Author's Note: This is another mostly fluffy holiday installment before we go back to the creepy serial killer side of the plot. There's an M-ish section in the middle, which is marked off with bold mmm's if you don't care for that kind of thing. It's a long chapter, but I'm headed off for a business trip so I wanted to leave you all in a nice happy place for this short hiatus. Thanks for reading, and hopefully I'll see you back here late next week!

Chapter 23

They caught only one case between Christmas and New Year's, a death that looked like a murder but turned out to be an accident. Jane was grateful he'd been paying attention; he didn't want anything to interfere with the promised trip to Seattle.

Grace returned from Iowa full of news about her new nephew and the seeming horde of other nieces and nephews and cousins she possessed, but Jane noticed that when she wasn't talking about them, she had a kind of wistfulness about her. And she had acquired a certain speculative look when glancing at Rigsby. He supposed he and Lisbon were setting a bad example for those two, who'd been forced to play by the rules. It made him think seriously about how he was going to deal with it when he and Lisbon were inevitably faced with the same choice.

He supposed he could go be a security consultant at a casino, or even a bank, but that would bore him to tears. And he didn't want to leave the CBI. Lisbon certainly wasn't going to. So he needed to figure out how to ensure they slid through the little loophole left by his status as a consultant instead of an agent. Bertram would most certainly point out that even if it weren't technically against the rules, it was definitely an ethical violation and would put Lisbon's ability to properly supervise him in question. Not that anyone else could supervise him either, he thought to himself. He would make damn sure of that, if necessary. Again.

Then the solution dawned on him, and he laughed aloud at how brilliant it was. He would tell Bertram the truth, only Bertram would assume it was a lie because it was so self-serving on Jane's part. And so would Red John, in the event that Bertram couldn't keep his mouth shut. And in a way, the lie was the truth too, as far as Jane was concerned. Lisbon seemed to be the only one who couldn't quite believe their wedding ought to be real.

Jane pondered whether he should take Lisbon with him for this little confessional, and then he thought more about the timing of it. He should wait and do it closer to the wedding, he realized. He'd show Lisbon the time of her life in Seattle, and then she'd be more amenable to handing their boss the truth knowing he'd take it for a lie.

Heh. It was perfect. She couldn't object to telling the truth, could she? And the more she protested, the more uncomfortable she got, the more Bertram would be convinced they were lying. But he'd have little choice but to let them continue their plan to string Red John along even if he thought they were using that as a cover to get married under his nose. Jane rubbed his hands together gleefully. He couldn't wait.

But he would, because first he wanted to concentrate on their trip. He wondered if he should be concerned about seeming too excited, then decided that this was Lisbon's Christmas gift to him, so it wouldn't hurt for her to know how much he liked it. The best part, to his mind, was that she'd actually taken time off work for it. He couldn't wait to have her all to himself for more than just a night, dancing and drinking and greeting room service in nothing but a hotel robe.

That thought kept him happy even when Lisbon dashed his hopes of airborne snuggling by reminding him there were people from Sacramento on the plane, some of whom might recognize them. He had to wait until they were in the taxi in Seattle to put his arm around her.

It was raining when they arrived, but he didn't care. He hadn't been here for years, and that had been to do a show, so he'd never seen much of the city. It didn't seem the weather to play tourist, but from the eager way Lisbon was looking out the cab window, he bet she wouldn't agree. "Ever been here?" he asked.

"No, but I've always wanted to. I booked the extra day so maybe we could see some of the city tomorrow, after we sleep in." She looked at him hopefully.

He kept his expression neutral, and was amused and intrigued when he saw her thinking turn to ways she could persuade him. Then he gave in. "Sure. What time do we have to be there tonight?"

"Dinner's at eight, the bar opens at seven," she replied. "I want an hour to get ready. So we don't really have time tonight. Have you been here before?"

"A long time ago, and not for long. Don't worry; tomorrow I'm all yours."

She gave him a saucy smile. "I thought you were all mine all the time."

He chuckled. "Greedy, aren't we? That works both ways, you know."

"I'm aware." She waggled her ring at him. "You're the one who gets to mark your territory, after all."

"Just until the wedding. Then I'll be happily marked as well." He kissed her, hoping she could see he was serious. He missed wearing a ring, especially when he was out alone, like at the grocery store. He was out of practice fending off women without a ring as an ironclad excuse. And if he was completely honest, he missed having that reminder that someone had valued him enough to go through the trouble of getting dressed up and putting it on his finger as a promise.

He knew he shouldn't be insecure about their relationship; if Lisbon were going to cut him loose, she'd have done it by now. That she'd taken him back after Vegas still filled him with awe. And now that he was doing his best to demonstrate the benefits of having him around, he knew she didn't regret it. He didn't have to worry about her pining for her freedom, since she'd never much liked dating. Once he convinced her they could solve the Bertram problem, he thought there were at least even odds she would come around to the idea of marrying him for real.

She beamed at him as they separated, then turned to look out the window again. She rarely took vacations, he realized, and the last time they'd been on a trip together, they'd been dealing with selling the house and trying to work out what Red John had put in her head. No, he wouldn't try to convince her of anything right now, he resolved. He would just make sure she enjoyed herself as much as possible for as long as possible.

mmm

Lisbon couldn't help being nervous as she got dressed, no matter how much she told herself there was no reason to. The only other formal events she went to normally were charity benefits where everyone knew she was a cop, and she didn't need to impress anyone. She supposed she shouldn't worry about impressing strangers she'd never see again either, but Jane in a tux was a sight to behold, and she wanted to look like she belonged on his arm.

Her daring choice of gown was also a problem. It had been exciting to daydream about, but she hadn't anticipated how exposed it would make her feel to go braless and without underwear. And she worried that wearing her cross in an outfit that exposed this much of her chest was a little contradictory, to say the least.

She was putting on her earrings when Jane sauntered in, everything in place except his bow tie. "Wow," he said, stopping to stare. Then he gave her his most blinding smile. "You, my dear, should be classified as a controlled substance in that dress. Positively intoxicating."

"You look pretty intoxicating yourself," she replied, smiling too. Then she turned back to the mirror and frowned.

"Oh, no," Jane said. "You have nothing to scowl at, Teresa. Whatever slight imperfection you've fixated on, I guarantee you no one is going to notice it."

"I don't think the cross works," she sighed. She glanced at him hopefully. "If you bought me a necklace to go with these earrings, now would be the time to give it to me."

"Ah, so deep down you really do believe I'm a mind reader," Jane grinned, standing beside her and using the mirror to tie his tie. "Sorry, darling. Just go without. That long strip of exposed skin is meant to be appreciated without distractions anyway."

"What's with the endearments?" she asked, deciding he was right about the necklace and removing it reluctantly.

"Practicing." He was grinning ear to ear now. "I can't wait to introduce you as my lovely fiancée. I plan to do it at every opportunity, crushing the hopes of all those hapless men lusting after you from afar."

She rolled her eyes, but she had to admit it was oddly liberating being so far from home and among strangers. She could play this game if she liked, without fear of consequences. In fact, on the off chance that Red John's reach extended this far, she should play this for all it was worth. So for tonight, she wasn't CBI Agent Teresa Lisbon. She was Teresa, Patrick's lovely fiancée.

Well, she thought, smiling at her reflection, let's go have some fun.

mmm

The free-flowing champagne enhanced the heady sensation of dancing with Jane so closely it felt more like foreplay, and she found she also enjoyed the envious glances they drew. Jane was good at blending when he wanted to be, and he drew them into brief, friendly chats with other couples when they weren't dancing, introducing himself as a drama teacher at a community college and her as a cop. She was a little puzzled at his cover story for himself, but unsurprised by his choice for her. He always said she couldn't act like anything but a cop, even though she felt like an entirely different person tonight. Maybe Lovely Fiancée could have been a kindergarten teacher or a surgeon or an airline pilot, she thought with a little thrill of rebellion.

She'd never seen Jane like this, and it gave her a glimpse into how he must have been when he was Angela's husband. They would have gone to parties like this, she guessed. Of course he might have been trolling for clients back then, so maybe Angela hadn't enjoyed it quite as much as she was.

It dawned on her that the man she was dancing with and the man Angela had been married to were not the same person. If the jerk he'd been in his fugue state was any indication, she had the better version by far. Maybe Jane meant it when he said she wasn't second best; maybe he'd buried the person he'd been in his wife's coffin and the new one really did love her without reservation, without pining for what he'd lost. Much.

Maybe she'd had too much champagne to be thinking about this. Lovely Fiancée didn't withdraw into herself to think about grief and love when there was dancing to be done and a gorgeous man intent on making sure she had the best time possible, she reminded herself.

"You okay?" he murmured into her ear as they swayed to a slow song, leaning into each other.

"Mm hm." She lifted her head to smile at him. "You having a good time, Patrick?"

He smiled broadly at her use of his given name, which she'd been making an effort at tonight. "Oh, yes. Not as good as we'll have later, though."

"I can't think of a better way to start the year off," she agreed. "Maybe we can do this again next year."

"I'm on board with that."

She dropped her head to his shoulder again, and he nuzzled her neck, making her giggle a little. Lovely Fiancée was a giggler, but perhaps that was because of all the champagne she'd drunk.

The slow song ended, and she gave a little moan of protest at having to leave the warm circle of Jane's arms to walk off the dance floor. But instead of music beginning for another dance, the emcee started yammering into the microphone. He was giving her a headache.

"It's almost time," Jane told her, sounding amused. "We'll do the countdown, scandalize everybody with our X-rated kiss, and get out of here so we can start our private celebration."

"Oh. Good." She blinked. "Can you teach me that biofeedback thing you're doing?" He'd had just as much to drink, but he was steady on his feet and seemed to have his normal reflexes.

"Not here and now. But I will sometime, if you really want to learn." He slid his hand around to rest in the small of her back. It was a gesture she was used to, except that there had always been fabric between his hand and her spine before. And he usually didn't rub his fingers along her vertebrae, occasionally dipping beneath the waistline of the dress like he was thinking about tugging it off her.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, content to stand there with him until everyone began chanting the countdown. Jane joined in with enthusiasm, and she smiled at the pleasure he seemed to take in it. This was probably the first time he'd really celebrated New Year's since Red John had come into his life. It was a pretty far cry from her usual routine of ice cream and watching the ball drop on tv, as well. This new tradition was better for both of them.

"Two! One!" Jane bellowed with the rest of the crowd, and Lisbon joined in the "Happy New Year!" that followed. Then she flung herself at Jane and did her very best to kiss him senseless. He returned the favor, and she felt him smiling as his fingers flexed against her bare back, pressing their bodies even closer together.

"Let's go," she whispered as they parted.

He grinned at her, eyes bright with happiness and anticipation, then ushered her out the door. They paused at the coat check to pick up the black cloth knee-length coat that looked so drab against her dress, but was the best she had. He helped her into it, smoothing his hand down her back, then took her hand and led her into the elevator.

They were the first to leave the party, so they had the elevator to themselves for the long ride down. Lovely Fiancée liked to get frisky in elevators, Lisbon decided, pressing herself up against Jane with what she hoped was a seductive smile.

"You," Jane chuckled, "are thoroughly and adorably drunk, Agent Lisbon."

"I'm not Agent Lisbon tonight."

"Oh?" He looked intrigued.

"No. I'm Patrick's Lovely Fiancée."

"I am delighted to meet you," he said, letting his voice go low and husky and sending shivers down her spine. "And I do hope you are planning to stay for a while. Not too long though," he added in a more normal voice. "I miss my Teresa if we're apart too long."

"Oh, don't worry. She's just on vacation." She didn't want him laughing at her, dammit. She played along with his games all the time—why couldn't he play along with hers? "She needed a vacation, you know."

"Oh, I know," he agreed. "But she'll be home before bedtime, right?" He put his lips against her ear. "Because she is absolutely amazing in bed."

Lisbon smiled, turning to nip at his earlobe. "I'm better."

"Oh?"

"Less inhib—insib—insibitited," she said, then frowned. "You know what I mean. Less upright. Uptight."

Jane looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and he wisely remained silent until the elevator doors opened and they regretfully separated.

mmm

Jane slipped a tip to the doorman, who hailed a cab for them, and soon they were snuggled up in the back seat, watching the city slide past in the damp night. Lisbon whispered, "I was a good girl, you know. I never made out in the back seat of a car."

He looked at her as if he couldn't decide whether she was lying. "We should remedy that," he whispered back.

With some difficulty, she settled herself on his lap, pressing her chest against his as she leaned forward to kiss him. His nimble fingers unbuttoned her coat and slid beneath the fabric of her dress, kneading and stroking and pinching until she squirmed, moaning into his mouth.

"How bad a girl is my lovely fiancée?" he murmured against her lips.

"Oh, let's find out," she breathed.

His eyes lit up, and he held her gaze as he slid his hands up her chest and around her neck until his fingers found the fastener at the back of the collar. He hesitated, giving her time to stop him, his smile turning sly when he realized she wasn't going to.

Then he undid the fastener, and the fabric slid down over her breasts, leaving her naked under her coat from the waist up.

The teeny tiny part of her brain that was hanging onto the last shred of sobriety babbled about public nudity, indecent exposure, and other inconsequential matters, but most of her was lost in the exhilaration of his hungry gaze. His fingers came to rest on her shoulders before sliding downwards at a tortuously slow pace, causing her eyes to slide closed.

She realized belatedly that she shouldn't be having all the fun here, so she slid her own fingers down his shirt front, past his belt. Oh, he was plenty excited too, she realized as his hips bucked at her touch.

His voice was hoarse. "That should probably wait, darling."

"It doesn't feel like it wants to wait," she replied, pouting at him.

"Ooh, you really are a bad girl," he said, swallowing hard and trying to regain his composure. Then he went back to work on her breasts, successfully distracting her.

Under any other circumstances, she would have been embarrassed to realize she was making little mewing sounds, but somehow it seemed like something Lovely Fiancée did all the time. Maybe she also had mind-melting orgasms at second base, she thought hopefully. It seemed a distinct possibility.

"Darling, stop moving," Jane gulped in her ear. He moved his hands to her waist to try to hold her still.

"No," she whined, jutting her lower lip out. He closed his eyes with a pained expression.

"Here you are," the cabbie announced, unnecessarily loud in Lisbon's opinion.

Jane's eyes sprang open, and he reached for his wallet, hurriedly fishing out some bills and handing them forward. From the hearty thanks the driver gave, she gathered he'd tipped very generously, possibly unintentionally.

"Button up, sweetheart. It's cold out there," Jane said in an almost normal voice. He tried to button up her coat, but his hands were shaking.

Lisbon knew she wouldn't fare any better, so she simply wrapped the coat around her and held it closed as Jane opened the car door. She carefully slid out, relieved when she found her unsteady legs would hold her, and stood shivering while Jane composed himself enough to get to his feet. She was suddenly miserable: it was cold and wet out here after the heat of his lap, and the lining of her coat felt unpleasantly abrasive against her nipples, which were hypersensitive after his lavish attention.

Jane noticed her distress, sliding an arm around her and pulling her close as they walked into the hotel lobby. Of course, maybe he was trying to make sure she didn't fall, because she was stumbling a little. He was walking pretty slowly, but then she was surprised he could walk at all with a hard-on like that.

Lovely Fiancée might walk through hotel lobbies half naked under an unfastened coat all the time, but Lisbon found it an unpleasant sensation. She was relieved when they reached the elevators, but unhappy that another couple ducked into theirs at the last minute.

Jane was uncharacteristically quiet, standing in the back corner and anchoring her against him with both arms. When they reached their floor, they managed to stagger out together. Lisbon hoped they looked drunk rather than too horny to walk.

It took him three tries to get the key inserted the right way, swatting away her attempt to take it away from him. When they finally managed to half-fall across the threshold, Jane groaned, "Thank God," and closed the door by pushing her up against it.

She realized he was trying to push her skirt up and quickly reached behind her to undo the short zipper at her waist, letting the dress fall to the floor.

"Brilliant," he panted, unzipping his fly and putting them both out of their misery.

Lisbon was running so hot she came on his third thrust, and he lasted only seconds longer. They clung to each other, trying to catch their breaths, until Jane said, "You must be studying witchcraft in your spare time, because you've managed to turn me back into a horny teenager. I honestly thought I was going to die if I didn't have you that very second."

She began laughing. "I'm still wearing my coat!"

His expression turned rueful. "That's not going to reside in the Smooth Moves gallery of the memory palace, for sure."

She shrugged, unable to stop smiling. "Lovely Fiancée likes a good hard fuck up against the door now and then."

Jane sputtered with laughter. "She has a dirty mouth, too. What happened to 'sheep dip'?"

"I gotta get these stupid shoes off," she muttered, lifting a foot and trying to undo the strap of her sandal. The first one came off easily, but she struggled with the second, hopping around until she could brace herself against the wall with one hand.

Jane watched in fascination. "Can I help you off with that coat, or are you planning to wear it to bed?"

"You wearing your tux to bed?" she retorted.

"Point taken," he said, shrugging out of his jacket. "Come on. I'm tucking you in to make sure you don't hurt yourself between here and the bed."

"Bathroom," she replied, weaving in that general direction.

mmm

They did an abbreviated version of their usual bedtime routine and crawled into bed. Lovely Fiancée slept in the nude, Lisbon decided, because she was too tired to dig her jersey out of her suitcase. Plus, Jane seemed to be enjoying all the nudity, and this trip was his Christmas present, after all.

"Did you have a good time?" she asked as they lay face to face in the dark.

"I did," he replied. He reached for her left hand and rubbed a finger over her ring. "I really did."

"Good," she said. "So did I." She closed her eyes, yawning, and began drifting off.

"I want this to be real," he whispered.

"What?" She opened her eyes, but she couldn't make out his expression in the darkness.

"I want this to be real." He squeezed her left hand gently. "I want to be the man who's over the moon because he's going to marry you. I want to tell you all my daydreams about our life together and not have you look at me like a deer in the headlights. I—I know you're not ready, Teresa, but just—just tell me that it's real. Just lie to me. In the dark I might not be able to tell."

Her heart squeezed painfully. He must be a little drunk after all, she thought, because he hardly ever let himself be that vulnerable, even with her.

"We are real," she whispered. "You and me, us, together—we're real." She swallowed and tried her best to do what he asked. He shouldn't be able to tell whether she was lying if she didn't know herself, right? "And we're going to have a beautiful wedding on the beach and move into a ridiculously expensive apartment with a big kitchen and a doorman and a state of the art security system. And then, if you want, we can try to have a baby. I–I might not be able to, at my age, but we can try."

Oh God, where did that come from? She was absolutely, insanely drunk. They had agreed there was no way they were going to think about kids while Red John was out there. Was this still that stupid idea he had put in her head? "I'm drunk," she mumbled, embarrassed.

He was quiet for so long she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. "Is that what you want to be real?"

The "no" stuck on her tongue as she remembered that moment at Rigsby's father's wake, when Ben had pulled her hair and Jane had smiled at her as he intervened. That thought she hadn't let herself finish about what it would be like if she was the important person in Jane's life, if they tried to build a family together, had never completely left her. What that really what she wanted?

Jane said softly, "Don't think about the reasons you think you can't have it. What we want isn't bound by possibility, or even probability. Is that what you want?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she knew he could hear them in her voice. "I never let myself want it."

"Lisbon never lets herself want it. What does Teresa, my lovely fiancée, want?" he persisted.

"I want my happily ever after. But this isn't a goddamn fairy tale, and there's no such thing." She tried to sound firm, but it came out bitter.

"This could be our life, Teresa," he said. "We could walk away from him, run off to Monte Carlo or someplace and spend our nights in casinos and parties and our days in bed together. Buy a little house overlooking the sea and laugh when our kids make fun of our American accents when we try to speak French."

Lovely Fiancée might think that was a plausible idea—she was the type to hang out in casinos and sunbathe topless on the deck of a yacht—but in the end, she wasn't real. And even drunk, Teresa Lisbon knew exactly why this daydream would never work. "You think he'd just let us walk away, and not retaliate, try to draw us back in? How many of our friends and family would he have to kill before we gave up and came back? He'd start with the team, or my family. How much of that do you think I could stand?"

He let out a long sigh. "None. All right. Fine. Can we please not talk about serial killers in bed?"

She swallowed a retort about how a serial killer was the reason they were in bed together. That would hurt him, and it wasn't really true. What Red John had done to her may have been the impetus, but their relationship was something they'd made themselves, stitching it together over the years with trust and forgiveness and need and attraction. "You meant the wedding. That's what you want to be real."

"The marriage, if you want to be precise. You are too drunk to talk about this. We can do it in the morning."

"Right, because I'm so chatty when I'm hung over," she replied. "Jane, you know why we can't—"

"No, Lisbon, I don't. Because there is no 'can't.' There's only 'won't.' We can find a way around anything as long as we both want to." He took a deep breath, and she could feel him trying to get himself under control. "It's okay. I know you're not ready. I can't tell you that you get to pick the time and then get mad at you for not moving fast enough."

"You shouldn't, but you do," she said slowly, working it out for herself.

"Yeah, well, I'll get over it. Good night." He rolled over with his back to her.

She splayed her left hand on his back, knowing he could feel the ring pressing into his skin. "I'm not going anywhere, Jane. I'm here with you because I want to be. Just...try to be patient with me. I'll get there when I get there."

He sighed and rolled back over, pulling her against his chest. "I hate that I can't give you the things you want because of him. That you can't even risk being honest with yourself or me about what that is because you're afraid of him. It feels like the same damn trap we've been stuck in for years, and I want us out of it."

"I do too," she whispered. "But how?"

He tightened his arms around her. "We have to think of something." He yawned. "In the morning."

"In the morning," she echoed. "Good night, Patrick."

"Good night, Teresa."

mmm

Jane woke up early the next morning, groaning at the bright light when he peeked outside to see a beautiful day unfolding. Digging around in Lisbon's toiletries bag, he found the bottle of aspirin and took two, using one of the bottles of water the hotel thoughtfully provided in the bathroom. Biofeedback was a wonderful thing, but sometimes it was best to have a little pharmaceutical help.

He took the other water bottle out to the nightstand and left it there with two more aspirin in case Lisbon woke up while he was in the shower.

He'd mostly dealt with his tux last night, but her dress was still in a shining puddle in front of the door, so he retrieved it and hung it up in the closet. He certainly wanted to see that again someday, so it behooved him to make sure it didn't get damaged, he thought with a smile.

It occurred to him to hang the "do not disturb" tag on the door, since they'd forgotten last night, and then he had a quick shower. He hated coffeemaker tea, but that was all that was available until he got around to ordering room service, so he removed the filter basket, poured some water in to heat, and tossed both the tea bags the hotel provided into the coffeepot.

After getting dressed, he perused the room service menu. This would be his first experience with a Lisbon hangover, but he was betting she wasn't going to feel like eating for a while, so he ordered himself the eggs Benedict and a pot of tea, along with an orange juice, toast, and a latte for Lisbon.

The nasty coffeepot tea helped him wake up, but he drank it as quickly as possible to avoid tasting it. Fortunately, room service arrived shortly afterward so he could savor the real thing, along with the perfectly cooked eggs.

As he'd predicted, the smell of the latte penetrated even Lisbon's dead-to-the-world state, and he dabbed egg off his mouth and went over to the bed. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said, keeping his voice soft. "Sit up for a second."

She groaned and swatted at him, but he lifted her into a mostly sitting position, even though she immediately slumped against him with a pitiful moan. "You'll thank me later," he assured her, handing her the aspirin. When she'd put the tablets in her mouth, he handed her the opened bottle of water. "Drink the whole thing, and you'll feel better."

When she'd finished off the water, he handed her the glass of orange juice. "Now this."

"Just let me die in peace," she grumbled.

"Never." He meant it, too. If she was ever going to leave him for death, it was going to be amidst kicking, screaming, and whatever else he could think of. But he knew she would seriously attempt to kill him if he started on that subject while her head hurt so badly.

When she finished the orange juice, she said, "I smell coffee."

"Yes, you do. The caffeine will help your headache." And the milk would substitute for the breakfast she wasn't eating, he hoped.

She lay down again after she drank most of the latte, and he gently threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp and paying particular attention to the pressure points that would help her feel better. In no time at all she was asleep again, snoring a little.

He smiled down at her. She was a complete mess, with her hair stiff from the hairspray she'd used to make it stay in its updo and sticking out in all directions and a random spray of glitter on one shoulder. Her pale skin had a slight greenish tinge to it, and he hoped she would sleep through the worst of the nausea, though he wouldn't count it a hardship to hold her hair while she vomited. He was thoroughly, ridiculously besotted with her, and even if she threw up on his much-loved shoes he would still think she was the most beautiful and precious thing in his life. Even the laugh lines and crows feet she hated were unspeakably dear to him.

However, even a man insanely in love can only watch the woman he loves snore for so long before wanting a change, so eventually he put the room service tray outside the door and settled in for a nice morning read.

mmm

The next time Lisbon woke up, she seemed more like herself, with just a slightly elevated level of early-morning-grumpy. Jane had the coffeemaker set up, so he switched it on and took care not initiate conversation until he brought her the mug to sip.

"Why did you let me drink so much?" she accused about halfway through the cup.

"You were having a fabulous time. And in my defense, I didn't realize how drunk you were until it was much too late." He kept a straight face, but it took an effort.

"I don't even remember if we kissed at midnight," she said, sounding sad now.

"We did," he assured her. "Quite spectacularly."

She frowned, as if almost remembering. Then she went scarlet. "Oh God. Tell me we did not have sex in a cab."

"We didn't have sex in a cab. We waited until we got back to the room. It was a pretty close call, though," he couldn't help adding.

She groaned, letting her head fall forward onto her knees. Jane refrained from teasing her any further, though he was selfishly relieved she was focusing on the sex rather than the conversation that had followed. He was ashamed of and frustrated with himself for pushing her and then sulking about it—that was exactly the wrong way to handle Lisbon at any time, but particularly about something personal. If he were really lucky, she wouldn't remember that at all.

"Do you still want to go tour the city, or shall we spend the day in bed?" he asked. Either option was fine with him.

Lisbon looked at him, obviously torn herself. "Would you remember the cab driver we had last night?"

Jane concentrated for a moment. Yes, he'd caught a glimpse of the man as they'd gotten in. "Yes. Why?"

"Let's go, then. But we don't get in his cab again." She took one last sip of coffee and slid out of bed, leaving Jane to enjoy the view as she went to get a shower while he snickered very, very quietly at her chagrin.