Chapter 27 – December 27, 2006

Date night. Pick you up at 6.

That was all she'd gotten from him since she'd woken up and it was driving her completely nuts. As he was apt to do, he gave her no hints, no idea and nothing to use to decipher where they were going or what they were doing. It was utterly infuriating.

"Lindsay, you okay?" Hawkes asked, nudging her slightly.

"Frustrated," she answered honestly.

"Because of what?"

She smiled softly. "I'll figure it out."

Hawkes waited patiently, knowing that it was a matter of time before she burst if she was truly frustrated.

"Why do guys insist on being a pain?"

He chuckled. "So Stella was right."

Lindsay groaned. "You talked to Stel?"

"She mentioned something about a guy. How is this guy frustrating?"

"He'd not telling me anything," she said with a sigh. "Apparently I'm going on a date tonight, but I don't know what we're doing, or where we're going or what to wear."

"Ask him," Hawkes suggested

"Last time I tried that, he would only tell me it was a surprise."

"Try again." He felt bad because there really wasn't anything else he could tell her.

Lindsay sighed again, snapping off her gloves. "You okay to finish up? You just have to wait for the results."

She was gone before he could reply.

Lindsay opened her apartment door at Danny's knock dressed in a flowing skirt and a lacy top. "Dancing?"

He grinned, giving her a not-so-subtle – in fact, pretty obvious – once over. "You do clean up nice."

"That's all you ever say," she said with a laugh. "I'd think a smooth guy like you could come up with something more creative."

"Then you'd think I was getting sentimental," he quipped, taking her hand and forcing her to spin in a circle. "You are gorgeous."

She finished the spin with a flourish and a smile. "Let's go, Cowboy. You owe me dinner first."

He held the door for her as they stepped into the club he'd chosen for their night. It was smaller than she'd thought it would be simply because she expected him to take her to a place that was more familiar to him. She was forced to correct herself when the bartender and some of the obvious regulars waved as they passed. They sat in a shadowed booth at the back, side-by-side instead of across from each other.

"I thought you said we were dancing," she said, though she snuggled against his side.

"We will," he promised. "Stella said the two of you used to do this all the time before…"

"Before the Zabo case, yeah. Then things got chaotic and busy…."

The fact that she was playing with her hands told him there was more to it than that. "I figured this would be a good break."

She laughed. "I've had a huge break since the beginning of December. It was a weird holiday season."

"Weird?"

"In a good way," she promised with a coy smile. "Now what about this dancing." Her feet were itching to move to the sensual Latin beat pounding throughout the bar.

He grinned at her impatience, holding out his hand. "Can I get you to dance, Miss Monroe."

She returned his grin. "Why, Mr Messer, I never thought you'd ask."

He'd never been so thankful his mother had pushed him into learning to dance as much as he did now. For years she'd pressured him to take lessons and to work with some of the more able members of his family. She felt that all of her boys should be able to dance a woman around the floor when the need arose. As Lindsay fell quickly into step with him, following his lead and his rhythm without taking her eyes from his he made a mental note to call his mother and thank her.

Lindsay was focused completely on him on the movement of his body against hers. He was the first partner where she didn't have to completely concentrate on his movements. The slightest pressure on her hand or waist and the look in his eyes had her responding to every move he made without second thought. When his hand slid further around her back, she immediately stepped closer, her skirt brushing against his pants. The next time he spun her out, he adjusted to pull her even closer, their hips pressing against each other. It was going to take a lot of restraint so as to stop herself from ripping his clothing off when they stepped through the door of someone's apartment.

And all of a sudden that was all she could think about. His chest pressed against hers and her hand rested on his shoulder, feeling the bulge of his muscles as he moved. It took strength not to swoon. His biceps were defined even under the button-down shirt he'd chosen for the evening. Her fingers itched to make a journey down his front. She ruthlessly stomped it down.

They hadn't gone past the kissing stage and she knew he was taking things at her pace. Since she wasn't exactly sure of her emotional stability, she'd held off on any sexual part of their relationship with the exception of the mini-make-out sessions they'd both enthusiastically participated in. Until she was sure of her emotional stability she'd wanted to keep sex as something special.

"You okay, Montana?" he asked, noticing her far off expression.

She grinned as he spun her around again, adjusting so her back was pressed against his front, her arms cross on his over her stomach. "Fabulous," she answered truthfully. "Thank you for doing this."

He pressed a kiss to her neck, feeling her body shiver against his. "Doin' what? I'm dancin' right along with you, Monroe."

"Yeah." She just enjoyed the feeling of his body pressed against her back.

Work was going to kill them both the next morning. They hadn't stepped out of the club until well past one in the morning and it took forty minutes to get back to her apartment.

"Come up?"

"Some other time," he promised, a promise that turned his eyes a dark, clear cobalt.

Heat swamped her face and spread to her extremeties. The kiss she pressed to his lips was not chaste or restrained. "Good night, Danny."

He chuckled. "Tomorrow, Montana."

He made sure she got into her apartment before giving the cabbie his address.