kissed her anyway.

And he was glad he did. Because, while he was doing all the unnecessary thinking, Emily was just kissing him, and it was so good. Too good. Her soft, supple lips felt amazing beneath his; molding together in a passionate dance they had long since perfected. It made him want her all the more; it made him crave the eight years they had allowed to slip past. Oh, the things they could have done...

Her voice husky, Emily surprised Hotch by breaking the kiss; but only to say one line. "I can hear you thinking, Aaron," she murmured against his skin, before moving her lips to his jaw. She couldn't care less that they were in public. The restaurant itself was nice and quiet, and the two of them had chosen a booth in the very back of the place, tucked away from the masses. No one could hear them; no one could see them.

They were in their own little world.

Hotch breathed out a laugh into Emily's dark, fragrant hair. "You always could. Looks like some things never change." Slowly, reluctantly, he drew back, his gaze never once leaving hers. He motioned to their food with a flick of his wrist. "Do you want to...order dessert?"

"So, Chef Prentiss...are you ready to open your gift now?"

"Mmmm, that's a good question. I did say after dinner...but maybe I was including dessert in there, too. What do you think? Do you want dessert first?"

"Depends on what's for dessert."

In a heartbeat, Emily was brought back to the first time they had made love. They had been in her apartment, standing in the kitchen; and their dialogue had been strikingly similar to their current exchange. She wondered if Hotch was remembering the same thing; the way his eyes had darkened as he had pressed her up against the cold refrigerator surface, the way he had teased her until she was begging him to finish her off - in so many different ways.

"No, thank you," Emily eventually said, her voice still thick with unresolved desire. Their conversation from eight years ago still played on a loop in her head. "I'm stuffed," she laughed.

Even as she was talking, Hotch had already waved their waiter over, signaling for the check. "You sure?" His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, it seemed like he was reading her mind. "We could always get something to-go."

"Really, Aaron. I'm good." A beat passed. "Unless you want to get something."

"No…no, I think I'll be fine." For now. Hotch chuckled to himself as Emily tried to grab the check from his hands, to no avail. She was forced to settle with a pout as she watched him reach for his wallet and pay for their dinner. Even as she was playfully rolling her eyes, Emily was thinking that he hadn't changed one bit in the past eight years; he was still every bit a gentleman as he had been then.

She was glad he was.

Finally, Hotch stood, then helped Emily out of her chair, his arm immediately curling around her waist. They were standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant's main entrance when he kissed her once more. "You look beautiful, by the way," he murmured against her skin. "I don't think I told you that yet."

"You didn't," Emily whispered, craning her neck to reach his lips, and moaning disappointedly when he deliberately moved away. "You're losing your touch, Hotchner."

"Am I? Well, we can't have that, can we?" He motioned in front of them, vaguely. "How'd you get here?"

"I took a cab," she said, peering down the street.

Hotch reached into his pocket for his car keys. "I can drive you home, if you'd like. It would save you the money, and...well, it would be safer," he added on quickly.

"I'd like that," Emily nodded. And then she smiled. "I retract my earlier statement; you're slowly but surely regaining your touch."

His rumbling laughter caught Emily right in the middle of her chest. "I'm glad."

~.~.~

But Hotch wasn't content with 'slowly but surely'. By the end of the night, he was determined to prove that he hadn't lost his touch - in more ways than one.

Neither he nor Emily had planned for him to come up to her apartment after he had dropped her off, but Emily liked his company too much and she didn't want to be rude; he had paid for dinner and driven her home, after all. The least she could do was offer him a nice strong cup of coffee. He had always liked the way she brewed it; dark, rich, and absolutely delicious. She knew just how much sugar he wanted, at any given time.

She always knew what he wanted.

It was unexpected, really. One minute Emily had been washing two cups for coffee and talking about how she hadn't cooked anything in much too long...and the next minute, she had turned around to find Hotch standing right behind her, his lips a hairsbreadth away from hers. A single wary step forward had brought her into his arms. The air was charged with desire when their lips met for what had to have been the hundredth time that day. It was crazed, the way they clawed at each other's clothing, desperate to feel the other's skin against theirs. It took all of Hotch's might to refrain from taking her right there, right against the kitchen counter. She deserved better, that much he knew.

Within a heartbeat, he had lifted her into his arms and was carrying her off to her bedroom. Her legs wrapped like a vice around his narrow waist, her hands fisted in his hair and around his neck, her eyes glazed over -

She looked magnificent. Hotch bit back his groan as he gazed at her, drinking her in; the pale skin, dusky rose-tipped nipples that seemed to be beckoning him forward, swollen glossy red lips, mussed ebony hair. He knew all about self-control and restraint, for it was one of the many lessons he'd had to learn to become a negotiator and agent for the FBI. But in an instant, everything he knew about holding back escaped him.

He pounced on her like a lion on its prey, his heart swelling with an overwhelming surge of male pride at her bright resulting laughter. A grin seemed to settle permanently on his face. How could he be anything but happy when she was laid out beneath him, pulling him further into her spell with every smile, sigh, and ministration she had to offer.

"Aaron," Emily breathed, her eyes fluttering closed as he played her body like the maestro he was. He was a masterful violinist, she was his Stradivarius. Every caress of his fingers against the sensitive curves of her lithe frame sent her closer to careening over the edge of paradise. She knew what he was doing; taking his time to relearn what made her scream, what made her moan, what made her even more desperate and needy than she already was.

He wanted to drive her crazy, then pull her back to reality. He wanted to complete her. She wanted him to complete her.

Slowly, she arched her back so that her hips brushed impatiently against his. "Aaron, please..." Emily gasped as he mouthed at the valley between her breasts. "Aaron, oh my God -"

"So vocal," Hotch praised, nibbling the underside of a breast and grazing its nipple with his teeth. "Mmmmm, Emily..."

"Please."

He smiled. "Please what?" Before she could discern where his hands had disappeared to, Emily let out a scream of delight as his fingers spread apart her searing hot folds. "Tell me, Emily. Tell me, sweetheart." Her fingernails dug into his back. "Tell me!"

"Take me!" A keening moan rattled around in the back of Emily's throat as she felt Hotch push into, making them one. She had missed the way they felt together more than anything in the world; only he had been able to make her feel so wonderfully whole. Hotch waited for her breathing to even out before he began to move, and he wasn't surprised when he felt Emily's lips at his ear as she whispered one more gentle query. "Make love to me, Aaron."

Again, Hotch felt his heart go into overdrive. Briefly, he wondered if she had asked any other man to do the same in the throes of passion, and if any other man had succeeded in making her feel the way she truly deserved to feel. He supposed so. But there was something about the way she had said it...her voice was husky, wanton, and maybe...maybe even a little bit broken.

Broken?

Their gazes met; and at the unadulterated emotion and affection he saw in Emily's eyes, Hotch's mind continued running circles. As he held her to him, he couldn't help but vow that he would find out what had happened to her in the eight years they had been apart. He didn't know why he wanted to; he didn't even know if there was anything to find. But he had the strangest feeling something magnanimous had happened. And if it was affecting her as much as he thought it was...then, he wanted to help her through it.

Because, even if a hundred years had lapsed between them, Hotch knew - he would never have fallen out of love with her.

Author's Note: Thoughts? Questions? Advice? If you have the time, please leave a review! No matter short or long, signed or anonymous, they always make my day! :) Thank you in advance!