Booth cursed himself for not packing sweats as he pulled on his jeans and wandered out to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, watching her open cupboards and gaze into them, waiting for something to strike her.
He came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, she leaned back against him and sighed. He relished in having her against him, the feel of her cool cotton robe and silky hair against his chest, the scent that was only her rising up to wake something deep within him. He thought about how content he was within this moment and slowly closed his eyes.
"Hey, why don't you let me fix us something, I'm sure I can scrounge up the ingredients for some kind of dinner." He opened his eyes and leaned in, snuggling against her neck, slightly parting his lips and stealing just a taste of her.
"Booth you fixed our last two meals, you can't make dinner too. Maybe we should order from somewhere." She tilted her head as a wisp of air escaped her and seeing it as a request he took a nibble, following it with his tongue. She gasped deeply, reaching a hand up and running it through his hair.
"Well going out somewhere is out of the question, but I am willing to cook or we could order in, what do you think?" She could feel his lips echo the words against her even as he spoke them, sending a chill up the back of her neck and over her scalp.
"I'm flexible."
"Yes you are, and I couldn't be more appreciative of that." His hand snaked around to the front of her, under the edge of her robe cupping her breast, her nipple gathering under his touch. He closed his eyes, smiling languidly, his fingers moving over her as though reading the very texture of her flesh and then returned to her tight nub. She moaned softly, her hips pulling back suddenly causing him to open his eyes.
Catching up, she whispered, "that's not what I meant." She pulled out of his grasp, turning around in his arms, "food, we were trying to decide on food." She shifted her weight against the ache now burning between her legs and crawling up her belly, wondering at how her body betrayed her, responding to him without her consent. She was caressing his chest with her hand, pleased with her ability to follow that impulse and not have to suppress the urge any longer. She flattened her palm out so she could feel him against her entire hand. How could she already want him again?
"Do you have flour, butter and eggs?"
She looked up at him curiously, "yes."
"Then I can have dinner cooked up in no time." She delicately kissed the center of his chest, directly over his heart. She stayed there, feeling his heart beat against her. He tipped her head up and kissed her, their lips parting, tongues touching, dipping and receding as the passion swirled between them. His hands found her again, pushing the robe aside they trailed across her, caressing up her sides and around to her back.
She drew away from him and smiled, her breathing shallow, "okay, this is dangerous, you stay here and I'm going over there. We won't get anything done otherwise; I'll stay in here with you but no touching until after dinner is made or at least until I say so, understood?" With that she slipped from his arms and moved to the other side of the counter.
He was still looking at the spot she had been standing in but now he turned slowly toward her. "Okay, no touching until dinner is made, this feels strangely like sexual blackmail, Bones. I'm pretty sure there is a violation here somewhere."
He had that boyish grin, his hair still messed and his eyes soft and relenting. She wondered if he had any idea how sexy he was, just standing in her kitchen, doing nothing in particular. Certainly many women had told him along the way. She felt a stab at the thought of other women and pushed it forcefully out of her head instead taking her mind back to him and what she would like to be doing to him.
"If you think I've committed some offence that would warrant the involvement of the FBI, then you can frisk and arrest me later." She was staring him right in the eyes, teasing him and he was painfully aroused by both her boldness and her challenging look. There was that side of her again, the one he sensed but had never seen until this weekend.
"Handcuffs and all?" He asked with his eyebrow raised in interest, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could see it from where she stood.
"The handcuffs are a given Agent Booth, the question is, will I resist arrest? Of course, if I were to be taken in I'm sure I would have to explain all these marks on my body." With those words she opened the front of her robe, never taking her eyes off of him.
He broke her gaze, he couldn't help it, his eyes traveled down the slender column of her neck, lingering on the full curve of her breast, the deep rose nipples still tight with his attention, the curve to her waist and the tantalizing glimpse of her navel as the edge of the counter in front of her cut off his view. She was right, the mark of his presence was peppered all over her, a pink whisker burn here and there, a couple of light red bite marks and a wandering trail of pale plum hickies. The images from her bed rushed into his head and he slid his tongue across the roof of his mouth sure he could still taste her. She slowly pulled the robe closed and when his darkened eyes returned to her face it held a satisfied smile. She had him, his erection tight in his jeans, he was wishing for those sweats again.
A sharp wave of panic washed through her brain. What was she doing? She felt the need for him swell as his eyes moved over her but she let him soak up his fill before closing her robe. How could this be, that a man who had been close to her all this time now had this primal power over her body? Just his glance elicited a tingle, a warmth, a wetness. She thought fleetingly of trying to regain control of herself but the idea dissolved even as she was forming it. The truth blazed through her, she liked it, wanted it, craved it.
"So, would you like a glass of wine while I make dinner? Water? Juice? What can I get you?" His rapid shift to normal conversation somehow signaling that for the moment the game was paused.
"It's my place, I can at least get us something to drink. What would you like?"
"I'll have a beer if you have one." She watched him take some chicken from the freezer, and then start pulling ingredients from the refrigerator and seasoning from the counter rack.
Within minutes he had thawed and cut up the chicken and had it in a pan on the stove, vegetables in the sink being rinsed in a colander and he was pouring the last of the flour into a bowl to make some kind of dough. She had managed to open his beer, open and pour her wine, get them both a glass of water and set two places to eat before settling across from him to observe without distraction.
She was amazed at the rhythm with which he worked, multitasking and moving from one thing to the next just as soon as she thought he had forgotten it.
"You multitask really well, maybe that's why I'm not too good at cooking; I am more of a single focus type personality." She watched him reach and turn off the water, stir the chicken, look inside and then turn on the oven before returning to the dough.
"Why did you look in the oven?"
"Bones, some people store things in the oven so it's always good to look in one before turning it on. I always check, now it's automatic."
"That's the most illogical thing I've ever heard. Who would store something in the oven, it would be so easy to forget and catch it on fire."
He was laughing and began explaining to her about how some people don't have enough cupboard space but she was no longer listening. He was kneading the dough, his hands working expertly through the wet ingredients in a quick turning method that began to become folds as the mixture started to resemble a solid form. It was sticky and he added a little more flour before dumping it onto the counter and beginning to work it flat with the heal of his hand, turning, folding and stretching, evening the edges with his masterful fingers until it was a perfect oval, he sliced it in half and continued to work on it. She couldn't take her eyes off his hands, it was as though she had fallen into a trance, watching. She had seen it before in tribes but it was usually women, squatting against the ground pounding corn into dust and then kneading it into bread dough against a rock. The motions were the same, the wrist, the palm, the fingers and it felt like a link to something so much greater than herself. As he separated the dough again she swallowed hard, unable to concentrate on anything except how those hands felt, so strong when he lifted her, so gentle when he caressed her, so maddening when he stroked her, so powerful when moving inside her.
His voice penetrated her thoughts, "Bones, what exactly are you thinking about right this minute?" He was grinning at her, as though he already knew what she was thinking.
"I'm thinking that as good as you are with your hands I'm really going to enjoy that massage you owe me for winning the swimming race." She was smiling broadly, feeling she had saved herself with that answer.
"Really because I could swear that with your eyes that deep ocean blue, your lips slightly parted, your breath coming a little too fast and that flush to your cheeks that you were thinking about something rather sexual. Just where was I massaging you? My guess is that it wasn't your shoulders and I'm pretty good at reading people." He was back to his boyish grin and back in the game with her.
"I never claimed my thoughts weren't sexual." She was blushing deeply now but still forced herself to look at him. He went back to the dough, patting it firmly, slapping his hand across it in a final attempt at leveling. In his peripheral vision he saw her jump slightly and smiled to himself, taking mental notes for later. He took out two small casserole type dishes and molded two pieces of the dough inside, when he turned to stir and add some things to the chicken she was disappointed that he was done with the dough and now had his back to her.
He turned and poked the dough with a fork, sticking the dishes into the oven and turning back to cut the vegetables.
"Booth, there's a cutting board under the sink, if you hand it over I'll help you cut up those vegetables." He bent down and grabbed the board, handing it across to her and then setting a bowl of veges near it. "Are you sure you can be trusted with a knife Bones, I know your track record with weapons." He was laughing even as he finished speaking, that low chuckle that was a warm blanket thrown around her shoulders.
She cocked her head to the side and tried to give him an irritated stare but in truth she couldn't maintain it. She just didn't feel irritated. "Very funny Booth and since you brought it up, when will I be getting a gun?"
He laughed harder, handing her the knife, handle first. "Bones, you are a weapon unto yourself, you don't need a gun."
"I do need one and I'm not sure whether that was a compliment or not. How small do you want these cut?" She was poised with the knife.
"About a half inch or so, squared. No, you don't, you have me and I have a gun and it was a compliment, you tell me all the time how you can take care of yourself."
"But I could take better care of myself if I had a gun."
He rolled his eyes, "Bones, Cullen would never let me issue you a gun, not after what happened the last time. You're just going to have to wait until he ever gets over it, or retires, which ever comes first." He was laughing again.
They both began working quickly, his style fast and loose, hers controlled and efficient. In the comfortable silence he looked up at her, sitting straight, focused on the task, her hair loose around her face, her robe open down to the creamy rise of her cleavage and those amazing fingers working over the vegetables as though this were a job of great importance. Each move of her hands was so graceful, so delicate in it's touch that every gesture appeared to him as a small caress. He recalled again those words Angela said to him so long ago, "if she has that much intensity over a pile of bones imagine what it would do to your world to have that focus turned on you." Here he was, no longer circling her world, but a part of it and he had to admit, he had greatly underestimated how it would feel to be here. She didn't just focus on him, she enveloped him, seeped into his pores, his thoughts and even though he tried to deny it, his heart. He had never before been so compelled by anyone, just to bask in her presence soothed him in a way he felt inept to define.
She looked up, catching his gaze, slightly surprised by all the emotion stirring there. "Hey, you stopped working, mine are done." She pushed the bowl toward him and he added his to hers and gave it a shake, enjoying the small thought of mixing their work. He pulled the shells out of the oven and set them on the stovetop. Pouring the vegetables in the pan with the chicken and gravy, he stirred and covered them. She suddenly put it together, "Booth are you making home made chicken pot pies?" Her eyes were round.
"Yeah, is that okay, because you look surprised?"
"I love chicken pot pie and I rarely find it home made. You just whipped it up, made it seem so simple. I always thought it was a difficult dish and you made it seem so easy."
"It is an easy dish, once you've done it a few times it comes together. What was you're favorite dish when you were a child?"
"Well, chicken pot pie or the mini meatloaf special, which was a dish my mother made. We were all so fussy about what we wouldn't eat that my mother would mix the basic recipe and then custom make us each a mini meatloaf that was to our liking. Russ was no onion, my dad's was heavy green pepper and no mushroom and mine was no green pepper and heavy tomato sauce. It's funny, it was a small thing but we would all be so excited to get our personalized plates. What was your favorite food?"
"Home made baked macaroni and cheese, my mom made it with Colby cheese, the brown crust was the best part. I have her recipe and I've made it for Parker."
"Did you love Rebecca?" She blushed a little at the question because she had been wanting to ask it for too long.
His head jerked and at first he was startled but it made sense that she would want to know what happened. "I thought I loved Rebecca when I was dating her and in truth I probably did, but I was never in love with her. We got along well back then, had fun and were comfortable together but there was something missing. I imagine it was similar to what was between you and David except of course Rebecca then found out she was pregnant. At first I was upset but I asked her to marry me because I knew it was the right thing to do. She was smart enough to say no and I was angry at the time because I thought she was being selfish but it would have been worse for Parker to be in a house with two people that didn't love each other. What would that have taught him about relationships? I can see now he is better off having us both in his life and healthy."
"How did you know she wasn't the one for you?"
"Back then I was, how should I put this, more about the activities of a relationship than I was about being a couple." Seeing the confusion on her face, he elaborated. "The sex, Bones. I was more interested in the sex than I was in the long term relationship but that was six years ago and I learned that you can have physically gratifying sex with any partner but something more happens when you actually connect."
"So what kind of sex are we having?" It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
A flash of pain shot through him, that she would have to ask but he quickly realized that she was just trying to be sure, fighting her own demons.
"I don't know." He answered honestly, his palms were sweating.
"What do you mean you don't know?" She jumped in, and he could see her shoulders tense, her spine straighten and her lip tighten. He realized his mistake immediately.
"Temperance, I have never had sex like this before, never felt like this before, I have no point of reference for this."
"Neither do I." She loved hearing him say her name and she had learned that he only did so when he wanted to be sure she was paying attention. A small smile appeared and he noticed her posture had softened back into a relaxed state.
He began cleaning up the items he no longer needed. He stirred his pot on the stove and tipped his head back, finishing off his beer. He took the shells and filled them, set the pan in the sink and quickly worked the remaining pieces of dough over the top of each dish. He placed them in the oven, set the timer and turned to her. "Done, just like that." He dusted his hands together in a dramatic flair, smiling triumphantly. "Do you want more wine?"
"Yes, but I can get it, I'm just sitting here." She rose and went to the fridge, she had just pulled the cork and as she turned around he was directly behind her. Facing him, she smiled, "remember, no touching." He stepped his feet apart and placed a hand on each side of her, closing her in without contact.
"I'm not touching you." She moved quickly to his left, attempting to duck under his arm but his arm snapped into place in front of her. A knowing smile crept across his face. He reached down and carefully untied her robe, dropping the belt and moving the material slowly away from her skin. He looked down, licking his lips.
"Take a drink," he nodded toward the bottle as he spoke. She turned her head and brought the bottle to her lips. Her tongue snuck out and circled the rim, her lips wrapped around it and she slid them down the neck of it as she watched his eyes grow dark, a guttural sound rumbling from his chest. She eased the rim back to her lips, letting the tart dryness slide down her throat.
He took the bottle from her hand, the condensation gathering on the bottom already threatening to drip. He held it over her body, letting the drop strike her breast and run down the front of her. She shifted slightly and pressed her self against the door as he touched the cool glass to the side of her breast, rolling it across her nipple. Her breath hitched as her breast drew tightly against the cold. The fine hair on her skin rose, he moved his mouth down over her nipple, parting his lips and blowing his hot breath over her, the bottle moving to the other breast. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of sensations: steamy hot breath, frigid smooth glass, icy wet trailing down her belly, the musky scent of him, the tangy sweet cold of the wine and the molten heat churning between her thighs. Her hands went up and hovered above him trembling in the air, she clenched her fists trying to steady herself, trying to hold on to a shred of control.
"Temperance," in the barely there utterance of her name he shattered her hold on herself. Her arms grabbed him and pulled him against her, her hand moving to his hair, pulling it into her fist and guiding his lips to her mouth with desperate ugency.
He reached out and blindly set the bottle down, her naked body grinding against him, she was moaning into him. His erection strained against his jeans, throbbing. He wanted nothing more than to feel her thighs fold around him, her body opening, urging him into her burning depths. He pushed a hand between them and sank his fingers into her, her silky walls flaring at his touch. She pushed into him and he slipped his hand out of her, lifting his head he released her, stepping away. It wasn't until he turned that she realized the oven timer was ringing through the room.
He grabbed the pot holder, groaning in frustration and removed the pies from the oven, placing one on each of their plates. His hair was sticking up and the bulge in his jeans made his movements careful. She stood where he left her, the look of shock still etched on her face, her robe and hair hanging loosely around her, her lips and breast swollen from the bruising activity and arousal. She closed her robe, pulling in a deep breath, trying to purge herself of the need.
"Dinner is served." He smiled sympathetically at her, gesturing toward her seat. She lifted the bottle of wine from the counter, walked over and sat down near him, pouring the rest into her glass. "Remember, you're the one who said you needed to eat before there was any more chanting."
"I am starving, in so many ways…" She was grinning at him as she broke the crust and steam wafted from her dish. They both enthusiastically began to eat.