Patrick Jane studied her with a practiced stare. Watching as emotion flew across her face like one would watch the racing storm clouds. He was fascinated, that much she could tell. And she desperately wanted to shield herself. But there was nothing she could do. She was vulnerable, at war with her innermost thoughts.

Caught between humiliation and desire, between what was proper and right and what she wanted. She should shove him away, drop down her perfect agent mask and force him to back off. He already had enough to ruin her, to take her apart at the seams.

But the other part of her was desperately wishing he'd show her what a real kiss was with him. What he was like with a woman he wanted back. that silver tongue of his was very dexterous in talking, and the dreams she had couldn't all be wrong.

Both sides were loud enough to her, too hard to choose between. She wanted him. but she wasn't allowed to want him. She loved him, but it couldn't be.

A faint smile crossed his lips, and he murmured softly, "Ah."

Ah?

Then he was suddenly there, pressing his mouth against hers. He took advantage of her surprised inhalation, using it to slip his silver tongue into her mouth. his taste was sweet, hot and decadent. Like a thick suckable candy that she just had to drink in. his tongue danced with hers, learning the contours of her mouth with gentle motions. But there was a ferocity in it, an almost desperate element to the kiss. His hand had buried itself in her hair, giving her no chance to back away, even if she'd wanted to.

Her hands however had not been idle, one fisted in the sodden fabric of his shirt, the other tangled in the slick blonde curls, holding him against her as tightly as she dared. He shifted, pressing his body against hers and forcing her flatter against the fridge. She could feel his clothes gradually dampening hers, but she didn't care. there wasn't any notion of cold. Her senses were on fire, wide open and cataloguing everything she could in this moment.

She'd been right. his kiss was incredible. How had he learned to do this? she'd never been so consumed, so filled with wanting from just a kiss. Small, soft, eager noises erupted from her throat and he swallowed them before they could become fully fledged words. He kissed her as if he was a starving man at a feast.

It was as if she couldn't be close enough to him. She was rapidly running out of air, but nothing could convince her to break away. She was kissing Patrick Jane. The untouchable, snarky, know it all consultant. She was kissing him, and if the state of him was any indication, he was just as excited to be kissing her.

He pulled back, and for a moment she fought to keep his mouth on hers. His fingers tightened, ever so slightly, before their lips parted with a soft pop.

They both caught their breaths, slowing from the frantic panting that the kiss had put them at, to a more normal rate.

It was then she'd noticed he'd completely soaked the front of her clothes. Not that she minded really. The words dropped from her lips in a breathy whisper before she had a chance to censor herself, "You've made me all wet."

His eyes widened comically and he grinned, "High praise Lisbon."

She flushed, all the way up to her hairline, cursed fair skin, "that isn't what I meant."

He chuckled at her, and she was torn between kissing him again, or strangling him. this time it was a full bodied laugh, "I'm not sure strangling me will be conducive to anything tonight, dear Teresa."

Yeah. definitely leaning towards strangling now.

He released his tight grip on her hair, running his fingers through the locks gently to smooth them out, "How did you get in here Jane?"

Patrick simply raised an eyebrow and she chuckled, "right, you and your lock-picks."

She'd considered simply stealing them from him, but knowing him the ones he carried were not his only set. And that would only provoke him.

She desperately wanted to ask why he was here. Was it just to confirm that she was hopelessly and desperately in love with him? was it to prove to himself that he could still have a brain melting effect on women? Damn him for not speaking. Normally she was outgoing in her relationships, able to ask for what she wanted. but there had never been anyone that meant as much as he did. and she was so damn terrified of screwing something up, of shattering this wonderful fantasy and sending him running for the hills.

His face was inscrutable as he observed her. and she felt compelled to speak, her mouth opening uselessly before words failed her and she glanced away. What did this kiss mean?

His fingers gently pressed under her chin, bringing her face back so he could look into her eyes again.

"What a curious thing Lisbon. You shouldn't love me. It defies logic, simple lust or even heartfelt sentimentality. I've hurt you, time and time again. Gotten you in more trouble than you needed and ignored you when I shouldn't have."

All true points. And she could feel the most peculiar sensation starting in her chest. A weightlessness feeling, like the second before a death defying drop on a rollercoaster.

He continued, his voice mesmerizing, "Logic would have talked you out of it. because I'm not good for you. I'm a liar, a broken man, so filled up with a need for revenge that I can barely get my mind off of Red John."

Her breath feathered out of barely parted lips. Part of her wished that he'd hurry up and say it. Say that this was the only thing they could have. This one kiss. Then they had to return to being co-workers with that painfully defined line between them. But the other part, a more hopeful part wanted to linger a little longer in disbelief. Until he actually said it, until his voice actually framed the words, it wouldn't hurt her. Until he shattered the illusion, she could pretend.

"Sentimentality only lasts as long as you believe there is some worth to it. Some point in making the gesture. But you never thought that there was. You never expected me to be thankful, or that I would change as a result of those gestures. You could, of course, be attracted to the hopeless stereotype of trying to heal me. but you aren't. You would love me, but wouldn't be in love with me if that were the case. You don't fall for men that need you to take care of them, not to that degree."

His gaze was intense, as if she was a puzzle he was still figuring out. And in a way, she was.

"the only other option then, is Lust. But lust fades if you get hurt. And I've hurt you. I'm not so callous that I haven't noticed."

Her breath caught. 'Here it comes' her traitorous mind whispered.

"I've tried so hard to be good. to stay away from you, from starting anything with you. not because I didn't want to. But because you're too good for me Lisbon. You're a kind of angel, intent on changing the world for the better every time you step out of that door. I can't drag you down with me. if he got his hands on you because of me…I'd never recover."

Her heart was thundering in her chest, she was still balanced on that knife's edge.

"Hurting you, protected you. Made you safe. as long as we were just colleagues, you didn't have a greater chance than anyone of being taken. And I could have kept going like that."

"Unless?"

Her voice is barely a whisper, the tightness in her chest constricting her lungs with the barest edge of panic.

"Unless you did exactly what you did today. Unless you pressed these perfect little lips against mine. I'm not a saint, Teresa."

He leaned in and kissed her lightly, the barest brush of flesh against flesh.

"I am. At my core." He breathed against her lips, "A very selfish person. Having tasted you Little Lisbon, I cannot step back, I am unwilling to let you go of my own accord. So tell me no, say it now. Say you don't want this and I'll believe it. We'll go back to being just friends."

He seemed to be pleading with her. Offering her a way out. Or begging for her to take it.

"But you don't want me to. Do you Patrick?"

She doesn't know where the huskiness in her voice comes from, only that the effect on him is flattering to say the least. A shiver rolls down his spine, making him convulse ever so slightly. His hands splayed on the fridge beside her and he leaned into her. he inhaled deeply.

"No. I don't. but say it anyway."

"I…"

She should. for all the heat and fireworks they could create together, they aren't supposed to work.

Authors note: I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story :D

please continue to let me know what you think :D

also. yes, i'm a little cruel in leaving you there, but i'm hard at work already on the next one, so hopefully i wont make you wait too long :)