Chapter 6

To be wronged is nothing unless you continue to remember it.

-Confucius

Erin rapped sharply on the door of Dave's office, the flimsy cover art of the latest Rossi bestseller, threatened to tear in her grip. With a flip of her wrist she let herself in.

"I need a favor," she said, letting the door snap shut behind her.

He gave a noncommittal grunt barely looking up from his laptop. He had a book tour scheduled in Florida that he was trying to weasel out of. The whole team was flooded with paperwork and he couldn't leave them hanging with his, too.

"Pay attention, you'll like this." Giving him a chance to gloat wasn't on her To-Do list, but as everyone knows desperate times called for desperate measures. Dave gave another passing grunt, without looking up.

"Something only you can give," she continued, perching herself on the edge of the desk in front of him.

His eyes never left the screen, "Something only I can give?...You already have my sperm, what else is there?"

"Your signature." With a superior finger, she snapped the laptop closed.

He shook his head as a wry grin twisted his mouth. "You are way too comfortable in here." In the weeks since Erin gave him the ultimatum, 'Prove it, or Walk', Dave had tried to put some effort into their relationship. He invited her to lunch on a daily basis, but she wouldn't budge. In fact, she flat out refused. It was a no-win situation in his book.

"Did I miss something? Hotch would have brought me the report. What's going on?"

In answer to his question, she slapped the book down in front of him. "I didn't know you were a fan, Erin ." He reached for a pen and flipped to the cover page. "You know if I make this personal, the resale value drops once I kick the bucket."

"I look at your signature all day, so it makes no difference to me. My teenage daughter, however, wants you as the subject of her semester paper."

"Me?" His eyebrow raised in surprise and intrigue.

"Apparently she finds your ability to juggle two careers fascinating, but personally, I don't like it. I suggested Stephen King, Conan Doyle or James Patterson. King lives back East, Patterson is on tour and Doyle is dead..." She shrugged her shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance, "…so, it came down to you and King."

Dave's eyebrows shot up. "With the things that run through King's head, you would prefer that your 17 year old spend an afternoon with him over me?"

"In Kings defense, his books are fictitious and I haven't slept with him," she said, spreading her palms wide.

He shrugged his shoulders. How could he argue with her logic? "True."

"She wants a meeting. I figure an hour between consults next week should suffice." With that Erin hopped off the desk and breezed towards the door.

Dave rolled his eyes at her haughtiness. "It's going to cost you."

She wheeled around, her poker face in place. "Oh?"

"Dinner. Tonight. Before the kids get back."

Her shoulders dropped, like the implication of his words, was too much to bear. "David, I'm asking for an hour. Why does that come with a price?"

"No. You're asking for an hour when what you want is a lifetime. How do you expect to have that, if you refuse to spend any time with me?"

"Five days this week isn't enough?" she asked in a huff completely taken aback by his brazen behavior.

He hung his head in feigned sorrow. "Paperwork pick-ups just don't cut it anymore. I'm afraid you'll have to bite the bullet and share a meal with me."

Her spine stiffened. "I'm not looking for a relationship - with you or anyone else. That hasn't changed just because you decided this was the right thing to do."

"You told me to prove that I wanted you-"

The sharp clicking of heels on the tile, echoed as she flounced around to the side of his desk. Opening the drawer, she could smell his cologne from where he sat. Hints of leather and musk wafted into her nose. The hard wood of the desk pressed against her ribs.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her finger his treasured cigar box.

Her voice dropped to a near whisper, "When I said, 'prove it', I meant get healthy and exercise more. Prove you're prepared to be a father. If the results of your latest physical prove anything, you're not holding up your end of the bargain." She slid one lone black cigar deftly into her hand.

His eyes flickered from her determined expression to his precious stogie and back again. It wasn't looking promising for the cigar, he thought with a glimmer of hope that maybe he could salvage it after she left.

He stared up at her from his chair with his arrogance on full display. "Cut the bull shit, that's not what you said at all."

In one swift movement she broke the cigar in half and tossed it into the trash. "It's what I meant."

He grabbed her hand before she could pull away, and stared at her with eyes full of want. "Say what you mean next time - exactly how you mean it."

In one swift motion his lips covered hers, prying them apart with his tongue. Exploring the caverns of her mouth, he dared her to follow him on this journey of illicit pleasure that could result in both of them getting caught. His hands found her hips and lifted her on top of the desk.

Her stomach rolled as his tongue invaded her mouth. She pulled away sharply when acid coursed up her throat.

She pressed her hand to her lips. "Dave-"

"You broke my cigar; I'd say a kiss was fair payment."

"I'm – I'm going to be sick-"

In the nick of time the trash can appeared in front of her face. He gathered her hair away from her face as she gagged and choked.

'So much for that cigar'

"I've gotta say, that's a new reaction, I've never made a woman throw up before."

"No, just turn their stomachs," Erin said, raising her head to look at him. More retching followed as the smell of bile invaded her nose.

She drew a few shuddering breaths and attempted to slide down from the desk. Dave's firm hand on her arm stopped her. Her alabaster complexion turned to waxen and he could feel the sudden coolness of her skin through her jacket.

"Sit tight," his tone left no room for argument. He cast a pointed glare at her feet, "I don't want you to face plant as soon as those shoes touch the floor."

"I'm not even dizzy," she protested, "and there's nothing wrong with my shoes."

"Come crawl on my desk anytime you want, Sweetheart, but I'll never let you fall off it," Dave teased, getting to his feet. He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to her feet.

"Dave, I said I'm fine."

"But what you say and what you mean, are two completely different things," he retorted, narrowing his eyes.

To her horror, her head spun when her feet touched the floor.

He slowly guided her to the sofa. "Have a seat, I'll be right back."

She rolled her eyes. "You give me a migraine. Are you going to help Paige, or not?"

"I'll pick you up at seven," he stated as if it were matter of fact. "We'll have dinner, and I'll meet with Paige on Saturday. Besides," he cast another look at her waxy complexion, "you look like you could use a decent meal."

"An hour will be fine," Erin conceded, sounding more like a nervous parent than a woman in full control of the situation.

"An afternoon would be better - if the weather holds out we can meet at the park. I'll bring Mudgie. Tell Paul to bring his baseball glove," he said moving towards the door with the trash can in tow.

"Just so we're clear, this is just dinner, David."

He turned from the door, his eyes traveled slowly over her body, taking in her outfit. Not an inch of skin was visible through the black skirt and matching blazer. Complete with power pumps so high, they would make The Devil blush. "Something pretty is preferable. Sensible shoes are required."