After this chapter, only the Epilogue remains. This installment is M, and I have debated over whether I should change the rating of the story because of it. I don't like to apologize for anything I write, but if this offends anyone, I do apologize and will change the rating if anyone feels strongly about it. And that's all I'll say about that.

In "Twelfth Night", a bunch of confused people fall in and out of love and are very surprised by the end results. Count Orsino is very glad to find that his man-servant is actually a lovely young woman, thus explaining his troubling attraction to the youth. As everything gets cleared up, Orsino exclaims, "I shall have share in this most happy wreck," and declares his love (I know—only a man would find that romantic, right?) The line reminded me of Jane and Lisbon; hence, the reason for this title.

19. IN THIS MOST HAPPY WRECK (Twelfth Night: Act V)

She left him at the top of the stairs, motioning him to the bedroom as she walked toward the bath. When she came back a few minutes later, having brushed her teeth, she was surprised to find him sitting in the dark—except for the nightlight she now slept with—on the foot of the bed, his shirt and tie and jacket lying next to him and his discarded shoes and socks on the floor. He was looking down at the latter as if he didn't know what to do with them. She wished she could see his eyes so she could tell what he was thinking, whether he was embarrassed or uncomfortable or . . . having second thoughts?

"Here, I'll take care of all this while you wash up, and then we can get some rest. Your toothbrush is still in the cup."

He grinned at her widely and chuckled before walking out the door, and she couldn't figure out what she had said that was so amusing. She tossed his jacket and shirt in with her dry cleaning and the socks into the hamper. Her earrings and cross necklace went into the jewelry box on the chest, and she had kicked her pumps off and was just putting his shoes on the floor inside her closet when she stood and caught his reflection behind hers in the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of her closet door.

He was completely naked, and his proximity startled her. There was just enough light in the room that she could catch the dark look in his eyes before his hands, both now bare, went to either side of her waist and held there, his gaze locked on hers in the mirror. When he saw the understanding in her eyes that she wasn't to move, his hands slid to her back and up to the top of the zipper of the amethyst dress, his eyes never leaving hers. He unfastened the tiny hook then slid the zipper down slowly. Sliding his hands around her waist again, this time under the dress, he peeled it away from her then pushed it down over her hips till it fell and pooled on the floor. She stepped out of it and kicked it to the side, mesmerized by his eyes looking into hers as his hands slid over her body.

All she was wearing now was her panties, and the slightest smile, lazy and pleased, teased at his lips as he slid one hand into the front of the violet and black lace while the other held firm at her side. He stroked her once, and his smile broadened into a grin when she gasped and flushed at the realization that she was already wet. His hand slid to the side and the other descended, pushing the fabric confection down her hips and over her thighs until it too fell to the floor.

He brought his hands to the front of her waist and abdomen, splaying his fingers there momentarily, and instinctively, her hands moved to rest along his forearms. He dipped his head to kiss her shoulder, still holding her gaze with his, conveying a silent warning not to look away. She couldn't even if she wanted to.

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, his lips still resting against her shoulder as his hand at her waist slid up to cup her breast and the other descended to her core. She watched his hands moving on her, the one massaging her, his thumb and forefinger teasing and rolling her nipple until it peaked and stung with the heightened sensation, the other stroking and reaching into her only far enough to draw out her wetness and slicken her flesh. Her breathing shallowed until she tried almost painfully to fill her lungs. She was getting dizzy as if she were at a higher altitude and the air was too elusive and fine.

She groaned when he withdrew his hands from their respective occupations, but moaned in relief when they only slid along her to change places, the lower hand now moving up to her other breast. She closed her eyes and let her head fall to the side, but his hands stilled, and she understood she was to keep watching. It took great effort to straighten and open her eyes, and when she did, his own eyes were open again, looking directly into hers, bending her to his desires. Satisfied with her silent promise that she wouldn't go against his wishes again, he rewarded her by pulling her firm against him so that she could feel his arousal, full and hard against her.

His eyes closed again, his lips lowered back to her shoulder and his hands resumed their dance to the rhythm of her near panting, broken only by her sharp intake of air when he slid two fingers into her at once, moving slightly to the side so he could change the angle of his wrist, pushing into her more deeply. His pace speeded, and his fingers curled upward as he shifted his hand and pushed and rubbed against her nub with the heel of his palm. His kneading grasp on her breast was near punishing. She could feel the heat grow and gather low in her, the sensations mounting with the erotic effect of the somewhat voyeuristic thrill of watching what was being done to her.

The clench of her muscles around his fingers told him she was close, and he released her breast and slid his arm around her torso. Her eyes moved to his in their joined reflection, and when she realized he was watching his hand on her, the heat suddenly unfurled, her climax moving through her hard, like warm fingers under her skin, down her legs and along her arms, causing her knees to buckle and her body to sag until she was all but hanging in his embrace. He held her weight against him, his hand still stroking, sending reverberations through her like aftershocks. He shifted his eyes to hers, and his gaze softened as he caught the silent pleading there. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, and finally—finally—she could close her eyes and let her head fall to the side, her body completely spent.

He withdrew his fingers from her and bent to slide one arm behind her knees as the other arm slid around her back, and he lifted her and carried her to the bed. As he laid her down as far from the edge as he could manage, the haze in her head cleared enough to realize he must have turned the bed back while he waited for her earlier. The bed dipped, and he laid half-way on top of her, his right leg between hers, his left forearm lying next to her shoulder and head, supporting some of his weight above her. Her eyes were still closed, and she smiled to herself when she felt him kissing her forehead, her cheek, her nose, her chin, slow and light. His right hand smoothed across her waist then up to tease her left nipple, but when she winced at his roughness against the sensitive and raised flesh, he lightened his touch to circling and stroking it gently with his flattened fingertips.

"Patrick?" She was getting used to calling him that. She was already used to lying here with him like this-like this was where she was supposed to be. There was one more thing they needed to talk about seriously, but what he was doing was not conducive to serious conversation. She suddenly thought of her handcuffs and wondered just how adventurous he was willing to be. She would have to find out if he was all flash and no stay. Right now, they did need to talk.

"You know this has to . . . that we can't be like this as—" she shuddered when he found a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. He marked it with his teeth then tongue, and she shuddered again.

"We can't be here like this as much as we would want. People can't know. No one can know. Not everything anyway."

He knew what she meant and that they were taking an almost incalculable risk, but he didn't want that here, not right now. So, he just kept kissing her, gradually making his way down to her pulse point.

"Then I guess it's good . . . we've established a pattern . . . of late-night stays at the office . . . and that you have a bigger couch . . . and a lock . . . on your door."

"Patrick, we can't have sex in my office . . . can we?"

"Well, Pumpkin," he smiled when she huffed at him. "If you're worried about professional . . . and appropriate . . .," he was kissing his way down to her right breast. "—I think . . . we left those . . . at the door."

His tongue swirled around her nipple, and she smiled down at his curls. She had to admit he was right. Despite her best and near constant efforts, the words "professional" and "appropriate" had never described their relationship. His head moved further down, and his kiss lingered just above her navel before he started making his way back up to her lips. She was fast on her way to admitting anything if he kept this up. Ah, well.

"I just don't want to scandalize the custodial staff."

He raised his head and looked at her, realizing she needed to talk about at least this part of it before they continued. Not wanting to lose momentum, he exchanged kissing her for moving his hips and gently stroking himself against her, pleased when her eyes glazed slightly as evidence that he had at least momentarily interrupted her train of thought.

"Only half of them will be scandalized, my dear, and that will be over having to pay up."

"What?" She dragged her head to the side and tucked her chin, pulling back so she could see him more clearly

"What do you suppose they think we've been doing in there several nights a week for the past few years? We bicker and fight and flirt all day—"

"Flirt? I never—"

"I know it wasn't intentional, but that's what made it so hot." He dipped his head and tongued her nipple before raising his head again. "Well, . . . one thing anyway."

"I don't want gossip and rumors—"

"There already are."

Grudgingly, she knew that must be true. "But it would be different now."

"Teresa, if anyone catches on, and they won't if you can keep your hands to yourself—" He winced when she pinched his upper arm. "—they fear and respect you too much to say or do much. And believe me, with the supply closet shenanigans going on there, we'll only be a ripple in the pond."

"Supply closet, huh?"

He drew back and looked at her now. "Forget it, woman. I'm not going at it against Tom's cleaning cart."

She chuckled at him and raised her lips to his before lying back on the pillow.

"What about you? Do you fear and respect me?"

He lowered his head back to her and began kissing where he left off, moving up her neck to her jawline.

"Of course . . . I respect . . . every inch . . . of you."

He shifted his weight and pushed into her, the stroke moving slow and deep, and her lips parted in a silent breath. He had been so sure of himself that the urge to move hard and fast toward release took him by surprise. But he stilled himself, looking into her round eyes, silver in the low light. Slowly he moved, pushing into and against her three times before he raised himself up and back to kneel on the bed then lifted her to him. Her legs wrapped loosely around him as her hands rested on top of his shoulders. His hands moved down her back and settled on either side under the curve of her bottom. He lifted her a bit then slowly lowered her, whispering against her skin.

"Every inch of you . . . against every inch of me."

He closed his eyes and repeated the action. And again.

Feeling that urge again and knowing he needed better control, he wrapped his left arm tightly around her and leaned forward, his right hand bracing against the mattress as he lowered them back to the bed. She reached back and did the same with her right hand to ease their descent. He moved now in a rhythm of away and to, nearly pulling out of her each time to feel her along his length. She lifted one knee, and he caught it with his arm, pulling it against him, deepening his thrusts. Her eyes held his, and he couldn't look away. The tension was building, and he felt something frenzied ripple through him, and he didn't know how much more of the combination of touch, smell, sound and sight he could bear.

He was beautiful to watch, but she could feel the heat building on and in him. Both of her hands had hold of his upper arms, fingernails digging into the pleasant firmness there, and when she moved one hand up and behind his neck and pulled his head down for a deep kiss then further down to snug his face against her throat, he groaned deep with relief at her unspoken encouragement to let go. The breath that escaped him fanned across her chest, and the intensity of his passion and helpless desire suddenly overwhelmed her, and she felt a flush of new moisture as she started to clench around him. His head shot up and eyes locked on hers as the force of her orgasm raised her head and shoulders from the pillow. He pulled back and moved deep into her once more then buried his face in her shoulder as he came, groaning fierce and primal against her. All of the air went out of him and he inhaled on a whimper. They could not cease, still moving against, pulsing around and within one another until finally, they stilled. She laid limp and practically spread eagle beneath him, and he rested unmoving on her, only the fingertips of his right hand moving in her hair where it spread across the pillow.

"I take back every old-man joke I ever made about you."

He chuckled and made to push off her, but she held him in place, wanting to feel his weight on her a little longer. He shifted some of his weight off of her instead and smiled down at her.

"Good, because I feel like a seventeen year-old right now."

"None of the seventeen year-olds I knew could do that."

"How many did you test drive?" His smile was darkened only a little by the beginnings of an inquisitive frown.

"Girls talk. If a guy had been able to do that, we all would've known."

She reached up and touched his curls, once again dampened at his temples and the base of his neck. She chuckled, and he looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I'm just glad I finally got you to exert yourself."

He laughed out loud and buried his face in her neck, pushing his hands between her back and the mattress so he could wrap his arms all the way around her. She gave him a little push and made to get up, but his hold on her tightened. Even though his voice was muffled, she still heard the hint of worry.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a drink. I have a serious need to replenish . . . And do other stuff."

He didn't relinquish his hold or move, and she began to worry now.

"Patrick? . . . Hey."

"I don't suppose I could come with?"

"Well, you could, but the romance of the moment would be seriously diminished, and there would be absolutely no mystery left. Besides you probably have stuff to do, too. How about you go down the hall, and I'll go to the little bath downstairs, and I'll meet you back here in five minutes with a couple of bottles of water. That sound good, . . . Muffin?"

His body relaxed, and he raised his head, dropping a kiss on her nose.

"Perfect, my little gum drop."

He released her and practically hopped off the bed in one direction as she rolled off in the other. At the same instant, they remembered one very important thing that had completely slipped their minds in the heat of passion. They looked at each other from their respective sides of the bed. His sheepish look of apology caused the momentary panic she had experienced to dissipate almost altogether. One side of her mouth smirked into the dimple that never completely disappeared, and she shrugged her shoulders. He smiled tentatively as if to say "If you're sure", and she waved him off. Once he cleared the doorway, she opened the nightstand drawer to make sure everything was in place for the next time. Tomorrow was Saturday, after all, and she had the feeling Patrick Jane was a weekend man.

Four minutes later, they met back in the bedroom. She'd only had one water bottle in the fridge, but they didn't mind sharing. They settled into the bed, lying more on her side of it than his, her back to his front. His right arm lay across her pillow with her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. His left hand rubbed at her waist then smoothed around her rib cage and slanted across till his fingers swirled around her right nipple then settled to firmly cup her breast.

"I always figured you for a leg man."

"Always was. I guess you have changed me in some ways."

"I don't think I can sleep with your hand there."

"Think of it like living next to the railroad tracks, Lisbon. You'll get used to it."

They lay in the darkness—he had turned out the nightlight, declaring she wouldn't be needing it anymore—and relaxed into each other.

"I love you, Jane."

"I know, Lisbon."

She really didn't think she'd be able to sleep with his hand there, especially if he kept doing that with his fingers. She covered his hand with hers to still his movements, waiting for him to fall asleep so she could move his hand.

"Teresa?" His voice was already sleepy.

"Hm?" Hers was the same.

"Is there food for breakfast?"

"Mm-hm."

"Teresa?"

"Hm?"

"Do you have off-duty cuffs?"

"Mm-hm." He burrowed deeper into her back and drifted into sleep.

She was right. Patrick Jane was a weekend man. He also proved himself to be all flash and stay. And there was no need for a phone call on Sunday.