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It's all for fun.

Part Five: Outside the World

Jordan felt a momentary flutter of something uncomfortably like hope. She had a fleeting image of herself, trying to find her father, her brother, to find out what happened to Malden. She remembered the surprising tug at her heart, the way her stomach had turned cartwheels when Woody had said he had something to say to her. It had been the beginning of something that had taken her so long to accept - that he might love her and that, surprise, surprise, she wanted him to. Even more - that she wanted to love him. By the time her fear had finally worn itself out so had his patience. She admonished herself to be realistic. Whatever he would say had to do with the case, maybe something to do with Karen. But at least he wasn't likely to read her her rights this time.

Woody started to think about what to say. Then Garret's advice came to him and he let it flow. "I owe you an apology,
Jordan."

Though she swallowed several times, her voice was still slightly hoarse. "For what? Telling me what a wonderful guy Mike O'Neal is?"

Woody shook his head. "For telling you - For what I said. In the hospital." He took a deep breath. "And for not apologizing a lot sooner." His lips quirked into a smile woven with sadness. "Like the second after I said it."

Jordan shrunk into herself. "Woody, you don't have to-"

"Yeah, Jordan. I do."

No, really, it's - it's okay." She shook her head. "You - After everything, I've ... put you through. I mean, why would you believe me? No, no, Woody. I get it."

"Jordan." His voice stopped the frantic movement of her tongue, tossing out meaningless babble to fill the space between them. He scooted toward her and plucked one of her hands from her lap. "Jordan, that's just it. After everything we've been through, I should have known - I - I - should have... known."

"Woody." She looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

He reached over with his free hand and tilted up her chin. She tried to shake her head, to free herself from the maelstrom, but he cupped her jaw. His voice was soft and silky, yet rough with sadness. And need. "Jordan, we lost a lot of time. There were things neither of us could see." He squeezed her hand. "Maybe we didn't want to see them."

She swallowed again, her throat tight.

"Like I said, Garret set me straight about a few things, made me realize I don't know as much as I thought I did." He released her chin and sat back. "But even before that... this case." His fingers tightened on hers again.

"Yeah. No kidding." She said nothing more, kept her hands still in her lap by force of will. The moments ticked away, dry time like chaff accumulating on a barn floor.

Woody gave her an appraising look and then jumped. They'd both stood on the ledge too long. He tugged her into the curve of his arm. She came willingly, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing softly when he began to stroke her long, dark hair. "I am sorry, Jordan," he murmured in her ear.

She craned her neck up, her face inscrutable. After what felt like hours to him, she ran a finger along his cheek bone. "Can we agree the past is just that - past?"

Woody's eyes widened. He grinned. "All right, where's the real Jordan Cavanaugh?"

She thumped his chest. "Can we, Woody?"

His eyes closed for a moment and then, he nodded. He held her for a moment, torn, afraid to let go of all she offered him, but still knowing her well enough to be certain that someday... He wetted his lips, tried to find spit to swallow in a mouth suddenly as arid as the Mojave the first time they'd kissed. "We'll have to talk about it sometime." His hand dropped from its gentle caress of her hair.

She lowered her head, studied his hand for a moment and then twined her fingers with his. She sighed. "I know. But not right now. Not tonight. We'll talk about - about everything - the past, us, how I make myself crazy with some of these cases-"

"And everyone around you," he teased.

She grinned and nodded once. "And everyone around me - especially you."

"You know something I've learned, Jordan."

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. "What?"

His lips touched the crown of her head. "I kind of like it when you make me crazy."

Jordan's smile sharpened into a wicked, mirthful grin. "You sure about that?"

Woody nodded, his mind slow to catch on to the implications in his words and her tone of voice. "Yeah,
I'm su-"

She kissed him. With certainty. With heat. With desire. Her mouth was greedy against his as she pressed his head down toward hers. He wrapped his arms around her and lost himself in the passion so long kept at a low simmer. One hand found her hair again and his fingers twisted through it, his hand cradling her skull. The other arm pressed her closer to him until only their clothes gave proof to where he ended and she began.

Unwilling, but grasping at a fleeting rational thought, Woody broke the kiss. "Jordan, we should-"

She pressed her mouth to his ear, nibbling softly. "You're right, Woody. We should." Her lust-rough whisper jolted Woody to his core, threatening to sweep away everything but the fact she could finally be his.

He took her head in his hands, held her back, tried to keep his eyes off her lips, moist and plump from their kissing, but when he found her golden-brown eyes, so passionate, so certain, so open, he could barely get out what he needed to say. "No, Jordan, come on. This is - We shouldn't rush this."

She smiled at him. "Rush this? Woody, it's been four years. I don't want to know what you consider taking it slowly."

"Hey, I'm not the one who said we should just be friends!"

She quirked up an eyebrow at him.

"You said it first," Woody sulked. "Jordan, I just don't want to ruin this." He brushed her cheeks with his thumbs. "It means too much."

Smiling at him, her body tingling from her scalp to her toes at the lightest of his touches, she extricated herself from his arms and faced him, straddling him. Her eyes twinkled mercilessly at the groan he didn't quite manage to suppress. She leaned forward, her hair cascading in his face, wrapping him in its clean scent. Her heat enveloped him and it took everything in him not to tumble her back to the couch and have her. "You know what I learned, Woody?" Her voice was still filled with lust, but the timbre went deeper than that. The earnestness,
the genuine emotion made Woody's pulse race even more than the proximity of her body.

Well, maybe not more. But it sure as hell was a tie. "What did you learn, Jordan?" he choked out.

"I learned it hurts more to stay locked up inside yourself." Her tone gained seriousness and melancholy. "That girl today - Karen - after everything she'd been through, you'd think she'd want to run away and hide from the world, never let anyone get close to her again." She sat back. Woody gazed up into her face. "But she doesn't, Woody. She needs time, of course, but she's not afraid of loving someone else, of having a life and more children and at least if her heart gets broken, it's because she has one." She kissed him again, slowly, gently, but still with as much heat and desire. "I don't want to ruin this either." She took a deep breath and smiled, slowly, until the light filled her eyes. "Maybe that's why it's taken so long. But I'm tired of living locked up inside myself, Woody. I'm tired of pretending it will hurt less if you're not in my life, than if you are - even if it doesn't work."

For a moment, Woody couldn't breathe. His heart pounded heavily. His eyes were dark and serious. "You're sure, Jordan?"

Her kiss was his answer.

Woody wrapped his arms around her, his lips parting hers gently but insistently. She granted him access to her mouth, her tongue sliding between his teeth as well. Without releasing her, Woody lifted her up, one hand cradling her head, her dark hair cascading over and through his fingers. The other arm supported her thighs.

Jordan pulled away. "Your back," she murmured.

"It's fine," Woody assured her before recapturing her lips to plunder her again.

She shook free. "Really?"

He stopped. "Jordan?" His tone was stern, but his eyes twinkled. "Shut up and quit arguing with me. Just this once."

She chuckled and blushed, then dipped her head in acknowledgement. As he began to walk toward her bed, she dropped light kisses on his jaw, working her way toward his ear. He groaned, shaking and trembling with need, wanting her to stop and wanting it to go on forever. "God, Jordan. Oh, God," he breathed.

"Woody." Her husky whisper sounded in his ear and echoed all the way down to his toes. The distance to her bed seemed like miles. It only increased when she began to tug at the buttons on his shirt. She slid her hand underneath the fabric and let her palm skim over his chest. She let the tips of her singers rest against his flesh where his heart pounded. Her own pulse quickened in response.

At last, he found her bed and together they tumbled to the mattress. She tugged his shirt off and began to unbuckle his belt. His hands stilled her. "Jordan, slow down."

She looked at him owlishly, her honey brown eyes wide, glazed with lust.

He dipped his head down and found her lips. Gently and thoroughly he kissed her. He tugged at the terry cloth belt holding her robe shut and worked his hand underneath the hem of her sleep t-shirt. She groaned loudly and arched against him, hissing his name.

Woody didn't think anything had ever sounded so sweet as that. He thought a few things might equal it - things in their future - but he knew the sound of his name on her lips, her voice soft and full of desire for him, would always make him hungry for this newfound sweetness. No matter how many years might elapse he was determined there always be something of this newness for them. As his hand moved upward he kissed her, just behind her ear, finding the silky skin there so responsive.

Her arms went around him, her fingers digging into his back, urging him closer.

"Jordan," he whispered, the sound felt more than heard in her body. "I want to take this slow, make it special."

Her head lolled back on a pillow. She gazed at him with those same eyes. He could see the flutter of her heartbeat in the pulse point on her neck. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Can we take it slow next time, Woody? Right now I want you more than I thought I could ever want any man."

"I want you...," rang in his ears. And... did she mean it? Had she really said there'd be a next time? "Really, Jo? Next time?"

She nodded.

"There's going to be a next time?" His eyes searched her face for any temptation to run. He saw only calm in her countenance, a contentment he'd never honestly expected to see.

She smiled, the corners of her mouth turning up languorously, devilishly. "Woody, there's going to be lots of next times."

XXXXX

She lay pressed against him, her head cradled on his chest, his fingers strolling their way through the strands of her hair. She smiled in satisfaction as her fingers traced abstract whorls on his stomach.

"Did you mean it?" Woody's voice was almost shy. He'd thought about not asking at all, but for too long they'd kept too many things bottled up.

"Hmm?"

He twirled a lock of hair around one finger. "That you wanted me more than you thought you could."

She looked up at him and slowly nodded.

He blushed faintly. "But, Jo, other guys must have... must have done... had moves."

She giggled and then grew serious. She took his free hand and placed it between her breasts. "Maybe. I guess. But, Woody, none of them had any 'moves' here." At his slightly perplexed look, she added, "In my heart. I didn't let anyone in. Everyone at the morgue, maybe, a little. But not all the way inside, not where it seemed safer to keep everyone away so I wouldn't get hurt."

"What are you saying, Jordan?"

She smiled again. "Insecure, Farm Boy?"

He shrugged. "Humor me."

She shifted so that her face was level with his. "I'm saying I meant it, Woody. I meant you'll have to find some other way to get me out of your life than dying. I meant I could say what you wanted to hear." She wove their fingers together. "I love you. I tried to stop, but it didn't work. Come Hell or high water, Woodrow Wilson Hoyt, you've got me."

It was his turn to smile. "Bite your tongue, Cavanaugh, We've already gone through Hell, I think. A flood, Boston does not need!"

She was still laughing when he kissed her.

And that time he took everything slowly.

END Part Five

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