Jack was not going to give her much time to feel secure in her victory. In the space of a single day he had assembled his thoughts, carefully arranging the conditions of their next encounter in such a way that would leave her even weaker than usual against his charms. Or so he hoped. After giving away the upper hand at her house last night, he had learned that he must be on the offensive, particularly when doing battle on her home turf.

But they would not be on her home turf tonight.

The scheme had come to Jack on his long and less than comfortable drive home from her house the night before. He had been racking his brain, trying to imagine the perfect set of circumstances that would affect her the most.

And then it dropped into his lap, suddenly obvious. Phryne was the most stimulated—in all senses of the word—when she was working a case. This was no doubt the reason why so many men involved in her cases ended up in her bed. And, though it made him a little uneasy to admit it, it probably contributed in part to her attraction to him. She was ardent and alive when she was solving a murder, and Jack knew instinctively that there was a sexual component to that passion. As he was consistently by her side when she was in this heightened state, it was natural that some of those emotions would become blurred, that she would associate him with the thrill she felt when sleuthing.

Even though she probably didn't even know it herself, and would likely be shocked if he were to suggest it...yes, it was there. When they were together, when they were working a case, she was eager, energetic, fierce. If he could put her in that state of mind, where she hummed with that awareness and concentration, her senses alive with the urge to solve, he knew he could tease out the sexual energy hidden beneath those emotions. That was the chink in her armor. That was his way in. She would be more impulsive, more responsive, less guarded. If he put on a good enough show, she may not see through the ruse. But it would take a very good show indeed, for little got past her in the state of mind he planned to induce.

"Can I tempt you with a trip to the docks tomorrow night?" he asked her over the telephone on the evening following their initial skirmish. He hoped his proposal would catch her by surprise. "We think the Irish mob might have commandeered one of the warehouses and are using it to conceal contraband. I could use your sharp eye if you're in the mood for a stakeout."

He knew her attraction to potential peril would not allow her to turn down his offer, even if she was suspicious of his motives.

"Really, Jack? Do you really think you're prepared to be trapped all alone in a dark motorcar with me?" She used her most seductive purr, but now that he was in control of things he was able to brush it off.

"I think I can manage."

"Better than last time, I hope. All right, I'll play along. Pick me up at eight?"

"Nine," he corrected assertively, careful to keep command of all the details. "Dress sensibly, Phryne, in case we have reason to pursue on foot."

"I always dress sensibly, Jack. You won't be disappointed."

But despite the insinuation behind her words, he knew he was safe enough. Even concealed in a motorcar at the deserted docks, she would be forced to dress out of respect for public decency. She would need to rely on more than bare flesh if she hoped to win this round.

"No, darling," crooned Jack, his voice like honey. "You are many things, but disappointing has never been one of them."

"See you soon," she cooed back, ending the call with a little kiss into the receiver.

The trap was laid. But Phryne Fisher would not make easy prey.

He was a little taken aback when she answered the door the next evening. She looked...pretty. Not enticing or flamboyant or irresistible but wore a knee-length frock of creamy linen, the bodice and hem embroidered exquisitely with salmon-pink posies. As always the outfit was impeccably coordinated, her velvet cape and Mary Janes matching the salmon embroidery precisely. The color brought out the pink of her cheeks and made her look like a girl. The studded barrette that swept one side of her hair behind her ear intensified the effect.

It wasn't what he had expected at all, yet it was nearly as dangerous as her purple lingerie. She was captivating, and stamping out the urge to reach for her went against every instinct in his body. But Jack had meticulously designed tonight's scheme and he was determined to execute it to the letter, hoping to knock her down a few pegs in the process.

"Conservative, Miss Fisher," he spoke after examining her thoroughly, so as not to let any aspect of her catch him off guard later on. "I'm astonished."

"You said to dress sensibly," she commented cheekily.

He frowned at her. "I meant to dress in preparation for possible physical activity. You look more like you're off to church."

She raised an immaculate eyebrow. "Oh, my. What sort of physical activity, Jack?"

"Not the kind you're hoping. Come along, the baddies will be crawling out to play soon."

He offered his elbow and she took it, pressing her breast against his arm. Jack took every opportunity to touch her along the way to the car, taking her by the waist as they stepped off the curb, stroking down her back as he opened the door for her, grasping her fingers to help her step up and into her seat.

She pressed her lips together in a grin of amusement. "Thank you, Jack. So very...attentive."

She was suspicious. But then, she would be. "You just look so fetching tonight. And you already know I don't find it easy to keep my hands off of you."

Her smile turned cat-like and she nodded in acceptance, allowing him to close the door. He made his way to the other side of the motorcar at a measured, leisurely pace.

"Tell me, Jack," said Phryne as he slid into the driver's seat. She scooted towards him until their thighs were pressed together. "What made you decide to bring me along? Shouldn't you have some police friends at your side?"

More suspicion. But he was ready for it.

"To be honest, this is more of an exploratory mission. A hunch, really," said Jack. "The commissioner won't allocate police resources to the case until I have something firm, until I can produce solid proof that the Irish mob is sniffing around Melbourne. So I've put together some information from various sources around the city and from what I can gather the docks are the place to be tonight. But staking out the docks all on one's own in the dead of night is frightfully boring. It's too easy to fall asleep when you're alone." He gave her a light, condescending pat on the knee. "So I thought, I'll bet Phryne would like to join me. Give her something to do."

He knew precisely the withering look she was giving him even though it was dark inside the car. "I have more than enough to do, Jack. But you sounded like you could use the company. So I took pity." With those words, he felt her warm hand rest softly on his thigh, settling well above the knee. It sent a spasm of awareness up his leg, but he was prepared for this too. He hastily summoned the images he had prepared, the most lust-inhibiting images he could fathom, and let them float across his mind as she caressed him. Mr. Butler cleaning the silverware. Mrs. Stanley in her nightie. Crying infants. The way Elsie Tizzard smelled when she was on one of her benders. Cec and Bert dressed as Roman soldiers. Those unfortunate shoes Hugh had given Dot for her birthday.

The flood of chastening images knocked the wind right out of his sails, bringing his arousal down to a much safer level, and he began to hum comfortably to himself as they made their way down the road.

She leaned closer and began to sing the words of the song he was humming, her voice smooth and intimate at his ear. "How glad the many millions...of Annabelles and Lillians would be...to capture me..."

Not to be outdone, he casually joined in with her. "But you had such persistence, you wore down my resistance, I fell...and it was swell…"

His lack of response to her efforts must have fazed her, for her hand began to drift higher. "But oh, my heart grew active when you...came into view…" Her voice was a caress, a luxury. Not wishing to find out just how far she would let her touch wander, he plucked her hand away by the wrist and returned it to her own lap.

"Try and control yourself, Miss Fisher," he said smoothly. "This is not a social outing. We have business to attend to tonight."

She gave a frustrated sigh and threw up her hands in slight exasperation, letting them fall back to her thighs with a soft smack. "Oh, I don't like this, Jack! It reminds me of before, of how badly I wanted you and how immune you were to any charms I threw your way. This wager is rubbish."

Jack grinned, knowing a change of tacts when he saw it. But he would not be plied with sympathy either. "I was never immune to you, Phryne. And you can, of course, concede any time."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you!" she laughed, sliding languidly back to the other side of the car. "No, Jack, I don't think I'll let you off that easily."

"Good," he replied, and he meant it.

A few moments later Jack was easing the motorcar into a nice shadowy corner off the street with a reasonably good view of the warehouse in question, which was abandoned in truth. A small fire last month had caused some minor structural damage and it had been deemed unsafe for use until repairs could be made. It was not in fact occupied by the Irish mob, nor anyone else. But that was beside the point.

"Tuck in for a long night," said Jack. "And keep your eyes open."

He let the next hour drift by with light conversation and a bit of companionable silence. During the silence Jack plotted, and he suspected Phryne was doing the same. She didn't try to touch him again, though.

That would be remedied soon enough. Oswald should be turning up at any moment now.

As if on cue, the lights of another motorcar sprayed around the corner, making Phryne sit up a little straighter. "Who's that?"

"I don't know," he replied, sliding easily across the seat to her side of the car under the ruse of peering out her window. To see properly, it was completely necessary for him to rest a hand atop her thigh and press her back against the seat with his body, slightly less gently than he might have if his entire library of case files weren't at stake.

"Jack, you're crushing me," she complained, although she didn't sound very fussed about it.

Jack swore dramatically. "He's getting out of the car. Quickly, quickly, come here."

And without giving her any time to think, his mouth was on hers. He rose up on one knee to gain some height and swept her hard into his arms, crushing her as close as the tight quarters in the motorcar would allow.

There would only be a few seconds before Oswald appeared at their window and Jack used them. With one hand he hiked her skirt up to her waist, grasping one of her silken thighs and draping her leg over his lap. He kissed her like he'd never kissed her before, using his mouth to liberate every iota of desire and love he felt for her, pouring his heart into her at the place where their mouths were joined.

She wasn't resisting him—she hadn't even tried to. Her fingers clutched at his clothes, pulling him by the lapels as if it was possible for him to kiss her any harder, opening her lips to him with a hot little gasp he felt in the deep, dark places of his body, places that he might never have discovered if not for Phryne. He used his tongue to learn her mouth, a lesson he had attended many times before, yet each time she felt new. And this time was different even still. There was something reckless and feral in their kiss, something new and untried and yet so heartbreakingly warm and familiar.

He breathed her in, feeling lightheaded as he folded his senses over the complex smell of her, white jasmine and vetiver and Phryne.

When the tap came at the window, Jack felt as if his insides were making a return journey from a very distant star. Both of them were panting and agitated, Jack's hand shaking a little as he reached out to lower the glass. He kept Phryne pinned where she was, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Can we help you?" huffed Jack, squinting as Oswald shone his torch in their faces.

"I thought I'd find a couple of teenagers in here. What are the likes of you two doing, necking in a dark motorcar? Tired of the wife, are we? This is no kind of place to be found loitering."

"Forgive us, Constable. Detective Inspector Robinson of City South," he rummaged in his back pocket before producing and presenting his credentials. "We are staking out this warehouse and thought you were a suspect, thus we er—improvised a bit of activity. For cover."

"Cover, was it?" asked Oswald, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "And that, my friends, is why women should be kept out of the police force. Too distracting."

Jack glared at his colleague for the unscripted comment.

"Yes, that's the reason," Phryne drawled, her voice routinely sarcastic though her heart still beat madly against his shoulder. Thankfully, she didn't seem in the mood to argue.

"Well," grumbled Oswald, playing his role to perfection. "I won't get in the way of your, erm, stakeout. Be wary, though, we've had some muggings and such 'round here recently. Keep your weapon close."

Jack gulped quietly, his face growing hot. He was brandishing more than one weapon at the moment.

Oswald began to walk away then stopped, turned back. "Oh, and Inspector? You've got a little something, just all round here—" he made a wide circular gesture around his mouth.

Jack suppressed a laugh. His face was no doubt smeared with Phryne's lipstick. He snatched the handkerchief out of his pocket and addressed it directly, flicking two fingers towards the constable in a casual salute.

Jack raised the window back up and replaced his left hand on her bare right thigh. They sat quietly together, facing each other, still halfway embracing. The energy of their kiss still hung heavily in the air, which seemed to pop with electricity. They watched each other but did not let their eyes meet. Carefully, slowly, Jack altered his touch. He rotated his palm on her leg so his fingers were pointing towards their goal, then he turned the hand over and let his knuckles graze her, moving up, up, stopping just short of his target.

Strangely enough, the heat and humidity he found between her thighs, inches from her center, reminded him of his school days, and he found himself categorizing the climates of her body in Köppen's terms. From her knees to midthigh—a mild, pleasant humid continental. But the further north his hand ventured, the hotter her skin...humid subtropical, tropical rainforest, and eventually he would find a delicious tropical monsoon—his favorite climate of all, one which would require a certain other appendage for proper exploration.

But not yet. Tonight was about teasing her. About working her into a frenzy. About denying her what she really wanted and bringing her a step closer to begging him for the relief that would declare the wager won in his favor.

She wasn't stopping him. She was going to let him. His neck felt hot as his fingers swept under silk to trace the moist cleft between her fevered thighs. She released a small, sweet little gasp in his ear and he knew he had her. He found a spot he knew she favored and applied just a little bit of pressure. Her hips gave a little jerk towards him and he leaned ever closer, anchoring himself against the seat with his other arm so that he could better control his touch. Slowly, he teased the delicate flesh in a little circle, increasing his speed by degrees and watching her pleasure climb in concert with his motions.

Her soft gasps became little cries, and every time she hissed out his name he thought he might combust, right there in her arms.

But he was focused. He watched her with precise attention, monitoring the way her legs twitched, the way her head rocked from side to side, the way her hand clamped tighter and tighter around his forearm.

He changed his touch just slightly, to another place he knew her to be fond of, and her eyes flew open with the unexpected pleasure of it. "Jack, yes! There, right there, please don't stop!" His fingers worked her unflaggingly until she went silent, holding even her breath, which Jack knew meant she was very close indeed.

Then he did something unforgiveable. He removed his hand.

She made a distressing sound, as if he had stolen the air from her lungs. "Jack!" she keened, her voice throbbing with frustration, eyes dazed.

"Quiet!" he hissed dramatically, calling on every bit of his theater training to look convincingly tense and alert as he pulled entirely away from her, his eyes staring into the blackness as if he had seen something. "I think I saw a torch."

Phryne moaned in frustration, "It's probably just that damned constable again!" But she leaned forward despite herself to scan the dark buildings in front of them. She shook her head and reached out for him. "It's quiet as the dead, Jack. Please…"

That little whispered plea tugged at his heart, but he was committed. "I'm going to have a look. Stay in the car."

"I don't think I will," countered Phryne, slowly coming back to herself. She would kill him for this, the heartless, cruel, villainous scoundrel. "What are you planning, just to waltz in there and arrest them for trespassing?" While she spoke she was stepping out of the car after him, compulsively checking the chamber of her gun to make sure all the bullets were present before stowing it back in her handbag.

He looked intensely engaged as he switched on his own torch, lighting the path so they could at least see where they were stepping. The sound of water was all around them, lapping lazily at the docked boats. If there was anyone sneaking around, it was unlikely she or Jack would be able to hear them.

It was very hard to ignore the quivering pangs from her thwarted climax, which radiated out from her womb to the tips of her fingers and toes. It was hardly the first time she had been denied completion by a man, but it would certainly be the first time at Jack's hands, who had proved himself to be an attentive and generous lover. But she was not a flimsy little flower to be immobilized by her lack of satisfaction. She would keep up with him all the same, and if he believed otherwise he would learn his mistake quickly.

"I'm not going to arrest anyone. I just want to see if we can get close enough to overhear anything."

"You had better pray," advised Phryne, her voice icy, "That there are some criminals in that warehouse. Because if there are not, you will ."

He looked back at her sheepishly. "I apologize for the timing, just now," he said, not sounding nearly sorry enough. "But we are here on police business first, and cannot allow personal, er, activities to distract us."

Phryne wanted to garrote him.

She was also growing more suspicious of him by the minute. Surely this entire undertaking was not just a ruse, surely he was not creative enough to come up with such an elaborate scheme with the sole purpose of furthering his interests in the wager. But the events of this evening had played so perfectly into his hands it seemed on purpose. A soul-shaking kiss interrupted by that nettlesome constable. Then his hand...between her legs...pushing her to the very brink—and he sees a torch. At the precise worst moment in the history of all things, ever, he sees a torch.

Phryne kicked a rock in her path with rather a lot of violence, sending it skidding pell-mell down the ramp and into the water. She had been aiming for the back of his beautiful, stupid head.

Jack Robinson would pay for tonight, whether her torture had been planned or not. When she was through with him he would be on his knees, clasping his hands in supplication as he begged her for her mercy. He may have tied the score, but it would be both the first and very last point he ever won from her.

He turned back to her again, this time a boyish grin on his face, and she knew she was not going to like whatever he was about to say. "I told you though, didn't I?" he asked, a self-satisfied chuckle in his voice. "Like putty."