A/N: All recognisable characters belong to Janet Evanovich. This a work of fanfiction purely to appease my muse following a discussion in the Facebook group "Janet Evanovich Fan Fiction" that reminded us all that Ranger reads poetry. Included in this short story is the text of "At a Window" by Carl Sandburg, which is in the public domain.

At A Window

Stephanie heard the front door open and close as she reached for the towel and stepped out of the shower. Shit, she thought, it must have taken longer than she thought to wash the scrambled eggs out of her hair and now Ranger had arrived for their date, and she was nowhere near ready.

"I just need ten minutes," she called, poking her head out of the en-suite bathroom as Ranger entered the bedroom dressed in black dress pants and a white button down, open at the collar and rolled up his forearms. She stifled a moan at the sight. The man was perfect no matter what he wore, but the contrast of his mocha skin against the white shirt was absolutely delectable. And the grin he sent her said that he knew it.

"Babe," he said, his gaze dipping to admire the view of her cleavage, still generously adorned sparkling droplets of water. "Take your time. Our reservation is flexible, and I don't mind waiting."

"You're sure?" she asked, slightly doe eyed and fluttery under the weight of his inspection. He dragged his eyes back up to hers, revealing the molten chocolate color that let her know exactly how much he appreciated what he was seeing. His head inclined marginally. "I'll be quick," Steph assured him before retreating into the bathroom to deal with her hair and makeup.

When she emerged ten minutes later, hair dried and styled, face done up to accentuate her best features and distract from the scar healing on her temple, but still wrapped in a towel, she had to do a double take. Ranger was in his chair. The one he'd specifically picked out to be stationed in the corner of her bedroom after the previous armchair was covered in death cooties and had to be sacrificed to the dumpster. It was a ridiculously expensive, mahogany brown, leather wingback that stood out like dog's accessories amongst the goodwill and family hand-me-down furnishings that filled the rest of the apartment. But boy did it send a thrill straight to her hoo-ha every time she saw it.

Heat slid through her at the memory of the night they'd broken it in. The buttering soft leather caressing her body as Ranger knelt between her legs. It was safe to say she didn't have the same bad memories attached to this chair as she had with the old one. And the view she had now was just going to be added to the file.

Stephanie swallowed audibly as her gaze travelled over him. Ranger appeared relaxed, slightly slouched in the chair with one leg extended in front of him. He'd turned off the overhead light, switching it out for the low, sensual lighting that the combination of her bedside lamp and the pedestal reading lamp he'd purchased to go along with the chair created. A glass of wine sat atop the dresser beside him alongside his gun. If she had been wearing panties, she was confident they would be ruined as she noted the book in his hands and the way he was now peering at her over the top of the reading glasses perched on his nose. She was getting some distinct sex teacher or librarian vibes. Not a fantasy she would normally have picked, but with Ranger laid out like this, it didn't surprise her.

"See something you like, Babe?" he purred, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips up as she shifted her weight, pressing her thighs together.

"What are you reading?" she asked breathlessly, crossing the distance between them on legs that felt like they'd been transplanted onto her body from a newborn foal.

He said nothing as she approached, eyes transfixed as the towel slid slowly down her body to the floor, all but forgotten. When she was directly in front of him, he raised the book so that she could see the cover of the book.

"The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg," she read, her voice huskier than she thought it should be. Her eyes returned to his face, and the reminder of those glasses was almost her undoing. "You read poetry?" she questioned. He'd been much more open with her since they'd decided to throw caution to the wind and give a relationship a red hot try (and it had definitely been red hot so far), but she was still learning new things about him every day. Like that he preferred his eggs sunny side up with a dash of cayenne pepper because that's how his Abuela had made them for him when he was living with her in high school. Or that he'd had a pet goldfish growing up that had met an untimely demise when he'd decided to take it for a walk.

Or that he read poetry.

Don't misunderstand. They'd already covered the fact that Ranger liked to read when he found himself with some spare time. He'd shown her the collection of his favorite books on the shelf in the living room that Steph had previously assumed Ella had placed there for aesthetic purposes. He'd even read to her when she was sick with the flu a few months back. But poetry was a whole other hemisphere. She recalled her English literature classes in college and the sense of despair she'd been settled with when she struggled to interpret the set texts. There was something about the metaphors, all the things that were said between the words, that she just didn't get.

It was ironic, now that she thought about it, given how fundamental interpreting the meaning between the words Ranger said was to their relationship. Especially in those early days when he would throw her a raised eyebrow and a Babe and call it a fully realized conversation.

"I do," he confirmed, transferring the book to the other hand so he could lift the wine glass from the dresser and offer it to her, never once releasing her from his smoldering gaze. If they weren't careful, they'd have yet another apartment fire on their hands. And how would she explain the source of the flames and the fact that she was naked to the police?

Stephanie took a long sip of the wine, letting it slide down her throat and settle into the warmth pooling in her belly. She wanted to ask more questions, but between the fog of arousal muddling her thoughts and the fact that she didn't know how to talk about poetry, she found herself just staring at her sexy Cuban, a breathy sigh falling from her lips.

There was something she was supposed to be doing. She was sure she'd been in the middle of something. But she couldn't for the life of her remember what it was. And honestly, with the way Ranger's gaze was scorching a trail over her skin, she didn't much care.

With a gently hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her down just enough to sweep a line of open-mouthed kisses long her jaw. "Get dressed for me, and I'll read to you," he instructed in a low whisper by her ear.

A needy moan squeezed out of her throat as he released her once more, taking advantage of her pliable state to turn her around and nudge her toward the bed where an entire outfit was laid out, ready and waiting for her.

She surveyed the clothes briefly before returning her gaze to her man. Ranger was mid sip of the wine but met her eyes over the rim of the glass with a lifted eyebrow as if to say, "Well, get on with it."

Stephanie picked up the black lace thong.

Ranger raised the book back to an appropriate height for him to read from while keeping her in his sights.

She bent to step into the panties, never once looking away from him.

"Give me hunger," he read, a light rumble to his voice. His eyes dipping to the page long enough to take in the words before returning to watch as dragged the lace up her legs. "O you gods that sit and give the world its orders." Stephanie's movements slowed as she reached her thighs, drawing out the suspense. "Give me hunger, pain and want," Ranger went on, his pitch dropping as Stephanie's hands continued to ascend after the panties were in place, skimming her fingers up her abdomen, over her ribs to her breasts. A moan floated up from the depths of her desires as she caressed herself. "Shut me out with shame and failure from your doors of gold and fame, give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!"

Stephanie was breathing heavily, desire and need swirling through her and Ranger hadn't even touched her. It wasn't the first time his voice had put her in an absolute state, but something about this time was different. There was nothing erotic about the poem he was reciting, and yet she found herself throbbing with anticipation of the next words to pass those supple lips. Maybe it was the knowledge of how talented those lips were in other areas. Maybe it was the images that had flitted through her head when she'd first laid eyes on him upon entering the room, but she was quite sure she wouldn't be making it out of the apartment before she shattered apart.

"But leave me a little love," Ranger went on, following her movements as she reached for the stockings. "A voice to speak to me in the day end." Their eyes were locked as she took three steps to the end of the bed and settled on the edge there, lifting her foot to rest on the arm of the chair he sat in. She leaned forward to slip the sheer nylon over her toes and Ranger had to pause his reading to readjust himself, a growl rumbling in his chest. "A hand to touch me in the dark room, Breaking the long loneliness." His voice was barely above a whisper now, but it filled the room as completely as if he'd shouted the line.

And then silence.

No. Not silence. Quiet. Thick, and expectant as they both followed the progress of the sheer material up first one and then the other leg. Their breaths audible, harmonizing in the space between them.

Returning her foot to the floor, Stephanie arched her back, reaching behind her for the bra and slowly lowering herself atop the comforter, shoulders first and sliding them along until she was lying on the bed with her legs hanging over the side, staring wide eyed down the length of her body to where Ranger sat. If she wasn't mistaken, his grip appeared to be a little tighter on the book he still held in his grasp. She took a deep breath, slow and deliberate, watching as his gaze darkened to black.

"Why aren't you reading?" she asked innocently, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

"In the dusk of day-shapes," Ranger responded, averting his eyes for barely a second to read the next line. "Blurring the sunset, One little wandering, western star." He scooted forward on the chair, leaning elbows on knees as Stephanie situated first one and then the other breast into the lace cup of the bra and arched her back to fasten it behind her. Ranger's recitations came out on a harsh groan as she undulated her hips before him. "Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow."

He sank to his knees between her legs, one hand gliding up her thigh to rest mere inches away from the place she needed him most, while the other brought the book up to rest on her stomach. "Let me go to the window," he read, dragging his gaze from page up to the pink of her cheeks, the cerulean blue of her eyes, before slowly travelling back down, past the book to where the tips of his fingers brushed the edge of lace.

A shudder ran through her. His proximity, his breath on her skin, the unfathomable depths of his gaze sweeping over her. She needed him to finish her, but she longed so dearly to linger there on the cusp, drawing out every exquisite sensation.

"Watch there the day-shapes of dusk," he whispered, pressing his lips to her inner thigh, drawing a moan from throat as he hips shifted to try to position him where she wanted him. He resisted, though, pressing more firmly against her stomach with the hand still holding the book in place to keep her still. "And wait," he continued pointedly, rising to his feet so that he was now looming over her, a panting, writhing mess of yearning on the bed.

She had not yet even attempted to reach for the little black dress he'd picked out, and at that point, she had not desire to do so. She was teetering on the edge, ready to come apart at the barest brush of Ranger's touch. There was no way she could be expected to leave this apartment without first experiencing the bone melting orgasm he'd been building her toward with nothing more than his presence, his hungry gaze, and the words of a freaking poet.

"And know the coming." Ranger lifted a knee to the bed beside her hip, leaning down until his lips were mere millimeters from her lips.

If he would just kiss her, Stephanie thought desperately, falling helplessly into the swirling heat of his gaze. One kiss and she was sure the tension winding tighter and tighter inside her would snap.

"Of a little love." With the poem concluded, Ranger sank not just his lips, but his entire body to hers, his satisfied groan drowned out by Stephanie's pleasured cry as she wrapped herself around him, pulling him as close as she could while he was still fully clothed as her hips bucked beyond her control.