A/N: Finally, Cal *goes for it*. There is really not much more to say save that this chapter is mainly told from Gillian's perspective, only the flashbacks in italics near the end are Cal's point of view.

Rating for content.

A heartfelt thank you to all of you who still stick with the story. Reviews are very much appreciated and keep me breathing.

Disclaimer: Gillian Foster – Cal Lightman – Lie to me. Not mine. None of this. Neither of them. Unfortunately.

When the case is solved and Mr. Charming sits behind bars and not in a fancy restaurant to have dinner with Gillian, Cal puts his plan into action.

Around noon, Gillian finds a handwritten note on her desk, together with a calling card of one of her favorite restaurants (they serve a delicious dessert), that says Dinner. Tonight at 8. Meet me there. She was pleasantly surprised when she saw the note and recognized Cal's handwriting, but her smile fades when she reads the last words. Not actually what she expects of a romantic dinner. She sighs and reminds herself that this is Cal. She shouldn't expect too much romance.

Cal is nowhere to be found for the rest of the day so that she has no chance to nag him about not wanting to pick her up. At least he stands in front of the restaurant, waiting for her, when she arrives.

"I thought I had to look for the rose in your buttonhole to identify you since this seems to be a blind date," Gillian can't bite back the remark.

She spent two hours choosing her outfit to meet a man who didn't bother to pick her up, a man she already slept with, and still, she is nervous and anxious as if this was their first date. Which it is, to be precise – hence, the nervousness. Sometimes she hates what Cal can make her do or feel. But when she sees the look in his eyes, it smoothes her ruffled feelings. He is just as nervous as she is.

"Aye, aye," he mumbles and quickly embraces her, his lips brushing against her cheek so fleetingly that she almost doesn't feel it. "Just wait and see." Now, what is that supposed to mean?

He puts his hand on the small of her back and leads her inside. When the server accompanies them to their table, Gillian sees the reason for Cal's hint. There is a vase with a bouquet of roses on their table.

"Thought you'd like them. They will deliver them to you tomorrow. No need to carry them around. No-fuss," Cal says all this while they are sitting down as if he can't get the words out fast enough, and Gillian realizes two things. First – she was wrong, he is not as nervous as she is, he is much more nervous. And second – maybe there is a romantic hidden somewhere deep down within Cal.

"Thank you. They are very nice," Gillian says and catches the brief smile of relief that crosses his face.

They study the menu. Or rather, Gillian studies the menu and Cal studies her, pretending to choose his meal.

"Stop that, Cal," Gillian states without looking up, "or you're going to make me as nervous as you are; one of us should keep a clear head."

"I'm sorry, luv," Cal admits, "but you are ravishingly beautiful."

How is she supposed to not look at him after he said something like that, and moreover, how is she supposed to keep a clear head?

Their eyes meet, and the temperature in the room goes up several degrees.

"It's the same dress," Cal points out the obvious.

In the end, Gillian chose the little black dress she wore when she had dinner with their suspect. She knows Cal hated it (her dinner with the other man, not the dress) and hoped that he would appreciate the meaning. Like a peace offer. Well, an offer in any case. She doesn't have to ask him whether he likes it (the dress? the offer? both?) or not; he is devouring her with his eyes. This non-romantic, confusing dinner starts to feel like the best, most intense date she ever had.

Gillian holds his gaze and reaches out to hold his hand. Cal tenses up. By now, she knows why he didn't pick her up. He simply couldn't, was probably so nervous that the mere thought of making this even more official by knocking on her door and bringing her flowers was too much. Instead, he chose to meet her here so that he could pretend that it was nothing but a dinner with his co-partner after work. Something they did countless times before. Save for the flowers that is. And the little black dress.

"We don't have to do this, Cal", Gillian says.

"Yes, we have to," he disagrees.

"Because you think I want it?"

"Because I know you like it."

Of course. His words make her dizzy. Have things ever been not complicated between them? On the other hand, it makes Gillian feel warm all over. Dinner. Flowers. Cal is making an effort. For her.

"You had dinner with other women before, hadn't you?" she teases, wants to ease the situation. "Or did you simply overwhelm them with your charm so that they directly fell into your bed?"

Cal's eyes darken. Perhaps due to the other women she mentioned. Or perhaps due to the image of a bed that now fuels his fantasies. Who knows. Sometimes Gillian really would like to read his sexy mind, not only have to interpret his micro expressions, no matter how good she has become at that in the meantime. Either way, her words didn't ease the situation in the least. Did it just get even warmer in here? Someone must have turned the air conditioning off. She could as well wear nothing and would still be sweating. Speaking of which... if Cal knew that, he'd probably... she doesn't actually know what he would do, and right now, Gillian is not sure whether she wants to take the risk to find it out considering that there are many people around. His voice interrupts her thoughts and brings her back down to earth.

"Dinner. Dating. Overrated. Doesn't matter. What matters is that it's you, Gill. From now on. Only you."

He starts to caress her palm with his fingers just when the server appears out of nowhere to take their orders. Gillian holds her breath. Damn him and his skilled hands. She chooses the first dish on the menu that catches her eye, and Cal apparently does the same. Neither of them cares about the food (maybe a bit more about the wine, Cal orders a bottle of one of their favorites), and he doesn't let go of her hand, continuing to stroke her tenderly.

When the server is gone, Cal leans forward so that both of his hands are covering hers now. He is only touching her hand, for God's sake, but it feels... she tries to remember if she ever was so aroused in advance during one of the nights she spent with him. In a way, yes, of course. But this is different. This is something they never had when she came over and knocked on his door in the middle of the night. This is what she missed out on because she wouldn't let him make love to her. There was no pleasant anticipation, no foreplay, no indulgence, only raw need and satisfaction. You eat when you're hungry, but nothing tastes more delicious than a sweet dessert when you already had enough. If he can make her feel like this by only touching her hand, she can't wait to experience how he can make her feel when she lets him do other things. Things he wants to do to her; she is dead-certain about it, and his next words confirm it.

"Do you have the slightest idea what it felt like when I held you in my arms, wanted to make love to you but you wouldn't let me? I mean... you were there, right there, in my arms but yet so far away. Each night you walked out of my door when you thought I was asleep, which I wasn't by the way, I was afraid it had been the last time you'd let me close to you."

Gillian intertwines her fingers with his. "Oh, Cal..." Her face is distorted with regret and pain.

"Don't..." He puts one hand against her lips. "Don't feel sorry. It was good, we were good, even if it was a stupid idea, but we can be so much better. I know it. Do you?"

He takes his hand away from her lips but not before she slightly opened them to let her tongue briefly and oh-so-gently lick his skin. She shouldn't have done it, Gillian realizes in an instant when she sees the look in Cal's face; she just whetted his appetite.

"Yes," she whispers.

Out of the corner of her eye, Gillian registers that the server opens the wine and Cal approves of it after he had a taste of it. She doesn't seem to be able to look anywhere else than at Cal's face. This definitely is the best date she ever had. She has never felt so desired, so loved, before. Granted, her own desire (and love, yes, love – it feels so good to admit it) for sure cloud her judgement, but all the things Cal said to her tonight come down to this – this is the way they are supposed to happen. She is certain that everything they do from now on will be the right thing. Not right as in no-mistakes, but right as in no-regrets. They left that behind eventually.

They clink glasses. Now that Cal sees how she reacts to his words and actions, he relaxes a bit. Aside from the tension of his body that is. It is still there due to their mutual physical attraction, and the brand-new emotional part makes it all the more exciting.

"Remember the night you wore that white blouse?" Cal asks in a low voice.

This is familiar terrain. Cal, the womanizer. Save that he never had that look in his eyes when he tried to talk one of those other women in his bed; Gillian has no doubts about it.

It was raining that night. He remembers the raindrops drumming against the window, remembers her wet hair because she came over without an umbrella. His hands in her hair. Their kisses that sent them in a sensual frenzy. The rest is a blur just like most of the nights they spent together. Constant rush, only fragments. One moment, though, is crystal clear in his memory. She wore a white, sheer blouse that night. A blouse he knew from work. Save that she always wore something underneath then. That night, she wore a modest, knee-length skirt and in stark contrast to it that blouse with nothing underneath than her bare skin. He remembers how the sight took his breath away when she pulled her coat off. Basically, it was a cliché, a male fantasy – the good girl who showed her naughty side – but since it was her, it was so much more. For once, he saw vulnerability in her eyes when she caught his lustful gaze. For once, he saw her and not the cool, detached version of her she usually presented to him during those nights. He relished the moment as well as her vulnerability. Wanted to prolong it, to look at her, unwrap her like a gift, button by button, touch her soft skin and feel her respond to his touch. But as quick as the moment was there, it was gone again. Instead of letting him do what he longed for, she simply ripped open her blouse, speeding up things when all he wanted was to slow down.

Gillian blushes. Yes, she remembers.

"I think I do," she confirms what Cal already knows because of her reaction.

Somehow, one of his hands has found its way to her wrist and the inside of her lower arm while the other still caresses her palm. She blushes some more. This is ridiculous; she has to stop it. The nerves of her hand and arm seem to be connected to other parts of her body that wake up one after the other. Gillian shifts around on her chair but stops when she sees Cal's smug smile. Gotcha.

"And do you remember the night in my kitchen?" His low voice again. Sexy. Enticing.

He almost tricked her, tried to pretend this was part of their usual routine. The chance was unexpected. Gillian was thirsty, had just taken a glass out of his cupboard and filled it with water when Cal approached her so that he was right behind her.

"Don't move," he whispered in her ear, and to his surprise, she drank the water, put the glass into the sink and then... waited.

Cal couldn't believe his luck. Perhaps his words had sounded kinky enough to make her play along and not suspect anything whereas his intention wasn't kinky at all. All he wanted was a chance to touch her in a way that came as close to making love as possible.

Gillian had just arrived, and they both were still fully clothed. He leaned against her back, his hands exploring her soft curves, hips and waist, before he moved them upwards to even softer parts of her body. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, and again, he couldn't believe his luck and wondered how long it would take until it ran out, hated that he couldn't see her face, only a blurry reflection in the window. The minutes (or rather seconds) passed by, and Cal allowed himself to let his hands slip under the cashmere sweater she wore. Cashmere and linen trousers, Gillian Foster is always well-dressed, no matter what's the occasion. He listened to the simply delightful sounds she made, telling him she liked this and that even more. It was heaven. But then, when Cal was about to slip one of his hands under her waistband, Gillian's hands shot up and covered his to stop him. He saw her staring at him in the window that reflected their images. They both were fully aware what almost happened. He had been about to make her lose control, give herself to him, and she wouldn't have that. So, here they went again, down their usual road of desperate hurry, racing against the clock to reach the finish line as soon as possible.

Gillian is beyond blushing. Trust Cal to pick the two memories of the nights they spent together that marched to a different drummer because she wasn't able to keep up her facade then. And this special memory is one that... maybe she isn't beyond blushing after all. Her breathing gets fitful, and somehow, his hands have found their way to her upper arms, pulling her closer while he is leaning even more forward. Any more and he will actually have to climb on the table that separates them. People start looking.

"This is how I want it to be, Gillian," Cal says in a hushed tone, obviously sure that the images in her head are the same as in his. "Like this."

"So, what are we going to do about it?" She is surprised that she can talk and even more that her voice is almost steady.

"Would you open the door tonight if I knocked?" he asks, leering at her.

"Probably," Gillian answers in a strained voice. So much for maintaining her composure.

"Would you let me in your bed?" If there ever was a look that could undress then and there, it is Cal's right now. She swallows. This is his answer. This and her eyes that practically beg him to make it happen.

They never met at her place, never made it to a bed. It was always the couch, or the floor, or the wall. Just uncomfortable enough to not let what happened pass off as enjoyment. Tonight will be a first in more than one regard.

"Now, I'm hungry," Cal leans back, grinning at her broadly.

"Then, let's tell them to wrap our dinner." Two can play that game.

Gillian stands up and gets closer to him, bending down so that her lips can brush against his. Cal takes advantage of the moment and lets his arm dangle to caress her leg more or less unobtrusively that is swathed in silk stockings. When he lets his hand slowly slide upwards to her upper thigh, Gillian raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth to say something, but in the end she doesn't. She knows that he is waiting for it, gazing at her lips that were about to form one syllable – his name. Probably he could already hear her say it in the way that is reserved for situations like this – an annoyed, breathy tone of voice that he can't get enough of. When she catches the expression in Cal's eyes that tell her he thinks about doing something even more daring just to force her to say it, Gillian raises her eyebrows some more. People are really looking by now, and their server will most likely, albeit politely, ask them to leave any minute. They are leaving, either way, but she doesn't intend to be the talk of the town.

"I'll take care of the food," Cal says understandingly, pulling his hand away from her leg.

Somehow, the idea that they both leave separately and that she will wait for him at her house increases Gillian's anticipation even more. One look at Cal and she is sure that he feels the same. When she turns around to leave, though, she hears his voice.

"Just don't..." He points at her dress. "Don't get changed."

She almost forgot and that says something about this evening, but now she remembers. This time she not only blushes but purples.

"Don't worry. I don't have to," Gillian eventually manages to say, seeing the quizzical look on his face. It's almost funny that he didn't notice it yet.

She would give anything to watch his expression because he will see what she means when she walks away. I don't have to. Actually, it's not about what Cal will see but what he won't. He will realize that her dress fits perfectly as in no visible panty line, no bra that's showing. He will realize that in contrast to the fake dinner date she had with their suspect, she chose to go commando when she met him and that, daring as he can be, she sometimes accomplishes to be one step ahead of him.

At least the man at the next table notices, barely able to take his eyes off her.

"What's so interesting, huh?"

Gillian hears Cal's threatening voice behind her, most likely addressed to that man, and smiles. Okay, yes, smug. Her smile is smug. Even she is allowed to have one of those moments from time to time. Apparently, Cal noticed, too. Sometimes it's a blessing to be a voice expert. Otherwise, she would have only heard the anger and annoyance and not the thrill and adoration in Cal's voice between the lines. Maybe it's not that bad that she couldn't see his face. That way, she can imagine it along with his tone of voice to bridge the time until he knocks on her door tonight.

Something tells her, she won't have to wait long.

Thank you for reading. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint.

I originally intended to let the story end here, but somehow it feels not right and too abrupt.

So, I will add another chapter as kind of an epilogue.