Fairmount Motor Lodge

8:45 p.m.

Monica slammed the door to her motel room and peeled off her clothes. She tied her hair into a ponytail as she stormed into the bathroom.

Who the hell did he think he was? She was fuming as she stepped into the shower. The warm water cascaded down her body as she tried to reel in her anger. How dare he just run off and leave her like that? They were supposed to be a team, working together: all for one and one for all and all that crap. That's all it was: crap. John apparently didn't have the same respect for their working relationship that she did.

As Monica turned the faucet off and wrapped a towel around herself, she thought back to last night. He had looked at her so sweetly just before she left his room. He had called her beautiful. And although she was completely incensed with him right now, Monica could not deny how much those words had meant to her. She chided herself for allowing John to have this effect on her, time and time again.

"I'm a grown woman for Pete's sake," she said out loud to her empty room. She threw on a blue camisole and matching panties. "I shouldn't be moping like a schoolgirl over any guy, especially one who acts like an immature little asshole."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the adjoining door. It couldn't be anybody but John. He was probably there to tell her what he learned at the coroner's office. She wasn't particularly in the mood to see him at the moment, but she felt obligated to put her personal feelings aside for the sake of work. Work came first, after all.

Work has to come first, because I have nothing else.

Monica pulled a cotton robe around her body and opened the door. John stood there, eyes cast downward, hands thrust deeply into his pockets. The sight of him standing barefoot in his gray tee shirt and jeans made her heart skip a beat. She clenched her hand into a fist behind her back and forced herself to speak slowly.

"What is it, John?" she asked coolly.

He cleared his throat hesitantly. "I'm glad you're here. I thought maybe you wouldn't be."

"Oh? You thought maybe I would be out on the town with the good sheriff?" she snorted. "Well, not that it's any concern of yours, but no, I didn't have dinner with him. But it wasn't for a lack of trying on his part."

He still wasn't looking at her. "I wanted to talk to you, Monica. Can I come in?"

Monica did not reply but moved away from the door, allowing him to enter. "So what did the coroner say?" she sighed.

John walked past her and into the room. "The report wasn't ready yet. He promised to give me a call first thing in the morning."

"So what have you been doing all this time then? Thinking up new ways to humiliate me? " Monica asked testily.

He did not address her second question right away, instead choosing to answer the first. "I went back to the accident scene to see if there was something we missed. After that, I basically drove around for an hour like the idiot that I am." If Monica wasn't so furious with him, she would have smiled at his self-deprecating words. It was so typical of him to blurt out something like that. "Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about the case," he finished quietly.

"Well, then what did you come here for, John? I'm really not in the mood to play games right now."

"It's not a game, Monica." He took a step toward her. "I came here to apologize for acting like such a . . . "

"Horse's ass? Irrational jerk off? Immature bastard?" Monica suggested.

John chuckled nervously. "All of the above. I had no right to drive off like that. I'm so sorry, Monica. You didn't deserve that."

"You're right, John. I didn't." Monica stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. "Whatever personal issues we may have between us, we never just leave each other like that. I can't tell you how much that hurt me." She turned her back on him in an attempt to hide the raw emotion that she knew was displayed openly on her face. "I expected more from you, John."

He nodded slowly then hung his head. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Monica. That's the last thing I wanna do. I wasn't thinking clearly. Seems like I haven't been able to think clearly for some time now," he said wistfully.

Monica whirled back around and folded her arms across her chest. "And why is that?"

"It's just that . . . oh, hell, I don't know how to do this . . . " He shook his head in frustration.

Monica felt her defenses melt away at the image of an awkward-looking John Doggett stumbling over his words. "It's okay, John, what is it?"

John took another step toward her. Without a word, he hesitantly reached up and touched her cheek. Monica was visibly moved by this sweet display of affection. Her eyes remained fixed on John's face as he reached for the elastic band that tied up her hair. In one fluid movement, he released her ponytail, then combed his strong fingers through her chestnut hair, gently smoothing it. Their eyes locked, and at that moment the tension that had been burning a hole in her gut evaporated completely.

"John." She reached for his hand and kissed the center of his palm. "You're looking at me – really looking at me," she whispered, marveling at this amazing turn of events. "Seems like forever since you've done that."

"And you're touching me, Monica." His voice was filled with awe. "God knows how much that means to me. I thought that . . . "

She put a finger to his lips. "I know, John. Me too."

Monica was filled with such love for this man that she thought she might die of it. Before she could change her mind, she leaned in to close the gap between them. John pulled her to him the rest of the way and, without fanfare, quietly covered her lips with his. Their first kiss was gentle and hesitant, as though both were waiting for the other to pull away. But neither one did. There was a second kiss, then a third, and a fourth. Each kiss became a little more urgent and went a little deeper. Monica was amazed at the depth of feeling in his kisses. She returned his kisses with equal intensity as their tongues danced together. He ground his hips against hers, making his desire for her evident.

"I love you, Monica. I've always loved you," he gasped as they broke for air. "I just didn't have the balls to do anything about it." She hugged him tightly to her as a million different sensations passed through her body.

"God, John, I can't remember a time when I didn't love you," she breathed into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk," John said, "but when I saw the way Brunell was leering at you, I don't know what came over me. I wanted to kick the shit outta him. I got so damn jealous, even though I know I didn't have a right to be. The thought of another man looking at you like that, let alone touching you. It drives me crazy." He ran his hands up and down the length of her arms as he spoke. "Nothing makes sense to me anymore without you, Monica. I know I haven't shown it, but I intend to make up for that. I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

John pulled away just far enough to gauge Monica's reaction. "I forgive you, John." She couldn't help smiling at him as she nodded her acquiescence. "But if you ever do anything like that again, I'll kick your ass from here to next Tuesday."

John laughed as he buried his nose in her hair. "Don't worry, Mon. It'll never happen again. I promise."

The thought of a man displaying his jealousy so openly like that would have made her uncomfortable if this had been just any guy. But John's possessiveness suited him perfectly. She knew he didn't look at her as a piece of property. Rather, John Doggett was a man who respected and cherished women; he was a man who would give his life to protect those he cared about. And she felt like very lucky indeed to be loved by such a noble and honorable man.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, both content to absorb the significance of what had just transpired between them. He moved in to kiss her again, and she felt her body tingling all over. She had wanted him for so long, and now finally destiny was taking its course.

"John . . . " she began.

He looked at her expectantly. "Yeah, Mon?"

"Stay with me tonight." She took his hands and led him over to the bed.

John's eyes bore into hers. "You sure about this?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, I'm sure," she answered. I know that it's all happening pretty fast, but . . . " Before she could complete her thought John captured her lips for another kiss, this one hungrier than the ones that came before it. They toppled onto the bed, their lips still connected as if glued together by some magical force.

"I want you so much . . . " he rasped as their clothes started flying.

"And you will have me," Monica whispered. "But then, you've always had me. You just didn't realize it."

John stopped undressing her momentarily as he took in what she had just said. He kissed her forehead gratefully. "I love you, Monica," he croaked. She could feel the emotion in his voice, all of the emotion that he had kept bottled up for so long, and it touched her.

Monica took his hand and placed it over her heart. "And I love you, John Doggett. Let me show you how much."

They removed their remaining articles of clothing, anxious to be rid of any obstacles that delayed their physical union. John's body was warm and responded eagerly to her tactile attention. Monica couldn't stop touching him. She thought back to all of those lonely nights that she lay in bed alone, wondering what it would feel like to run her hands along John's body, pondering what treasures were hidden beneath John's dapper dress suits. Nothing that she imagined could have prepared her, though. John was every inch a man, and then some. He was more than she could have ever wanted. And now, as she felt John's mouth exploring her trembling flesh it occurred to her that she didn't have to dream about him anymore, because he was really there in her bed with her. The reality was so much more beautiful than the fantasy.

They must have spent half the evening discovering each other, using lips, tongues and fingers to explore the most intimate parts of their bodies. Finally, John's eyes searched Monica's face, silently questioning. She met his gaze and looked deeply into his crystalline eyes, eyes that were gleaming with love and desire.

"Monica, I need to be inside you," he pleaded. She was at once moved and aroused at the urgency in his voice.

"Please," was the only word she could utter as she felt John drape his body over hers. He consumed her mouth in a kiss as he slowly entered her. At that instant they were joined together: one body, one spirit, one soul. And they never looked back.

"You okay, John?"

Doggett opened his eyes and looked at the woman whom he'd loved for so long. She lay there, smiling serenely, her statuesque body wrapped in the white motel bed sheet. To Doggett, Monica looked like a mythical goddess, one he remembered reading about back in his high school days. He watched, mesmerized, as she ran her hand lightly yet possessively along the width of his shoulders, stopping momentarily to stroke his cheek with her thumb. He belonged to her now, she told him silently. Someday he would tell her that he always had.

"I'm doin' great." Doggett was grinning like a lovesick fool but he didn't give a damn. He felt like running out onto the motel balcony and screaming to everyone within earshot that he had just made love to the most incredible woman in the world. He could still taste her on his tongue. In a deliberate but leisurely move, he slipped his hand under the sheet and moved it up her body. He closed his fingers around her breast, eliciting a contented sigh from Monica. "How 'bout you?"

Monica cooed as Doggett continued his mastery of her upper body, gently manipulating one breast and then moving on to give the other one similar treatment. "Great doesn't even begin to describe it," she murmured. "You are an amazing man, John." She wiggled her eyebrows mischievously. "In more ways than one, I might add."

Doggett blushed at her words. When was the last time he had done that? Suddenly it hit him that there were a lot of things he would be doing again, now that Monica was really in his life. For the first time in a long time, the idea of living life again actually sounded appealing to him, and he owed it all to Monica. His heart was filled gratitude for the gift of hope that she had so lovingly given him.

"What are you thinking, baby?" Monica asked.

Doggett leaned down and touched his lips to hers, ending their kiss with a noisy smack. He smiled against her mouth. "I'm thinkin' that I like it when you call me baby."

"You do, huh?" she asked impishly. "Well, if you play your cards right, Agent Doggett, you'll hear me screaming 'baby' and a few other things, too."

A moment later, Doggett found himself lying flat on his back, much to his delight. Monica was giggling as she climbed atop him and straddled his chest. Doggett raked his eyes over her nakedness, and he felt himself getting aroused again. Her lips were parted seductively, and her hair was mussed. It was almost too much. He had to suppress the strong urge to flip her onto her stomach and take her from behind. There would be time enough for that later, he decided. Right now he was content to enjoy the sight and feel of her body on his.

"So tell me something, Monica," he began.

"Anything." Monica's hands came to rest on each side of his head, her fingers tenderly stroking the short hair that grew at his temples.

"How did you get Brunell to leave you alone?"

She hesitated for a moment. "I told him that I was flattered by his attention, but that I was in love with someone else," she finally answered.

"Who's the lucky guy? Anyone I know?" he asked, the slightest hint of playfulness in his voice.

"You might . . . " Monica's happy expression suddenly vanished as their eyes met again. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but no words came out. Doggett watched as a single tear trickled down her cheek. She made a shy attempt to dry her face, but he caught her hand before she was able to.

"Don't cry, Mon." He ran his fingertip tenderly down her face, tracing the path of the tear that had fallen. "It kills me to see you cry."

"It's okay, John," she said. Her voice was thick with feeling. "It's a good kind of crying. It's just that . . . " Monica hesitated, searching for just the right words to express how she felt. Doggett ran his fingers though her silken hair and patiently waited for her to continue. "...it's been such a long road for us to get here, you know?"

Doggett nodded. "I know it has. But we're finally here, Monica. That's all that matters now."

Her lower lip trembled. "This means so much to me. You're my best friend in the whole world, John."

"And you're mine. But that's not gonna change." Doggett took her hand in his and stroked it softly. Monica smiled beatifically at his words. "I love you, Monica. You've always been there for me, puttin' my needs ahead of your own," he continued. "You've never once let me down. Thank you for not giving up on me," he said quietly, now blinking back a few tears himself.

Monica intertwined her fingers with his. "I didn't see it as an option, John. I couldn't not love you, even if I tried."

Doggett shook his head in amazement. "You're too good for me. You know that?"

Monica threw her arms around Doggett and hugged him fiercely. "You're the finest man I know, John Jay Doggett," she whispered in his ear. "And I love you with everything that I am."

Doggett kissed her long and hard, wanting only to convey the love and desire that were in his heart. Monica returned his kisses eagerly, seeking out his lips like a starving man reaching for a scrap of food. He felt his pulse quicken as Monica shifted slightly, planting soft wet kisses along his collarbone. He watched her through half-lidded eyes as she moved further down his body. She ran her tongue down his chest at a tantalizingly slow pace. When her lips reached his navel, he threw his head back, unable to look at what she was doing for fear that he would lose control. That would happen soon enough anyway. He closed his eyes and whimpered as her head dipped below his waist and her warm mouth encompassed his erection. 'Monica' was the only word that was in his head and on his lips, and it rolled round and round in his brain as he chanted it like a mantra. He lost all sense of space and time after that.