It's better late than never. A load of work arrived, the cheek of it. Thank you for the lovely reviews, extra long chapter for you as a thanks
An actual date.
Dempsey hasn't been on an authentic, turn up with a bunch-of-big-flowers-I-wanna-get-laid date in years. He's forgotten if he has; his life was somewhat one-dimensional before Harry.
"Friday at six, I'll be wearing a tuxedo." He says without preamble as they head towards the cells. "I'll pick you up."
She nods. "Are you going to tell me where?"
He shakes his head, "We're not mixing business and pleasure."
He bits back a grin at the glare she awards him as they enter the interrogation room. Luckily for him, the suspect gets the resulting irritation.
Dempsey is not nervous. He's grown man and an armed officer with a reputation of dangerous. Yet his hands tremble. For goodness sake. With a deep breath, he knocks on the front door of her house.
He's nervous.
Harry opens the door, a vision in midnight silk and light perfume. "Goodness, hello," she steps back to let him inside. "Nice tux."
"Thanks," he's rendered speechless, drinking in the sight of her. The dress is a floor length slip with tiny straps and he thinks about taking them between his teeth and grazing her skin.
"It's not terribly exciting," she looks a little sheepish but giving him a twirl to reveal a low cut back, her delicate skin doing things for him; as it did months ago in Stringfellows.
His eyes roam her body and he remembers his manners, "You look incredible, Harry," he croaks and hands her the flowers. "These are for you."
"Thank you," she takes the roses and inhales them. "They're gorgeous, I'll put them in water."
He follows her to the kitchen, watching her remove the paper and drop them in a vase.
"The last time I had flowers must have been when I was in hospital after the bank robbery. This is a much better reason." Harry is conversational about that escapade. He thinks he was in love with her then.
"Richard didn't?" He clears his throat, shuffles his feet.
"You bought me a rose, as I recall," Harry touches his arm. "Flowers seem to happen a lot less in real life."
"I've never had any," he quips. Take that Richard. But he still saddened that she's had none since that rose.
"I'll do the rest later," she comments and he nods, as if he knows anything about flowers. "Where are we going? I hope there's food involved."
DMDMDM
One of the best things about going to a classical music concert is that there's not much to watch apart from a conductor. He can sit quietly for once, even close his eyes and day dream, tucked away in a box at the hall.
The most important thing is sat beside him. Her eyes are rapt and held by the music, the curve of her nose and her cheekbones. Her hair is up in an arrangement off her neck and he fantasises about kissing her there, feeling the tendrils on his face… oh yes.
She catches him out and heat rises within him at his indiscretion. He faces forward and pays attention. As he does, her hand slips onto his and their fingers intwine. The musicians assemble and he's lost.
"That was wonderful," she tells him as they leave the building. "I love The Planet Suite."
"Not bad for our first date?" Dempsey asks, putting on her coat, loving the slip of her fabric under his fingers.
"Not bad at all," she beams at him and he wonders what he's done to deserve that smile. He's longed to be held by it.
At the car, it's his turn to look sheepish. "I had a reservation at San Lorenzo at eight, we're early."
Her stomach growls. "Ignore me, I was too nervous to eat, I'll be fine."
"You were nervous too?" Dempsey is concerned and flattered.
"Nervous excited, it's not a bad thing," she reassures him as her stomach rumbles again. "I can't believe you were."
"All the same reasons as you," he comments. "We've got to get you something to eat, we can go back there another time. What do you want?"
"I have an idea, let's start walking." The impish smile on her face would have him walking on hot coals if she asked.
They end up on the banks of the Thames, not far from the coffee shack where their boss had ranted about Morocco Jack and Dempsey had only just found his partner again. Now they are sharing a pizza, sat on chairs like it's Rome, not chilly London. Harry heard about it from a friend and told him she had been wanting to come here since it opened a few weeks ago.
"People are staring," she says in a low tone, wiping her hands on a napkin. "Do you think we're a bit overdressed for the occasion?"
"Maybe. Anyways, they're looking at you, a gorgeous blonde in a silk gown with a pizza," he grins as she eyes him with amusement.
"You think I'm gorgeous?"
"Gorgeous, brilliant, clever…" Dempsey shrugs, catching a strand of melted cheese.
"It wasn't far from here you tried to compliment me once before," Harry waves a hand at him. "I'm not sure I can cope."
"That was different; we were different," he recalls and she nods in agreement. "We've got to increase your capacity for compliments. I gotta a load of them."
"Oh you do?" Harry raises an eyebrow. "I'd like to hear more."
"When you're ready," he pauses and falls in love a little more as she attempts to eat the pizza neatly. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Her knees bump his and she nods, her head close to his. "I want to kiss you. I wanted to all night but your lipstick is so perfect…"
Her fingers land on his thigh. "Not here," she suggests, looking at him as if he's dessert. He hopes so.
The drive back to her home is brief and he's pulling the car onto the gravel too soon, not ready to say goodnight.
"Coffee?"
Dempsey bites his lip. "Is that a invitation for a drink or an invitation for a drink?"
"Do I have to take away your detective badge?" Harry slips from the car with a laugh.
He should walk this armed officer to her front door, it's what dates do. It's proper, not just that he'd follow her anywhere these days. Inside, Harry is more relaxed that he thinks he's ever seen her. She drops her coat with her small bag in the hall and potters around the kitchen in bare feet.
"Tea or coffee?" She asks, opening and closing cupboards, placing cups on a tray.
"Whatever you're making," he's yet to work out the types of tea this side of the pond. "That fancy tea?"
"Earl Grey," she hands him a box of tea to sniff and he nods enthusiastically.
"Yeah, you made me that once before, I like it."
He lingers by the door, the hem of her dress dragging on the floor without the height of her shoes and her hair coming undone. He decides that seeing her put together is no match for watching her come undone. If only every night could be like this, he thinks. Who would have thought he'd be fine with just sitting here on her couch drinking tea, her head on his shoulder.
"I like this," she says quietly.
"The tea or something else?"
"You and me, like this. I never thought you'd be capable of being calm," Harry nestles in closer and he strokes her hair, content as he is to listen to the sound of the clock ticking and her breath, his heart keeping time.
"I don't think we were ready. I had to grow up, tell you who I really was and what I wanted," Dempsey muses.
"I suppose I was too subtle. I wanted to tell you, after Coltrane."
"You did?" He's astonished.
"I told you I cared and then, when we sat on that wall, I thought you'd feel obligated to stay here if I said how I felt," Harry blushes.
'I had no idea," he takes a moment to think what they might be doing now and stops himself; they're here now and that's important. "What did you hope would happen?"
"I don't know. I understood you. Before then, I thought you'd left because of a woman, maybe there was a child. I wasn't getting involved with a man I knew nothing about."
He nods in understanding. "We could make up for lost time?"
She lick her lips and he follows the moment of her tongue. When she rises to meet him, Dempsey feels the slip of it against his lip and he's in free fall; they part with a gasp.
"Too much?" She asks, her cheeks pink and he shakes his head. "I feel like a clueless teenager."
"You always surprise me, that was a good surprise."
"I've never cared this much before," Harry admits.
"Me neither," he invites her back into his arms and draws a hand around her neck. "Try again?"
Dempsey has been waiting for this all his life. Since he met her, it's been a mission he'd never realise he'd taken on. Hours of leaning close to her, holding her gaze and being in her space. It was the prelude to this moment.
He has a hand tangled into her hair, the other tentatively resting on her waist. Emboldened by her passion, he invites her to his mouth with a soft lick. She responds by using his body to move herself to his lap, sliding across his knees of her own volition. She threads her fingers through his hair and sighs.
Dempsey wants this so badly it hurts. He might self combust if they stop, but something below his belt is bound to make itself known.
"Harry, honey," he mumbles, pulling back. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and his need for her is off the planet. "If we're not going to take this further tonight we need to stop now."
One strap of her dress has fallen down her shoulder, and he tenderly slides it back up it with a finger.
"Don't touch me like that," Harry whispers. "It's too dangerous."
"I know," he confesses. "But… I'm me, I am dangerous."
"Don't I know it!" Harry smiles gently at him. She slips off of his lap, standing. "It's getting late, and I have to see Freddy in the morning."
"I hope he still likes me," Dempsey stands, feeling light headed.
"I don't think he needs to know all the reasons why I do," she straightens his bow tie, and his knees threaten to give way.
"You're going to get me into a whole lotta trouble," he warns her, picking up his jacket and walking to the door. "The more you talk, it more difficult it is to leave you."
"That makes a change," she mimes a zip across her mouth. "Goodnight, Dempsey."
Harry opens the door for him, rising onto her toes to deliver him one more kiss. It's brief, but sweet, and he impulsively pulls her into a hug after their lips part.
"Goodnight, honey," he mumbles into her hair.
He's high on her, floating above the streets of London.