A/N: Ses yanked my chain and demanded I pleasure her with a continuation of Tango. Since she kinda owns me (at least on an installment plan), I must do as I'm bade.

Contact

She checked her watch for the zillionth time as she waited outside the CBI training gym in the bright sunshine. He had caught up to her after their combat training, still thick with padding and with heavy, sweet-smelling sweat pouring off his brow.

She'd felt so embarrassed about her sudden forwardness with him that she'd planned to slink out of class the minute the instructor permitted the students to stop pummeling each other and leave for the day. But long, red hair never made for incognito. He found her easily.

"Hey," he approached shyly as they headed for the locker rooms.

She smiled timidly and blushed, looking down as they walked. "Hey," she greeted.

"So," he began stiltedly, "Um, I don't wanna seem pushy, since we just met and all, but I'd really like to take you up on coffee." He dipped his chin and smiled at the floor. Grace glanced up and saw a small trickle of sweat flow slowly from his temple to his cheek. It followed the crease of his smile as he continued to lower his eyes from hers. Her sudden and completely unbidden desire to lick it off his skin startled her considerably. She was Grace Van Pelt, for god's sake, perpetual safety girl. Erring on the side of caution was her stock in trade. Especially with men. Especially with physically imposing men that she'd met twenty-three minutes ago. She didn't know a thing about this guy outside of his name. So what was her friggin' malfunction if she wanted to lick him like a seven-foot ice cream cone?

But her mouth answered without her.

"Sure." What?! "Um, you wanna get some now? I don't have my Forensics class until three."

She braved a glance and found him grinning boyishly. "Great, yeah. I'll, uh, I'll meet you out front in twenty?"

"Okay."

The headed off to their respective gendered locker rooms to shower and change. Grace skipped washing her hair, which took forever. She also yanked out her seldom-used makeup kit in her bag and applied some foundation and mascara. Looking at herself in the mirror as she carefully swept the brush through her lashes, she fought against her inner feminist, who kept pointing out that she never bothered with makeup after gym sessions. She shushed that old maid and finished the job, running her fingers through her hair in hopes of reigning it into control. No such luck. The drying sweat made it curl and twist wildly, framing her face with helixes of bright red. She preferred it straight and no-nonsense. But twenty minutes wasn't enough time to tame her naturally windswept appearance.

And now she was waiting with growing anxiety for Rigsby to meet her outside. She'd instantly felt a little exposed being the first one there. Boys were known for waiting on girls. The switch had her fidgeting nervously.

"Hey." He came up beside her. She smiled with relief, taking in his jeans and t-shirt. His hair was shiny, no longer from sweat, but from water. His clean skin emitted the wonderfully clean scent of Boy Soap, as Grace thought of it. Not flowery, but fresh and light. His wide, unguarded eyes gazed at her in shy pleasure. Grace, forever skeptical and skittish of strangers, found herself believing in his kindness to the point of trusting her life to it.

She scolded herself immediately. It was impossible to divine such things when you first meet someone. The CBI Academy would be the first to berate her for such blind trust in a total stranger. In her future line of work, it would be horribly naïve to look at a man and trust her life to something as random the wide, supposed sweetness of his blue eyes.

And yet, she smiled warmly.

"So, where do you want to go for coffee? My treat, remember. It's the least I can do," she said as they started to walk.

"I don't mind where we go, really. There's a coffee kiosk next to the administration building. We could grab a drink there. Sit out on the grass." He paused and paired a shrug with his smile. "Ya know, just talk."

That sweetness again. That shy, happy kindness.

They headed off to the other end of the Academy grounds. Just another pair of people amongst thousands of milling cadets taking advantage of the fantastic weather.

As they walked in bashful, awkward silence, a strange, wild feeling came over Grace. Something she'd never felt in all her life. Something, she could only assume, like what the cheerleaders and sorority girls of her earlier years must have felt all the time. A boy was with her. A boy that clearly liked her, despite their limited acquaintance. A boy that, despite that limited acquaintance, she really liked back. The certainty she felt about his kindness was absolute, she knew it as surely as she knew his handsomeness.

Both were equally obvious to her. And their presence was effecting her in a way that no boy in her past ever had.

She just…well…she just…wanted him.

This feeling exhilarated her with its newness. More importantly, it controlled her next few words and actions.

"Wayne?"

"Yeah, Grace?" he answered brightly, turning towards her as she slowed their pace.

"Um…I need to…do…something."

His face instantly fell. "Oh." He looked at the ground between them. "Okay. I understand. Can at least get your num—,"

She turned swiftly into the impressive wall of his body and cupped his cheeks in her palms. She looked up into his surprised face. "I need to kiss you. Is that okay?"

Astonishment flashed across his face. Then, to her infinite satisfaction, understanding. He felt it, too. He saw something similar in her, something innate and obvious only to him. The astonishment remained; he was clearly amazed that she'd skipped ahead, even though he found it as natural as breathing to kiss this woman he didn't even know.

He dropped his face closer to hers and whispered, "I'm so glad you asked."

He took her by the hand and pulled her quickly to an enormous oak tree about ten feet away. Rounding to the side with the fewest people, he backed against it and pulled her into his arms, leaning back and encouraging her to trust her weight to him as he dipped down and caught her lips with his.

Grace tensed at the immediacy and intimacy of his kiss, but was quickly pulled under as his mouth moved sensuously over hers. His shyness was suddenly gone. His hands splayed wide over her back, supporting her against him. Holding her like he'd lost her in another life and found her again in this one.

And he kissed her like he was the devil himself trying to win her soul.

And she fell.

She kissed him back, melting into the circle of his embrace, allowing her breasts to press against him as her hands slid up his shoulders and neck. She teased along his hairline before sinking her nails into his dark hair and scratching them lightly across his scalp. He moaned into their kiss, his tongue sweeping gently over her lips, gently asking for entry.

She opened herself to him and gave him a breathy hum of pleasure as he deepened their contact. He tasted phenomenal. He balanced perfectly between soft and firm. She could tell from the pressure of his lips that he wanted her badly, but also respected her and didn't want to push too hard.

It was…unbelievable.

She broke away sharply and gasped, keeping her arms around him and her forehead tipped up against his lowered one.

"How old are you?" she asked breathlessly.

"Twenty-seven," he whispered, pressing another small kiss into her lips. "You?"

"Twenty-two."

They attacked each other again, this time with more urgency. His hands grew bolder, coasting over her upper arms and teasing along the top of her jeans. His touch made her arch her back and press her chest harder into his. It was insistent, but not forceful. She broke away again and attacked his throat.

"Where were you born?" she whispered under his ear.

"San Diego," he almost groaned it. He lowered his chin and nuzzled her cheek gently. "You?"

"Muscatine, Iowa," she answered distractedly, kissing his cheekbone. God, since when did men taste like candy?

"Buttons," he murmured brushing her lips with his.

She pulled back slightly and grinned. The headiness of the moment lifted slightly and she giggled, looking up at him. "Oh, my God. How on earth did you know that Muscatine was famous for buttons?"

Her laughter lifted the spell for him momentarily as well. He blinked and shook his head, chasing off the haze of desire. "Umm.." It also restored his shyness. "I'm not sure. Something about the Mississippi and clams and lots of buttons made from the shells. Is that right?"

The lifted spell didn't discourage Grace's hands from stroking his arms as he continued to hold her against him. "Exactly right. Pearl Button Capital of the World." She chuckled lightly. "I'm very impressed."

The gazed at each other for a moment.

Grace said something that her brain didn't understand. "I know you."

He lowered his forehead so that it rested against hers again. At their meeting, he sighed as though a massive weight had lifted from him. "I'm glad you said that, because I know that I know you, too."

Her eyes fluttered shut. She inhaled, breathing in his foreign scent that she recognized from somewhere, or sometime, hidden deep in the vaults of her memory. Or imagination.

"How is that possible?" she asked semi-rhetorically.

His arms tightened around her. His brain agreed with her question, but his instincts had no questions whatsoever, nor did they welcome any. "I don't know," he answered quietly. "All I know is that your name is Grace Van Pelt from Muscatine, Iowa and I need to take you out tonight."

Still pressed together, she nodded against him slightly. "What's your favorite color?"

He smiled and kissed her softly again before answering.

Any other man with any other woman would have found these questions odd, given the situation, but Wayne understood perfectly. Grace—this mysterious, completely familiar angel in his arms—was getting the formalities out of the way. She couldn't fully reconcile what was happening between them—no more than he could—so she was getting as much groundwork laid as quickly as possible so their already-insanely intimate attachment to each other didn't feel so scary.

While the urgency she felt wasn't there for him, the curiosity certainly was. He wanted to know everything, everything about her. He had a million questions, starting with what kind of food did she want for dinner. But his questions, unlike hers, could wait. His amazement in finding this, whatever she was, wasn't tempered by worry. Quite the opposite. The minute she'd cupped his face and asked to kiss him, he'd been certain.

He had the rest of his life to ask her questions.

His hands roved up her back and into her long, wild hair. "I don't remember what it was before today. But now, and until the day I die, my favorite color is red."

She blushed deeply, adding more red to her appearance and knocking him dizzy with her charm.

"Where can I take you tonight, Grace? Name it and it's yours," he said it and meant so much more than food.

She looked up through her lashes and her mouth ran away without her permission once again. "Your place. I want you to take me to your place."