Temperance Brennan shopped the way she did most things in her life – precisely, efficiently and with careful thought. She knew what she liked. She knew what colors and styles suited her. She could judge at a glance if an item would fit. She didn't shuffle through hangers or rifle through stacks of folded garments. When she entered a shop, she quickly scanned the merchandise displayed and if she saw something she wanted, she found the correct size, took it to a sales person and paid for it. And that was that.
Booth, on the other hand . . . well, Booth shopped like a girl. He was a tactile person, touching everything and running his fingers over the fabric as he considered every choice. If he saw a color he liked, he asked the salesclerk about styles not on the floor in that shade. He studied everything, picked through everything, had to see everything.
It drove Brennan crazy.
When he spent fifteen minutes dithering between two different ties, comparing the bright pattern on one with the loud colors of the other, she'd had enough. Almost snarling, she snatched both scraps of cloth out of his hands, marched to the counter and bought them herself.
"Do you plan on wearing one of these with the clothing you have on now?" The acerbic question was accompanied by a tart glance as she thrust the small shopping bag into his hands and cast a scathing eye over the "Eat Bertha's Mussels" t-shirt and olive green cargo shorts. "I don't think it matches."
He was unperturbed by her attitude. "Souvenirs, Bones." Jerrick had driven them to Negril after breakfast, leaving them on their own to wander the shops and boutiques of the resort town. "You know, you're kinda grumpy this morning. Didn't you sleep well?" His broad smile grew wider, his eyes twinkled innocently.
Brennan felt the warmth of a blush staining her cheeks. She closed her lips firmly and turned away without responding.
Yes, she had slept well. So well, in fact, that in the middle of the night she'd surfaced briefly to find herself curled against the broad expanse of his back, one knee pushed between his, an arm hooked over his waist. Her fingers were curled in his, tucked close against his chest. Horrified, she had tried to ease away without waking him but he'd only grumbled loudly and clutched her hand tighter against the warmth of his body. Despite plans to make another attempt to free herself, within minutes she'd settled back into sleep, too.
When the bright sun of early morning woke her again, she was alone. She had just begun to wonder about his whereabouts when the door to the bathroom opened and he stepped out, dressed in those shorts and that ridiculous t-shirt.
"Hey, you're awake! Good. I was just about to go hunt up some coffee. Want me to bring you a cup?"
She nodded wordlessly, mental fingers crossed that he had slept through her midnight burrowing.
It was a futile hope.
"Ok, I'll be right back." He paused in the doorway and looked back with an expression she knew meant trouble. "You know, Bones, I never would have guessed you were a cuddler." Then he walked out, the tuneless notes of a taunting melody whistling in his wake.
The pillow she threw bounced harmlessly off the closed door.
Neither of them mentioned her sleepy wandering again and yet . . . Every time she caught his eye, he smiled, his expression much too innocent to hide what he was really thinking.
She spent the morning stewing in silence.
"I think I have all I need." She changed the subject abruptly. "Unless you want to visit every retail outlet in the city," she added, her tone snide.
"Hey, I was just keeping busy while you shopped," Booth protested immediately. "If you're ready, I'm ready." He grabbed the bags dangling from her fingers before she could stop him and escorted her out into the bright sunlight with a hand under her elbow. "What do you say we try out the beach this afternoon? A nap in the sunshine sounds great, doesn't it?" Without waiting for a response, he continued, "Remind me to get the brochure out so we can figure out when we want to go snorkeling. You know how, right?"
"I'm an experienced deep sea diver, Booth. Yes, I've been snorkeling."
He ignored the slight bite to her words. "Of course you have," he said instead, still smiling. "Oh, cliff diving!" He looked over his shoulder at the people gathered on the rocky outcroppings in the distance. "We have to do that!"
They found Jerrick then, parked on the side street where they had agreed to meet. "That's very dangerous," he said, overhearing Booth's last comment. "Jumping from the cliffs – a lot of tourists are hurt every year."
Brennan took his comment personally. "I once jumped from an 80 foot cliff in Kimberley, Australia," she sniffed. "These are actually relatively small in comparison."
"I haven't been to Australia," Booth said, sending an arch glance at Brennan before turning back to Jerrick, "but I've been cliff diving before. We'll be fine."
"Okay, mon." Jerrick shrugged and opened the trunk so they could stow away their purchases. "But maybe you leave your medical information with Mama before you go."
Back at the bed & breakfast, they politely offered each other the bathroom to change into swimwear. Again, Brennan insisted Booth go first, and used the free time to empty her shopping bags and put away her purchases. Within minutes, he was back, wearing bright yellow trunks and smelling of coconut sunscreen.
He flung the towel in his hand over one wide shoulder. "While you're changing, I'll find out how to get to the cove from here."
She murmured a noncommittal agreement as he left, engrossed for the moment staring into the drawer that held the swimsuits she'd bought earlier. Finally, annoyed at her own lack of decisiveness, she grabbed one at random and slipped into the bathroom.
Booth was just heading back upstairs when she stepped out of their room covered in a pale blue shift that brushed against her thighs. Beneath the open weave of the fabric, the bright red two-piece bathing suit she wore was an eye-catching pop of color.
"I think I collected anything we might need," she said, lifting one shoulder to indicate the green and orange striped woven bag she carried. "Are you ready?"
With great effort, Booth managed to pull his gaze away from the length of her long legs. "Uh . . . yea." He looked down as if surprised to see the plastic cooler hanging from his fingers. "Magda packed this for us – water, beer, a couple of sandwiches."
Brennan looked over his shoulder at their hostess, who watched the two of them with a smile. "You'll like the cove," Magda said. "It's very private." She winked suggestively.
"Thank you." Brennan avoided Booth's gaze.
Without talking, they walked around the house, easily finding the start of the path that would take them down the hill. The forest had begun to encroach on the trail, narrowing it in spots to a point where they had to walk single file, Booth leading the way. He looked around at the dense vegetation and frowned.
"I should have brought my gun."
"It's in my bag," Brennan responded.
He turned around, surprised. "You packed my gun?"
"Yes."
"You packed my gun to go to the beach?"
One eyebrow lifted. "Do you ever go anywhere without your gun?"
"No," he admitted.
She shrugged. "I'm sure it won't be necessary but I thought you might want it, just in case."
"Thanks." His smile held hers for a few seconds before he started down the path again.
"I suppose it's possible that we might encounter a shark in the water. Although, if your gun is on the beach it won't be much use."
Booth's head turned as he chuckled. "We're gonna need a bigger boat!"
"Are we getting a boat?" She took his ad lib literally.
He stopped so abruptly she bumped into him and grabbed his shoulders to regain her balance. "Seriously?" His eyes laughed at her lack of recognition for the well-known movie quote.
"I'd like to go sailing," Brennan answered, still clueless. "Are we going sailing? Do you know how to sail?"
Still smiling, he shook his head and continued down the path. "Never mind."
She frowned when the trail ended at the gritty sand of a small beach. Shading her eyes, she looked out over the water. "I don't see a boat."
Booth threw back his head and roared with laughter. Without warning, he pulled her close and covered her lips in a brief, hard kiss. Before she had time to react, he released her with a big smile, and said quickly, "Race you to the water! Loser buys dinner," and took off.
A split second passed in shock while she processed the kiss. Then his words hit her.
"Wait!" She immediately ran after him. "That's cheating!"
He grinned over his shoulder as he reached a spot near the water, threw his towel down, dropped the cooler and kicked off his shoes.
"Don't be a sore loser, Bones," he teased as he backed up into the surf, hands held out wide.
The warm salty air turned to cement in her lungs as Brennan looked at him standing in the sunlight, bare chested, water swirling around his feet in a froth of surging foam. Against the backdrop of the endless horizon of the sea, he smiled, glowing with health and strength, young and happy and carefree . . . and beautiful, she thought as her breath escaped finally in a silent whoosh. His physical appeal was a factor of which she'd always been aware, of course, but here . . . now . . . She allowed herself a moment to appreciate the simple truth. He was gorgeous.
She reached the spot where he'd dropped his belongings and let hers fall beside them.
"I didn't lose!" she called out as she whipped off her cover and stepped out of her sandals. "You cheated!"
She followed him into the water, diving smoothly after him when it reached an appropriate depth. He waited further out, treading water, watching her clean strokes cut through the waves.
"By my watch, you're a good 2 minutes too late," he smirked when she reached him. "You owe me dinner."
'You're not wearing a watch." She pointed out the obvious.
He grinned mischievously. "I can tell by the sun."
"Well, you cheated." She refused to give in gracefully. "You knew you were going to challenge me to a race before you spoke the words, which gave you an unfair advantage."
Booth tut tutted, shaking his head at her in mock sadness. "You're not trying to welsh out of our bet, are you?"
"We don't have a bet!" she argued, using the flat of her hand to aim a splash of water at him.
"I should have looked around at the restaurants this morning," he mused, lips quirking. "Since you're such a rich, important author you can afford to buy me a really expensive dinner."
"I'm not buying you dinner," Brennan insisted. "You cheated! You planned to race without informing me in advance and," she added triumphantly, "you kissed me!"
His eyes darkened to smoke at the reminder. Her face was bare of makeup, her skin dewy and soft and dotted with tiny drops of crystallized water that clung to her eyelashes, glittering in the sunlight around impossibly blue eyes. "It's not like I haven't kissed you before, Bones."
The sudden thudding of her heart had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the swim. "Yes, well . . . " she murmured, unable to look away from his strangely intense gaze. "You . . . it surprised me. That's all. The kiss gave you another unfair advantage because it was unexpected."
He floated a bit closer. Water lapped between their bodies, connecting them with the intimate touch of the sea. "Do you want me to warn you before I kiss you the next time, Temperance?" His voice was a husky rasp of sound, barely above a whisper.
She stared back, suddenly conscious of the two of them floating in the current, loosely alone in the warm depths of the Caribbean. His slicked back hair accentuated the sharp bones of his face . . . sunlight turned to molten silver the narrow rivulets of water that slid down the heavy muscles of his shoulders and chest.
She swallowed roughly. "That . . . that would be helpful."
His eyes held hers captive for a moment longer before he tossed a sinful grin in her direction. "I'll be sure to remember that," he said cheerfully. Then he dove beneath the surface and swam toward the beach.
His abrupt departure felt like a dousing of cold water. Brennan stared after him in shock, barely resisting the childish urge to send a large splash of water in his direction. As she watched, Booth reached the shore and plodded out, brushing his hair back from his forehead with one smooth motion. He spread his towel out and then did the same with hers, the two bright rectangles separated by barely a foot of sand. He finished setting up their small corner of the beach by putting her bag and cooler just above the towels. Preparations complete, he stretched out on his back, eyes closed against the glaring sunshine.
She stayed out for a few minutes longer, waiting for the renegade beat of her heart to return to normal. She floated aimlessly, still unable to resist the occasion glance at him, at the long, muscled body lying exposed under the sun. When she finally splashed through the shallow surf to join him, Booth raised himself to his elbows and openly appraised her slender form in the relatively modest lines of the bikini she wore.
"I was kinda hoping for a micro bikini," he joked.
With a lift of one perfectly arched eyebrow, she bent over and wrung her wet hair out on his legs.
"Hey!" He quickly pulled them aside.
"Those garments are not practical for swimming." Brennan kept her tone even as she lay down beside him.
"I'm pretty sure they're not meant for swimming." He chuckled as he watched her settled into the warm sand. When she looked at him, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "On the other hand, they don't leave many tan lines, either."
Brennan considered his words for a moment. "That's a valid point." Without further comment, she sat up, reached back to unhook the clasp of her top and pulled it over her head, leaving the halter straps at her neck still tied. Without looking at Booth, she draped the scrap of red fabric over the handles of the cooler and laid back on the towel.
His chin dropped in shock.
"What . . ." Booth's mouth opened and closed soundlessly before he finally managed to croak, "What are you doing?"
"You're correct about tan lines." When there was no answer, she turned to find his stunned, wide-eyed gaze still on her. A tiny smile played around her lips. "Don't worry. I'm wearing plenty of sunscreen."
He closed his eyes firmly and dropped to his back with a thud. "You need to put your top back on. Now."
"Why?" A hand waved languidly in the air, shooing away a flying insect.
The movement caught Booth's attention
He glanced over and then just as quickly forced his eyes away. "Because I said so."
She laughed. "That's not a good reason, Booth. I'm not four years old."
"I can see that," he muttered.
"What did you say?" she asked, turning her head to look at him. "I couldn't hear you."
"Never mind." His fists clenched at his side. "Put your top back on, Bones."
"I'm fine," she responded. "The sun feels good."
"Someone might see you," he hissed.
"Magda said the cove was very private," she reminded him. "It's barely visible from our room." She raised her left arm, bending it at the elbow as she tucked the hand beneath her head. The muffled groan he couldn't help was lost beneath the sound of her own wide yawn. "It's not unusual for women in this part of the world to sunbathe topless. Only the United States holds such a puritanical view of nakedness and the human form. Besides," she sniffed gently, spying on him again through slitted eyes, "I'm sure you've seen a woman's breasts before."
The muscles in his jaw clenched. "Not yours."
She tutted and turned her face skyward. "They're just breasts, Booth. They're all basically the same."
"No," he disagreed emphatically. "No, they are definitely not all the same. And yours . . ." His eyes cut in her direction before he jerked his head back and closed them quickly. "Please put your top back on."
She sighed heavily and turned to her stomach. "There. Is that better?" Her tone was an accusation of his silliness.
Booth's gaze swept over the gentle rise of the curve of her buttocks. "No, not really."
Brennan yawned again, the sound muffled by her folded arms. "Would you mind applying sunscreen to my back? I couldn't reach it, obviously."
"What? No!" His eyes widened in alarm. "I can't touch . . . No."
"Why not?" Brennan lifted her head, surprised. "Do you know how dangerous it is to be out here without sunscreen? I've got some spray in my bag. It won't take you more than a few minutes."
A breath of air released in a loud sigh. "Spray! Oh, you've got spray. I won't have to . . . Okay." He sat up, reached for the bag she'd brought and fished through it until he found the metal can. "Okay, then. I can do spray."
When more than a few minutes had passed with no spray being applied, Brennan glanced up to find Booth staring down the length of her legs as if transfixed by the sight.
"Booth?"
The soft question broke into his reverie, drawing his attention to eyes that shone electric blue in the bright sunlight.
"Yea." He shook the spray bottle roughly. "I just . . . the bottle . . . I'm on it."
The spray hit her skin with a sharp spike of cold, drawing a hiss that turned quickly to a low murmur of pleasure as the cool faded pleasantly away. In a low voice filled with gritty sandpaper, he ordered her to lower her arms for the same service and then focused on her legs, covering them in long swipes of moisture from the curve of her buttocks to the heels of her feet. It was shockingly sensual, made all the more so by her surreptitious spying on his rapt expression.
"Thank you."
Without a word, he tossed the bottle aside and collapsed to his back on the sand. When Brennan glanced at him again, his mouth was moving soundlessly.
"What are you whispering?"
"I'm trying to match the saints with their saint's day."
"How many are there?"
He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Not enough."
"Oh." She hesitated. "Do you want me to apply sunscreen for you?"
"Dear God, no," he blurted out sharply, looking at her with alarm. "Stay right there. On your towel. Over . . . there."
Several minutes passed. Booth had just begun to relax enough to drift into sleep when she broke the silence.
"I've been thinking."
"Scares the hell out of me when you start a conversation that way, Bones." He turned his head to find her staring at him.
She stuck her tongue out in a saucy gesture.
"I think we should just get it over with."
His eyes stayed focused on hers, away from the swell of her breast against the towel. "Get what over with?"
"Sex," she answered calmly, flipping to her back. "I think we should have sex and get it over with."
His face went blank. "What?"
Brennan shrugged. "We obviously share a strong sexual attraction. Rather than have it hanging over our heads and creating tension for the remainder of our stay here, I believe the rational decision would be to engage in sexual intercourse."
His lids lowered in a slow blink. "What?"
"It makes sense," she insisted earnestly. "We're both adults. We're capable of indulging ourselves sexually and then putting it behind us. Once it's over, we can go back to enjoying our time here." She gave him a bright smile, confidently secure in her argument.
"What?" His head rattled a bit as he tried to clear it.
She frowned. "That's the third time you've said that. Are you okay? Perhaps you're getting heatstroke."
"Yes . . . no . . . I'm fine." Sputtering, Booth finally jolted out of the moment of stunned surprise and glared at her. "Did you really just say we should have sex to get it over with?"
"Yes," she nodded. "It would relieve the tension between us."
"No." He looked at her as if she'd sprouted a second head. "No. You don't have sex to . . . to . . . to get it over with! Or, what did you say, relieve tension? No." He shook his head again. "No."
"Why not?" Brennan was genuinely puzzled at his emphatic dismissal of her arguments. "Those are valid, rational reasons for two consenting adults to share a sexual interlude. Intercourse is a very effective way to relieve tension and stress."
"You have sex to relieve stress?" His voice rose in disbelief.
She bristled defensively. "Well, it's not the only reason, but yes, it has happened. The moment of orgasm has been shown to release endorphins and serotonin into the blood stream. It's been proven to relieve headaches and menstrual cramps and . . ."
He lifted a hand to stop the flow of words.
"You do know sex is more than just an orgasm, right?" he asked, staring intently at her.
"Well," she smiled suggestively and rolled to her side to face him. "I hope it would be more than just one orgasm."
He blinked.
"What?" Brennan asked, when he seemed at a loss for words. "Surely you know women are capable of multiple orgasms. Sexual satisfaction is as much a function of brain activity as it is physical stimulation. I've learned that when I concentrate on linking my intellectual and physical responses I can often have several -"
"Stop!" Booth held up one hand. "That's what's wrong, Bones, right there." He waved off the argument he could see brewing. "Sex is a . . . it's a connection. Yes, it is," he nodded, reading the disagreement in her expression. "It's two people who care about each other, who want to be as close to each other as it's possible to be. If you're thinking during sex," he laughed, "if you can think about your own body and your own reactions, well, you're doing it wrong. It's not about you. It's about the other person. When you do it right, two people become one and . . ." His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.
She frowned. "Do you know anything about physics? It is scientifically impossible for two people to occupy the same space at the same time."
"Yea," he agreed, "and that's why when it happens," his hands spread wide, "it's magic."
Their glances held briefly. "Is that what sex is like for you?"
His mouth curled in a crooked smile as he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Well, that's always the goal," he murmured softly. Heat arced between them as his eyes traced the curve of her hips and waist, the inky depths smoldering hot when he reached the full globes pressed together beneath the bend of one supporting arm. The dusky pink curve of one nipple was just visible.
He turned his head abruptly.
"Can we talk about something else, please?"
"Why? This is a fascinating conversation."
Booth's restless shifting drew her attention down the length of his body. His physical reaction to their conversation was unmistakeable.
"Oh." Brennan fell to her back again. "You have an erection."
An unwilling chuckle erupted. "Yea, I know."
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," she said smoothly. "It's a perfectly natural response to our conversation."
"Hey, I am not embarrassed," he brazened. "I have nothing to be embarrassed about."
Her lids lifted as she peeked once more. "No, I don't suppose you do."
"Stop it!" he ordered. His shoulders displaced the sand beneath the towel as he resettled into a more comfortable position. "Anyway, I'm not the only one affected by that little talk." The smallest of coughs cleared his throat. "Your nipples are hard - and it's definitely not cold out here."
Her head lifted as she looked down at the tight, pebbled buds. "Fine," she admitted grudgingly. "I will admit that the topic of our conversation has caused certain . . . physical reactions . . ."
Booth cut her off. "I get the picture, Bones." His eyes opened to narrow slits as he stole another glance at the pale skin glowing in the warmth of the sun. "Literally."
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She came to bed that night in a slightly longer version of the t-shirt she'd returned to him that morning. The sheets were cool against her sunkissed skin, although thanks to Booth's careful application of sunscreen she wasn't even faintly pink. Lying beside him in the curtained enclosure, she wondered absently if the sheets felt as cool to his skin as they did to hers. She turned her head to ask and found him staring at her.
"I was wondering if the sheets felt cool to you tonight," she said, almost shyly. "They feel very comfortable to me, despite the heat."
Booth rolled fully to his side. "I've been in hotter places."
"Me, too." She shifted, too, so that they lay in the dark facing each other again, separated by mere inches. "And without the luxury of a beach nearby."
"Yea," he nodded. "A beach would have been nice."
The seconds ticked by quietly.
"What made you choose your career?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, you're the smartest person I know, smart enough to do anything. Why old bones?"
The shadows made her eyes enormous as she looked at him uncertainly. Small teeth nibbled on her lower lip, betraying her indecision. When several minutes had passed, he shook his head.
"It's okay, you don't have to discuss it."
"My parents disappeared when I was fifteen." The words escaped in a rush.
He kept his voice low. "I know."
"Yes, of course." Brennan watched her finger trace a random pattern in the sheet between them. "No one ever . . . they just disappeared. They were never found. I don't know what happened to them." She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. "I have accepted the reality that in all likelihood, they're dead but . . . I used to wonder if I would ever know for certain. If their bodies were found now, after so much time has passed, who would identify them?" One shoulder lifted. "I decided that if I could make a difference, if I could prevent some other child from not knowing what happened to her family . . ."
Booth's free hand reached out to cover hers. "You do make a difference, Bones."
"I know." Her head dipped as she stared sightlessly at their joined hands. "My worst fear is . . ." Her jaw hardened briefly. "My worst fear is that one day, I'll have to identify their remains."
Her voice was so quiet, he had to strain to make out the words.
"If that happens," he squeezed the hand beneath his, "I'll be right there with you."
Her eyes roamed over his solemn face as she committed the promise to memory. Her shoulders relaxed. A faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you."
He nodded, and then his face brightened deliberately. "So, snorkeling tomorrow?"
"Absolutely." His merriment pushed aside her momentary sadness.
Neither looked away.
The moment filled with possibility.
"You kissed me last night," Brennan whispered.
"I know."
"Are you going to kiss me again?"
The memory of their afternoon in the sun, and her almost naked body, lay like a third person between them.
His voice was a low rasp of gravel. "Not tonight."
"Oh." Her disappointment was unmistakeable.
Booth touched her cheek with one finger, his eyes hooded as he traced a path over the soft skin to her square jaw. When he looked at her lips, the glanced burned as if he'd touched her there, too.
"Goodnight, Bones." He rolled away from her.
The sound of the waves below filtered in through the open windows as she stared at the wide expanse of his back.
She sat up. "Booth?"
He tilted back slightly, his head turned in profile toward her. "Yea?"
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the rough growth of a day's unshaven beard.
"Goodnight."
For a second night, he fell asleep with the ghost of a smile curving his lips.
And that night, so did she.
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Thanks for reading!