The silence stretched out until it assumed shape and form and stood between them like a living person.
They couldn't look at each other.
They wouldn't look at the bed.
They could only stare ahead, toward the open window and the flutter of sheer white curtains.
Finally, Booth cleared his throat. "I'll take the sofa."
Brennan shook her head. "It's much too small."
"It wouldn't be any better for you."
Laughter echoed from downstairs. The happy sound was almost taunting.
"The . . ." Booth paused and tried again. "It looks big enough for both of us." His eyes cut to the woman standing beside him. "The bed, I mean. There's plenty of room." He focused straight ahead again, his posture military stiff. "For both of us."
Brennan breathed deeply and then nodded. "Yes. It's very large. Magda also said it was comfortable." And it has quiet springs. Why they might be grateful for quiet springs brought images to mind that caused her to shake her head to clear them away. She risked her own glance at Booth's profile. "I prefer the left side, if that's alright."
"I usually sleep on the right so that's . . . yea."
A few more seconds of awkward silence passed before Brennan spoke again. "In the 17th century, unmarried couples slept in the same bed separated by a bundling board. It preserved the female's chastity and kept them . . . apart . . ." Her voice trailed away.
Booth turned toward her. "Do you want to put a tree in the middle of the bed?" His eyes laughed at her.
She shook her head. "An entire tree wouldn't be necessary. A plank would be sufficient . . ." She finally noticed the humor in his expression. "Oh. You were joking."
"Little bit." He laughed merrily, and the tension in the room eased. "You were joking, too, right?"
"Of course." The agreement came quickly. "A bundling board would be silly. I'm sure we can trust each other."
After a split-second's hesitation, Booth suddenly became loud and jocular. "Well!" He clapped his hands together loudly. "I say we get our stuff put away and then do something about dinner. I don't know about you but I'm starving. Sound good?"
She nodded her agreement and for the next few minutes they bustled about the room, offering formal, polite apologies when they chanced to bump into each other as they stowed away their belongings and put away toiletries.
Brennan was finished much too quickly. She stood for a moment considering the contents of the only drawer she'd used. "I need to do some shopping tonight," she announced. Booth paused on his way out of the bathroom, his gaze questioning. "I don't have anything to sleep in."
"Oh." She watched as his gaze flicked to the bed behind her then traveled quickly over her slim form before he swallowed and turned back into the bathroom he'd just left. "Uh . . . you can borrow one of my t-shirts if you want. For tonight, I mean." He didn't quite meet her eyes when he glanced back. "We can take care of the shopping first thing tomorrow and then we'll have the rest of the time to, you know, do whatever."
A flush of heat spread through her at the thought of the night ahead, sleeping beside him wearing only his shirt. She tamped it down firmly and managed a smile. "Lie on the beach and pretend skeletons don't exist?"
"Exactly."
Their eyes caught and held until Brennan broke the silence with a soft murmur. "I appreciate your offer. Thank you."
"Sure." The moment stretched out in silence until it was broken by the blare of a car's horn from outside. Booth took a step back and pasted a wide smile on his face. "So - dinner?" he asked cheerfully.
"Dinner." She followed him out of the room.
.
.
Downstairs, Magda told them about a local festival taking place that night and encouraged them to go. "There will be music and dancing and food. So much food!" she laughed. "It is the perfect way to begin your holiday in Jamaica. Jerrick!" A young man appeared from a doorway at the end of the hallway. "This is Jerrick, my oldest son. He will drive you to the festival and return for you when you're ready to come back."
After nodding their thanks, Booth looked at Brennan. "Maybe I should see about getting a car tomorrow."
Magda immediately shook her head. "Jerrick can drive you anywhere you'd like to go. Our roads can be very dangerous if you're not used to driving here."
Booth thanked her again, then turned to the woman beside him, his eyes alight with the spirit of adventure. "What do you say, Bones? Does a street festival in Jamaica sound like a good way to spend our first night?"
Brennan responded automatically to the playfulness in his expression and the palpable sense of excitement that surrounded him. "It sounds like an excellent way to begin!"
They almost skipped down the steps to the waiting car. With an ostentatious display of good manners, Booth held open one of the back doors and waited while Brennan slid inside.
They sped away into the twilight.
.
.
.
.
Four hours later they were back in the car, headed toward their hotel with stomachs and heads full. The village was used to the visitors who came to stay at Magda's bed & breakfast and the street festival had lived up to her generous promise of fun and food. As the sun sank into the horizon, an impromptu competition between local reggae bands broke out, adding to the air of easy frivolity. Booth and Brennan joined the throng of dancers, sometimes partnering each other and sometimes being stolen away by someone from the crowd for the length of a song before, inevitably, they came together again.
As the night deepened, Booth found his gaze lingering more and more on the beautiful woman who'd accepted what amounted to a dare to join him for this vacation. They shared bottles of the local beer, agreed that it was somewhat tasteless but drank more anyway and, gradually, their usually cautious behavior slipped away. They danced together more and more as the rest of the crowd seemed to disappear.
Booth's rough hand stroked the length of her arm when she spun in front of him . . . and lingered a few seconds too long at her hips.
The music slowed. Brennan moved a bit too eagerly into his arms . . . and fitted her body just a tad too closely against his.
They lit a match and played with fire. The night was warm and sultry and perfumed by smells of the ocean. They were alone together. Strangers in a crowd, where no one knew them. Where no one would judge their behavior.
Anything could happen.
It wasn't until they left the excitement of the festival behind that the dangers of the evening's closeness struck them. Sitting in the back of a car hurtling recklessly up the hillside, blanketed by a sky dotted with a million stars and serenaded by the music of the waves, they were suddenly tense with their awareness of each other. The silence grew thick and heavy, humming with unspoken possibility.
Booth's voice broke into the quiet first. "So . . . you want the bathroom first?" He stared at her hand and at the fingertips drawing tiny circles on her knee as she stared out the window.
She chanced a quick look over. "You should go first, I think. I'll probably take longer . . . I don't want to make you wait."
"Okay."
Neither spoke for the rest of the ride back.
They tiptoed up the stairs to their room, careful to avoid disturbing the rest of the house. Booth collected a few things from the bureau, hesitated briefly and then turned to Brennan. A dark, folded square of fabric was in his hands. "A t-shirt," he offered, his voice quiet. "For you to sleep in."
"Oh," Brennan answered. "Yes. Thank you." Her fingernails grazed his palm as she accepted the soft cotton. She didn't see his jaw clench and he didn't notice that her breath stilled for a second before she stepped back. "I appreciate your generosity."
He turned into the bathroom abruptly and it wasn't until the door closed behind him that her shoulders relaxed. She opened the folded t-shirt and held it up for inspection. Soft, black, unremarkable. She fingered the somewhat beaten edge of the collar and judged it one he'd owned for quite a while, a comfortable garment worn to an even softer state by frequent use. Acting on an impulse she didn't stop to examine, she lifted it to her face and inhaled, eyes closed as she breathed in the scent she would always associate with him. Clean, earthy, strong. Nothing she could identify in particular, just . . . Booth. Just the smell of Booth.
With a shake of her head she hooked the t-shirt over her forearm and stepped out onto the balcony. The quiet hum of the shower behind her was almost drowned out by the sounds of the birds and other animals that populated the trees on the hillside. The wind was cool, with a hint of moisture from the water below. She stared down at the cove, watching the play of the moonlight on the water, losing herself in the random patterns created by light and waves, her usually well-ordered mind a jumbled mishmash of thoughts and memories.
"Shower's free. I don't think I used all the hot water."
His voice startled her, drawing a loud gasp that was quickly swallowed into nothing as she spun around to face him. Hair still gleaming wet, he stood in the open doorway wearing only a simple pair of boxers and a plain white t-shirt that clung in random, damp patches to his chest. The sight shouldn't have been intimate but it was, a feeling exaggerated by the sensual sway of the bed hangings visible just past his shoulder.
Brennan mentally shook herself out of her frozen state and stepped forward into the room. "If you did, I'll be sure to let you know."
His smile followed her into the still-steamy bathroom. "I have no doubt of that."
She showered away the day's travel and the smell of the festival and pushed aside the treacherous voice that whispered suggestions more suited to preparing her body for a date and the potential for sex. With focused determination, she tamped down thoughts of the man waiting in the bed just outside the door, and thought she was successful in banishing the wayward distractions until she realized long minutes had passed while she stood with her fingers clasped around the handle of the bathroom door, not moving. Angry with herself, she flung it open.
And stopped breathing.
She could see him through the fluttering gauze of the bed curtains, sitting up in bed reading from a magazine she knew had earlier been on the table in front of the sofa. He'd taken off his t-shirt and even through the thin hangings she could see the warm glow of his skin. Her heart stuttered in an uneven beat.
"You removed your shirt." The exclamation sounded almost accusing.
"It's hot," he shrugged. Then his eyes widened. "No. No." He shook his head quickly. "The shirt is all . . . I'm still wearing . . . I'm not . . . It's just the shirt. I just took off the t-shirt."
"Oh." Before she could formulate a better response, his eyes slid down the long length of her with the slow warmth of hot molasses.
He grinned. "Great legs, Bones."
Her nervousness fell away with the chuckle his teasing remark drew from her.
"Thank you," was all she said as she pulled back the curtains and slipped into bed beside him. She settled onto her back and didn't even try to muffle the comfortable groan that escaped as she nestled deeper into the mattress. "Magda was right, this bed is comfortable. Or," her jaw cracked with a wide yawn, "I'm just exhausted."
She nuzzled her head into the softness of a pillow, and turned her chin a fraction of an inch to find him watching her. Images from the festival just hours before flashed through her memory . . . his hands on her hips . . . her arms draped around his neck.
When his lashes lowered, hiding the warm brown irises, she knew his thoughts were the same.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Booth."
The magazine landed on the floor with a shuffle of paper. The glow through her closed eyelids changed when he switched off the lamp on the bedside table. The mattress shifted as he slid low beneath the sheets.
His voice held a smile when he murmured, "Goodnight, Temperance."
The room was quiet, the only sounds coming from the movement of the sea below and the strong, even breathing maintained by two people who lay next to each other for the first time. They were surrounded by darkness, cocooned together in a wide bed enveloped by miles of sheer fabric that fluttered gracefully with every small breeze.
The minutes ticked by. Brennan opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above her head, picking out random patterns in the shadows that danced there. Booth wasn't sleeping either. His chest moved evenly, rhythmically, but she knew was also awake and alert.
His raspy whisper broke the silence.
"If you were home right now, what would you be doing?"
"Accounting for the time change or what I would be doing at this particular time, at home?" Her voice was as quiet as his.
She didn't see the grin that twisted his lips at the expected literal interpretation of his question. "This time, close to midnight."
She drew and released a deep breath, thinking. "I would be writing, probably, or editing. Or possibly reading. I might also be at the lab, if we had a case." Her head moved briefly in his direction.
"Not sleeping?" He kept his gaze on the fabric above their heads.
"I don't need a great deal of sleep," she answered. She hesitated for a moment. "What about you? What would you be doing?"
Sheets rustled again as he shrugged. "Falling asleep on the couch, probably. I always miss the end of the game."
She couldn't resist a glance at his profile, brought into sharp relief by the dusky night shadows. "So, Tessa . . . is that really over?"
He nodded without speaking. And without looking at her.
She rolled to her side, facing him, and slipped one hand beneath her cheek as she considered him thoughtfully. "Angela said you balked at stage six."
Now his head turned toward her. "Stage what?"
Brennan shrugged. "Stage six. She went through a list of relationship stages and . . . Well, I've never heard of them before," she admitted, "but she said you and Tessa got to stage six and balked."
"Angela doesn't always know what she's talking about." Booth, too, turned on his side and faced Brennan. "But she wasn't exactly wrong - at least not this time."
Their eyes met and held as they talked. The darkened room, the soothing music of the waves drifting in from the open windows and the moonlight playing on the hangings surrounding the bed combined to create a feeling of intimacy, enhancing a connection they'd both felt from their very first meeting. Their voices remained just above a whisper.
"What happened?"
His dark eyes played over her face, lingering on her lips as she spoke.
"It was something Angela said," he acknowledged reluctantly. "It made us stop and consider where we were going, as a couple." One shoulder lifted casually. "It didn't take much to realize that we weren't really going anywhere." His gaze was intent on her. "The feelings weren't there, not the way they should have been."
"I'm sorry," Brennan said, and meant it.
He shrugged again. "Have you ever lived with someone?"
She nodded. "Briefly. It didn't work out. What about you? Have you ever lived with anyone else?"
"Tessa and I weren't really living together," Booth corrected. "We each had our own place. But, yea, I did. Once before. My ex." His eyes dropped briefly to the white sheet beneath them. "My son's mother."
Brennan's head drew back in surprise. "You have a child?"
His wide smile shone brightly, even in the dark. "Yea. His name is Parker, he's four. Remind me to show you his picture tomorrow," he offered.
"I will," she promised. "Parker Booth." She sounded out the name slowly. "That's nice."
"He's a great kid." A father's pride filled his voice.
"What happened with your ex?" The intimate connection deepened as they continued to talk, giving her permission to ask questions she would not have otherwise.
"Her name's Rebecca," Booth answered. "I asked her to marry me, when she was pregnant, but she said no. Probably a good thing." His fingers plucked at a ripple in the sheet. "I don't get to see him as much as I want to," he admitted, "but I do the best I can." His gaze was fixed on hers within the darkened confines of the bed. "To be a good father."
"I'm sure you're an excellent father," she said simply.
His lips curled. "Thanks."
"It's not flattery," she shrugged. "You're a man of integrity and strong character. It's part of your nature to provide protection and support for those you care about. You couldn't be anything but a great father."
"It means a lot to me that you think that." His voice dropped further. The rasp of his whisper slid over her skin as easily as one of the breezes outside.
Brennan glanced around the curtained interior of the bed before meeting his eyes again. "I'm . . ." she hesitated for a brief second and then continued. "I'm sorry you didn't get to take this vacation with Tessa. I'm sure it would have been very different."
He considered her words for a long time and when he responded, it was with the warmth of sincerity. "I'm glad I'm with you."
The moment stretched out as they lay there, inches apart, staring at each other in the dark.
Finally, a quiet murmur reached her ears. "What the hell . . . I'm on vacation."
He leaned closer, one large hand reaching out to cradle her skull, and pulled her slowly forward, toward him. He gave her time to stop him, to say no, to object to what they both knew he intended.
But she didn't. She allowed him to draw her closer until the softness of his lips settled on hers. The width of the bed still separated them . . . they were connected only by that kiss . . . by his hand in her hair, holding her in place as the onslaught continued, as her lips parted willingly beneath his to allow the sweep of his tongue . . . as a soft sound escaped her throat and the grip of his fingers tightened.
When he began to gently draw back, she followed him, her lips clinging to his as he pulled away.
He looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring the warm flush he could see glowing faintly beneath her skin. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and kissed her one last time.
When her lashes fluttered open, he smiled.
"Goodnight, Bones."
Surprised, she lay in a frozen state of shock when he flipped to his other side and presented her with the golden skin of his broad back. Her eyes narrowed as she struggled to find deep, even breaths and waited for the tiny fires licking through her veins to subside.
Without warning, she yanked one of the pillows out from beneath his head.
"Hey!" His head turned in her direction.
"Sorry," she apologized with saccharine sweetness. "I like a lot of pillows."
With an audible huff, she turned her back on his and tucked the pillow she'd stolen into her stomach.
Booth was asleep within minutes, still smiling.
She lay awake for much longer.
.
.
tsk tsk tsk, Booth. Just remember . . . payback's a bitch.