They were kicked out of the first snorkeling group before they even had a chance to get on the boat. Brennan insisted it wasn't her fault the instructor couldn't take constructive criticism.
"You know," Booth groused as they headed off in search of another tour, "maybe the instructor wouldn't have been so upset if you hadn't told the whole group that if they listened to him they were going to end up dead."
"But he was wrong," she insisted, still in high dudgeon at the memory of the scrawny, dread-locked termagant pointing a finger at Booth and ordering him to 'take your woman and go.' "Besides, I don't understand why we had to go with a beginner's group at all. We know what we're doing."
He cast a smug glance her way, one brow raised high. "If someone hadn't slept so late this morning, we'd have made it down here in time to get on one of the boats that went out with advanced snorkelers."
Flushing crimson, Brennan glared back. "You were also asleep."
"No," he retorted, his eyes glinting playfully. "I was just waiting for you to wake up so I could peel you off."
She closed her lips firmly and turned away; the images produced by his gentle teasing, however, weren't so easily ignored.
The sun was high above and already blazing with heat when they finally roused themselves from sleep. The room was warm and humid, despite the brisk breeze allowed in by the open windows, and where they touched, their skin merged sticky with sweat . . . And where they touched was almost everywhere. Brennan opened her eyes to find her face pressed into the curve of his neck, her torso angled over his bare chest, one leg bent high across his. The thin sheet they'd tossed aside in the night tied them together as they woke, twisted around their calves and feet in a messy knot of soft cotton.
It was his hand that had woken her up, she realized suddenly, recognizing with a ripple of awareness the lazy circular motion of rough fingers on her thigh. The hem of the night shirt she wore was crumpled somewhere around her hips, giving him easy access to all the bare skin he could reach. His other arm wrapped around her waist and, as if he had noticed immediately the moment she moved from sleep into consciousness, tightened around her, squeezing her even closer. Her scalp burned from the contact when he pressed a kiss into her hair.
"Morning."
Beneath her cheek, his chest rumbled with the quiet words.
"Good morning."
She began to ease away, slowly separating her body from his.
"Watch the knee."
She heard the smile in his voice and looked up to find his eyes warm on hers.
The arm at her waist shifted. He cradled her skull in one wide palm, fingers burrowing deep into the thick mass of ruby tinted hair, and held her in place as his head descended and he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was gentle, his lips soft as he tugged at hers with an exhale that tasted of the peppermint toothpaste they shared. The fingers rubbing circles into her thigh flattened as his hand slipped down to her knee in one long stroke.
It was, quite simply, the most erotic kiss she had ever experienced.
"Oops." Booth pulled away briefly, teasing her with a glance. "I forgot to warn you I was going to kiss you."
He didn't let her respond. Instead he drew her close again for a harder, more insistent embrace, one she welcomed without hesitation. She allowed him to continue playing his siren song against her lips, drawing out every second . . . unwilling to let the sultry moment end, hoping for more and more . . .
All too soon, his head lifted with a series of last small nibbles.
"You better take the bathroom first." The whisper touched her lips as he spoke. "I think I'm going to need a minute."
The reason for his necessary delay pressed against her hip. Brennan hesitated, tempted to carry the morning's activity a step further. The heat behind the shuttered look on his face changed her mind.
Without a word, she slipped out of his arms.
When she came out of the bathroom a short time later, her eyes searched for him automatically and found him standing on the balcony, bare-chested, wearing only the baggy cargo shorts from the day before.
He turned at the first sound of her approach.
"It was too late for breakfast but I managed to beg some coffee and muffins from Magda." He gestured with the steaming coffee cup in his hand to the small table, where he'd arranged the small repast. "Still want to go snorkeling?"
She reached for the second cup and nodded over the rim.
"Okay. I'll be right back."
Eyes closed as she sipped the potent brew, she was unaware of movement until her lashes rose . . . and he was there, at her side.
One large hand wrapped around the strong line of her jaw. Without a word, he bent his head and kissed her again.
Then he simply released her and went inside.
Her head turned as she watched that wide back she'd come to know so well disappear into the bathroom. Her stare fixed on the closed door for several long minutes before she sat down heavily in the nearest chair. The coffee grew cold as she watched the water below, lost in thought.
Fingers snapping in front of her face shocked her rudely back into the present.
"Bones! Hey! Earth to Bones!" When she finally focused on him, Booth frowned with his question. "Where did you go just now?"
"I didn't go anywhere, obviously. I'm still standing right here." The brusque tone of her response discouraged further inquiry. She looked at the sign above the door in front of them. "Are we going snorkeling with this group?"
"Well, I don't know." He answered in the too patient voice of someone talking to a young child. "We haven't been in there yet. You were lost in la-la land, remember?"
Brennan rolled her eyes. "There's no such place."
"Sure there is." Booth laughed as he pulled the door open and guided her inside the small office with a touch at the small of her back. "It's two left turns past Sunnybrook Farm."
This time, their attempt to join a more advanced group was successful . . . at first. Made up mostly of Japanese tourists who spoke excellent English and considered themselves intermediate divers, there was less of the tedious beginners instruction that had so tested Brennan's patience with the first excursion. They made it onto a boat and were on their way out to the reefs before things turned sour.
Booth had been watching the man since they'd gotten on the boat, annoyed by the way he continually stared at Brennan. Obviously American, his florid complexion matched his rough, rather uncouth features. He was short and broad, with the bulky but soft appearance of an ex-athlete gone to seed.
Booth edged closer to Brennan, his hackles raised by the man's attitude.
"Brennan!" The high, nasal voice was at odds with the stranger's appearance when he suddenly shouted Brennan's name. "That's who you are! Am I right? Am I right? That woman who writes books about finding bones and stuff!" He stood up and walked unsteadily on the rocking boat back to where Booth and Brennan sat. He looked over his shoulder at the slightly frizzy, surgically-enhanced woman who accompanied him. "I told you I knew her, Missy! Am I right? Am I right?"
Brennan shifted a fraction of an inch closer to Booth. "I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan," she confirmed tersely.
"I knew it!" he exclaimed. "Name's Buddy Ware." He squeezed himself onto the end of the seat closest to her, forcing the unnerved Japanese couple who were already there to move. "From Akron. I sell car insurance. You need car insurance?" His laugh was a sharp bark as he guffawed at his own joke. "Always gotta sell yourself, am I right? Am I right?"
He slapped stubby fingers on Brennan's bare knee.
Booth lunged forward automatically, stopped only by Brennan's light touch on his arm and by Buddy's good fortune in choosing that moment to remove his hand from Brennan's flesh.
Oblivious to the dangerous man taking count of every one of his lascivious glances, Buddy smiled at Booth. "What did you say your name was?"
"Booth." He spoke through a jaw clenched so tight, his lips barely moved.
"Nice to meet you. So, you guys staying here in Jamaica?" He rushed on without waiting for an answer. "Where at? Missy and me, we're at Hedo. Ever been there?" Buddy's small eyes roamed suggestively over Brennan, lingering on the swell of her breasts in the deep V of the one-piece suit she wore. "Hell of a place – what happens at Hedo, stays at Hedo, am I right? Am I right?" His elbow butted against Brennan's.
Familiar with the adult-oriented resort, Booth simmered with growing rage at the suggestive leer on the other man's face.
"Hey!" Buddy's eyes lit up. "You know what? You guys should be our guests for a night! Yea," he nodded his head vigorously, getting into the spirit of what he obviously thought was a great idea. "It's the wildest place on the island, gotta be better than any place you're staying." Booth and Brennan exchanged an appalled glance while he continued, stupidly blind to their reaction. "Yea, you guys could come stay with us. We could share some of the local home-grown – " he mimicked holding a tiny cigarette to his lips, "and then we could play a game of who's under the covers." He leaned in toward Booth and nodded his head toward the yawning blonde at the other end of the boat who, judging by the tiny scraps of material she wore, hadn't seen the memo about micro bikinis and swimming. "Missy can suck the chrome off a bumper," he winked. "Can't get any better than that, am I right? Am I right?" He turned back to Brennan and this time, his hand crept above her knee. "What about you, pretty lady? Since you like bones so much, I got one I bet you'd be interested in -"
"Remove your hand now." Ice cold fury boiled beneath the lethal softness of Booth's voice.
Still clueless, Buddy lifted his hand and laughed.
"Okay, okay, I get it." He waved one finger between Booth and Brennan. "You two just got together or something, am I right? Am I right? All the action is still new, am I right? Am I right? Well," he grinned broadly, "me and Missy, we're here every year about this time so you guys just come on back when things start to get boring. Although," he leaned into Brennan and deliberately allowed his elbow to brush against the side of her breast. "I can see where that might take a while."
So fast that he was only a blur of movement, Booth reached for Buddy, picked him up by the neck of his t-shirt and dragged him to the center of the boat, away from Brennan. Buddy got in one good swing, connecting solidly with Booth's rock-hard jaw before a clenched fist slammed into the side of his head. The Japanese tourists scattered with screams and loud exclamations while Missy watched silently, a resigned expression on her face, as Booth tossed Buddy over the side of the boat.
The boat shuddered to a stop then began to circle back to the spot where Buddy floated in place, hurling curses and threats as he tread water. While Brennan tried to smooth the ruffled feathers of the crew and other passengers, Booth remained silent, jaw clenched, and glared as Buddy was assisted in his climb back on board. Flushed with anger, the hapless insurance salesman opened his mouth to spew more of the same useless invectives he'd yelled from the water. One look at the anger still simmering in Booth's narrowed-eye gaze shut his mouth. He retreated with an inaudible mumble to a seat beside Missy.
She made a show of examining her fingernails. "I told you somebody was gonna kick your ass if you kept propositioning women."
Forty-five minutes later, the boat returned to Negril. Brennan reimbursed the Japanese tourists - but not Buddy - for their unused tickets and, as a gesture of goodwill, prepaid the cost of another trip for them.
"Maybe we should just rent snorkeling equipment and hire a private boat," she suggested as they left the small office behind.
Booth let out a sharp bark of laughter at odds with the harsh lines of his face. Without warning, he pivoted on one foot and headed toward the beach a few yards away. Brennan walked beside him, occasionally glancing at the harsh set of his face but otherwise saying nothing until they reached the water.
She stopped when he did, and let her toes curl into the damp sand as the incoming tide washed over her feet. Several minutes passed while Booth simply stood beside her, looking silently out over the endless horizon. Finally, she broke the peace.
"Booth?"
He faced the sea with his hands knotted into fists at his hips.
Unfamiliar with his mood and uncertain as to how to react, Brennan waited patiently.
"I'm sorry," he said finally.
Her head tilted as she looked at him. "So am I. I was looking forward to seeing the reefs."
Booth glanced at her in disbelief. "You think I'm apologizing because we didn't get to go snorkeling?"
She frowned. "That's not why you're apologizing?"
He inhaled deeply then dropped where he stood to take a seat on the coarse sand. His wrists hung limply across his bent knees.
"No, I meant . . . I'm sorry for losing my temper like that."
She folded herself into place beside him and considered his profile. "Okay."
He raised a skeptical brow. "That's all you have to say?"
A line appeared on her forehead. "Should I say something else?" she asked slowly.
"Bones . . ." He stared unseeing at the water in front of them. "I threw a man overboard."
She shrugged. "He was a competent swimmer. I watched him while the boat circled back."
He looked at her again. "I punched him," Booth said clearly. "And then I threw him overboard."
"I know what happened. I was there."
His shoulders dropped as his head turned away. "You don't understand."
"Obviously not," Brennan said. "It is quite an uncomfortable feeling for me."
Booth hesitated before his eyes cut toward her briefly. "My dad had a temper."
She watched him silently.
He chanced another quick peek in her direction. "Not always but . . . he drank. He was an alcoholic and when he got drunk . . ." The deep voice trailed away to silence. One hand fell between his open knees; he began to draw haphazard doodles in the sand with the tip of his finger. "When he got drunk, he could be pretty mean."
Without speaking, Brennan edged closer and touched his arm softly.
"My brother and I used to . . ." The muscles of his throat jumped as he swallowed.
Her fingers began a light caress of the warm skin of his forearm. "You have a brother?"
His gaze held hers. "Jared. He's four years younger than me."
"You took Jared's beatings, too."
His eyes narrowed, reflecting surprise.
"It's who you are." A wry smile curved her lips. "You're probably still protecting him in some way."
He turned back to the sea, a stubborn tilt to his chin the only answer he gave.
"Where was your mother?"
"She died."
Brennan inhaled deeply, then gently slid her hand along his arm until she found his fingers and squeezed hard.
After a moment's hesitation, Booth returned the pressure. "I don't want to be him."
"Who?"
"My father."
She frowned as she studied him. "You aren't your father."
He grimaced and faced the slowly undulating ocean again. "You don't get it."
"No, I don't," she agreed. "Are you an alcoholic?"
He rolled his eyes. "No."
"You gamble." Her tone was without inflection.
His wasn't. "Really, Bones? You're going there?" He let her see his irritation. "Yes," he admitted grudgingly. "I'm a gambler."
"But you don't gamble anymore," she pointed out.
"No. It's an addiction but it's as under control as any addiction can be." His shoulders hunched as he slumped forward, uncomfortable beneath her steady regard.
"Do you get angry when you drink?"
"No." He grimaced as he flung a short glance toward her. "What is this, twenty questions."
"I haven't counted," she answered. "Do you beat your son?"
"No!" Furious, Booth jerked his hand from hers. "What the hell . . ."
"I know that I sometimes have difficulty seeing the world in shades of gray," Brennan began slowly. "I've been told that – often," she pointed out, "by you. But life has a rhythm. There are facts and falsehoods. Something is true or it isn't true. While I recognize that it is correct that those statements are not always completely accurate, in this case they are." She stared into his eyes earnestly. "This is a very black and white situation. You are not your father, Booth, and simply losing your temper occasionally will not turn you into him."
A wave surged forward, washing over where they sat, dampening his shorts and her light cover-up. Neither noticed.
Her head tilted as she held his gaze intently. "The Navajos believe that nothing should ever be perfect, because perfection leaves no room for improvement. If a rug maker, for example, weaves a rug that is without flaw he or she will often deliberately make a mistake in the final rows so that it won't be perfect any longer. The fact that you have a temper doesn't mean that you're capable of child abuse. It simply means that you aren't perfect. You have a character flaw that can be corrected. You have something to improve. Like the rug." She bit her lip. "That is a metaphor, by the way. I'm not actually calling you a rug."
The firm assurance in her voice calmed his anger and lifted the sense of disquiet that had hovered around him since their departure from the boat. His eyes roamed her face, glowing with warmth and appreciation for the awkward, complicated and occasionally irritating woman who focused so completely on him.
His laughter defused the last of the tense moment. "I figured that out, Bones. But I probably still shouldn't have lost my temper."
"Well, he was disgusting," Brennan pointed out. "I wanted to punch him myself."
"But you didn't."
Her lips twitched with amusement. "I wasn't fast enough."
His expression turned smug. "I was pretty fast."
"Although brief, your performance in the moment of combat was impressive," she agreed. "Especially against an opponent who was much larger."
"What? No." Booth shook his head. "No, he was all flab. See this baby?" He bent one arm and playfully flexed the heavy bulge of a bicep. "This is all muscle. All muscle. Go ahead," he offered, eyes twinkling as he looked at her. "Touch it."
Brennan laughed at his silliness. "Are you asking me to squeeze your muscle, Booth?"
When he responded with a waggle of his eyebrows, her cheeks blossomed with a rosy hue that had nothing to do with the bright rays of the sun.
"Perhaps I should have phrased that differently."
She was beautiful . . . and irresistible.
Keeping his balance with a hand resting on the sand between them, Booth leaned close and kissed her. For the first time, his tongue swept inside her mouth, sharing the salty tang of the warm air and the taste of the sea that surrounded them.
When his lips reluctantly left hers, Brennan remained still. Their faces almost touched. "You forgot once again to tell me that you were going to kiss me," she whispered. "You have a difficult time following directions."
"Sorry." His forehead rested against hers as he smiled. "I'll work on that, promise."
Brennan rose to her knees in front of him.
"Booth?"
He dragged her into his lap.
"Yea?"
"I'm going to kiss you."
"Show off."
There was no more talking.
.
.
.
.
.
When she slipped into bed later that night, Booth immediately tossed aside his magazine, switched off the lamp and turned his back to her. Without a word, he scooted over into the middle of the bed and flopped an open hand over his shoulder.
"Here."
Brennan stared at his back and at the hand he offered, confused. "What are you doing?"
His neck twisted as his head turned. "We both know you're going to end up crawling up my back at some point tonight. Let's just roll with it. Give me your hand."
His fingers wiggled invitingly.
"You mean we're not going to have . . ." Her mouth closed abruptly.
Booth waited.
Her question remained unasked.
His fingers flexed again. "Bones."
Brennan considered the offered hand . . . and the width of his bare back . . . for another minute. Finally, she grasped his fingers and fitted herself to the long outline of his body.
He folded her hand into his palm and tucked it against his chest.
She yawned against the warm, firm skin beneath her cheek.
His chest rumbled beneath her as he spoke. "You know, most women like to sleep the other way."
"What do you mean?" She squeezed one knee between his.
"You know, being held instead of being the one doing the holding." His fingers weaved between hers.
"Oh." She hesitated. "Does it bother you? Sleeping in this position?"
Her eyes were open, staring into the dark, as she waited for his response.
Booth shook his head. "No, it doesn't bother me. It makes me feel . . . needed."
Into the silence of the space that had become their own private sanctuary, the seductive whisper of her voice fell again.
"Booth?"
"Yea?"
Her breath fluttered against his skin. "What I said yesterday? On the beach?"
"Yea?"
"About having sexual intercourse with you to get it over with?"
A quiet snort of laughter came from him. "I remember the conversation, Bones."
His thumb rubbed her palm where it lay in his hand.
"Yes, well . . ." She burrowed deeper into his heat. "I believe that . . . that I was . . . wrong . . . to put our sexual relationship . . . Well, obviously we don't have a sexual relationship at present but if one were to develop, it was . . . I believe it was a mistake on my part to dismiss it as . . . as something that could be easily . . ."
She couldn't see him smile.
"Bones?"
"Yes?"
"I get it."
"You do?"
"Yea. And yes, you were wrong."
"Thank you."
"No problem."
She had just begun to drift into sleep when the rasp of his voice tugged her into wakefulness again.
"Bones?"
"mmm?"
"Next time you ask me if I want to have sex with you, say pretty please."
The husky sound of her laughter filled the space inside the curtains that shut them in together, away from the rest of the world.
They were both asleep before it faded away.
.
.
Is it just me or is that bed getting smaller?