Shatter and Reset

"The course to true love never did run smooth." ~William Shakespeare

May 2013. Vienna, Virginia.

Paul hung his still-dripping clothes in the shower, smiling at his children's antics—really, he should have seen that coming. Anna always grinned like a madwoman whenever trickery was afoot, and she'd been smiling at him with an insanely saccharine expression that should have been a dead giveaway.

He heard the front doorbell, and that piqued his curiosity—who on earth would be visiting? Did the security detail even let anyone reach the front door without some kind of frisk or shakedown?

He wrapped the beach towel around his waist as he padded back through the master bedroom, quietly opening the door and stooping to collect the clothes that Erin had left.

That's when he heard an odd sound. It sounded like Erin was crying.

Erin never cried. Not like that.

He opened the door a little wider, craning his neck around the slight corner of the wall, "Erin? Erin, is everything OK?"

The man holding his ex-wife turned around, his face filled with absolute shock. Paul thought he looked familiar, and he felt like he should know this man from somewhere.

The stranger simply turned and walked out the front door.

Erin shot him the most venomous look that he'd ever seen, and that's when he realized how this all must look.

He also realized that he'd just met Erin's Italian lover.

"David, no. No. No, please—"

He was already walking back down the driveway, back towards his car parked on the curb, his head filled with anger and heartache as he tried to remember why he ever thought that this was a good idea.

She was coming after him, the tears and panic evident in her voice.

"David, please. Please!" She grabbed his elbow, whirling him around to face her, her fingers grasping his flesh, anchoring him there.

"Please," she repeated, this time in a lower, calmer voice. "It's not—it's not what you think—"

"And what, exactly, do I think it is?" He challenged, keeping his own voice low. There was a Bureau SUV less than 30 feet away, and he didn't much care to become a spectacle.

"He's here to see the kids," she answered, though she knew how lame that sounded.

"He was coming from your bedroom," David hissed, the hot jealousy in his tone reminding Erin of that quiet morning by the pool, I am a jealous man when it comes to you, Erin Strauss...I covet every touch, every glance, every nuance of you.

He still coveted her. He still cared. That would fill her with an unspeakably dark heat, if she wasn't so terrified of losing him again. But that was the fuel she needed, because it meant that there was still something worth fighting for, and gods be damned if she didn't fight tooth and nail for this man, this man above all others.

"He was just changing his clothes—Anna and Chris pushed him in the pool, you know how they are—"

He knew that she was telling the truth, but the simple domesticity behind her answer only increased the pain in his heart (his son was enjoying the beautiful day, was horsing around with the man whom he thought was his father, the whole family so blissfully unaware). He'd come here to speak to Erin, to begin sorting out this tangled web, because he was finally at a place where he felt that he could endure such hesitant and uncertain pain. But he wasn't ready to face Paul or any part of that reality (not yet, not when there was still so much he needed to understand first, so much he still had to process), so he turned away again.

But her hands were still firmly clutching his arms, and she pulled him back with a ferocity that surprised him, "Please don't. I can't—I can't—not again, not like this."

"I can't do this, Erin," he admitted, his tone so filled with hurt and weariness that she felt her heart break for him all over again, for all that she'd done, for all that she'd put him through, for all the little ways she'd damaged and broken this beautiful man. Oh, she'd walk across burning coals and shattered glass to repair the harm she'd caused, if only he'd let her (if only it were that simple, if only it were so easily mended).

She leaned forward again, her face just inches from his, her voice quivering with a hint of desperation as she demanded, "What do you want, David? Do you want me to tell him? I will, I'll go in there right now, I'll do it, I'll do anything, just don't—please don't—"

"Calmati, bella," he stopped her, because he knew that her fear was real, and he knew that she'd do just that, if she thought that it would bring him back. Those two words held an odd mix of tenderness and reprimand, and Erin didn't know how to react. He said that he couldn't give up on her, and yet he was walking away. He said he couldn't do this, but he was still calling her bella, still speaking so tenderly. It was such a terrifying juxtaposition and she didn't know how to bring them back to safety.

"Just don't leave." She prayed, closing her eyes.

He didn't say that he would stay, but he didn't move either. He was so close and so far, and her skin was aching at the uncertainty, at the need to just be in his arms again. She leaned forward, her forehead resting on his chest, her hands still holding his upper arms, not caring about her ex-husband still in her house or the agents in the vehicles looking on.

She wasn't trembling, but David could feel the odd energy coursing through her frame which told him that she was steeling every muscle in her body just to keep from shaking. She was putting herself further out on a limb than she'd ever gone for any man, and she was silently praying that he'd step out onto the uncertain branch with her—he could sense this, could almost hear the fervent hopes of her mind whispering just beneath the surface of her skin as she silently awaited his verdict, head bowed in a expression of mournful contrition.

She could always break him, with the simplest of gestures. She always broke him, with the words she didn't say, with the things she tried not to do, with the actions she held back. His iron-clad resolve was no match for her soft vulnerability, which could rend his defenses with startling ease. She always overwhelmed him with her presence, with all the tiny bits and pieces that stacked up to become an irresistible concoction, from the scent of her skin to the little stray curl of hair that escaped her bun to the gentle brush of her eyelashes on his collarbone, some strange sorrowful siren song that called to his deepest being. And in response to this deluge, he always granted her complete absolution, without thought or reason or conscious choice, simply because it felt right and completing. This was no exception.

He tilted his head forward, and she instinctively moved as well, her forehead resting against the tip of his chin, the rough edges of his goatee filling her with so many little feelings of longing. They simply stood there for a beat before she quietly asked, "What do you need, David? Please, tell me."

"I need to talk with you. Alone."

She gave a slight nod as she pulled away, looking back at the house.

"We could…we could go for a drive," she suggested. He nodded in agreement. She motioned to the door hesitantly, "I need to—I have to tell them I'm leaving, or else they'll be worried."

He nodded again, turning to his car. In less than thirty seconds, she was outside the house again (at least this time she'd put on a pair of flip-flops), slipping into the passenger seat of his sports car. He tried to ignore the fact that she was wearing only a bathing suit and a thigh-length sheer cover up, because honestly, he needed to be thinking with the correct head right now. A part of him hated that fact that even now, she still held some allure, some power over his senses. It wasn't a fair fight at all.

They drove off, and silence filled the car as she waited for him to speak again. At her front door, things had been tearful and electric and soft and almost forgiving; then in the driveway, they had been rushed and panicked and insistent. Now there was an odd calmness, with anger and hurt dancing just beneath the surface as David truly thought about what had just happened and as Erin prepared herself for what was going to be an awful ordeal. When she'd gone back inside, she'd told herself that she couldn't be the weak, simpering thing that she was just a few short minutes ago, because she knew that David hated seeing her cry, and she didn't want to use that as a weapon. This wasn't a war, this was an act of atonement, and she'd stomach her wormwood like a true penitent.

After a pause, he gave a heavy, frustrated sigh, "You know, I thought I was ready to forgive you, and then this happens, and all this other shit just bubbles up, and I don't know how to feel about it anymore."

"I don't expect you to forgive me," she replied quietly. "I understand if you can't. I wouldn't—"

"Cut the bullshit, Erin," he snapped, suddenly tired of her meek and timid ways. "Stop playing the role of the fucking martyr—"

"The fucking martyr?" Her body felt a physical shock at the words. "I'm just trying to apologize—"

"You're trying to turn me into the bad guy," he corrected angrily. He hated seeing her so submissive, and he would do anything to bring the old Erin back, even if it meant goading her to fight. "You're trying to play to my sympathies, and I won't have it, Erin. I know you're stronger than that."

Her temper flared at the accusation, because playing to his sympathy was the one thing that she was trying not to do. It was so very typical of David, to turn her apology into some kind of weapon (this was why they didn't apologize for any of their fights before, for this very reason), and despite the fact that she'd promised herself that she would remain calm and repentant no matter what, she couldn't stop the words bubbling from her lips, "You sanctimonious bastard, you're the one who's acting like you've been stabbed in the back, when you know good and well that you're just as responsible—"

"Just as responsible? How the hell am I just as responsible?"

"I'm sorry, did you completely forget that night in Seattle? Because I have a crystal-clear memory of it, and I remember that you knew exactly what you were doing, and I certainly didn't have to coerce you to—"

"That is not the point—"

"Not the point? It's the whole reason we're in this mess!" She threw up her hands in exasperation. "And for Christ's sakes, stop at the damn stop signs! Those aren't suggestions!"

Of all times to criticize his driving skills, she chose now.

It was so typically Erin that David didn't know whether to laugh or to drive the car into the nearest lamp post.

He returned to the matter at hand, taking a deep breath and trying to remain calm as he pointed out, "This mess, as you so aptly put it, isn't about the fact that we slept together, or even the fact that you got pregnant—it's about the fact that you didn't tell me—"

"And how could I?" She turned in her seat so that she could face him fully, her face set in an angry mask. "What was I supposed to do, just call you up and say, 'oh, hey, Dave-O, thought you might like to know that you might be the father of my child'?"

"You should have told me, Erin—"

"And what would you have done?" She demanded. "Be honest, David, what would you have done?"

He didn't answer right away, so she continued, "You would have done the same thing you did a week ago—you would have asked me how I knew that it was yours. You would have denied it, you would have—"

"I would have been there for you!" He retorted, throwing his hand up, motioning back to her. "I would have been there for my son! I would never have left you alone to deal with this on your own."

There was a moment of awful silence as she simply stared at him. With an angry sigh, he kept his attention focused on the street ahead.

"I would never have left you alone like that," he repeated sadly, shaking his head as he thought of how terrified she must have been, of how many little fears and moments that she'd suffered through on her own.

The sorrow in his voice crumbled her anger. He wasn't upset that it had happened; he was upset that it had happened and she had endured it alone.

"If I had known that…if I had thought that you would do that, I would've told you," she answered simply, blinking back tears.

That was the answer that hurt the most—because after all they'd been through, she hadn't believed that he would be the kind of man who stood by her. Of course, that had been twenty years ago, and until this past year, they hadn't allowed themselves to truly be there for one another. They'd built their own prison and then wailed at the results.

God, they'd made an absolute fuckery of what could have been a beautiful and tender thing.

Suddenly, David's anger melted away, and he felt bone-weary. He pulled the car to the side of the street, putting it in park before turning to look at her, his dark eyes filled with a heartbreaking uncertainty as he gently asked, "If you had known, would you really have told me?"

"Yes," she admitted with a quick nod of her head. "I just—I didn't think you would want that, and I thought—I don't know what I thought, I just was so scared. I thought I was protecting you, protecting all of us."

There was a beat of silence as he contemplated her words, knowing the truth behind them. She'd never wanted to hurt him, and he knew that, which only made this situation even sadder.

"Would you have left Paul?" He asked the question that had weighed on his mind for days now.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, blinking back more tears. "If I'd thought that you'd really be there, that you'd stay, then perhaps, yes."

He simply nodded. She leaned across the seat, taking his face in her hands, making sure that his eyes met hers.

"I can't change what happened," she regretfully informed him. "I can't change the choices that I made. But I can make new choices now, and I'm saying that I choose you. I choose you, and whatever you want, and however you want to handle this—if you want us to tell them, then I'll go back and I'll tell Paul, and then we can tell Christopher together, and I can tell the girls. If you…if you just want to walk away…"

Her breath hitched at the words, as if they were literally a knife in her chest, but she bravely continued, tears slipping down her cheek, "If you just want to walk away and be done with all of this, then I'll let you do that, too. I'll let you do that, if it kills me. Because…because, goddammit, I love you, David Rossi, and this time, I am choosing you."

The poetry of Shakespeare, the greatest sonnets of ages past, the most artfully composed words of humankind, could not have truly touched David Rossi's soul the way Erin's simple declaration had.

She was right. They couldn't go back. More importantly, he didn't want to go back to what they were before—before, there were secrets and imbalances, resentments and demons and so many dark shadows, there was a gap between them, a gulf of what David thought they were and what Erin knew they were. He didn't want that, ever again.

They couldn't go back, but they could go forward. Because, deep down, David had always known that he would find his way back to Erin's arms, even if it was years from now. It was who they were, the inevitable pull of their mutual destinies, the predetermined outcome of their coinciding stories—history had proven this, time and again, regardless of what happened or how long it was between their reunions.

With bated breath, Erin Strauss watched these thoughts and emotions play across the face that she loved and knew so well, anxiously awaiting his decision.

In that moment, David Rossi fell in love with her all over again—after everything they'd been through, after every reason they had to hate each other for the rest of their lives, she was here beside him, still fighting with him, still fighting for him, still putting herself out on that unstable limb of love and hoping that he was still waiting to catch her.

She was here. Paul and the children (and their son) were still waiting for them, but she'd left it all, just to prove herself. It was the reassurance that he'd always wanted from her, the deep kind of commitment that firmly threw her hat into his ring, and suddenly, he realized that he didn't want that at all—he didn't want her love for him to come at the cost of everything else. Because he loved her, just as deeply and as truly as she loved him, and he could never wish such heartache upon her.

"I understand why you didn't tell me," he admitted softly. "I've always understood, even when I didn't want to."

The relief in those grey-green eyes was so palpable that he could actually feel the air shift around them.

He continued, his voice quivering with every word, "And it's the same reason that we shouldn't say anything. I won't be the man responsible for destroying your family."

"Our family," she corrected softly, the tears flowing down her face once more. "Christopher is your son, and he's your family."

There was a moment of silence as she simply looked at him, her expression filled with adoration and sorrow and love and heartache and deep, deep remorse as she shook her head, "I'm so sorry, I've taken this away from you."

She pulled away, covering her face with her hands, "I hate myself for putting you in this horrible situation."

He reached over and grabbed her wrist, gently lowering her hands so that he could see her face again, "Bella. Bella, look at me."

With a small sniffle, she obeyed, and he continued, "You chose me. I chose you. And I chose everything that comes with it. You said you'd do anything I asked—you'd tell Paul, you'd tell Chris, you'd tell the girls—and I know you would. But I don't want that. That's a stain that would mark us for the rest of our lives, and I don't want that. I want us to be happy, I don't want to blame you and I don't want you to blame me. I want what's best for our son, and I don't want him to have to live with all of the fallout that a revelation like this could bring. I want to be a part of his life, and I want him to look to me as a father, to trust me and to love me like a son would, but I don't think that I should have to tear down every foundation of his world just to be able to claim him as my own, and I couldn't bring myself to destroy everything else along with it—your relationship with him, with Jordan and Anna, their relationship with one another. I could never do that."

She simply nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line as the tears continued to flow down her cheeks. He was a true father, putting his child before himself, and it broke her heart, knowing that Christopher would never know the sacrifice that had been made for him.

"He's a good boy, Erin," he said gently. "You did a good job, and so did Paul. He's a son that we can be proud of. And I am proud—I'm proud of what you've done, of the man he's going to become. I can't ruin that, Erin. I won't."

She nodded again, reaching over to caress his face as she quietly and somberly asked, "And this is what you want? You're sure?"

"Yes."

Another spring of tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, "I just want you to be happy. And I want you to know that I never regretted this, never, not once, because I couldn't—I couldn't regret what you gave me. I love Christopher, with all my heart. He's my gift. The first time I held him, that's what I thought. I thought he was the sweetest gift that you could have ever given me. I just wish...I wish I could give that same gift to you."

"You can," he replied. "Just not in the way that you thought."

She began to cry again, and it was his turn to cup her face in his hands, pulling her closer to him as he gently wiped away the tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "After...after last year, I knew that I was going to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many times, and then the Replicator happened, and I didn't want to distract you, so I told myself that I would wait, and then—"

"I know," he said simply. Then he pressed his lips to hers with a firm tenderness. He could still feel her trembling against his mouth, could still feel her lips quivering, could hear the slow rumble deep in her chest, something between a sigh and a sob as his tongue found its way between her teeth. Her hands were in his hair now, pulling him closer, but they were still in the car and the awkward center console separated them, though it didn't stop her from leaning over, pressing into him as much as she could.

With a light sigh, she nuzzled his neck, quietly breathing, like a mantra, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so—"

"Bella." He stopped her by lightly placing his hand atop her head, keeping her close to him, shielding her from her own self-loathing. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry, too. Let's just forgive each other and move on."

She sat back, her red-rimmed eyes cautious as she asked, "Just like that?"

He couldn't help but smile at her response (after all, they generally weren't the forgive-and-forget types), "Just like that."

His expression sobered as he added, "There are still things I need to know—I still have questions that I need to ask, that I need you to answer."

She gave a curt nod of agreement, patiently waiting for him to continue. She was turned completely sideways in the seat, one leg tucked under her, the other knee pulled into her chest, all delicious legs and warm, bare skin, and David suddenly remembered all the other physical things he missed about her.

She understood the thoughts behind his gaze, because she suddenly blushed, her body feeling that familiar rush from the top of her neck all the way down to her thighs.

"And is there anything else you need?" She asked with feigned innocence, her eyes dancing mischievously. She shouldn't be teasing him, not when he was trying to be serious, not when they'd just finished having the most important conversation of their entire relationship, but it came so naturally that she did it without thinking.

That woman. She'd be the death of him for certain.

He began to chuckle at how quickly things always devolved between them. Then she was laughing with him, laughing in relief and amusement (because some things never change), and then they were both laughing in joy at the realization that after everything that had happened, they were sitting on the side of the road, laughing at nothing. Tears came again, but they were of a different hue—these were shed in merriment, in blessed gratitude for that which was lost and was now regained, in sheer relief as they felt things suddenly click into that sense of belonging and right again.

"This was hands-down the strangest fight we've ever had," she pronounced, wiping her hands over her face and gingerly trying to bring some sense of decorum to her wayward hair.

"I don't think we ever professed to be normal anyways," he reminded her with another grin, slowly putting the car in gear and pulling back into traffic.

She grinned in agreement, "I'm glad we're not like other people."

"Me, too," he softly replied. Then, something struck him, "Oh, by the way, you forgot something."

He shifted around in his seat, digging into his pants' pocket to pull out the torsion wrench and lock pick on a small chain.

Erin began to laugh again, the deep, full laugh that he loved so well. She took the wrench from his hand, looking at it with an odd sense of endearment. Then she grabbed his right hand with her left and kissed the ridge of his knuckles, her fingers easily fitting between his own as he felt her smile against his skin.

And somehow, just like that, things reset between them—just as easily as it had after all of their other fights, but with a newfound joy at the realization that somehow, this break and this resetting was something more solid, something deeper, something lasting. Heaven knows there would be so many more fights after this (after all, tigers can't change their stripes), but now, they could look ahead and know that somehow they would make it to the other side, with the deep kind of certainty that settled into their bones with a reassuring weight. It was calming and exhilarating and brand-new and final, all at the same time.

"Where are we going?" She shifted back into a normal seating position.

"We are going back to your house. We are going to say hello to our son, and then you are packing a bag and coming with me." He stated this so calmly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

She gave a low hum of approval, "I like this plan."

There was a moment of contented silence before she quietly added, "I'll answer anything you ask, David. I need you to know—that was the last part of me that you didn't know, the last part that I tried to hide. You know all the rest."

"Thank you," was his only response, and she seemed to understand that those two words held so much more, because she simply squeezed his hand reassuringly, her thumb softly rubbing his skin in a comforting gesture.

David smiled as he began navigating his way back to Erin's house—as usual, nothing about this afternoon had gone according to plan (nothing ever did when Erin Strauss was involved, this blonde hurricane that had blown into his life all those years ago, this unnerving and endearing tempest, this strange malady that flooded his mind and emotions and overtook his freewill, this flawed and fragile and fierce woman so uniquely suited to his soul), and as usual, he found that the result was so much more rewarding.

They arrived back at the calm grey split-level, and with one more deep breath, they were back in the house again, with David and Paul exchanging awkward hellos and Paul apologizing for creating the misunderstanding (David easily forgave him, knowing all the unknown ills he'd created in the other man's life). Jordan hugged David heartily, and Anna was looking at her mother with a sly grin (I know what you've been up to, young lady). Even Christopher hugged David, and it took everything the older man had to not keep holding onto him.

"We haven't seen you for a few days," Chris reminded him, casting a conspiratorial glance at his older sister. "We were getting worried—we thought we might have to rush out to avenge our mother's honor."

"Christopher," Erin hissed, mortified that her children were discussing her sex life in general, much less in front of her ex-husband.

David Rossi had to laugh, because, honestly, it was moments like this that made it evident that this young man was his son.

"We've decided to spend the night at Dad's place," Jordan announced, easily saving her mother from further embarrassment.

"Speaking of," Paul turned back towards the open French doors. "I need to finish cleaning the grill, before we leave."

With one last nod to David, Paul excused himself from the conversation. Surprisingly, it wasn't as awkward as it could have been. He'd finally figured out how he knew David, and that of course raised a few questions, which he'd pushed to the back of his mind.

Erin didn't miss the twinkle in her daughter's green eyes as Jordan added, "We thought you might enjoy having a night to yourself."

"How thoughtful," Erin mused.

"We can leave earlier, if you'd like," Jordan suggested, her eyes bouncing between her mother and David Rossi.

"Actually, we've got late lunch reservations," David replied smoothly, his hand easily resting on the small of Erin's back.

"Um, yes, we do," she quickly picked up the lie. "So I'm just gonna get ready and we're going to head out. Stay as long as you like, just make sure you lock the doors when you leave."

She directed her next order at Anna, "Set the alarm, too."

"Aye, Cap'n," her youngest gave a mock salute.

Gently taking David's hand, Erin disappeared into the master bedroom.

Her eyes still locked on the now-closed door, Jordan leaned slightly towards her brother, "Late lunch reservations, are you buying that?"

"Not even for a second," he replied without missing a beat.

"It's cute, though," Jordan decided drolly.

"Our mother is the world's worst liar," Chris shook his head as all three siblings turned and went back to the pool.

David turned back to Erin as she quietly closed the bedroom door, "Do you think they believed that?"

"Not even for a second," she answered, moving towards him. "And I couldn't give a damn."

The instant they closed the gap between them, all hell broke loose. They both reached for each other again, this time smiling mouths met, rediscovering and reloving and reassuring, as hands wandered, their pressure becoming more insistent. She was moaning into his mouth and he was chuckling as he tried to shush her (tried but failed and didn't really mind his failure).

He pulled away, breathless and happy as he whispered, "You've got to actually pack your things, bella."

With a slight huff of feigned displeasure, she moved back to her closet, easily finding a small weekender bag and tossing it on the bed.

"Just pack whatever you need for work tomorrow," he instructed her. "You won't be needing clothes for anything else."

She grinned over her shoulder at him, her pulse already quickening at the thought. If there were an Olympic event for fastest bag packing, she would have won the gold medal and probably set a new world record. David gladly assisted her out of her cover-up and bathing suit, and then not-so-helpfully helped her into a simple summer dress (his hands were roving too much, his mouth was recapturing her own and tasting her flesh and making her want to take the clothes off, not put them on), and Erin didn't even have the good grace to pretend to be upset by his actions (because her hands were too busy returning his caresses, her mouth too busy seeking out his own, too busy trying to pull at his own clothes).

She moved away again, pulling her hair out of its bun and quickly brushing it, trying to look a little more presentable, though the light in her eyes and the bloom in her cheeks and the delicious pink stain across her chest were dead give-aways.

"You see what you do to me, David Rossi?" She shook her head in feigned disapproval.

"I do," he grinned, moving forward to place another kiss on her exposed shoulder. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "And I'm just getting started, kitten."

The sound she made in response was the most delicious thing that he'd ever heard. He turned, gallantly grabbing her bag off the edge of the bed and motioning to the door. She eagerly exited, stopping by the pool to kiss her children goodbye and to give a slightly awkward smile to Paul, who simply nodded and waved her on.

David was waiting for her at the front door (her kisses and caresses had created a noticeable reaction in his pants, and he thought it best not to parade around in front of the family like that), smiling as she rejoined him, "Let's just take my car. I'll drive you home from work tomorrow."

"Such a gentleman," she purred, slipping past him, her fingers trailing down his side.

They walked to the car, grinning like two giddy teenagers. David tossed her bag in the trunk, and when he slid into the driver's seat, he couldn't help but notice how the hem of Erin's dress had oh-so-innocently crept up the curve of her thigh, revealing so much delicious flesh, which he knew would feel so soft and taste so sweet on his lips.

As they drove off, he placed his hand on that soft, warm thigh, just as naturally as if he'd done it every day of his life. She grinned in response, "Getting an early start on the seduction, are we?"

"The word start would imply that I stopped seducing you in the first place. And who says I ever stopped?" He returned smoothly, and this earned him a low hum of amusement.

"So freezing me out for the past week was also part of your grand seduction?" She arched her eyebrow. God, she never pulled a punch—and David had to admit that was part of her charm.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," he replied philosophically, and she laughed at the quip. They came to a stop sign (this time he took Erin's advice and fully stopped) and he turned to look at her, his voice becoming lower and warmer as he gently queried, "Are you saying that your heart didn't miss me, bella? Are you saying that you didn't yearn for my presence?"

His hand moved further up her inner thigh, and the double entendre behind his words did not go unnoticed by Miss American Lit. Her throat tightened at the sensual roll of his words, and at that moment, it wasn't her heart that pounded with longing for him.

She shifted closer to him, her right leg crossing over her left and capturing his hand between both of her thighs, her head leaning forward to nuzzle his shoulder, lightly nipping him through the fabric of his shirt.

"Well-played, Mr. Rossi." She murmured, her tone matching his in timbre and desire. "Well-played."

He grinned, turning his attention back to the road ahead (and perhaps pressing his foot on the gas pedal just a little harder than usual, perhaps bumping up his speed just a little more).

"This will be the first time we've had make-up sex," Erin pointed out. He didn't have to look at her to know that she was wearing a devilish grin—he could feel it radiating from her, dancing at the edges of her voice. She leaned over again, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper as she prompted, "You know what they say about make-up sex, don't you, David?"

His mischievous grin mirrored her own, because he did know. His hand was still happily trapped between the smooth flesh of her thighs, and now her fingers were running up and down his forearm, just enough to cause his skin to ripple and spark under her touch, and suddenly he thought his entire body just might combust.

Oh, that woman. She would most certainly be the death of him. But oh, what a way to go.