A/N: FYI: This chapter is M-rated. Just a heads up in case it isn't your thing.

Chapter 3

Sam giggled when Foyle winked at her from behind the telephone receiver, having never seen him do that before. It was incredibly endearing, and she watched his movements, enjoying the effortlessness and grace . Everything seemed different now.

From the moment she had seen Foyle across the square a few days ago, her mind had been a whirl. It had been so strange to see him again. All at once she was very happy, filled with trepidation, and sad. It was confusing, and it frightened her to admit to herself why. She knew deep down - had perhaps always known - but she had never said it to herself.

And Foyle had calmed her fears; said the right things and taken charge of her well-being in such a way that she felt literally swept off her feet. The closeness of that moment that they had shared, and the brief unmasking of his eyes when she had seen her own self mirrored there, had opened up a new world. Sam had been so close to drowning in those eyes, and she knew not what she might do next. It had felt so right. And that was when she had seen the fear. He too had recognised himself in her own eyes.

Sam knew with a conviction from somewhere deep inside, that they felt the same about each other and both were too afraid to say it. And fair enough, Sam had told herself during the cab ride, I'm a married woman and he was once my boss. But the taste of marriage to Adam lay bitter on her tongue, and the loss she felt within herself, in addition the disappointment she could already envision on Adam's face left her clinging to Foyle like a lifeline.

Not only had Foyle guided her here with every decent intention, even that she could see, but she had felt pushed along by some unseen force. It was meant to be - "I was meant to be here today," she kept telling herself. Seeing Foyle bound up the stairs to find her had filled her with such a sense of certainty, that she nearly laughed with the joy of it. And hearing him fight her battle with Adam, a battle she should have taken on, was the last assurance that she was right. It was indeed, meant to be, and how silly they had both been - it had been there all along.

It was only then that Sam realised she hadn't spoken the entire time and the first thing that came to mind was the ridiculous notion of what Foyle had called a "sitting room."

She felt grateful that they had talked - not only was she able to get quite a bit off her chest, Sam at least knew Foyle was on her side. Not that she had doubted that for a moment. Now the real challenge lay ahead of her.

The tea arrived and they both tucked in gratefully. After at least four scones, Sam felt restored, and she spoke, resting her tea cup on her knee. "Are you willing to discuss it?"

She looked at Foyle keenly, knowing that even if he wasn't, they would have to. "It was meant to be," she said to herself once again. Though Sam might have meant anything by the question, she knew that he had understood.

Foyle placed his tea cup back on the tray before answering. He looked uncomfortable. "Don't you think it would be best left unspoken?"

"No, not at all." The certainty with which she said it, surprised Foyle, and he glanced at her, aware of a change.

"Right." He chewed his lip, wondering for a moment. "I don't know what to say, really. Except, er, it would be entirely inappropriate, and I'm, um, too old."

Sam snorted, "Oh yes?" She paused, realising how difficult this was for him. Softening, she continued, "This has been building for many years, even you could concede to that?"

When Foyle looked as if he were about to deny it, she said, "Why say what you did on the telephone, if not? Why bring me here? It has always been more than -"

Foyle cut in, "Yes, but it shouldn't have." Again, he looked uncomfortable, "You were my driver for goodness sake. I had a responsibility to keep you out of harm's way."

Sam broke in, "And are you saying you are dangerous?" There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Foyle had the impression she was teasing him, but he said firmly, "No, but I respect you, and it should never be more than that."

"Why not? I am no longer your driver."

"You are a married women!" Foyle jutted out his chin indignantly, frustration nipping at his words.

Sam huffed, "I'm in a loveless marriage - we just don't get on and I realised it too late. It's easily sorted."

Foyle looked at her in astonishment. He realised a lot of what they felt was in between the lines, muddied over by years of denial. This was the last thing he had expected - he never dreamed Sam would feel the same as he himself did or that they would be sat here, in his "sitting room" discussing it. It was unthinkable. He tried not to gape at her.

"Why did you really go to America?"

Trying to find his voice, Foyle mumbled, "Unfinished business."

Sam arched an eyebrow, disbelieving him.

Almost inaudibly, Foyle answered with a sigh, "To let you get on with life. To let you and Adam start a life together. I ... I didn't want to be in the way."

"I see," Sam said slowly. "So you knew?"

"N- not entirely," Foyle said. "I knew how I felt - which was entirely inappropriate, so I felt it best to remove myself from the situation. It was easier for all of us."

"Was it though?" Sam wondered aloud.

Foyle said nothing, looking slightly miserable.

After a moment, Sam added, "And going back to your earlier argument - as for you being too old, don't be ridiculous. We've survived a war that has changed the world. What does it matter?"

Foyle, still looking at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, tried to reply coherently, "Matter, why of course it matters, you are young, should be going out, dancing to all hours, living a full life..."

"War has aged me, beyond even what I can fully realise," Sam said, her voice firm. She set her now cold tea down. "And as for a full life - what I'm living now certainly isn't a full life. Life with you, however, could be."

She looked at Foyle with such fervour that he felt his eyes prick with tears. He took her hand and focused hard on the rather ugly painting on the wall until the feeling subsided. The feel of her hand beneath his gave him the ability to be brave.

"Darling Sam. I couldn't have made it without you, you know."

Sam smiled cheekily, "I know. Can't go anywhere without me, right, sir?"

Foyle chuckled and reached for her other hand. He said quietly, almost to himself, "But it is unthinkable...isn't it mad?"

"War was mad, the world we live in is certainly mad, why not go along with that theme?" Sam replied, making him smile.

He still couldn't grasp that she was so sure about it all. "But what will people think?"

Again Sam snorted, "Since when did you care what other people thought?"

"But your reputation, and - "

"Let me worry about that. Look, the main thing is, would you be happy?"

"Ye - yes, but I'm worried you wouldn't be." He didn't dare look at her.

"I jolly well would be happy, I'd have you."

Foyle welled up again slightly at this, and Sam made the decision for him. She went to him, kneeling by his armchair and pulling him to her. His hands lost themselves in her unruly blond curls.

Letting her lips trace his jawline, she whispered, "We've been awfully silly about it, haven't we? It's always been there, hasn't it? Six years of ignoring it is really far too long, you know."

Finally, Foyle admitted it, to her and to himself, with an earth shattering, "Yes."

They found each other's lips like ships to a beacon; the last six years melted into that moment. It was like coming home. Foyle was still tentative but Sam kissed him with all her passion, drawing gasps from the man in her arms.

"You'd better call me Christopher," he murmured.

Sam giggled, murmuring back, "Yes, sir."

He growled playfully in her ear, pulling her up to stand with him. She had her hands around his neck, one finger toying with the greying curls there. They stared at each other. Foyle saw his old Sam in front of him, cheeks flushed with life and joy. And Sam saw the man who had always been her stalwart friend and daily companion.

They had perhaps each filled necessity early on; policeman and driver, partners on the trail of crime, teacher and student - which turned into companionship, loyalty, trust and eventually love. It had been strange times, what with war raging across the Channel and the home front wracked with hardships, so an unlikely friendship was no more odd than anything else they had encountered. After the war, the world was reeling and everything was different. But only now those possibilities had collided, revealing what had always been there.

"I love you, Sam."

"As do I - I love you, Christopher." She let his name roll around her tongue, enjoying the feel of it. "Christopher. Christopher. Chri - "

Foyle crushed her lips, discovering that Sam saying his name was incredibly arousing. It was his turn to unleash his passion and soon Sam came up gasping for air. She found the braces again, this time pulling him to her to meld their bodies. She was tingling all over and willed Foyle's hands to explore.

Again, he seemed to read her mind and traced his fingertips down her spine, cupping her bottom and pulling her even closer. She felt his arousal and opened her mouth in a gasp of desire that shot through her. Foyle quickly took advantage of that moment and slipped his tongue inquisitively inside. The passion that such a move released inside them both left them leaning against the wardrobe, breath ragged and chests heaving.

"W- we r- really shouldn't be doing this," Foyle panted, "I know it isn't easy...but if you ask me to stop, I will. I wouldn't dream of putting your honour at risk."

"Don't stop," Sam said huskily, "Don't you dare. We both want this, and that's the end of it. It is meant to be, Christopher."

Not another word was said on the matter. It was meant to be - they both knew it, they believed it, and it was years of acquiescence of "never," coming to a head. Sam was still in her too big overalls, and Foyle was able to free her of it with one delightful zip.

He shrugged off his braces, helping her to pull off his shirt. The muscles of his arms and chest rippled with the movement and Sam immediately ran her hands all over them, savouring their shape and strength. Her fingers intertwined with his chest hair. "So strong," she murmured.

"All the better to carry you with," he replied, suddenly picked her up and carrying her to the bed. He gazed at her once he had set her gently down. She looked at him in amazement, "I say, that was..." she couldn't find the word, but the look in her eyes made Foyle weak at the knees.

"Darling Sam, you are so beautiful." Leaning in, Foyle nuzzled her neck, tickling and teasing with his tongue.

His hands were occupied with her breasts and before she knew it she had been stripped of her undergarments. She felt his fingers find her wet warmth and she threw her head back with a gasp of pleasure.

Foyle's lips were at her ear again, "Are you quite all right, my love?"

Sam moaned back a response, nails digging into his back.

"Is it all right for me...I mean, are you quite well enough?" Foyle faltered.

Reaching down, Sam guided his fingers in again, "I should jolly well hope so." She smiled against his kiss and found his trouser buttons. Foyle practically ripped them off and lay the length of her, enjoying the feel of her beneath him.

She felt his arousal against her own trembling body and her back arched, inviting his fingers in deeper. Tracing his tongue down along the hills of her breasts, the wide plain of her tummy, to the cave of warmth he sought, he slipped his tongue inside of her. Sam gripped his head, handfuls of hair beneath her hands. He felt the tremor of her trembling increase and applied more pressure with an expert finger.

He nearly lost himself in her cry of pleasure, but drew himself back from the brink. Sam felt she could hardly breath, and pulled him next to her, panting heavily. She pushed him back against the pillows, taking in every inch of this wonderful man.

She leaned over him, conveying some of her own expertise. Foyle stopped her sharply, and assured her quickly it was nothing she had done wrong. "If you do that a minute longer I won't be any more use to you," he gasped.

Sam giggled and Foyle sat up, growling in her ear, "Lovely girl that you are."

She moved to straddle him, and found his lips. "I want you, Christopher, all of you."

She hesitated above him.

"Sam." He caught her eyes and held them in his gaze.

And they melted together, fitting much like a key to its lock. Foyle reached places inside her that she hadn't been aware of, creating a climax like she had never experienced. They moved together with all the beauty of dancers - a dance that soon left them spent and shaking from the delirium of fulfilment.

Wrapping themselves up in each others arms and pulling the sheets over to keep the air from chilling their sweating bodies, they lay smiling and whispering before sleeping deep and dreamlessly.