FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

A/N: This part kind of took on a mind of its own. I hope you enjoy!

Part Eight: No Point in Trying to Pretend

July 7, 2006

"Woody," she murmured, her heart pounding in her chest, her head swimming. She made to pull away, but his grip on her was tight. "It's late."

He nodded.

"This case-" Her voice rose.

"Forget the case for a moment, Jordan."

Her eyes were huge and round, the pupils dilated as adrenaline coursed through her. Woody's closeness, the feel of his hands on her arms, was making her head spin. "But-"

He dipped his head down and kissed her. No cell phones, no backing away, only response. His lips pressed against hers; his tongue teased open her mouth. He released her arms and pulled her to him in a closer embrace, their bodies pressed together. His hands moved up and down her back, making her moan softly into his kiss. The sound was a feeling that struck him like a lightning bolt. His mouth became harder on hers and she matched him. Her arms went around his neck, holding tightly to him. Their tongues explored and brushed against each other. She moaned again.

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him. Tearing his mouth from hers, he panted at her. "Here?"

Frantically, she nodded. "Get the door."

"Huh?"

"Lock. The. Door."

Still holding her, he stumbled to the door. She reached down and locked it. Woody turned her around and, finding her mouth with his again, moved toward the couch. He glanced down and groaned. They had piled all the files they'd read on it. He rested his forehead on hers. "We'd better move those."

Her eyes glinted. "My desk is pretty clear."

His eyebrows shot up as if propelled by a rocket launcher. "Yeah?"

"Unless you want to waste time moving files or watch me pick the lock to Garret's office," she replied.

Apparently, he didn't want her to show off one of her more nefarious skills. He set her down on the edge of her desk, his hands running up and down her arms. He brought them back to cup her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. He almost asked if she was certain and then decided the time for words was long past. Instead, he plundered her mouth again as he bowed her body down, pressing her into the desktop and scattering the few items still on it.

Her hands scrabbled for the hem of his dress shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his pants and letting her fingers go to work on the buttons. Her nails ran lightly over his skin as she made her way to the upper buttons. Her hands flattened against his chest and moved outward as she pushed the garment off his shoulders. She drew her mouth away so she could concentrate on getting his arms free of the sleeves. It was damn hard to focus, however, with his lips brushing against her cheek and then down to her jaw and up her neck to her ear. His breath was ragged and hot against her skin. She shuddered deliciously at the sensation while he shook himself out of the shirt at last.

He made short work of the silk tank top she was wearing. He unclasped the girlie-pink bra she had on and tugged it away from her. His lips traced a trail of fire down the column of her neck and into the hollow between her breasts. She arched against him, her head back, eyes open but glazed with desire, her hair spilling over her desk. He cupped both breasts gently, his thumbs running in soft sweeps along the sides. Jordan gasped.

Woody's hands skimmed down her abdomen, appreciating the taut muscles that gave way to the curve of her hips. He tugged open the top button on her jeans and then groaned. "Button flies, Jo?"

She grinned lazily. "What can I say? I'm an old fashioned girl."

He grinned at her. "Uh-huh." He worked the remaining buttons open and eased her out of the tight denims. He was already out of his suit pants as he kissed his way back up her body. She wrapped her legs around his back and guided him into her. He caught her cry of pleasure in his kiss.

He moved slowly at first despite the movement of her hips urging him to speed up the pace. He took her hands in his and wove their fingers together, resting them on the fanned silk of her hair. Around him he felt her body begin to tighten as her breathing quickened. He met her unspoken demand and increased the tempo. Her eyes flew wide and she bit her lower lip to stifle the sounds of her pleasure from any overly curious security guards. He watched her face as the orgasm took her, her eyes glowed so warmly that they made him think of the legendary Russian amber room, all honey-light and magic.

She shifted beneath him, taking him deeper inside of her. He groaned at the sensation. Suddenly he was aware only of what it felt like to be wrapped up in her and with her and to sate himself with her. He buried his head in the curve of her neck, kissing her softly, repeatedly, as he climaxed. Trembling, he rested his forehead on hers, slowly untwining their hands. He lifted her hair and combed through a few of the damp tangles. He kept his eyes closed. He didn't dare look at her.

He had been awful to her when he was hospitalized. Then, after ignoring her for two months, he'd used her trust, used what they had – what they might have had – to get to Riggs. In all the dumb stunts she'd pulled, she'd never done anything so calculating to him. It had been one of the best and worst things about Jordan Cavanaugh – she didn't calculate; she leapt and hoped she'd land somewhere decent with her limbs mostly intact. When she'd called a spade a spade and challenged him over ignoring her, he had begun to see a few things her way, but by then she was angry with him for entirely new reasons. Their timing, never the best to begin with, had disintegrated with Riggs – maybe before that if Woody was honest with himself. Now they could barely be civil to one another.

On most days. Today obviously didn't count.

He murmured an apology and pushed himself away from her.

Her eyes flashed. "Woody-"

"Don't say anything, Jordan. Don't. I know what you're going to say."

Angrily, she scrambled from the desk and found her undergarments. "You don't know what I'm going to say. Or why I'm going to say it. Stop thinking you do!"

"You're not going to tell me this was a mistake? That we should both take some time and figure out what we want? Or whatever excuse you can come up with."

She gaped at him, sputtering with anger.

"And you know what, Jordan? I'm not sure I blame you after what I did."

"What? What you did? What are you talking about?"

He gave her a look that would have caused a less stubborn woman to back away from the argument. He waved his hand at the pile of their still mostly-shed clothing as he fished out his pants to put on. "This. I know you never wanted this. Wanted me. And I – I – God, Jordan – I…."

She glared at him. "Did you hear me saying no, Woody? Did you feel me trying to push you away? Did you?"

He looked down at the carpet. "Jordan, come on. There's no point in trying to pretend."

END Part Eight