Day Two: Lingerie

James rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he got up from the couch, stretching as far as his aching muscles would allow. His back popped, followed by his shoulders and neck, and damn it felt good. He flicked his hair back out of his eyes and tossed his book down on the coffee table ready to call it a night, when there was a knock on the door.

He narrowed his eyebrows, glancing over at the clock on the wall. It was past ten. The hell was someone doing knocking on his door on his day off? He spotted his Dharma jumpsuit slung over the back of a dining room chair and cringed. Whatever it was, it better be fucking important. He had no interest in donning that godawful thing today.

He took his time answering the door. Let 'em wait, he thought. But when he tugged on the doorknob, half-expecting to see Horace himself on the other side, James was pleasantly surprised to see Juliet instead.

And she was wearing… a tan trench coat?

"Hi," she breathed, and a shy smile bloomed across her face. Her eyes were tinged dark with makeup, and was she wearing… lipstick?

James leaned into the doorframe, stunned. "Uh, hey." He pressed his lips into the start of a question - something that started with either what or why - but he couldn't get the words out. He looked her up and down instead, confused.

"Are you going to invite me in, or just make me stand out here?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her heels. Literal heels.

James's heart dropped to his stomach.

What the hell was happening.

"Oh, yeah, uh…" He stood aside. "Come–come on in…"

Juliet, smirking, sidestepped him and walked confidently into the house. "Don't forget to pick up your jaw before you close the door on it," she murmured.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied back with an amused cough. "Juliet, what're you–" He closed the door and turned to look at her. He had to lean his back against the solid wood to support his weight, otherwise his knees might surely give out from under him.

Where she'd just a moment ago been wearing a thigh-high trench coat, it was now discarded on the floor. Instead, she was clad in a tight, strapless, negligee of black satin and lace. It hugged her curves in all the right places, with a neckline so low it tugged James's eye to the dead center of her chest.

The wind whooshed right out of him and he felt his whole body sag under the weight of his own surprise. "I don't understand…" he said tightly, his eyes glued to her perfect form, her soft curves.

This felt wrong. Why did this feel wrong? But god, it felt right too. Why did it feel so right?!

They were just friends. This was… You didn't do this kind of shit with friends.

Juliet bit her lip, pleased by the effect she was having on him. "I know you think about me, James," she murmured matter-of-factly, and nodded her head a little like she was already combating his blatant denial. (She was right. But that wasn't the point.)

"It don't matter what I think," he found himself saying, which felt odd. Why was he admitting any of this to her?

She took a step forward, eyes locked on his. "It matters."

James's gaze dipped down to the sway of her hips. The legs that went on for days. "Juliet…" he whispered again, and then sucked down a sharp breath as she closed the gap between them. He could smell her perfume now. It was floral and sweet, soft and feminine. Her.

"It's up to you, you know," Juliet said, face inches from his. Her blonde hair was swept back behind her shoulders, and he could see the strong, pale column of her neck. He wanted to bite it. Claim her.

"Jim?"

James paused. Was Miles outside? He looked around the room, confused, but Juliet's gaze never wavered.

"Jim?" He heard it again, but louder and more insistent.

And then he was staring at Miles's concerned face.

What the fuck!?

His tunnel vision came into focus. He was lying on the jungle floor, head throbbing and lower back cramping. Miles was hanging over him, one hand braced on his thigh, holding up two fingers.

"How many fingers am I holding up, man?"

James couldn't help but murmur Juliet's name. How could he not? She was just here…

"Ohhh-kay. Infirmary it is," Miles groaned, annoyed. "Get up."

James waved him off. "I don't need no damn infirmary. The hell happened?" He sat up and instantly regretted it. Nausea swirled in his belly, and his head felt like it was buzzing with a thousand bees. He blinked a few times, then shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the throbbing to stop.

"We were doing patrol, like usual. But you slipped and knocked your hard head on that tree over there." He pointed, but James had no recollection. He'd just been with Juliet… It had felt so real…

"Just us?" he asked, and finally accepted Miles's offered hand to try to stand up. He felt woozy and disoriented, but Miles was right. Juliet was nowhere in sight. He wasn't, in any way, shape, or form, about to get laid.

With Juliet. Of all people.

Christ.

"Yeah, man. Just us. The hell you asking about Juliet for?" Miles half-heartedly dusted James's shoulder and then pinned him with an accusatory stare.

James blanched. He didn't know how to answer that one. There was no way he'd live it down if he told the truth. (The truth being that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to see her as more than a friend. That maybe, just maybe, he wanted to rip that lingerie off her more than anything else in the world right now. Wanted to bite her and kiss her and suck on her neck in a primal, feral way that was making him hotter than he already was out here.)

No. Miles would not understand.

"She's a doc," James grunted unapologetically and started heading back towards the jeep.

Miles smirked. "Yeah, sure pal." He waited until James was out of earshot before adding, "Let's go with that."