y'all rock, thanks for the reviews/comments, watches and favs. here's a little present in return =P
and for the record, I like how this chap turned out better than the last...for some reason the way I wrote 'jack of all trades' bothers me...I think I was tired...
Ch.3 – Challenge
Twenty minutes is a very long car ride when your FBI counterpart is wearing a slinky black halter dress.
"Remind me again why I'm not driving?" she huffs quietly. Her slouch is very un-ladylike, and he's reminded of an incensed teenager brought home from the prom early.
This amuses him greatly, and the twinge of a grin starts at the corners of his lips.
"You want this to look realistic? Then I drive."
She shoots him a nasty sideways glance. "It's my vehicle."
"No," he corrects, "it's the FBI's vehicle. Now sit up straight before you mess up your hair."
He catches the way her lips purse into a smoldering frown, and his own burst into a vicious smile.
As if reading his previous thoughts, she growls "Alright, dad."
Even through his silent hiccups of laughter, he's surprised to see her straighten up and gently fuss with a loose wisp of hair. At some point she must realize how ridiculous she looks, all pout and ire, because a gauche grin begrudgingly overlays her nymph-like countenance.
He likes her better when she smiles.
When he glances at her again, her eyes are vaguely out of focus, and he knows she's ambling through a mental checklist.
Still staring out the window at a notepad only she can see, she asks him if he remembers the perp's name.
"Jack the Ripper."
It's only the sixth time she's asked.
"Peter!"
Her eyes widen to two black pools of aggravation, and as he groans and rolls his eyes she crosses her arms defensively.
"Olivia, relax. I've done this before, remember? Don't worry your lovely little head about it."
When he mutters something about her having reminded him a million times, her biting laughter and the fiery glint in her eyes tell him damage control is imminent.
"Sorry, was that you telling me you like dancing by yourself?"
"So you were going to dance with me!"
The way he visibly puffs out his chest has her shaking her head, barely containing the grin that wants to melt across her lips.
"I suppose now you'll never know," she murmurs, eyes taunting.
The lure dangles, sparkles just behind her pupils.
The con doesn't bite.
"And I suppose you like fetching your own drinks?"
A broad smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners just enough to compliment.
Soft laughter escapes her as she glances away.
"I wouldn't trust you to anyway…by the time you made it back to the table you'd be handing me an empty glass."
"Oh, really? This from the lady who keeps a bottle in her bottom drawer."
She can feel slight warmth creeping up her cheeks.
"The same bottle you 'borrowed' a week ago and never returned, you mean."
He shifts in his seat, feigning innocence.
"Hey, now…I did so return it."
She snorts.
"Yeah, empty."
"Hey, no need to chide me, princess, you keep up with the best of 'em."
A little spark goes off in her mind, a match to a fuse.
"Even you?"
Caught off guard, he turns just a moment to look at her, and the challenge is written so completely in her smile and the feral glint in her eyes.
He wonders if he still has that cab number in his phone.
"You do realize what you're proposing."
She grazes him with a sidelong glance, and he's suddenly very aware of just how flattering her dress is, smooth curves of her neck and shoulder no longer concealed behind her golden curtain of hair.
She's still smiling as she turns away, gazing out at the glistening night.
"You get me my man."
Felon be damned, he'll get her man.
He'll have that dance yet.
"Whatever you say, Boss."
intrigued about that dance? go look up the lyrics to Sting's "If I Ever Lose My Faith In You"...