Chapter 4
AN: Thanks for the reviews, you beautiful reviewers, you!...I'm glad folks are getting a kick out of this...
The first thing that popped into Reid's head the moment he saw Prentiss the Pirate, holding her rather silly toy dagger at his neck, was Holy shit! Normally, Reid was far more articulate. He had a vocabulary that could easily challenge Webster's Dictionary, but he was struck positively stupid by how gorgeous the beautiful buccaneer looked.
And dangerous, too. She looked dangerous…to his self-control.
This didn't bother him so much. Any man would find himself reacting the same way, he logically concluded. Her shirt was a white, linen style material—puffy, like you'd expect a pirate's shirt to be. However, that was the last similarity to Blackbeard. Emily's shirt was open, showing a very tantalizing view of her breasts.
Normally, a shirt like that wouldn't do Reid in. Unlike a lot of other men, he wasn't a breast man. He liked them, of course, but unlike Morgan and Rossi, the mammary glands were not his favorite bodily feature on a woman.
Maybe because he'd sneaked in and watched showgirls in Vegas when he was younger, a rite of passage for Nevada boys—and sometimes Reid did strive for normalcy—he developed his tastes. Perhaps because those showgirls—tall and thin, with legs up to their armpits—had seen an enraptured little boy and had flirted with him like the teases they were, he grew up to have a fetish for his favorite body parts.
Yes, Reid liked legs…and oh, man, did Prentiss have a nice pair of them!
She was wearing skin-tight hosen that showed off every luscious curve of calf and line of thigh. Those legs ended in tiny boots, perfect for a swashbuckling femme fatale, and Reid found himself lost.
"Ahhhh," she said, her teeth flashing white. "Not so talkative now, are ye?"
Lord, please don't let her turn around, he thought desperately. If she showed him her certain-to-be-showgirl-worthy butt, he'd be ruined. For all that is holy, please…
She narrowed her eyes at him. "So, you will accept yer fate as me prisoner?"
"What fate would that be?" he asked.
"To have fun and relax and not think about chess for the next two hours before this match," she said, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief, and then she added for good measure, "Yarrr!"
Reid fought a grin. He and Prentiss had grown even closer since her return to the team, and he found himself being her confidant, as she was his. In fact, he'd spent yesterday evening on the phone with her, telling her about how he wanted to win this match and his tendency to over think everything to death...
"You just need to relax and have fun," she said.
"That won't work. I'm better off studying my moves to the twenty-fifth mersenne prime," he replied, feeling miserably sad. He didn't think he could practice any more.
"How many is that?" she asked.
When he replied, he knew he sounded completely bleak. "You don't want to know."
"Hmmm… Someone is just going to have to steal you away and make you have fun."
After he didn't answer, she poked the little dagger farther against his throat.
"Ouch!" he said. That little thing was kind of sharp!
Her eyes widened, and the Emily Prentiss he knew and cared about came to the forefront again. "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean—"
If he'd had any reservations about following her—and he didn't—they would've been melted by the genuine concern written in her features.
"Salty Sally," he interrupted, meeting her gaze. He purposefully used her pirate name and knew she would take that as his compliance. "I will meet your terms on one condition: I return in time for my match."
"Conditions!" she gasped. "Bah! Salty Sally doesn't listen to conditions! Hold out yer hands, prisoner."
And then she turned around.
Derek was furious. Standing in front of some besotted idiot in tights was his Baby Girl, with her God-given assets hanging out for all the world to see. She looked lush, ripe, perfect—like a peach ready to be plucked...and that asshole wanted to do the plucking. Was she insane? Some of the other women at this nerd-fest could get away with half a shirt and that magical corset, but not Penelope. He was going to march right on over there and yank her dress up.
Then she could wear it for him—and him alone—the next time they watched a movie together.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
He turned to face that very irritated woman he'd been talking to earlier. He'd completely forgotten about her the moment he'd seen Penelope.
She was now standing, all five feet or so of her, glaring up at him. "Thanks for finally deeming me worth talking to again," she retorted, snipping at him. "I was right. She was one of yours."
One of his? That was a stupid question, phrasing it in multiples...in his world, there was no one else but Penelope.
"Yeah," he grumbled back. "Is that yours?" He jerked a thumb in the asshole's direction.
She pouted back at him. "I wish." She sighed heavily, and then said, "Actually, he's kind of mine. Robert has been my best enemy for over four years."
"Best enemy?"
Her smile was wistful. "Yeah...we have a kind of cat and dog, antagonistic relationship, but we're always there for each other. This is something we've been doing together for years." She paused and sighed again. "That's why I'm Maid Marian...he's the Sheriff of Nottingham."
Derek grinned in spite of himself. "Not interested in Robin Hood, Marian?"
This time, she smiled, too. "What can I say? I am attracted to bad boys."
Feeling his grin leave, he said, "How bad is this bad boy?"
Sighing dreamily, she stared over in the jerk's direction and answered, "The baddest."
Oh, hell. He needed to get P away from that man, pronto.
Suddenly, Derek was struck with an idea, and he had a feeling it just might work...if this pansy in the tights was anything like him.
"Hey, Marian," he said with a with a devilish grin, "wanna take a walk?"
All in all, Penelope was having a pretty good time at the Renaissance faire now. Robert was a decent conversationalist, and he kept up the English accent remarkably well, which helped her forget her cares for awhile and imagine that she was actually far away and in a different time.
He was also very handsome, and he was free flowing with the compliments, which helped matters greatly.
"Ah, milady," Robert said, patting Penelope's hand that was draped on his arm. "Might I interest you in some dessert? Perhaps some iced cream, or chocolate?"
Penelope felt her smile falter a bit at the mention of chocolate. Of course, all she could think about was her sculpted god of chocolate thunder, who wouldn't even bother donning a costume and coming out to—
"That sweetness doesn't need any more sugar," a familiar voice called out from behind her.
