Much later, they were back in Teresa's house. It had been a special torture for Patrick to spend time watching the movie while Teresa sat there wearing...his boots. And then to drive back with her, and watch her in front of him...to see the teasing spark in her eyes...

Patrick decided to let Teresa take the lead. He'd taken a huge risk by confiding in her in the first place, and did not want to scare her away. He wasn't at all surprised that she was her normal self as they ended their evening. Patrick was seated on the couch, enjoying his tea as Teresa sat on his lap and teased him. It was a special little ritual that he enjoyed.

"Every day," she went on, "I wake up with you, talk to you, eat lunch with you, drink coffee while you have your tea. I can't even imagine being in a situation where you had to be gone from me again. Undercover assignments without you? Not happening again." She reached down and removed the teacup from his hand. "I don't know how I can ever be without you." She placed a kiss on his lips, which soon deepened. "I love everything about you. The way you look, the way you smell..." She giggled as she buried her nose into his neck. The stubble tickle-scratched her and she could not resist flicking her tongue out to taste him.

Patrick was more than happy to respond, wrapping both arms around her. The movie and the anticipatory tenseness about the boots had left him emotionally spent. But being around Teresa when she was this spontaneous, not burdened by the often gruesome and difficult work she did, that was his intoxication, the sun that provided the heat to his days and nights. It had taken a long time for her to be able to express herself so freely, and his gratitude and love knew no bounds. He could not repress the faint shiver that rippled through him as her tongue flicked against his skin.

"Mmm..." she murmured, "You taste...so good..."

Patrick relaxed into her, silently willing her to continue talking. This sensual side of Teresa was one he treasured as much as her logical, kickass, take-charge side.

"Keep talkin'," he insisted.

"Oh yeah? You sure you don't want to...shut me up?" she teased as she kissed him.

Breaking for air, Patrick told her, "Your voice. So sexy." Kiss. "You. So sexy. You drove me crazy with those boots tonight..." he added, his voice low, smooth, and husky. "So...so beautiful." Kiss. He ran his hand up and down her thigh. "Lose the jeans," he requested.

Teresa whimpered ever so slightly at his request, the sound muffled within his own mouth.

But she didn't move.

"Lose the jeans," he said with more authority, even as he shivered again in anticipation.

"I've got a better idea," Teresa murmured, giving him one last kiss, then rising, holding onto his hand as long and as lingeringly as she could. "Bed." She motioned her head towards the bedroom, as she slowly disappeared into the bathroom.

In her robe, Teresa emerged from the bathroom to discover that Patrick had dimmed the lights and was sitting at the edge of the bed. His eyes lighted with a mixture of relief and delight when he noticed that she still had the boots on. He stood, awaiting her arrival next to him, and Teresa reached both hands out to him.

Holding each hand in his, Patrick placed a soft kiss in each palm, before bringing her hands close together, clasping both wrists now with one hand. He pulled those hands to his chest, placing them close to his heart. His free hand dropped to settle at her hip, pulling her infinitesimally closer, before slowly moving upward, tracing the gentle dip where hip merged into waist. Frustrated by the terry bulk of her robe, he pulled open its tie at the waist, and slipped his hand inside, continuing his journey upward to her breast.

Now it was her turn to shiver.

"Cold?" he murmured, pulling her even closer so his mouth settled by her ear.

"Hot!" she insisted, but with another shiver.

Patrick's tongue flicked towards her ear, tracing the lobe and intensifying her shiver. He could feel her breath.

"Want you..." they both exhaled at the same time, and then Teresa slipped her wrists from his grasp.

She reached up to cup his face, and pulling it down, latched her mouth onto his, her tongue seeking entrance. Even as she intensified the kiss, she shrugged the robe off her shoulders, and Patrick vaguely realized that not only was his fantasy in his arms, she was dressed as he had ultimately fantasized. In the boots. And nothing else.

With ultimate willpower, he slightly pushed her away, and was thrilled to see that she was actually blushing as his eyes roved up and down her body, blatantly telegraphing his intentions.

And yet, she was the same Teresa he knew. "See something you like?" she purred.

Patrick did not answer. His eyes could not stop roving, up to her face, to the desire in her eyes, then down down down over every aspect of her body, finally stopping at the boots. The contrast of dark leather against her pale skin caused the blood to rush to Patrick's head, pounding crushing waves between his ears.

"Lose the clothes, Patrick," he dimly heard her request.

Her wish was his reason for being at that moment, and he quickly undressed while it was her turn to watch him. And she giggled as he finally stood there wearing only the special socks, and gave him a quick push onto the bed. She knelt in front of him and pulled his socks off.

"Walk for me," he requested.

Proudly, with not a hint of embarrassment, she walked alongside the bed.

"My god..." Patrick exhaled, in disbelief, still trying hard to fathom that he'd actually found this beautiful woman and that she was willing to meet him more than halfway.

His hand reached out to stop her, and caressed her leg above the boots.

And then she surprised him. Before he could react, her head dipped, and her mouth surrounded him, engulfed him, her lips and tongue and teeth sliding over him.

He groaned, the sound incomprehensible. All he was aware of were the boots, her mouth, the boots, Lisbon, Teresa.

It was the middle of the night. Somehow, the boots had been removed. One of his hands was entangled in her hair. As Patrick drifted in and out of sleep, the words hot, wet and boot flitted in and out of his mind. He wove his fingers through her hair, dimly remembering how she had pressed gentle kisses against his chest, neck, and face, and then vividly remembering how with one firm push, he'd been inside her, one boot-clad foot caressing his face.

She'd worn the boots. She'd worn the boots.