I stumble out of the car, eager to put as much distance between Oscar and myself as I can. I hate him – hate his longing glances, hate his knowledge of my past self, the way he talks about Weller with that hint of disdain in his voice. When he asked me where I wanted to go, Weller's was the first place I thought of. Kurt Weller, the man I'd profiled, the man I had every intention of using to enact justice and no intention of falling in love with. My chest squeezed painfully.

Oscar tugged at the edge of my jacket as I left the car, but I ignored him and kept walking. For better or worse I wiped my memory clean, and even though I could feel the emotions I'd had for him they were nothing compared to the way I felt about Weller. Maybe I hadn't intended for feelings to develop but I had to have known it was a possibility. Oscar said I watched Kurt for months, I knew everything about him before I had his name tattooed on my back. I gave back the ring for a reason.

"Jane? Jane!"

As I gaze into those intense blue-gray eyes, I want to tell him everything. He's obviously frantic; he can't keep his hands from my face, touching, prodding. For a second the pain washes away and I allow myself to bask in his care. I can only imagine what I must look like. I know I should've taken the time to clean up at the safe house, but the last hour sent my entire world into a spin and all I could think of was Weller. I allow him to pull me into his bathroom and strip me down without complaint. This man is real, he is my present and my future; he is my starting point.

I try to smile, but Kurt doesn't seem to notice – he's too preoccupied with getting me dry. Such a good man. The thought crosses my mind unbidden and in this moment I want him now more than ever. I make quick work of the rest of my clothing, noting my own desire reflecting back at me as I shed the last piece of material hiding my tattooed skin.

I ignore his weak protestations, his desire to talk. I don't want to talk and judging by the way his mouth hangs open neither does he. Though he'll never admit it. He has no idea how endearing he can be.

"Take me to bed Kurt."

It doesn't take him longer than a second to sweep me into his arms like some fragile china doll. A small lump forms in the back of my throat as all the memories of our time together run through my mind. Since the first day he walked into that interrogation room, let me touch his face so intimately even though it clearly made him uncomfortable, Kurt Weller became mine. I rub my cheek against his broad chest, breathing him in. Oscar may be my fiancé, or my ex-fiancé – frankly the whole thing makes my head hurt – but Kurt is my home.

"I'll be in that chair right there if you need me," he whispers, pressing a kiss against my temple. I can feel him second-guessing himself, as one knee remains propped against the bed, the other already on the floor.

He's being gentle and sweet and understanding; I should be happy but I find myself wanting more. I want the Kurt Weller I kissed earlier this evening; the one who wasn't afraid he'd break me. You don't want him, you need that man. My gut is hardly ever wrong. Kurt is the only person that can wash this terrible day from me – instead I have an affectionate Agent Weller staring down at me like I've a few screws loose. Enough of this. Taking his face in my hands, our lips collide – tender at first – then more demanding.

Joy invades my body, then relief, and then hunger. Nothing has ever tasted so sweet, and for the first time since the kidnapping the tension in my limbs begins to fade. Kurt allows it to go on for a moment or two, meeting my tongue stroke for stroke, until we're both out of break. My lips graze his jaw, moving down to kiss his neck, his pulse racing against my lips. I've never wanted someone so much as I want him right now.

"This isn't a good idea, you're still in shock."

Kurt drags his hands from my body and just like that something in me breaks. The tears come unbidden, sliding down my face at an alarming speed, my shoulders shaking. It's more than fear, more than affection, which drove me to be with him tonight. Tomorrow everything would change – Weller would never forgive me once he knew I'd specifically chosen him. He would see it as the ultimate betrayal – worse than anything Mayfair could have done – and I would lose my chance.

"Don't cry, Janie," he says, slipping into the bed beside me. "I won't leave you."

The tears come harder on hearing the tenderness in that nickname; I want to believe him as he pulls me into his arms, dragging his thick blue comforter over us. But you will leave once you know. The bitter voice is screaming amidst the swirl of thoughts coursing through my brain. I can try and hide it from him forever, keep him and Oscar from ever meeting. I can fess up now and never see him again. I gasp for breath, each inhale and exhale shorter than the last. My senses are going haywire – Kurt smells so good, his skin feels so warm and soft against mine. Can't breathe. Soon it gets so bad that I can barely feel his fingers dragging across my stomach.

And then without warning he's kissing my hair, my jaw, my neck. Kurt murmurs my nickname against my shoulder as he nips and sucks on the sensitive skin there. The feel of his stubble scraping against my skin is so deliciously distracting that the panic begins to subside. Tomorrow, I'll tell him tomorrow. Turning in his arms, I hook one leg over his hip pressing against the hardness I feel straining to break free.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself. You know exactly how to get under my skin. My fingers brush against his cheek absentmindedly. I don't want to live my life with regrets if I can help it – I don't want to end up like Patterson. If I have to let go of this man, I want at least one night where it's just him and me. I want to know what it would be like to be his, for him to be mine.

In the dim lamplight of his room Kurt brushes the hair from my face, intent on staring into my eyes; I know he's trying in vain to understand what's happening. I've gone from shell-shocked to horny, to a sobbing mess, and now my tears have been replaced with need. I reach for his hand, pulling it toward my mouth. He wants to look in my eyes? Fine, let him see what I want to do to him. I take one digit into my mouth, sucking and teasing, until I sense his control beginning to skip. He groans, pulling me closer, his hips bucking unconsciously against mine. I know my need to possess him is selfish; the truth is he deserves better than to have his emotions tossed about like a yo-yo.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, closing the distance between our mouths.

And for the first time since awakening in Time Square without a shred of memory, I know I've never been surer of anything my whole life.