"Hello, Malcolm, come in," Jean smiles, pleased that he took up her offer of coming round to hers for a nightcap. She'd come home with Ruth and Nico a little earlier after they'd all shared a delicious dinner and lively conversation on a variety of subjects. Nico was already asleep upstairs in his room and Ruth had gone out, murmuring something about going for a walk and maybe calling on Harry, so she'd rung Malcolm and invited him over, knowing how uncomfortable he'd be if he ended up playing gooseberry and wanting to spend some time alone with him anyway. She hasn't seen him since Christmas, which they'd spent here together, and she's missed him terribly.

"Thank you," Malcolm smiles and holds out a bottle of wine.

"Oh, you didn't need to do that, Malcolm," she objects.

"I know," he blushes. "I'd bought it for dinner and we never ended up drinking it, so I thought I'd bring it over to share."

"Thanks," Jean smiles. "Take a seat while I get us some glasses." She closes the door and walks through to the kitchen, leaving Malcolm to make himself comfortable in her absence. She's discovered that this technique works best for him and allows him to relax a little, something that's hard for him to do if he doesn't have a moment alone.

By the time she walks through to the sitting room with the glasses, Malcolm has already opened the wine and is sitting comfortably on her sofa. Normally, she'd take the seat to his right in the arm chair, but tonight she's feeling bold, so she walks over to his left and sits by him on the sofa, placing the wine glasses on the table and leaning back against the cushions. He looks momentarily disconcerted by the unusual seating arrangement, but he recovers quickly and leans forward to pour the wine before handing her a glass and saying, "What shall we drink to tonight?"

"To Harry and Ruth?" she suggests.

"Harry and Ruth," he agrees and they take a sip of their wine.

"Mmmm," she smiles. "This is good stuff, Malcolm."

"It's all right," he replies, "but I find it a little peppery, don't you?" She laughs at the face he makes; there's something so... very Malcolm about it, so endearing, that she wants to just kiss him. He looks up at her in surprise. "What's so funny?" he asks.

"I just..." she smiles, not quite sure how to put this in a way that won't offend him. "I love you." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, and she has to work hard not to wince at her stupidity, terrified that her words will send him running for the hills. Malcolm's jaw drops open and he looks completely flummoxed for a few seconds before the colour rises to his cheeks and he lowers his gaze, looking down at his wine glass as he turns it slowly, nervously round and round in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," she whispers softly after an awkward pause. "I didn't mean to say that... Not that it's not true," she hastens to add, not wishing him to think that she didn't mean it and then realising that she's not helping the situation at all. She sighs and takes a deep breath before continuing. "What happened today... with Harry... it scared the life out of me. I felt so helpless. I mean, if it had been a heart attack, he could have just died in your living room and there would have been nothing we could have done to save him. And I could almost hear Ruth thinking, "Don't let him die, don't let him die, not now that we've found each other again." And I realised, as I was sitting here on my own, that it could so easily have been you, Malcolm, instead of Harry, though admittedly you take much better care of yourself than he does from what you told me earlier. Anyway, I realised that I don't want to miss this opportunity that I have to... be with you because life's too short. And I'm pretty sure that you're also interested in being more than just my best friend. Am I wrong?"

He doesn't look at her or say anything for several moments, but she's confident that she hasn't imagined his regard and the chemistry between them, so she leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek before pulling back and saying, "I've startled you into silence, Malcolm. Forgive me. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You're the sweetest, kindest, most considerate and intelligent man I know and a true gentleman, but I understand that you're also rather shy and perhaps a little unsure of yourself where relationships are concerned. And I know that I'm quite the opposite, but... although perhaps I can't relate, I do respect the way you are. I'm not going to bully you into giving me an answer or doing something you don't want to do, but I'd like us to help each other slowly move forward... if that's what you want too."

"I'd like that," he whispers though he's still not looking at her.

She smiles in relief, and placing her hand on his knee, she squeezes it gently and replies, "Good." There's a short, rather pregnant silence that follows her words, so she takes a sip of her wine and decides to change the subject. "So tell me about Ruth and Harry. How long were they together before Ruth left and why did she even leave in the first place?"

She can feel Malcolm relax a little as he clears his throat, takes a sip of his wine, and says quietly, "Well... do you remember when we first met at that conference in Marseilles, you asked me what I did before I became a writer and I said computer security?"

"Yes," she smiles, remembering how stuck she'd been by the quiet, and in her opinion, incredibly sexy Malcolm in his soft, blue cashmere sweater that picked out the colour of his eyes so perfectly as he sat at the side of the lecture hall, a look of intense concentration on his features as he listened to the man giving the talk. Then the speaker had made some silly joke and Malcolm had smiled, a little half-smile that had lit up his face, and she'd immediately decided to seek him out and introduce herself. She'd wasted little time in doing so afterwards, approaching him with a cup of coffee in hand in the lounge and asking if the seat beside him was taken. She was used to men looking at her with admiration, but when he'd raised his eyes from his book to look at her, she'd seen much more than that in his gaze. It had been wonder, and she'd come to realise within about ten seconds of sitting down next to him that he had no idea how attractive he was and was genuinely amazed that a beautiful woman would wish to sit by him.

"Well," he continues, blushing slightly, "it was a bit more than that. I actually used to work for MI-5."

"No!" she says in amazement. "Really?"

"Yes," he nods and risks a glance at her face, the first time he's looked at her since her declaration of love.

"That's so... so... cool, Malcolm!" she exclaims. "And I know that I never use that word because we both hate it, but there's really no other I can think of right now that fits. I mean, I don't even know why I'm surprised. You're so smart, of course you'd have been working on something more that just computer security. Wow! And Harry and Ruth worked with you at MI-5?"

"Yes," he nods, smiling slightly at her enthusiasm.

"What kind of things did you do?" she asks eagerly.

He looks apologetic all of a sudden and lowers his gaze as he murmurs, "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that, Jean. None of us are allowed to talk about our work, not even with each other on certain occasions. Harry usually knows what's going on, but everyone below him doesn't always have the complete picture."

"Harry was your boss?" she asks.

He frowns slightly and then says, "Jean, it's important that what I tell you goes no further. I may not work for Five any more, but Harry does and-"

"Of course, Malcolm," she interrupts, looking at him earnestly. "I understand. My lips are sealed. I won't speak of it to anyone else or write about it in any of my books. I give you my word."

"Thank you," he smiles. "I know I can trust you."

You can trust me with more than just your secrets, Malcolm, she wants to tell him, you can trust me with anything and everything, including your heart... but she doesn't. Instead she says, "So Harry was your boss?"

"Yes," he nods and a fond smile appears on his lips. "He's very good at what he does, and most of the time, it was a privilege to work for him."

"Most of the time?" she asks and immediately regrets it as Malcolm's eyes darken with sorrow. "Sorry," she adds quickly, "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay," he murmurs, giving her a lopsided, half smile. "I had a good friend in the service who was killed in the field. His name was Colin and I still miss him."

"Who is he? In your books, I mean," she asks softly as she gently takes his hand in hers and is pleased when he doesn't pull back.

"Arthur Cornwell," he replies with a smile. Then after a moment he adds, "You know, I called Harry a pompous, old fool once, just after it had happened."

She chuckles softly and they fall silent for a few moments, sipping their wine and getting lost in their thoughts. She wonders how many other friends and colleagues he'd lost while in the service and feels a sudden gratitude that he's retired from that life. She doesn't think that she could bear the worry of not knowing if he's safe every day. She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand and feels him tense momentarily before he relaxes again, so she continues to caress him and soon she feels him respond in kind, his thumb running slowly over her knuckles, his touch causing a shiver of pleasure to run down her spine and her skin to come up in goose bumps. She closes her eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation before opening them again to take another sip of wine, not wanting him to notice in case it makes him uncomfortable and he stops.

Seeing her almost empty glass, Malcolm releases her hand to reach for the bottle to refill their glasses, and she misses his touch instantly. "Thanks," she murmurs as he tops it up and she takes another sip while she watches him pour some wine for himself and return the bottle to the table. The glasses she's chosen are large and the bottle is almost empty now. He leans back against the cushions, and to her immense pleasure, he reaches for her hand, enveloping it in his own. She smiles and runs her thumb over his skin, beginning their little dance all over again. "So what happened with Ruth and Harry?" she asks.

"Nothing," Malcolm sighs. "Well, almost nothing. Do you remember the riots in London in 2006?"

"Yes," Jean nods. "Who could forget? I was in that march on the Houses of Parlament, you know. There was chaos everywhere, police barricading us into tight spaces, people panicking. Then at some point we heard gunshots, though thankfully they weren't firing at us. It was a frightening experience, I can tell you."

"Well," Malcolm continues carefully, "Harry was in grave danger during that time and we were all very worried, especially Ruth. I think it made them both realise how much they meant to each other because, after those events, Harry and Ruth went out to dinner. Inevitably, however, someone found out about it and the office was rife with gossip... and I'm ashamed to say that I was part of it. I... mentioned it to Ruth, that I was very pleased for her, and after that, she broke it off... I still feel guilty about it."

"But she's crazy about him," Jean observes with a frown, surprised that someone could walk away from a love so strong and deep.

"I know," Malcolm sighs. "I think that was the hardest part for Harry to deal with at the time and the reason perhaps that, ultimately, he never moved on. Anyway, after a couple of months it ceased to matter because Ruth had to leave. Remember the scandal of the prisoners being transferred out of the country to be tortured?"

"Yes!" she exclaims. "A lot of powerful people lost their jobs over that."

"Harry would have been one of them had it not been for Ruth's actions," he continues. "Don't get me wrong, Harry didn't and would never condone torture, but he was set up to take the blame, so Ruth took it instead... to protect him. We helped her fake her own death, which is why she still can't return to Britain."

"Wow," she breathes, amazed at the intensity and drama of these events, and wondering once again what his life must have been like when he worked for the service.

"Last time she came back," Malcolm continues, "she was fleeing from terrorists who were after her and her family for some information she was safeguarding. They'd already captured Harry and when Ruth came to us for protection, I slipped up. I logged their location into the system, but we had a mole we weren't aware of and he found them. They killed Ruth's husband, George, Nico's father, in order to pressure Ruth and Harry to reveal the location of what they were looking for." He sighs heavily and squeezes her hand unconsciously as he continues, "It was my fault they were in danger. I felt responsible, so I went round there, to the safe house where they were holding Nico, and offered my life in exchange for his... and miraculously, I managed to talk the man out of hurting him; he just walked away.

"Harry wasn't so lucky. He refused to divulge the information they asked for even when they threatened Nico's life. He had no choice really; too many people would have been harmed if he'd given it up and many of them would, no doubt, have been children... but being able to do that with Ruth in front of him, begging him to give in... I still don't know how he did it. It's a rare gift to be able to detach your emotions so completely like that and use it for good instead of evil. It's why he's so good at his job and why he's been given leave of absence instead of the sack. Afterwards, Ruth left with Nico and that's the last time they ever saw each other until today."

"Dear God," Jean whispers in shock. "And after all that, they still love each other to bits."

"Yes," Malcolm nods.

"And all they've had together, outside of work, is one date in seven years... They've never cooked together, never lazed about on a Sunday afternoon with each other, never read a book to one another, never had sex!" she whispers in amazement, still too shocked to realise what she's saying and to whom.

"I... um," he stammers, blushing again.

"Unless they did tonight," she teases, unable to resist the temptation as she becomes aware of what she's said and how uncomfortable it's made Malcolm. "They were in the garden an awfully long time and Harry looked rather pleased with himself when he came back in. What do you think? Did they or didn't they?"

"I..." he murmurs and stops, looking away as his face turns a deeper red.

"All right, I'll drop the subject," she smiles. Then she has a thought and adds, "but only if you agree to dance with me." She watches him for a moment as he processes this and turns to look at her uncertainly. "Come on, Malcolm. Dance with me. You can choose the music. Please," she pleads, "just one dance."

"Okay," he nods and gets up, draining his glass before placing it on the coffee table and walking over to the shelf in the corner where a large, zipped case full of CDs lies next to the CD player. She watches him, admiring his tall, slim figure and particularly his gorgeous rear as he quickly flips through her CD collection that she always brings with her. He's often teased her for her attachment to her CDs, threatening to buy her one of those mp3 players for Christmas and load her entire music collection onto it.

He takes out a CD and puts it in the machine before pressing play and turning to face her, a small, half smile on his lips as the first notes begin to play.

"Por una Cabeza?!" she asks in surprise as she places her own glass next to his and gets up. "I didn't know you could tango, Malcolm."

"Argentine tango is my favourite," he replies. "Mother thought it an important part of my education. I had ballroom dance lessons for eight years."

"Well, in that case," she smiles, "I'm going to have to dress appropriately. I need some heels for this. Don't go anywhere." She turns quickly on her heel and dashes upstairs to her room. She knows exactly what she wants to wear!

Entering her room and pushing the door closed behind her, she quickly slips out of her blouse and trousers, and walks over to the wardrobe, extracting the emerald green dress that she'd bought a few years ago, the one she always wears to go dancing. She loves Latin dances and especially the tango, and she can't believe that it's taken her three years to find out that Malcolm can dance.

The dress is a strapless little number with a ruffled tulip-hem that hugs her curves tightly and is cut lower in the front than at the back, ending just above her knees. The bodice is scattered with tiny silver beads that sparkle as she moves and she knows she looks gorgeous in it; it's just the right shade of green to bring out her eyes. She absolutely loves this dress. She slips it on quickly, knowing that every second that passes will make her companion downstairs more anxious. Then she quickly plaits her hair and ties it up in a bun, holding it in place with her silver hairpin before finally slipping on her two and a half inch, silver heels that she'd also bought specially for dancing. She doesn't bother with jewellery, leaving the simple gold locket that she always wears hanging round her neck, and makes her way back downstairs. As she turns the corner towards the sitting room, she can hear the same music still playing and she's relieved and a little proud of herself that she's managed her transformation so swiftly.

When she enters the room, Malcolm's looking out the window and she takes a moment to observe him, noting the slight tension in his shoulders and the nervous way in which he taps his fingers against the sill. Smiling fondly at him and resisting the temptation to just embrace him and kiss him senseless, she quietly walks over to the CD player and stops the music. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him spin round to face her and do an almost comical double take as she presses play once more, starting the tango from the beginning. Then she turns to face him and smiles. "I thought I'd better play it from the beginning seeing as I've missed most of the dance," she says.

He nods, his eyes roaming over her as if of their own accord, and for the first time ever, she sees naked desire clearly displayed in his gaze and it pleases her no end. It's several seconds before he manages to pull himself together, and he blushes deeply once he realises what he's been doing. He looks at his shoes uncomfortably for several moments, so she takes a few steps towards him as she murmurs softly, "Come on, Malcolm, or I'm going to have to restart it again. You promised me a dance."

"I... yes," he agrees and lifts his eyes once more, still looking uncomfortable and a little dazed. He clears his throat and murmurs, "Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Jean?"

"It will be my great pleasure, Malcolm," she smiles and steps into his arms.

He holds her gently, but firmly as he leads her across the floor, moving slowly at first as they get used to each other and begin to lose themselves in the music. She can feel the tension leave his body as they move and knows the exact moment when he stops feeling self-conscious and anxious and begins to just enjoy the dance. He pulls her into a close hold and leads her across the floor almost effortlessly, guiding her movements gently with his own subtle weight shifts and movements of his shoulders. It's sheer bliss to dance with him like this, letting the music flow through her body, lifting her up and sparking a deeper, stronger connection between them.

When the music stops, they slowly come to a standstill, breathing deeply from the exertion and their emotions that are running high. Slowly she turns her head to look at him and their gazes meet, open, trusting, adoring, and it's a long time before the silence between them is broken.

"You're breathtaking," he murmurs softly, his voice low and husky, taking her completely by surprise and making her insides melt. Then before she can recover, he leans forward and presses his lips against hers softly, once, twice, three times until she can't take it any more and she slides her arms up over his shoulders and pulls his head down, kissing him with all the pent up longing of the last three years.

She feels him respond to her, kissing her back with equal passion as his arms wrap round her, and soon she can feel his arousal pressing firmly against her abdomen. It's when she slides her hips sideways against him that he inhales sharply and suddenly pulls back, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he lowers his arms to his sides and turns away, clearing his throat and murmuring, "It's late. I should go."

She realises that she's pushed him too far and immediately regrets it. She wants to apologise, but she knows it'll only increase his embarrassment, and yet, she doesn't want the evening to end on such a note. Thinking quickly, she realises that she's finally found the key to unlocking Malcolm's passionate side, and she can't help the triumphant smile that appears across her lips momentarily before she replies softly, "You're right. It's late... but would you, please, share one more dance with me before you go?"

She sees him hesitate, so she moves over to the CD player and skips back to the tango they've just shared, "Por una Cabeza." Then she approaches him and waits, watching the emotions play across his face and almost sighing with relief when he takes her in his arms again and begins to dance. She loses herself in the music once more and lets him guide her across her sitting room floor, living in the moment, savouring the connection between them and the exhilaration of dancing.

When the music stops this time, she pulls back a little before turning her head to look at him. "Thank you, Malcolm," she murmurs and kisses his cheek.

"It was my pleasure, Jean," he replies.

"We should do it again some time," she smiles as she steps back from him completely, giving him the space she suspects he needs.

"Yes," he agrees, watching her for a few moments before adding, "There's an Argentine Tango Club in Ajaccio that I visit sometimes to dance. Would you like to go there sometime?"

"I'd love to, Malcolm," she replies, feeling her heart flutter with pleasure.

"How about tomorrow evening?" he says quickly.

"Yes," she nods eagerly.

"Good," he smiles and holds her gaze for a few seconds, the warmth from it making her heart beat faster. Then he becomes self-conscious again and looks down uncomfortably for a few moments until eventually he murmurs, "I'd better be getting home. Thanks for a lovely evening, Jean."

"I had a lovely time too, Malcolm," she replies as they walk towards her front door. She pulls it open and steps aside to let him pass which he does, pausing on the threshold and turning to face her. They watch each other for a moment and she can see that he's unsure of himself once more. This is the Malcolm she's used to, the timid, wonderful man she's in love with and it makes her smile.

"Goodnight," she says, and stepping close to him, she presses a kiss to his cheek and pulls back.

"Goodnight, Jean," he replies and turns to walk down the drive.

She watches him go for a few moments, returning his wave as he reaches the road before closing the door softly and leaning against it as she lets her eyes slide shut. She smiles as she recalls their dances and the feel of his lips on hers, kissing her passionately, and she sighs in contentment. This is going to be one hell of a summer, and if she plays her cards right, a wonderful autumn, winter and spring too, perhaps for the rest of their lives.