Chapter Eight

They got home early in the morning. Grace drove them to Rigsby's place since he was still seeing stars and couldn't risk driving. After their little tryst, he'd spent the rest of stakeout rolling his head and talking like an incoherent drunk. Given his incredibly slow recuperation, it had become quite obvious that she'd blown his brains out.

And that was fine by her.

Smug in her abilities and his honest opinion that she was the queen of all sex pots, she wrapped herself around him as they laid down for what was left of the night. His chest pillowed her head, and soon she felt his breathing even out and his heart rate slow as sleep took him deep. She smiled against him. She'd completely worn him out.

She lay awake for quite awhile.

Sleep had been generous with Wayne, but it was eluding her completely. Her lashes batted softly against his skin as she looked over the pale expanse of his chest. She watched it rise and fall. Rise and fall. The occasional twitch told her that he was dreaming. She ran her fingers lightly over his arm, reassuring him in case the dream was unpleasant. He sighed heavily and shifted, his arms tightening around her out of habit. She turned her head slightly and pressed her lips against his ribs. She'd learned long ago that Unconscious Wayne was fiercely possessive. Without his conscious mind, he'd kissed her in front of their entire team. Delirious on morphine, he'd confessed his love for her. In his sleep, he never let go of her for a single second and growled when she tried to slip away, tightening his hold as he rumbled his reprimand.

She couldn't help but feel special under his constant attention. And he was a vigilant man. Even in sleep, his body activated a series of pressure, heat and tracking sensors. Any movement, any attempt to leave him, set off these internal alarms and woke him up.

"Where ya goin'?" he'd asked sleepily.

She'd smile and answer. The bathroom. The kitchen. Nowhere, just moving over a little. He'd nod, readjust his hold on her, and slip back to sleep.

Many women would find it suffocating.

Grace found it exhilarating.

She luxuriated in his aggressive male tendencies, snuggling closer into his side and humming contentedly. She was past noticing that she'd never wanted those traits in her boyfriends before. She didn't bother summoning the energy to be shocked at herself for loving his greed. Or at her delight in their intensity. Their jealousies. Their reckless, almost violent sexual attraction that needed slaking constantly. These things didn't astonish her anymore. Maybe they never had, and maybe that's what had shocked her in the first place.

Either way, she was done with that now.

And because she was completely comfortable with where they'd taken their relationship, she couldn't help but wonder about taking it further.

Her thoughts slipped into a decidedly darker landscape. As her fingers traced the rigid lines of his bicep, she allowed herself to think about his strength in terms other than his restraint and ability to hold her so tightly. She pressed her index finger gently into the muscle. Despite its inertia, it seemed to shove right back, not giving an inch and pressing back into her finger same as if she was pressing into an oak banister.

It was the same arm that had gripped one of their suspects by the head and slammed it into a table, breaking his nose. These were the same arms that had nearly thrown Jane off of a building and onto the crushing pavement below. Many of their suspects resisted him; she'd seen the result in the form of bruises and blood.

Rigsby has a brutal streak.

For a very long time, she'd repressed Jane's observation. At the time, she simply hadn't believed him. Especially after Jane had encouraged Rigsby to do whatever he liked and his immediate response had been to kiss her. The man had been given a blank check with no inhibitions to stop any baser wishes he might have had, and what had he done? He'd walked ten feet, folded her up in his arms, and kissed her like she was the only woman on earth. Who but a kind, gentle soul did such a thing? He could have run into their holding cell and shot every murderer they'd scooped up that day. He could have bought a Porche. He could have thrown her on a desk and forced a lot more than a kiss out of her.

But he hadn't.

He'd wanted a kiss. More than anything in the world. And when the hypnotist's pull had him pushing and struggling against everyone else so that he could leave, he'd instantly stilled and agreed when she had asked him to stay.

A talented mental manipulator had nearly made him a killer. Grace had sliced through their hold on him like warm butter and brought out his devoted, tender inclinations.

It made her wonder. Could both sides exist in him at once? The brute and the lover?

She mulled silently. Only one man could answer that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, she found herself alone with him. Sitting in the kitchen and enjoying their cups of tea, Grace and Jane sat together at the dinette table after the other three had been called out to the field.

She smiled softly at him and he smiled back.

All in all, she liked their relationship. Jane, for all his teasing, seemed to treat her with a bit more sincerity than he did the rest of the team. The boys crowded around him, stroking his ego with their questions and bets against his abilities. Lisbon? Well, Grace suspected that Jane and Lisbon took special, sexually-frustrated delight in rubbing each other the wrong way. She was fairly sure they were close to pushing each other into a corner, and once they got there, they'd use their naked bodies as a means of extending the fight. Maybe they were already at that point. It was none of her business. She only wished that they found some sort of peace in each other and didn't simply use sex in their ongoing game of Chicken. In her opinion, love should never be a matter of who flinches first.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jane smiled as he stirred his tea.

She chuckled. "You could save your money and just read them."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Feel free to start a tab. I'd like to know what's got you so contemplative and staring into your cup. Looking for tea leaves?"

"Looking for the right broach to a delicate subject, actually. I'd like to ask you about something." She gazed at him with unguarded eyes.

"I'm all ears."

She was surprised. "You're not going to guess? You always guess."

His eyes crinkled kindly as he considered the young agent. "With most people, I would. But I'm sensing your topic is unique. I'm fairly certain it involves Rigsby, but outside of that, I don't wish to upset you by suggesting any specifics." He paused and sipped his tea. "You're an intensely private person, Grace, and you offend easily when I prod."

She smirked sheepishly. "That's about as exclusive a club as the white pages, Jane. You piss everyone off when you prod."

"But you want my opinion. I'll try not to piss you off until it becomes necessary."

She sighed and sipped her raspberry leaf. "All right, you win. I'll ask you straight out." She took a steadying breath and plunged. "I want you to tell me why you think Rigsby has a brutal streak."

His smile dropped a bit and his eyes narrowed sharply. He cocked his head, his gaze suddenly drilling into her skull and convincing her that he was indeed accessing her thoughts after all. She held his stare and let him. She prized honesty, after all. It would be hypocritical not to let him read her.

He pinned her for what felt like a very long time before he spoke. "I need you to rephrase your question."

"Why?"

"Because it's not what you want to know," he explained quietly. "You've already seen examples of his anger in his work. Even if I didn't read any further into him, those are evidence enough. And now you're involved with him. I assume you've seen sides of the man you never would have believed existed. Given his strength and his overpowering desire for you, there are probably dozens of instances when he startled you with the intensity and violence of his love. If he ever felt it for anyone else—which I sincerely doubt—he probably would have frightened them half to death."

He paused to sip again.

"But you're not frightened, are you, Grace?"

Her eyes still on his, she shook her head slightly.

"Then I'm curious to know what you want from me."

"I…" she dropped her gaze and looked for answers in her mug. "I want to know…if…he'd ever…" she struggled to word her thoughts.

He craned his head towards her, squinting in surprise. "Are you asking me if I think he'd ever hurt you? Physically?"

Her head shot up. "No! No, I know he wouldn't. He'd never let himself. No, I want to know…" she went back to fishing for the right words.

His expression smoothed with insight. "You want to expose yourself to his brutality. You want to see what would happen if that barrier disappeared."

She inhaled sharply and she looked down again. She sank lower in her chair, trying to hide behind her teacup. To hear her desire spoken out loud grated her ears and brought red to her cheeks. It sounded so sordid. Grace immediately felt ashamed to have brought it up in the first place. The silence between them felt pregnant with expectation. She finally raised her eyes to his, desperate and wide. She found no judgment in his face as he looked at her. She whispered softly. "Yes."

He nodded very slightly. "You feel wrong for wanting it. You think it's depraved. And you think it's unfair to him, that he'd be upset and unwilling if you asked it of him."

Her lower lip trembled slightly. "Yes."

He smiled softly. "I'm perfectly willing to assure you that exploration into people's darker desires is natural, Grace, if I thought for one minute that my opinion would comfort you. But you're not telling me everything. You have no reason to confide this to me of all people, unless there was something I could offer you."

She exhaled shakily and leaned forward a few inches. "You're the only person in the world who can help me find out what would happen if that…barrier…disappeared, as you put it."

His brow arched in mild amazement. Little Grace. Who would have guessed? "Grace, are you asking me to hypnotize Rigsby? Without his knowledge? You want me to place the suggestion that he should be violent with you?"

"I…" She swallowed. No, this was wrong. She shouldn't even be thinking about this! Hypnotize the man she loved without his knowledge? Without his consent? Put him into a dangerous frame of mind just to satisfy her tawdry curiosity? She tried to explain herself.

"I don't want him violent. Not exactly. I want the man who loves me. But at the same time, I want this other side of him too. I want this…Other Wayne. I don't want him withholding that side of himself."

"Aaah," Jane mused. "Because you want to know if you have the power to control it. You know you've conquered the lovesick schoolboy in him, but you want to know if your influence over him is enough to tame the beast. Correct?"

She swallowed again. Honesty, however precious, was an embarrassing bitch at times. "Correct."

They were quiet for a while. They sipped their tea and let the silence wash over them. Grace waited patiently while Jane held court, mulling her request in that sharp and twisted brain.

At length, he proclaimed.

"I refuse to put him under without his knowledge. Explain as much or as little as you want, but when he sits in front of me, he's trusting your reasons for letting me."

She nodded, her teacup now cold in her hands. "Okay."

"I also ask you to think carefully on this, Grace. I understand your curiosity, but you're asking me to unleash some very dangerous tendencies in unknown quantities. I know he's had a traumatic childhood, and I know he'd good at his job in enforcement. These facts alone will make him extremely unpredictable. I'll put a trigger in place so that you can stop him, if it comes to that, but I still need you to consider what you're doing."

She nodded solemnly. "I understand." She stood up, her legs wobbling slightly under her weight. "Thank you, Jane. Thank you for listening."

He gave her his patented smirk. "Talk to your boy. I'll be waiting."