A/N: I was overwhelmed by the love you sent my way via chapter six's reviews. I'm glad the clichéd rain kiss didn't turn you off, lol. Thanks for reading. Now, on with the story…

Chapter 7

Patrick Jane was seldom nervous, but he found himself in just that state as he walked into the bullpen over an hour later, his eyes searching for and finding Lisbon, already hard at work in her office. Despite his best intentions, he had arrived late, probably due to the inordinately long shower he'd taken. In order to be able to come into work at all, he'd been forced to relieve some of his sexual tension beneath the hot spray of water. He'd tried unsuccessfully to blot out the sensual memory of his lips on hers, the glimpse of two perfect breasts, the feel of her body under his hands, the laughter in her eyes. Seeing her now just made it all come back in a hot rush.

To top that off, there had been no sign of Angela when he'd returned to his room, and he didn't quite know how to feel about that. Had she disappeared forever, denying him once again the opportunity to say good-bye? And now that he'd kissed Lisbon so passionately, had had such arousing thoughts about her, how could he ever face his wife again if he did see her? He was confused, excited, and guilty all at once, a combination of feelings he hated more than he could say.

He went to the break room to make some much-needed tea, and there she was. Angela.

"Hi," he mumbled, filling the kettle.

She grinned. "I saw what you've been up to this morning."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, an uncharacteristic blush arising in his cheeks. He wondered which part of the morning she meant.

Her smile faded at his apology.

"Look at me, Patrick," she commanded in a tone he'd heard her use when Charlotte was in trouble. He complied obediently, almost amused.

"It's okay with me," she told him. "More than okay. Didn't it feel good to be so close to another human being again?"

"She wasn't you," he whispered.

"No, she wasn't. She was Teresa, and you're in love with her. I know you, Patrick Jane, and you wouldn't have kissed her like that if you hadn't been."

He hung his head, staring at the floor. "No," he admitted at last. "I wouldn't have." He looked straight at her then. "But I still love you."

She smiled sadly. "And I you, my love. But this is a new chance for you, a chance at a new life. Now go in there and tell her so."

"What? It's too soon." His eyes widened in panic, and he heard Lisbon's same words from the car coming out of his own mouth.

"Don't wait, Patrick. You never know how long you'll have with the ones you love."

"But—"

"You know better than to argue with me," she said, and he grinned. Before Lisbon, Angela had been the one woman in the world who could hold her own against him in an argument.

"Do you really think she'll believe me, after only one kiss?"

"Yes. After you do one more thing."

Her gaze went to the ring on his left hand, and he automatically grasped it with his right.

"No," he said adamantly. He turned his back on her and began preparing his tea, his hands unsteady as his went to the refrigerator for the milk. "Don't ask me to do that."

"To do what," asked Rigsby, rooting around the cabinets for a mid-morning snack.

Jane cleared his throat. "To make you coffee. You know I don't like coffee."

"But I didn't—" began the agent, baffled by the uncanny feeling that he was suddenly part of a conversation he knew nothing about.

Angela laughed at Jane's predicament and quick thinking. He hurriedly finished making his tea and hightailed it out of the break room, giving his wife a look of extreme agitation. Rigsby watched Jane leave, methodically chewing a chocolate cookie. He shrugged his shoulders; Jane could certainly be a very odd duck at times.

Jane took his place on his couch, sipping his tea and sneaking looks toward Lisbon's office.

"Taking off your ring doesn't mean our marriage never happened," said Angela, perching on the edge of his seldom used desk. "But what do you suppose it says to Lisbon?"

"She understands," Jane said under his breath. Van Pelt was involved with her work, and he hoped the clicking of her fingers on the computer keys was masking the fact that he seemed to be talking to himself. Cho was talking softly on the phone, likely to that ex-prostitute he was sleeping with that he didn't want anyone to know about, Jane thought absently.

"She understood before you chose to embark on this next stage of your relationship," Angela was saying. "Now? Well, if you continue to wear your wedding band, she'll always wonder if you are truly free to be with her. Do you think that's fair to Teresa?"

He chose to consider her question rhetorical.

"Patrick?" she prompted, when he made his thoughts go blank. "Don't try to play your Jedi mind tricks on me, Patrick Jane. It didn't work when I was alive, and it sure as hell doesn't work now."

"It's too soon," he finally repeated. It had suddenly become his mantra.

"Too soon? You've had nearly nine years to take off your ring. I think it's become more of a symbol of your desire for revenge than your love for me, not to mention an excuse not to get close to anyone."

Her words cut him to the quick, but he knew she was right. Still, he was nothing if not stubborn, and in this case, just a wee bit terrified.

"Don't push me, Angela," he mumbled angrily, bringing his cup to his lips.

"You said you wanted me to be here to kick you in the ass when you needed it. Well, here I am, metaphorically kicking you. Now quit wasting both our times; get in there and talk to her. And if you're not going to take off that damn ring, at least explain your feelings about it to Teresa. I dare you."

Jane looked over at her, pondering how much he had missed her, but at the same time realizing something incredible. All these years he'd told himself he'd been missing her spunk, her humor, her love, her honesty, her stubbornness-but in truth, those qualities had been there with him all along. In Lisbon.

"That's right, Patrick," she said, reading his thoughts. "Now, at last, you see what's been right in front of you all along."

"I—I have seen it," he said softly. "How could I not? She's always reminded me of you a little, but until now it's been more painful than comforting."

The ghost nodded. "I know you claim not to believe in anything, but neither do you believe in coincidence. Don't you think it's a little suspicious that she came into your life at just the right moment? I mean, what are the odds, Patrick? Teresa was sent as a gift for you, and you've refused to acknowledge that she's more than just a cheap substitute."

Jane's cup clattered loudly into its saucer, and Van Pelt and Cho focused immediately upon him. The consultant's lips and jaw were tight with anger, his eyes blazing.

"What is it, Jane?" Van Pelt asked with concern.

Abruptly, Jane rose to his feet, shooting a livid glance toward his desk. He practically tossed his cup and saucer on the piece of furniture, then stomped heavily out of the bullpen in a rare display of temper. He didn't even acknowledge Van Pelt's question.

She looked toward Cho, still on the phone, who shrugged imperceptively. Van Pelt wondered if she should go after Jane or maybe tell Lisbon, who always managed to have a calming influence over him. She was about to get up, when, from the hallway, Van Pelt heard a sudden, familiar yelp. It was Rigsby.

"Hey!" he cried. A moment later he entered the bullpen, hot coffee staining his white dress shirt and striped tie.

Van Pelt grabbed some tissues off her desk and rushed toward him.

"Did you see that?" Rigsby cried. "Jane rushed past me like a dervish, bumped right into me and didn't even apologize. Geeze…this is hot."

She took the half-empty mug from his hands and began sopping up the spilled coffee from his stomach.

"Something's really bothering him," Van Pelt said worriedly.

"You think?" Rigsby said sarcastically. "This was my favorite shirt."

"It'll come right out if you get it under cold water."

"What about my third degree burns?"

Van Pelt began unbuttoning his shirt in the area of concern, and Rigsby felt his stomach muscles contract at the achingly familiar sensation of her soft hands on his bare skin.

"It's barely even red," she told him. "Go to the men's room and get some cold water on that too and you'll be fine."

He gulped when she looked up into his wide blue eyes, and something of the old spark passed between them. Van Pelt backed awkwardly away, moving toward the wastebasket near her desk to dispose of the wet tissues and set down his coffee cup. When she turned back to Rigsby, he was gone, leaving her alone with her skittering pulse.

From his desk, Cho sat, watching it all with his usual bland expression. He met Van Pelt's embarrassed gaze and merely shook his head at the foibles of mortal beings.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Jane didn't stop until he'd reached the attic, didn't allow himself to think until he was alone to process his anger. Another thing had come back to him—how Angela had always known just how to push his buttons. And even though he'd always recognized it while it was happening, she'd never failed to work him up when she'd wanted to.

"Okay," he called to the air, once he'd entered his hideout. "Where the hell are you, Angela? That's one thing about you that I don't miss—your damn hit and runs!"

But when she didn't appear he began pacing, mumbling to himself about wives and ghosts and women in general.

"Well, you left quite a trail of destruction down there," said Lisbon from the doorway. "Rigsby's fit to be tied and Van Pelt thinks you're about to do something desperate."

Jane stopped mid-pace and turned toward her voice. He stared at her a moment, noting her slightly pink cheeks at seeing him for the first time since their frantic kisses in the rain and in her car. Suddenly, he was purposefully striding toward her, the look in his eye so forceful and determined that Lisbon stepped back involuntarily. When he reached her, his hands came out to grasp her upper arms almost roughly, his eyes boring into hers.

"You are not some cheap imitation," he ground out passionately, before his lips descended on hers. For a moment, she stood frozen under his unexpected assault, but very quickly her eyes fluttered shut and she opened her mouth beneath his. They moaned together, hands buried in smooth locks and riotous curls.

Things began to escalate quickly, and Lisbon found herself pushed back against the wall, his hands roaming her body, cupping and caressing in a frenzied effort to get as close as their clothing allowed. Meantime, his lips meandered to her cheek, then to her ear and neck, his hot breath making her tremble and cry out softly. One hand came down to lift her thigh, and she wrapped it around his hip as he pressed her harder against the wall. She could feel his desire even more fully now, and she gasped as his mouth found the valley between her breasts.

"Jane," she whispered, her heart pounding frantically. "Oh…God..."

Her impassioned words echoed in his ears and he realized suddenly where they were and what they were doing. He rested his head against her chest a moment, breathing heavily as he listened to her erratic heat. Her leg slid down his and he helped her right herself, then he stood and turned away from her, his hands in his jacket pockets as he stared blindly out the attic window.

"I uh, guess Cyclone Jane hit up here too," Lisbon murmured when she'd somewhat regained her composure.

He chuckled, letting out in a rush the breath he'd been holding. He ran his hand through his hair in agitation and turned back to her, admiring how sexy she looked with her mussed up hair and lips swollen from his kisses. It took everything in him not to grab her again and pick up where they'd left off.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to attack you like that," he said instead. "But what can I say, Lisbon, one taste just wasn't enough."

Her color heightened even more at his words, at what he could do to her now with just a look.

"What did you mean I'm not a cheap imitation?" she asked, remembering what he'd said before he'd fairly pounced upon her.

Jane's head dropped and he closed his eyes. "I don't want you to think that I'm using you to replace my wife. You're two different people. I mean there are obvious similarities, but you are two vastly different individuals."

"I didn't think that…" she replied, baffled.

His eyes met hers again. "You didn't?"

"No. And I didn't know your wife, didn't know we were alike at all. Frankly, I don't know how to feel about that," she admitted, eyes narrowing. "But where's this coming from, Jane? Did I do something wrong? Are you regretting-"

"No!" He cleared his throat, walked closer to her. "No. I just—well—what do you think of this?"

He held up his left hand for her to see the gold band he still wore.

"Your ring?"

We're back to that again, thought Lisbon, sighing internally.

"Yes, my ring. The one I still wear even though my wife's been dead for nearly a decade. Does this make you think I'm pathetic? How about unavailable? Incapable of moving on?"

Her lips quirked a little. "I don't think you're pathetic."

He dropped his hand and looked toward the ceiling as if entreating divine wisdom. He swore under his breath, looked contritely back at her, then back at his hand.

"I would never ask you to take that off," she told him seriously. "The way you feel about your wife is a part of you—will always be a part of you. I would never try to compete with that."

"Dammit, Teresa, that's just what I mean. You aren't competing with her. You don't have to even try. I don't want another Angela…"

But as the words left his mouth, guilt slammed into him and he looked frantically around into the empty air. He paused to analyze what he'd said, how it had made him feel to admit these feelings with Angela likely listening. But to his surprise, Jane recognized that what he'd said was the absolute truth—and the guilt slowly melted away.

Lisbon was watching him curiously, watching the unusual display of emotions crossing his normally guarded face. His sea storm eyes alighted on her again, and he stepped toward her until he could touch her, but didn't.

"I want you," he said simply. "Only you."

She reached for his hand, needing the contact despite her surprise at his sudden admission.

"When did you come to this conclusion?" she asked, pulse racing.

"About seven years too late," he answered with a small smile.

She shook her head, bringing her free hand up to touch his cheek, absently tracing the small cut near his jaw that had nearly healed.

"You're not too late," she whispered huskily.

He turned his head and caught her hand, kissing her palm while her eyes widened at the intimacy. Then he lifted her chin with one finger and tenderly kissed her lips, purposefully restraining himself.

"Maybe we should go downstairs and find something to do before we do something upstairs neither of us is ready for," he suggested wryly. "You seem to bring out the animal in me, Lisbon."

Next thing he knew, her lips were ardently pressed to his and she was kissing him mindlessly, her hands locked around his neck to hold him there. A heated moment later, and she pulled away, smiling at his pole-axed expression.

"You seem to have the same effect on me…Jane."

She turned and sauntered out of the room, fully expecting him to follow her. A little way down the hall she stopped, realizing he wasn't right on her heels. Looking back, she saw that he still stood in his hideaway, staring intently after her.

"Aren't you coming?" she called.

"Uh…after that little number, you'll have to give me a few minutes," he admitted, and even from afar, she could see the embarrassed flush of his cheeks.

She laughed knowingly. "Okay. I'll see you in a bit."

"I told you, you are a cruel, avaricious woman," he said, just loudly enough for his words to reach her.

She gave him a dimpled smile and stepped lightly the rest of the way to the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hovering invisibly above the romantic scene she'd just witnessed, Angela Jane smiled.

A/N: Okay, the next chapter is definitely the last. You can beg, plead, and torture me all you want, but I really feel it must end where I originally planned, otherwise this story could meander and become boring and repetitive. That's why most of my stories are so short—I have a limited attention span, lol.

Anyway, thanks for reading and for all the incredible reviews. You are all so awesome! My next short-term project is a tag for "Ruddy Cheeks." Please look for it within the next few days.

A programming note: Simon Baker's movie, Something New airs tonight (Wed.)on Oprah's Oxygen network, 10:30 central time. DON'T MISS IT!