CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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(hope you don't mind a little more M)

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On Friday morning, brushing her hair and smiling at Carlton in the mirror as he adjusted his tie, Juliet said, "You know what? I think I'm having car trouble."

He gave her a startled blue glance. "You can tell that from the fifth floor?"

"Well, no. But it sounds good, and it'll explain why I had to catch a ride with you to the station today."

Awareness dawned, and he grinned. "That's not going to work every morning, you know."

"I know," she said cheerfully. "Some days, you're going to have car trouble."

He came up behind her and dropped a soft kiss on her neck. "So we have some extra time, then."

Juliet leaned back against his warm body. "We do. Shame to waste it."

He agreed, muttering a question about why he bothered dressing at all if she was just going to get him naked again before he could even make it out of the bedroom. She muttered back that if this was a problem, he should start dressing in his living room.

Carlton opted to take his clothes off without further protest.

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No one seemed to take any notice of them as they walked in together, but Juliet knew Carlton was right to say they couldn't count on this lack of attention, so she made a point of volunteering to Buzz McNab—who was blissfully gullible about these things—that her Beetle's front tire seemed low and she'd asked Carlton to give her a ride just in case.

Buzz of course offered to go take care of it for her, and she flashed him a sunny smile, assuring him Carlton had already promised to see to it after work. (Not that she couldn't do it herself, but Buzz was charmingly old-fashioned and would consider it shameful for a man not to help a woman in need.)

Because Buzz knew as well as she did, albeit in a different sense, that Carlton would no sooner leave his partner in the lurch than hand his Glock to a vegan Democrat, he was satisfied justice would be done.

She glanced toward Karen Vick's office. The door was closed, but the Chief was in there. Normally the door was only closed if she were in a meeting or extremely busy, but somehow Juliet knew this was about Shawn.

Swinging by Carlton's desk, she jerked her head toward the office. He followed her gaze, nodding slightly.

For a moment, settling in to her own work, which was mostly bringing herself up to speed on current investigations, she felt a touch guilty about. . . well, about feeling better.

It wasn't just post-coital afterglow (which thought made her sneak a glance at him, only to find him sneaking one at her; he blushed and she felt giddy), and she was worried about how Gus and Henry were going to fare at the hands of a rightfully angry Karen Vick.

She was worried about Karen, too—she knew her boss was most likely having a very difficult time trying to decide how to punish people she had liked and trusted for many years. Even Shawn—she knew Karen liked him, despite his incredible skill at being incredibly annoying. Shawn could get almost anyone to like him. Part of the con artist package, Juliet thought cynically.

She spared a thought for Shawn himself… for the loss of their friendship at least in the short term (because she knew it would never fully recover), and for the time she'd spent holding on to the illusion of their relationship's likely lifespan, because her private doubts, unexpressed, meant she'd essentially been wasting his time as well.

For another long moment she considered herself a shameful excuse for a human being, to be enjoying her newfound (no, newly admitted) love while Shawn, Gus and Henry were wondering what kind of potentially very serious repercussions they were facing.

Her phone buzzed.

Carlton: Why are you frowning over there?

Sorry. Reality keeps hitting me.

Pause. Everything will eventually be all right, you know.

She had to smile. It's not like you to be optimistic, Carlton.

I know, but then it's not like me to be loved by someone like you either.

Now she blushed—she could feel her face warming—and turned in her chair to see him.

Carlton's blue eyes were fixed on her, and his color was a little high as well, but the expression on his lean face told her everything she needed to know.

It is now, she texted back. So get used to it.

He only smiled, and they got back to work.

As the day progressed, Juliet paid attention whenever someone dared to knock on the Chief's door. Generally, those brave souls—if admitted entrance, and not all of them were—emerged again with expressions ranging from mildly startled to outright panicked.

Juliet could relate to Karen's mood. Her days of anger had been fierce, draining even, and until she'd started communicating with Carlton she hadn't been entirely sure the anger would ever diminish back to manageable levels.

Ironic that Carlton, famed for his irascibility, would be the calming influence she'd so desperately needed. She smiled.

He texted her again. You're driving me crazy.

But I'm just sitting here smiling.

That's all it takes.

Well, if my desk faced yours, you'd be driving me crazy too.

If our desks faced each other, no one would believe you had a flat tire this morning.

Karen Vick came out as Juliet was smirking at the screen, approaching the coffee bar rapidly. She glanced at Juliet, her face stern, poured coffee, and stalked back to her office.

Yeah… Juliet knew the feeling.

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They were headed out at the end of the overly long day when Juliet asked if they could run by her place so she could pick up her mail and a few more bits of clothing.

Lassiter was agreeable, and walked in with her, taking a look around her bright and sunny apartment. He hadn't been here since it was shot up during the commune case. He remembered his fear that day—he hadn't been able to get to her as quickly as he wanted and while he knew she was unharmed, and moreover had Shawn to "protect" her (yeah right), he'd still felt partially gripped by fear until he saw for himself she was safe.

Juliet did her little tasks briskly, humming while she watered her plants and checked the fridge, and implicit in all this—which made Lassiter feel very pleasantly warm—was that she was planning to spend the weekend with him.

To which he had utterly no objection.

He joined her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while she tied up the trash bag, listening with complete contentment as she murmured about other things she needed to do.

"I really should get some boxes this weekend and start getting rid of what I won't need, and—" She stopped, and gave him a stricken look.

"What is it?" he asked at once, already worried.

"Oh, my God," she said faintly, a splash of color in her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I was just—wow. I was just taking it for granted. I can't believe it. I'm so embarrassed. You must think I'm—" She stopped again, putting her hands up briefly to pat her pink cheeks.

Lassiter was confused now as well as worried. "I must think you're what?"

"Awfully... presumptive." She perched on one of the bar stools and patted her face again. "I am so embarrassed. Oh, Carlton."

"O'Hara, what are you talking about?" He stood closer to her, pulling her hand away from her cheek so he could touch her there instead. She leaned against his hand briefly, and they both sighed.

"I just... well, I was just taking it for granted that we're... going to..." She hesitated, and then plunged on. "Live together. And it's funny, because I never wanted to live with anyone I wasn't really seriously committed to, and that's why I was so unprepared when Shawn asked me to move in the night you guys were all hopped up on whatever that was, the night you shot Bobo, but..." Her eyes were wide. "But here I am assuming you want to live together because, well, I want that but it's wrong of me to assume you do, and you must be freaking out. I'm so sorry—maybe you want me to back off a little; I mean I've taken up so much of your time lately and I've been at your place every night this week, and—"

Lassiter was astonished. He cupped her face with both hands in mid-ramble. "Stop."

She stared up at him anxiously.

"About four blocks from the police station, there's a rusted out Fiat parked next to a little run-down diner."

Juliet frowned. "And?"

"If you wanted me to live in that Fiat with you, I would sell the condo in a heartbeat."

Her smile came slowly, brightening her lovely face, which he kissed lovingly.

"I admit I wouldn't mind holding out for a refrigerator box—long legs, you know—and naturally I'd prefer an American car, but for you, I'd make the sacrifice." He kissed her again.

"Oh," she said, her voice tremulous.

"Because for you, my Juliet," he added softly, "it wouldn't be a sacrifice at all."

"Ohhhh," she sighed, and slid her arms around his neck. "I love you so much, Carlton."

"I love you back." He deepened the kiss, and moved closer to her; she lifted her legs to wrap around his, and because she had worn a skirt to work, and because he couldn't resist her, it wasn't very long before he was sliding the skirt up higher on her thighs.

"Yes, please," she purred, unbuttoning his shirt after disposing of his tie without ceremony.

"And I've wanted to marry you for a long damned time," he said huskily as she kissed his chest, stroking his nipples and making him shiver. "When I ask you, will you say yes?"

She nuzzled his sternum. "Will you take me right here on this stool?"

A shot of desire rippled through him, even before she undid his belt and unzipped his slacks.

"Yes," he groaned, fumbling with her blouse.

"Then yes to you too, Carlton. Yes." She pushed his pants down and pulled him impossibly close.

He tugged her blouse off hurriedly and practically yanked her bra off, covering her breasts with kisses borne of an intense and fiery need To Have Her Right Now.

There seemed to be no time to even get her panties off, nor any ability on his part to pull back enough to do it. His whole body was magnetically locked to hers, but the thing about panties is...

Well... they can be moved aside in the pertinent area.

Which operation they cooperated on, so that standing at the kitchen counter, with Juliet grinding against him from her perch on the bar stool, Lassiter did in fact take his lover, and hard, to her great satisfaction as well as his. His hands gripped the edge of the counter while she clung to his neck, and more than once the stool seemed about to topple, but there was no separating them now.

Then, trembling together and breathing raggedly, they disconnected long enough only to exit the kitchen and make it the inordinately long journey to her bed, where Lassiter finally got those panties off and lay with her, kissing every part of her body he could reach, making her almost frantic with new passion.

She was gasping out his name, desperate, clutching his shoulders, her whole body seeming to shake as he brought her to orgasm again and again with his mouth and fingers, and to Lassiter it was no trouble, no chore, because he loved being the man she wanted. The man she loved. The man who was driving her insane with need... and being driven insane by his own need.

"Now you," she growled, and he didn't resist being pushed onto his back.

What she did to him with her mouth was illegally, madly, mind-meltingly delicious—he swore he saw actual stars—but just before there was no turning back, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her up to ride him, the two of them breathing as one as they connected anew... deeply, repeatedly, and completely magnificently.

She mumbled something against his chest later. It sounded like, "Damn."

Yeah, damn. Every time it's like that. Damn.

"Anyway, yes," he managed when he could finally talk. "Move in any time you like."

Juliet laughed, lifting her radiant face, pushing her tousled golden hair over her shoulder. "Okay. I will. It might make being low-key a little harder, though."

"We can say your place is being fumigated. For like, six months."

"Serious bug problem," she agreed, kissing his collarbone. "Serious."

"No bugs at my place."

"Really?"

"No. They can't operate the elevator." He grinned, and she smacked his chest, and they ended up spending the night right where they were.

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