(Edit: now 2 chapters, so it doesn't end on quite such an angsty note. Apparently new me likes writing chapters 22 years apart.) Originally: More Book 8-ish unresolved angst and heartbreak (from the vault of my hard drive) something I apparently had a real thing for 20+ years ago when I wrote it. This might have been a 1000-word challenge short, not that I've ever been very good at coming in under 1,000 words. Also another songfic, this time What's Love Got To Do With it? by Britten/Lyle, the version as sung by the late great Tina Turner.
You must understand though the touch of your hand
Makes my pulse react
That it's only the thrill of boy meeting girl
Opposites attract
It's physical
Only logical
You must try to ignore that it means more than that
He sat, calmly, and watched the couple move across the dance floor to the slow tune. His hand low on her back, her hand on his shoulder, their free hands clasped. She was looking particularly good tonight in that blood red dress and those high, high heels, her hair wild and loose, her body swaying, arching to the rhythm. She'd moved like that under his hands once, moved to the rhythm he had set for them, her body soft and willing...
He told himself that he had no real interest in this, in who she was seeing now, that he was just waiting here in the bar for the rest of the team to arrive to set up tonight's take-down. He studied her date and then dismissed him as no threat to her. Her body told him she had no real interest in her date, either. She was just letting herself move to the music.
She said she had no interest in seeing him again, either. He'd told her how it had to be between them. Then she'd told him, in words of few syllables, exactly what she thought of him and the prospect of him sharing her bed now that she was done with Morelli. Several of those words had been four-letter words hurled directly at his head at astonishing volume. He'd always disapproved of women who threw fits and scenes but the memory of how pissed she'd been almost had him smiling. Almost.
In another part of his mind he wondered about his new and troubling capacity for self-deception. He needed his instincts to be sharp, clear and honest - if he could lie to himself like this and almost believe it then he was close to losing his edge. As if he needed further proof, he realized his right hand had been tapping an impatient tattoo on the edge of the table.
Christ.
He watched as she became edgy, taking little nervous glances around the room. Was it because she sensed him here or was it because her date's hand had dropped low from her waist to crest the curve of her ass in that tight, tight red dress? Or both?
Fuck.
He could feel a tightening in his groin as he thought about that ass and watched the man stroke her.
He stilled his body and drew in a deep, calming breath, relaxing slowly back into the chair, unwinding the tension that had him clenching his jaw. Willing himself to be just another dark shadow in the corner, unimportant, non-threatening. No one she would notice.
He reached for that dispassionate, analytical portion of his brain as he studied her. It wasn't as if she was a raving beauty. He'd seen - and slept with - women who were truly stunning, every feature flawless. Women who were talented and successful, women who were graceful, creative and completely uninhibited. She was none of those things. And she was far, far more. Her open honest face, her incredible blue eyes that opened directly into her mind and heart and let him see every thought, every feeling. And all that beautiful scary hair.
It may seem to you that I'm acting confused
When you're close to me
If I tend to look dazed I've read it someplace
I've got cause to be
There's a name for it
There's a phrase that fits
But whatever the reason you do it for me
On the dance floor, she had calmed enough to close her eyes and simply move to the music. Her head dropped back, her lips parted, and the man began to drop his lips to hers.
He found himself on his feet and moving before his brain could tell his body to stop. It was exactly twelve steps from his chair to the dance floor and it took all the conscious control he had to make the tap on the man's shoulder gentle.
"Cutting in." He turned his most menacing smile on the man, who stumbled back a half-step. He grasped one of her hands firmly and then wrapped his other arm tight around her hips, pulling her against him.
Her eyes flew open in surprise. Her lips moved to form his name but no sound came out. He suppressed his smile at her, knowing exactly how angry she already was and how much more angry she would be if she thought he was amused.
"What are you doing here?" She narrowed her eyes at him, the blue deepening and starting to take on an angry sparkle. He looked into her eyes and let them tell him what she felt. Anger, hurt, surprise, wistfulness, sorrow. Regret.
He inclined his head fractionally toward the entrance in the far wall, where the rest of his team was just entering. "Setting up a take-down."
"Not my date?!" She glanced back at the man in alarm.
Regrettably, no, he thought, but said nothing.
She seemed to pull herself together then and realize that she was dancing with him. "Let go of me," she said, trying to pull her hand out of his. "I've got nothing to say to you."
"We don't need to talk," he said, and pulled her a little tighter against him.
For a moment, as she looked at him in surprise, he felt her body soften in to his, felt his own body answer hers. His hands tightened on her. She felt so good.
"Jesus," she said, her voice husky. "You're doing it to me again. Stop it, Ranger. I don't want to do this again. I don't want you."
He tilted her head up. "Liar," he whispered softly.
She pulled her hands away and he let her. "I let you break my heart once. I'll never give you a chance to do it a second time."
He shook his head slowly and repeated the words he had used to her last time. "Your choice, Babe."
She wrenched away from him and began to gather up her coat and purse from the table. On her way out, she stopped in front of him.
"What I choose is to find someone who can feel, Ranger. Someone who has a heart."
He watched, face impassive, as she stumbled away from him, her eyes bright with tears, and he felt that impossible, powerful ache again, somewhere deep in his chest, growing stronger with every step she took away from him.
What's love got to do, got to do with it
What's love but a sweet old fashioned notion
What's love got to do, got to do with it
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken
~finito
