17. O SPIRIT OF LOVE . . .

"Stop calling me."

"But I miss you."

"You saw me two hours ago."

"That was two hours ago."

"I can't talk right now. I'm getting ready for my date."

"Your date? Oh, come on. Who would ask you out?"

"Oh, this creeper where I work."

"Creeper, huh?"

"Yeah, he's been after me for a long time. Kind of pathetic really. He's not much to look at, but I think he's got money."

"He'll probably be expecting you to put out, then."

"Oh, well . . . a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

"Gold digger."

"Creeper."

She ended the call, wondering how he managed that particular blend of sleepy and seductive. Almost ready, she slipped into her shoes, knowing he wasn't far away.

The click and dial tone indicated she had terminated the call. Figures she would get the last word. He snapped his phone shut, smiling at her nonsense as he pulled to the curb outside her apartment. He knew in spite of her complaint she would be ready. She would know he would be on time, and she wouldn't want to keep him waiting.

He heard the deadbolts spin and slide as he approached, but the door didn't open until he had rung the bell. She stepped back to invite him in, but he hesitated on the stoop, wanting to get a good look at her. She took the opportunity to do the same, and they paused for a moment surveying one another. Jane stood with one hand in a pocket of his tuxedo trousers, his other hanging easily at his side. The heavy silk fabric molded to him in a flawless fit. Lisbon couldn't help but notice how narrow he was at the waist and hip without the bulk of a vest beneath his jacket, and by contrast how broad he was in the shoulders. The cobalt blue pocket kerchief was a nice touch. While she had taken him in at a lingering glance, his eyes roamed over her from the top of her head—where her fringe swept to the side, curls tumbling in a riot about her head and shoulders—across the subtle swell of flesh above the low-cut sweetheart neckline of her fitted dress of amethyst silk to where it ended just at her knees, down the curve of her calves to her nude peep-toed pumps and back up to her eyes, all the while a lazy grin spreading across his face.

"Lisbon, you are every man's fantasy."

"Then who better to escort me than God's gift to women?"

She grabbed her purse, set the alarm, pulled the door shut and locked it behind her. He took her hand and wound it through his elbow.

"Where are we going for dinner?"

"It's a surprise."

"Can't you ever just tell me?"

"You know, I really don't think I can. Anyway, have I ever let you down where the promise of food was concerned?"

She sat quietly in the car. He sighed dejectedly and gave in.

"We're going to 'Avec'."

She bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling, and he knew any other woman would have squealed. But not his Lisbon. When she reached across the console and put her hand on his arm, giving him a squeeze, he thought maybe he didn't have to surprise her all of the time—sometimes it was nice to just tell.

They were seated at a corner table by the window looking at the menu. She hadn't said anything for two full minutes. He leaned across the small table and spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice.

"You know, you can just order a dessert for each course."

She raised her shining eyes to his. "Do you really think that would be okay?"

"Not the most healthy choice, but it's only one night."

"Maybe I could start with a salad."

"Sounds more balanced."

Good sense won out, and she ordered the duck confit but did manage to save room for the crème brulee. Dinner finished, they decided to walk to the river.

"I've had a wonderful time, and we haven't even been to the theatre."

He laughed at the way she said theatre with a breathy English accent. He wished he could keep her like this all of the time. He hoped it had mostly to do with the company, but had decided it also had something to do with her badge—she always seemed lighter without it. It wasn't her gun. He was pretty sure she had one in her purse right now. Unless she could fit a thigh holster under that dress. He glanced down. No, that didn't seem possible. It was definitely in her purse.

She held onto his arm the whole walk. He had to remember to feed her plenty of duck and desserts. They finally reached the Starlight, and they took their seats, third row center. The performance was a delight—almost as much as watching Lisbon watch it.

She practically danced all the way back to the car, again, never letting go of his arm. She suddenly stopped under a street light and hugged him, standing on tiptoe, both arms wrapped around his neck just like she had all those months ago, after that first nightmare. It had been a while since she'd been so close to him physically. When he felt her turn her head to kiss his cheek, he turned his head to meet her lips with his. She was surprised but didn't pull back. His arms circled her and pulled her against him as his tongue stroked across her lips. When she parted them in response he traced the inside of her mouth and swallowed her moan. She pushed further into him and sucked lightly on his tongue, and his groan reverberated through the both of them. He kissed his way down her neck and buried his nose in the soft crook of her collarbone, one hand pressing into the small of her back the other lower, pulling her hips against him. He needed to get control of himself, or he wouldn't be able to walk down the street.

"Patrick", she breathed into his ear. He groaned again into her neck, and his fingers clenched into her skin. It was the first time she'd ever called him by his first name. Later he would appreciate the level of professionalism she'd maintained throughout the years. Now he just wanted to be able to breathe again. She threaded the fingers of one hand into the curls at the back of his head and massaged his scalp. He shuddered under her touch.

"Stop. You have to stop. I can't . . ."

She froze and went rigid in his arms. He knew immediately what she thought and started rubbing his hands back and forth, massaging deep into the skin of her back.

"No, it's not that. I just can't feel anymore. I don't think I can stand it. I can barely breathe."

She started to push away from him, just to be able to look at his face, but he held her so tightly he knew he must be hurting her.

"Please don't make me let you go."

"Patrick, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Heat overtook him again at her assurance, and he kissed her where his lips rested against her then bit her just enough for her to feel the pinch. She gasped, and his tongue flicked over the stinging flesh. He kissed his way to her pulse point then moved his nose lightly up and down against her skin there, breathing her scent in deeply and releasing the breath on a moan before gliding open-mouthed kisses up her neck to find her lips once more. He kissed her full on the mouth then maneuvered her bottom lip to tease it between his teeth as one hand slid back around to the front of her waist and up to frame the undercurve of her breast. She groaned into him, and her own knees went weak as an answering heat overtook her whole being, causing her to roll her hips against him and growl into his mouth. She'd never been so aroused over a kiss in her life.

That's about when she remembered they were on a sidewalk under a street light in downtown Sacramento. She pulled her head back and looked at him as she tried to catch her breath. Sliding one hand down to push gently against his chest and the other down his arm to take hold of his elbow, she started to move to his side so they could continue walking.

"Come on, Casanova, let's get you back to the car before you get us arrested."

He grabbed her arms roughly and held her in place.

"Unless you intend to walk in front of me, that may happen anyway."

A few seconds passed as they stood looking into each other's eyes. She broke first.

"Okay, now this is just awkward."

"This is embarrassing enough. Can you be serious?"

"You're asking me that?" It was all she could do to keep from laughing in his face. Honestly, she couldn't understand why she didn't. She slid her right hand further down his left arm and threaded her fingers through his, brushing against the cool metal there. She raised their clasped hands to eye level and tilted her head as she looked at his wedding band.

"Patrick, did you feel guilty kissing me just now?"

"I haven't felt guilty about the way I feel about you for a while."

He could tell that answer satisfied her, but he wanted to offer her more than mere satisfaction.

"Do you want me to take it off?"

She considered that for a moment. It couldn't be that easy for him, could it?

"Not right now. I wouldn't want you to lose it. Whenever you're ready."

His arms went around her waist again, and he tucked her head under his chin. He had already given the matter some thought and knew the perfect place to keep the ring. He took a deep breath, like he'd been under water for a long time and had just broken through the surface. He remembered what she had told him months ago about how she felt after her mother died. That's how he'd felt for years. He relaxed against her, and she could feel that he was steadier now.

"Better?"

"Yeah, I can breathe."

"Me, too."

He looked down at her looking up at him, and he knew she remembered too. He took her hand and started toward the car.

"Teresa, do you think you could just take me as I am?"

"Right here?"

"Teresa."

"Patrick. Isn't that what I've been doing for the past few years? Within reason?"

"You've tried to make a few changes. Within reason."

"You've changed me more than I've changed you."

"How so?"

"Until recently, I wouldn't've been caught dead making out with one of my subordinates on a city street, and now look at me. I'm practically a fallen woman."

"Not yet, but here's hoping."

She stopped and looked at him.

"Patrick, I think we need to take this slow and easy."

He leaned over and whispered into her hair, "That's exactly what I had in mind." Something about the phrase "making out with one of my subordinates" had done something to him.

"Patrick?" A note of warning.

"Teresa?" He mocked her lovingly.

"Jane." Flat and frigid.

"Brrr. Turn off the cold, woman. Slow and easy. I get it."

"There's one more thing." She was suddenly serious, and he knew where she was headed.

"Teresa, I can't say—"

"Just this, and we won't talk about it again unless you want to. I just need to know that you're all right with an alternate ending, should it present itself. I can't be with you if you're dead set on things turning out one way and only one way. Frankly, it's just not practical."

"I'm not sure what that means." It was true. Sometimes these days her mental processes baffled him.

"Well, you think about it. You're usually a pretty smart guy; you can figure it out."

They walked along in silence. She didn't push him, and he knew she didn't expect an answer right now. He stopped, suddenly realizing what she was asking. She didn't expect him to give up on his revenge. She just wanted to know if he would be able to accept it if someone else got there first.

"I guess I'd be able to live with that."

"Good. Now let's go back to my apartment and make out on the couch."

"With a subordinate? That's absolutely scandalous."

"I know. Good thing my reputation's already shot to hell."

"Stick with me, Sweetheart, I'll show you a whole new world."

"Oh, I'm counting on it."