Hotch had never been so attuned to someone in his life, and as the evening progressed he was wishing nothing more but to drag her out of their seat and carry her off somewhere. Fifteen minutes would do, he decided. He'd take her behind the building and have her to himself. For just fifteen minutes.

But Emily Prentiss was not the kind of woman a man had a quickie in an alley with. So he could wait.

But it was hard. He watched her as she danced—first with Derek, then with Dave. Laughing, happy, slightly flirty. Beautiful. He spent so much time watching her that it took him nearly two hours to realize Hayley was watching him from a seat two tables away.

When he did realize, he just flat out didn't care.

He didn't want his ex; no, the woman he wanted was currently pressed up against Derek Morgan's chest. Hotch lifted his lip in an unconscious curl. He didn't like that, even though he knew there was nothing between Emily and Derek.

Hotch stood, quickly, and made himself cross the dance floor slowly, unhurriedly. He tapped Morgan on the shoulder, and seamlessly cut in. He kept his expression neutral as Derek passed her to him. Then Derek was off, looking for more appropriate female companionship. Hotch didn't watch him go, too intent on her.

"Hotch?" She said in a low voice. He had to lean closer to hear, which he did without thought. The music slowed, and he pulled her tighter to him, as close as he could without raising the team's suspicions. He wasn't ready to explain things to them yet.

"Hmm?" He tightened the arm he held around her waist, pulling her lower body just a bit closer to his.

"What are you doing?"

"Dancing. Why?" He grinned down at her quickly, letting her know he knew what he was doing wasn't merely dancing.

"I don't know. Maybe because in the entire time I've been at the BAU, and all the times we've went out as a group, I've never seen you dance with anyone before." Her words held a bit of a challenge that he thought was sexy as hell. She was one of those women that wouldn't let a man get away with anything. He liked that, a lot.

"Maybe I've decided to change a few things."

"And dancing is one of those things? You going to dance with Dave next?"

"No." Hotch paused. "Dave steps on toes. Derek, maybe. But not Dave."

She laughed then, and Hotch's smile deepened. He squeezed her hand before continuing. "You worried me."

"I did?"

"You disappeared for two days. I wondered if it was something I did." Hotch admitted before spinning her out and back. "Wondered if I made you run."

"Maybe partially." She said, looking away from him. "I was afraid, I guess."

"You don't have to be. One night at a time, remember?"

"Yes." The song was ending, and he stepped back, though he kept her hand tight in his. He could get away with that, he decided, seeing as how the bar was getting much more crowded as second-shifters were getting off work and piling in.

He pulled her through the crowd and back to the table. They resumed their seats and he dropped a hand behind her back, under the table's edge where no one could see, and scooted her ever so closer to his side. He felt her lined up perfectly with his body. He then dropped his hand to clench around her thigh. He left it there, letting her feel him. Letting her know his intent for the evening.

She didn't say much the rest of the night, but she didn't pull away from him, or move to pull his hand away from her. He took that as a good sign, and he kept one eye on her for the entire evening.

They didn't dance again—he didn't trust himself to keep it platonic in front of the team, or the other agents he recognized floating around the bar. But when it was all said and done, Hotch knew he'd be taking her home tonight, and she knew it now, too.

His profiler mind cataloged all her sighs and movements, his male mind cataloged her alluring scent, and warm hip pressed against him. By the time JJ and the rest were ready to call it a night, his body was strung taut, and he knew he'd be pouncing on her at the first available opportunity. He didn't know if he'd be able to wait until they reached her condo.

But his place was closer.

He motioned the waitress over, and hurriedly took care of the entire team's tab, amidst protests that he waved away. "My treat."

He didn't want to wait long enough for the waitress to run six or seven separate tallies. And besides, he wanted to pay for hers. It was primitive, he knew, but he wanted to be able to take care of her in any little way he could. Even if it just meant paying for the one lone beer she'd nursed all night. And the nachos she'd shared with JJ and Reid.

Hotch had been strung too tightly to even think of eating—and he'd wanted to be completely clear-headed for after they left the bar, so he'd forgone any more alcohol than that one drink he'd ordered upon arriving.

He wanted no excuses for what they were going to do—as soon as he got her completely alone. Morgan seemed to want to linger—and he was Reid's ride; he chattered, monopolizing Emily's attention, and Hotch got impatient. They were the last four of the group remaining, and to Hotch enough was enough. "Emily, you're on my way, I'll walk you home. Morgan, Reid, see you Monday morning."

"Yeah, man. Come on, kid." Morgan seemed blithely oblivious to Hotch's temper and it took another five minutes before he and Reid left the bar.

Finally, though, Hotch could turn to Emily. "You ready?"

"Yes." She said, the word slightly huskier than her normal speech. He looked at her, seeing the heat in her dark eyes. She knew how he was feeling, knew what he wanted, and she still stood there, waiting for him.

"Good." Hotch smiled down at her, feeling the predatory grin stretching his lips.

She swallowed, a convulsive reaction that showed just exactly how attuned to his wants she was.