A/N: Surprise! I didn't think I'd be able to squeeze another chapter in, but here's a bonus chapter to wish you a Merry Christmas. Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter (if you missed chapter 3, you might want to read it first). I used my free time to write, not reply, so I'm hoping this extra chapter will let you know how much I appreciate your kind reviews.

Chapter 4: Magical Properties

"You rang?" said Mashburn the next morning, upon entering the Oval Office, the Sunday paper under his arm. He of course new why he was being summoned, and he braced for the impact.

The president wasn't sitting casually upon the couch, but was in his more formal receiving position behind his massive desk. This did not bode well.

"Sit down, Walter."

He sat in an armchair directly across from his boss.

"Look, Patrick, no need to get your boxers in a twist, I was only giving the lady fair—"
"Shut up, Walter."

Mashburn closed his lips tightly. This might end up being even worse than he thought.

"I completely understand your motivations, and you can thank the lady in question for my not firing your ass—or worse."

Mashburn raised a single eyebrow, but remained silent.

"That's right, she defended you, which shows me what a wonderfully forgiving person she is. I trust there will be no more interfering in my personal business?"

"No, sir," said Mashburn contritely.

"Good. Now get the hell out of my office, but make sure you're on your best behavior tonight. Teresa is coming over for a more…informal visit."

"Is she?"

"Yes."

Mashburn rose, feeling relief wash over him that he hadn't gotten the reaming he'd expected (and probably deserved), but halfway back to the door, he turned around. As usual, it wasn't in him to let some things lie.

"You pay me to tell you what I think, Patrick. And what I told Agent Lisbon was correct. You don't have time for heartbreak. I saw firsthand how losing Angela nearly broke you. Now, it's not just yourself and Charlotte you have to consider, it's the entire country."

"Walter—"

"I can see how this woman is affecting you already, can see the potential for your getting seriously wrecked if things go south."

"What the hell? You've been trying to get me to date for ten years, Walter. Now I'm finally interested in someone, and you want to nip it in the bud after the first date?"

Mashburn moved closer to Jane's desk again, lowering his voice. "What I was suggesting was sex, Patrick. You know, dipping your quill before the damn thing falls off from disuse? I see how you look at her. It's not just going to be about sex with Teresa. See for yourself."

Remembering the newspaper he'd brought, Mashburn held it up for Jane to see. Above the fold was a color photo of Jane and Teresa Lisbon dancing, both of them looking very cozy and enraptured with one another. Jane was smiling down into her eyes, admiration shining clearly for everyone to see.

This was the headline: A new love for the president?

"Give me that," said Jane, reaching across his desk to grab the paper. He scanned through the article, noting with a smile how positive it was, how it painted him in an entirely different light.

"It's all over the internet, and the Sunday morning talk shows too," said Mashburn in annoyance.

Jane looked up from the paper to stare at his longtime friend, and for a moment he was taken back to those horrible days after Angela's murder. Mashburn had been there for him then, had even helped take care of Charlotte. He understood how much higher the stakes were now, how Mashburn must feel the added pressure to serve both his friend and the president. His face relaxed.

"I see potential with her too, Walter, but I'm a different man now. I've been through one of the worst things life can throw at a person, and I survived. I've had to be tough for Charlotte and for my country. And yes, you were integral in my survival, but you don't need to be so fearful now. No matter how this turns out, I'll be fine, I promise."

Mashburn still looked skeptical, and Jane grinned.

"Wasn't getting remarried one of the things you suggested to insure my election? You said you feared a single man might be suspect, might suggest to the voters the rise of a Playboy White House?"

"Well, yeah. But then I saw how the pity vote totally worked for you. You don't want to throw that away do you? You have to think about your next term…"

Jane frowned. "I hope you're not suggesting I won the election because people felt sorry for me."

"Oh, come on, Patrick, you know human nature better than anyone. Sympathy was certainly part of it. I'm not saying you milked it for votes, but it ultimately helped your crime platform that you'd experienced the effects of violence personally."

Jane tapped a finger on the newspaper he'd set on his desk. "Aw, but now I've become a more romantic figure, rather than an object for pity. This is a positive thing, Walter. What are they saying on TV?"

"Someone on CNN said they worried she might distract you from the upcoming UN conference, but other than that, I've heard nothing but positivity and enthusiasm." It pained him to admit it though.

Jane grinned. "See there? You should be happy right now. More interest in my personal life could only inspire more interest in my policies." Not that he would make a point of discussing his personal life, but it was all about perceptions; he'd learned that years ago when perceptions had been his bread and butter.

"Maybe," conceded Mashburn reluctantly. "But only if things go well."

Jane sighed. "I know you're concerned, but I think Teresa is worth taking a chance on. I admit there might be some…obstacles, but you've got to let me see where this takes me."

"Ok, I'll back off. But you should probably talk to Agent Lisbon about this too, don't you think? She's not running for anything, and may not want to be followed around by the paparazzi, or have her whole life laid out for all the world to see."

Jane hadn't thought of that. Why hadn't he? Was he slipping? Selfishly pursuing his own desires? Maybe she was addling his brain some, he marveled.

"I already have people researching her past, looking for red flags that might—"

"You what? By whose authority?" Jane demanded, rising to his feet.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Patrick. You know how these things work. The press started investigating her the moment you took her hand on the dance floor. It's my job to head off any potential problems or embarrassments at the pass."

Jane nodded, deflating somewhat. "You're right, of course." He looked down again at the picture of Teresa in his arms. She was so lovely, seemed so fragile, though he knew she must be very strong to be a CBI agent. Still, she hadn't signed up for this, and maybe she felt obligated to keep seeing him because he was the president, their physical attraction notwithstanding.

"Shit," he said aloud. "What if she wants out now, after this?" He glanced once more at the newspaper.

Mashburn was one of the few people who ever had occasion to see Jane vulnerable, and damned if it didn't get to him every time.

"Then she isn't the one for you," he said gently. "If she wants you, she's going to have to take all that comes with you, has to have the fortitude to withstand everything the media throws at her. I guess this will be the first test of her devotion, won't it?"

"I guess so." He looked sheepishly at his friend. "Sorry for coming down so hard on you, Walter."

Mashburn gave a grin and a shrug. "I don't blame you. I meant to apologize to her last night, actually."

"Well, you'll get the chance this evening," Jane said, and it was evident this was more than a suggestion, which was why Mashburn couldn't help yanking his chain a little more.

"You know, Teresa's a pretty special girl. She has a certain spunk that is very attractive. Why, if you hadn't already staked your claim—"

"Don't even think about it," warned Jane darkly.

Mashburn held up his hands in surrender, trying hard not to laugh. "Don't worry about me; I know which side my bread is buttered on. I will be content to worship from afar. Now, some of us don't have time to moon around like Romeo on a Sunday; I've got things to do. Am I dismissed, Mr. President?"

But by then Jane had sat back down in his comfortable leather chair, holding up the front page so he could peruse the article more carefully. He absently waved Mashburn off, and his Chief of Staff left quietly through the door, a knowing smirk on his face.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the president's turn to bowl, and Lisbon and Charlotte sat in blue plastic chairs in the White House basement, watching Jane approach the lane, the bright blue bowling ball with its presidential seal in his left hand.

Left hand?

"I thought he was right-handed," whispered Lisbon in confusion.

Charlotte grinned. "He's Inigo Montoy-ing with you."

"What?"

After Jane finished his first roll, knocking down half the pins, he went back to wait for his ball to return for his second roll. Lisbon tried not to stare too hard at his jean-clad behind, tried to summon a suitable amount of feminine resentment.

"What are you two whispering about?" asked Jane, secretly pleased that the pair were getting along so well.

They had hit it off immediately over the pizza Jane had had flown in from Chicago at his own expense (and he'd guessed correctly about her faint accent), laughing together over the stringy inch-thick mozzarella it was loaded with, making jokes at his expense when he got some pizza sauce on his shirt. But Jane didn't mind at all. In fact, it made him feel warm and happy and…right.

Until now, when he noticed that Lisbon was frowning.

"The jig is up, Dad," Charlotte was saying. "She's a cop; why did you think you could get away with it?"

Lisbon rose to her feet, her hands on her hips in feigned annoyance.

"The fact that you felt we couldn't beat you if you played right-handed is deeply insulting to all of womankind," she chided in her best CBI boss voice. "What do you think the people of America would say to your setting back the woman's movement by fifty years?"

Jane had the grace to look sheepish. "I was just giving you a fighting chance. You couldn't beat me right-handed. Nothing personal—it's a statistical impossibility."

"Oh really?" she challenged, moving closer to him to stand ugly bowling shoe to bowling shoe with him. She was several inches shorter, and as she looked up at him, sparkling green eyes belying her challenging stance, Jane felt an overpowering need to take her right there in the middle of the shiny wooden bowling lane. He felt the color rise in his cheeks as he remembered they had an audience.

"Yes," he said, then cleared his throat. "I always bowl a perfect game using my right hand. Always."

Lisbon glanced at Charlotte, who was nodding painfully. "It's true. Disgusting, isn't it? It's no fun playing any games with him—not Chess, not Scrabble; and God help us all if it's Trivial Pursuit."

"Is that so?" said Lisbon thoughtfully, her eyes returning to the president. "Tell me, Charlotte, do you have a game console?"

Charlotte's lips quirked in amusement. "Yes."

Jane looked genuinely terrified.

"You have Super Mario Kart?" Lisbon asked, eyes still on the president.

"Uh-huh. But you may as well forget about that. Dad doesn't do video games. He is totally technologically challenged. He only just got a smart phone after the election last year..."

"I see how it is. You two are conspiring against me. Here I was just being a polite host, letting you enjoy the amenities of the White House—"

"Bullshit," said Lisbon within the guise of a fake cough. Charlotte laughed in delight. "It's nothing but a power trip for you, is it…Mr. President?"

"Oh, I like this girl," said Charlotte, standing up in excitement. She toed off her bowling shoes. "I'll go fire up the Nintendo!"

When she was gone, Jane, took another step closer. She didn't move away.

"I like that you feel comfortable enough to joke around with me," he said. "Not many people are brave enough anymore."

"In the short time I've known you, Mr. President, I've come to realize that you are, in fact, a human being, with a sense of humor and everything."

His lips quirked. "Now you're just being rude."

She grinned, and it faded a bit as his hand coming up to brush a lock of her hair from her cheek. Her eyes darkened with the first stirrings of desire, and his breathing audibly increased.

"After this, she'll be impossible to live with you know," he murmured.

Her smile was delayed and a bit wobbly. His touch, his nearness, made it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying.

"Charlotte?" she asked. "I uh, have a niece her age. We never hear the end of it when she…when she beats my brother at video games—especially the shooting ones."

"She likes to shoot?" he asked, his fingers gliding experimentally over the soft skin of her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly, blissfully, and it was all she could do not to press her face into his palm. "Maybe she'll become a cop one day like her aunt."

He had been leaning his head slowly down until his lips hovered above hers, and things began to seem a bit fuzzy around the edges, his heart was beating so fast.

"Maybe," she whispered, her eyelids dropping down once more as she raised her mouth to his.

"Ahem," came the clearing throat of Walter Mashburn. Lisbon felt Jane's hand involuntarily clench upon her cheek before he abruptly dropped it and raised his head.

"Pardon me, Mr. President, but I was wondering if I could have a word with Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon stepped back, blushing to her hairline, as Jane shot Mashburn a look that would make an ordinary man tremble. But Mashburn joined them on the bowling lane, completely immune to his ire.

"I'd like to apologize for my…indelicate words with you last night. I came on too strong, and wish I could take it back."

Lisbon looked from Mashburn to Jane and back again. "No apology necessary, Mr. Mashburn. What you said made a lot of sense actually."

"Nevertheless, I hope you'll forgive my bumbling delivery."

"Of course," she said. She realized that the man's boss was standing right there, and she certainly didn't want him to endanger his job over something stupid like this.

Mashburn smiled, displaying his engaging dimples.

"Prettily done, Walter," said Jane wryly, stepping closer to Lisbon. "Why don't you go home? What the hell are you doing at work on a Sunday evening anyway?"

Mashburn's smile widened. "I have no idea. I'll see you in the morning, Mr. President. A pleasure to see you again, Agent Lisbon."

"Mr. Mashburn."

The mood was broken somewhat, although if Lisbon had had any doubts that he thought of her in more than a professional capacity, their near kiss would have confirmed it. He smiled.

"Ready to go watch me get trounced by a teenager?" he asked.

"I can't wait," she said, her eyes still a bit dreamy as she looked at him. He was very tempted to pick up where they had started.

He held out his arm, indicating she precede him out the door leading to the staircase.

"I have a very serious question to ask you, Teresa," he said, watching her hips with delight as she climbed the stairs in front of him. She nearly missed a step at his question.

"Yes?"

"What the hell is Super Mario Kart?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I know the President of the United States is never supposed to admit defeat, but you've both beaten me to the pit. I'm ready to negotiate the terms of surrender."

Jane placed his steering wheel-shaped game controller on the coffee table with frustration, while Lisbon and Charlotte high-fived and whooped in triumph. They were in the private sitting room just outside the president's bedroom, playing the video game on a big screen television.

The three of them sat on a long leather couch that had seen better days. It was very comfortable and soft, but when Lisbon first saw it, she felt it was rather incongruous with the rest of the lavish furnishings.

"Dad had it shipped here from California," Charlotte had said, noticing her interest in the old piece of furniture. It seemed she was as perceptive as her father.

Jane had laughed. "That couch had been in my office when I was a State Representative," he'd told her. "I spent many a night on that thing when I had to work late. When we moved into the White House, I knew right away something was missing."

"I suppose you're entitled to one vice," she'd teased, pretending to turn up her nose at the scratched leather.

"Try it out, Agent Lisbon, and you will soon see that this couch has magical properties. It might have even had something to do with my election."

She'd lifted a skeptical eyebrow, but complied. It was surprisingly comfortable, the brown leather worn soft as butter.

"He still sleeps on it sometimes," added Charlotte, plopping down beside her. "I've caught him doing it, even though he has this gigantic bed fit for a king."

Jane shrugged and patted his couch lovingly. "Magical properties," he reiterated, and Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"Let's see how magical it is when we kick your butt at Mario Kart," the teenager quipped. He sat down on the other side of Lisbon, and gave her conspiratorial wink that made her stomach flip over.

"Only one way to find out," he said softly.

Lisbon was amazed she'd been able to play the game at all, given Jane's close proximity. Every time either she or the president moved, their legs would touch, sending a jolt of awareness coursing through them. This only served to heighten the tension between them, to send the adrenalin pumping as they played the silly game.

"Hmm," said Lisbon now, regarding Jane's terms of surrender. "My partner and I need to confer on that."

Lisbon and Charlotte whispered urgently for a minute, before Charlotte rose and opened a drawer of the TV stand. She brought out another game and two microphones, one of which she handed to her father.

"Noooo," Jane said on a moan as he stared in horror at the hateful thing in his hand.

Lisbon laughed. "You promised me karaoke. We demand that you sing—those are our terms."

"Traitor," muttered Jane to Charlotte, who giggled and put the game into the console.

"Don't worry, Dad, we'll go easy on you. We'll do Christmas music—anyone can sing that stuff. You won't even have to see the words."

The first notes of "Jingle Bells" began to play, the lyrics flashing on the TV screen.

"Stand up, Mr. President, so we can watch you perform," insisted Lisbon, giving his back a little shove.

Jane frowned, but did what he was told. A little late to the music, he began to sing:

"Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh…"

He truly was incredibly awful, and Lisbon and Charlotte's groans just made him ham it up even more. He was hopelessly out of tune, his voice even breaking a couple of times with the strain of finding the right notes. By the end of the song, it was Lisbon and Charlotte begging for surrender.

Although his face was flushed with embarrassment and restrained laughter, he bowed gracefully amidst half-hearted applause.

"Wow," said Lisbon, looking at the president in awe. "You weren't kidding. That was the worst singing I've ever heard in my life. As a matter of fact, if World War III ever started, your version of 'Jingle Bells' could be our first line of attack."

Charlotte laughed. "His singing could jam their communications—"

"We could broadcast it over loudspeakers," added Lisbon, openly laughing now.

"I don't know, that might violate the Geneva Convention—"

"All right, all right," he said, trying to sound stern, though his eyes were laughing.

It was a sign of true greatness, Lisbon thought in admiration, when a man can genuinely laugh at himself.

He handed his microphone to Lisbon. "Your turn, Ms. Pavarotti."

She looked down at the microphone in her hand, then back at Jane, suddenly terrified that she would actually be singing before the president. His eyes softened at her obvious discomfort.

"I won't laugh, I promise," he said kindly. "Even though you both deserve to be roasted mercilessly after your totally disrespectful treatment of me, your president and father." He gave Charlotte a look of mock annoyance.

"We'll sing a duet," Charlotte volunteered, jumping up with her own microphone in hand. Jane was proud of how she was putting their guest at ease, especially since Lisbon seemed extremely relieved.

And so they sang the classic, "What Child is This?"

Lisbon's voice was tremulous at first, but soon her love of the music gave her more confidence, so that by the end, she and Charlotte were belting it out sweetly, clearly, as if they'd been singing together for years.

Jane blinked, hoping he wouldn't show how emotional just watching them had been for him. It had been a mistake, he realized, denying Charlotte a mature feminine influence. Teresa had teased him about being perfect, but clearly, she was the epitome of everything a woman could be—kind, accomplished, strong, smart, funny, beautiful—a wonderful example for Charlotte.

It occurred to him Lisbon would be returning to California in a matter of days, in effect, slipping through his fingers, while Charlotte would never have time to learn from her.

He didn't know how he felt about that.

They finished their song, Jane applauding and even whistling in appreciation, two fingers in his mouth. The two women curtsied, but politely refused an encore.

"I gotta study for a history test tomorrow," Charlotte said with genuine regret. She turned to Lisbon. "It was very nice meeting you, Agent Lisbon."

"You too, Charlotte, but please call me Teresa," she said, giving the girl a warm hug. "We've fought in close combat together, remember?"

Charlotte laughed. "I hope you come back, Teresa," Charlotte added sincerely.

"I would love to." Her eyes strayed to Jane, who nodded hopefully back, his expression awakening the butterflies within her.

Charlotte leaned down and hugged her father, kissing his cheek. "'Night, Dad," she said, then she whispered in his ear: "She's a keeper."

Jane rose from the couch, hugging his daughter back…tightly. "Good night, sweetheart," was his soft reply.

When she'd gone, he smiled at Lisbon. "Well, this has been a very humbling evening. Getting pizza sauce on my shirt, losing a video game to two women, being forced to embarrass myself with a microphone…"

Lisbon chuckled. "It's good to get your ego in check from time to time. I'm sure it will make you an even better president."

His smile dimmed a bit, his face turning thoughtful. He reached out to touch her hair again, much like he had earlier in the bowling alley. He felt her tremble a little at his touch, her eyes widening. "I wonder if you'll ever stop thinking of me as the president," he said wistfully.

She swallowed. "It's who you are," she said simply. "Not something I can forget very easily, Mr. President."

"It might be easier if you call me Patrick."

"On the contrary," she said, looking bravely into his blue-green eyes, "I'm not sure how easy it would be if things became more…personal between us."

He dropped his hand. She was right, of course. Getting closer to her—in any kind of way—would certainly complicate matters. As right as things seemed between them, between Teresa and Charlotte too, he still wasn't sure he was ready, though everything within him strained to be near her, to kiss her, to take her into his private bedroom just beyond the door.

"You're probably right," he said aloud. His smile this time was bittersweet, and Lisbon felt sad that she had been responsible for putting a pall on the evening. She was about to say good-night, when he surprised her again by reaching for her hand.

"Would you like the nickel tour," he asked. "It really is a beautiful house. Lots of history if you're into that kind of thing," he teased.

She found herself saying yes, and squeezing his hand. He led her through the amazing Yellow Oval Room, which he explained was a receiving room for other heads of state, and she admired the crimson furniture and contrasting yellow walls, along with another amazing chandelier. Next, came the Treaty Room, so-called because upon its walls hung copies of treaties signed in the White House by various presidents of the past. The walls were white, the windows hung with olive green velvet. Jane currently used it as his personal study, with a comfortable wingback chair and ottoman in one corner, a nearby table stacked with old books.

"Now," he said, taking her out into the hall, then back to open the door of another room. "Probably the most famous room in the house, next to the Oval Office, of course."

She stood at the opening, staring in awe at the ornate, crown-shaped headboard that extended high above the rosewood bed. The room was furnished in shades of brown and gold.

"This isn't—"

"Yes it is. The Lincoln Bedroom."

"Oh, my God," she breathed. Then she turned back to him, her eyes wide. "Have you seen Lincoln's ghost in this room?"

Jane laughed. "Not yet. Though if all the stories are to be believed, he's been seen standing at the window, looking out on the south lawn."

She shivered again. "But Lincoln never actually slept here, right?"

"No. But this was his office, where he signed the Emancipation Proclamation. I imagine if he does haunt the place, it's because he felt like he had left a lot still undone."

"Hmm," she said, releasing his hand to explore the room in awe. "You sound like you don't really believe."

"Not in ghosts, not like you see in the movies anyway. If ghosts haunt us, they do it within our minds, I think."

She looked over at him, still standing in the doorway where she'd left him. She had the feeling he was talking about his dead wife. She nodded, but didn't voice those particular thoughts.

"Ghost or not, it's lovely," she said, and smiled gently at him. "I could see why someone would never want to leave here."

He continued the tour of other bedrooms and sitting rooms, ending the tour in the family's private kitchen. He went to the stove and put on the teakettle.

"Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"

It was well known that the president preferred tea to coffee, and she smiled and accepted the invitation, though normally she was a coffee girl, herself.

While the water was boiling, Jane turned to the massive stainless steel refrigerator, opened it, and peered intently inside. "There's still some cold pizza left, if you're feeling peckish."

She laughed, holding her stomach lightly. "No, thanks. I'm still full from dinner."

But then he brought out a tray of mini chocolate cheesecakes, which she recognized from the ball the night before but had been too nervous to taste.

"There's always room for dessert, right?" he said temptingly, removing the plastic wrap with a flourish.

Her eyes brightened and she walked over to the counter to look at the delicious bounty spread before them. Chocolate was her main weakness, she thought. Well, that and her latest addition to the list-mischievous sea-green eyes.

She reached for a tiny cake, but he was too quick for her, picking one up and poising it before her lips before she had the chance to retrieve one herself. Jane didn't know what possessed him to do it-perhaps the ghost of Lincoln himself-but he had the undeniable urge to feed her with his hands.

Their eyes met, clashed, and her pulse increased exponentially. She opened her mouth and he slipped the cheesecake halfway between her lips. She took a hesitant bite, and he watched with intense fascination as she slowly chewed.

He absently ate the other half himself, while she continued to chew without really tasting the richness on her tongue. All her senses focused on how much she wanted him.

"I'd very much like to kiss you," he said, need roughening his voice. "But I wanted to give us both a moment to think about it first. You know, look at this logically, weigh the pros and cons…"

She wondered if he was mocking her a little, but how could he possibly know that's how she made important decisions? But Lisbon was tired of just thinking about things for once, logically or otherwise.

With a confidence that surprised them both, she walked the last step into his arms, her fingers sliding into his hair as she pulled him down to her mouth. Now, she tasted the chocolate, more delicious on his lips, dark and bittersweet, and she heard herself make an appreciative sound in her throat as he delved into the hot silk of her mouth.

She felt his arms enfold her, pressing her closely to his firm, warm body, denim against denim, cotton straining over heaving chests. Her tongue coiled round and round his, and all she could think of was going deeper, of consuming him as they had the rich cheesecake. His hands found her derriere, cupped her, pulled her closer still until she could feel how much he wanted her. Her legs grew weak, and as if sensing it, he pushed her against the counter for support. His hands moved up her sides to the settle beneath the curves of her breasts, his mouth never leaving hers.

He hadn't kissed a woman like this in ten years, and Jane wondered fleetingly if he'd ever kissed any woman this way at all. Jane's mind turned uncharacteristically to mush. He didn't think, only felt, his entire body in an immediate state of arousal, his senses overwhelmed by her taste, her heavenly scent, her heated response to his kisses.

He was about two seconds from lifting her onto the counter when, from a distance, he heard the concerned voice of one of his Secret Service agents.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

The teakettle must have been whistling for some time, but neither of them had heard it. Jane stepped hastily away from Lisbon, just as the dark suited guard came into full view of the kitchen counter. If the man had seen anything, Jane knew he would take it to his grave.

Jane moved jerkily to turn off the burner, and the room became blessedly silent.

"Fine. Fine," Jane said, his back to the agent. Lisbon turned away also, embarrassment coloring her face a deep rose, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she held on to the counter for dear life.

"Sorry sir. Just making sure."

"Of course," said Jane, turning to offer the man a reassuring grin. "Carry on."

When they were alone again, he glanced sheepishly at Lisbon.

"Now I understand how Charlotte feels," he said, accompanied by a nervous chuckle, his hands raking through his hair just as Lisbon had done mere moments before. For the first time ever, he felt like he was a prisoner in this beautiful house.

"What?" she asked, startled by the invocation of his daughter's name.

"Never mind."

He didn't trust his shaking hands to pour the boiling water, so he turned back to Lisbon. She looked so beautiful, her lips red and swollen from their passionate kisses, that it was all he could do not to carry her down the hall past the vigilant Secret Service agents, past the Blue Room, where his daughter was studying, and finish what they'd started in the semi-privacy of his bedroom.

Shit, he thought.

"You still want that tea?" he asked lamely.

No, just you.

Her thoughts were so loud he could almost hear them. Hell, he was thinking the same damn thing himself.

"No thank you," she said aloud. "Maybe I…I should be going."

He could tell she understood that it wasn't a very good example he'd be setting for Charlotte, sleeping with a woman he'd only just met with his daughter right down the hall.

"Yes. Maybe. Although…I want you to stay more than I can say."

Her eyes mirrored his feelings exactly.

"Me too," she whispered shyly.

Tea and cheesecake forgotten, he walked her back to the sitting room where she'd left her purse, then accompanied her down the Grand Staircase. Lisbon marveled graciously at its beauty, though nothing could have been as wonderful as kissing this magnificent man.

He took her hand at the bottom of the stairs, brought it to his lips.

"I had fun," he said simply, and he meant it in every possible way. "I'll call you tomorrow to set up another meeting about the uh, task force."

Her eyebrows rose in amusement. It wasn't even about the task force anymore, and they both knew it. "Okay."

He had no idea in hell how he was going to arrange this, however. His assistants had every minute of every day accounted for. All he knew was he had to see her again. Right or wrong, birds and fish be damned, he had to find the time to kiss that amazing mouth of hers.

"Jim," he called, and from out of nowhere came one of his guards.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please escort Agent Lisbon out the sneaky way, will you?"

"Of course, sir.

"Until tomorrow," he said to Lisbon with a smile.

"Yes," she replied. Her dimples appeared, making him feel slightly dizzy.

And then she was gone, following her escort into a side passageway.

Jesus, he muttered to himself, his hands sliding down his face. His body was still humming from their interlude in the kitchen.

Halfway up the stairs, he sat down heavily on the red carpeting, reliving every moment of one of the best evenings he'd had in years, nearly surpassing his Inauguration day. He was startled when his cell phone pinged an incoming text. It was Lisbon.

Good night, Mr. President.

Jane laughed aloud.

That's PATRICK, remember?

Her only response was one of those silly smiley faces Charlotte always used. He tried texting Lisbon three more times, but she was apparently done with him for the night, like any smart woman, leaving him wanting so much more.

The emoticon had done its work, however; he went to bed with the same silly smile upon his face.

A/N: Okay, I admit it must be the season that is making me write such fluff, but I hope you didn't find it too sickly sweet. Once again, I thank you for reading! Your support of this fic warms me up better than hot chocolate ;).