A/N: Who's ready for more Stripper Deeks? This one gets the tiniest bit warm.

"I'm afraid my profession doesn't exactly afford a luxurious lifestyle," Deeks warned Tracey as they climbed the flight and a half of stair leading to his apartment. More accurately, LAPD didn't feel like springing for anything particularly nice for an undercover gig if at all possible.

"I'll forgive you," Tracey said.

The drive over had been interesting, to say the least. Tracey didn't show any trepidation about getting in his car; in fact, she seemed almost too eager when he suggested they ride together. She'd clung to his arm the throughout the 25-minute drive, resting her face on his bicep, and flashing him seductive looks in between asking him questions. There was something that was just the tiniest bit off about it that made it all the more feel like an act.

He unlocked the door, ushering Tracey in before him. He has just enough time to turn a light on before she grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. His back hit the wall as her lips met his.

She gasped into his mouth, the sound ridiculously sexy. He kept her pinned against him with one hand on her lower back while he cupped her cheek to angle her chin better. It would be such a shame if she turned out to be a criminal, because she was an amazing kisser.

Deeks drew them away from door towards the small sitting area. The back of his legs hit the couch, and once again, Tracey took the lead, shoving him down with enough force he bounced slightly when he landed on the cushion.

Swinging a leg over his thighs, she bracketed his hips with her knees, hovering over him, her hair brushing over his chest. His eyes dipped to where her dress had risen a few inches higher to reveal more warm brown skin. It was extremely distracting.

"Wow, you don't mess around," he commented, letting out a breathy half-chuckle when she slid her palm up his thigh, stopping dangerously high.

"Not when I want something." She smirked at him, bracing her hands on both thighs and bracing herself on her forearms as leaned back, giving him an excellent view. "Don't tell me that you're having second thoughts."

"Oh, no." Deeks grasped her ankle loosely, gliding his fingers over the smooth skin over her legs. She made a little gasp of her own when he kept under the hem over her skirt, just teasing with the very tips of his fingers. "It's just that you know so much about me, and all I know is your name and that you like 'Titanic'." Tugging her closer, he rolled his hips ever so slightly, and she made another breathy sound, lips parting.

"Um," she murmured distractedly. "I—"

"I bet you do something really exciting," he continued, pausing to kiss the edge of her jaw. Her fingers clamped into his hair, tangling in the curls to press him closer as he pressed kisses along her neck.

"I—I'm a curator," she managed. "At an art gallery."

Lifting his head, he couldn't hold back a smile at her slightly dazed expression. "I love some Van Gogh. Maybe you can show me around some time."

"Yeah, of course."

He bent his head towards her collar bone, but she pushed him back with both hands.

"Everything ok?"

"Everything's perfect," she assured him. "I just need a few minutes. Where's your bathroom?"

"It's the door on the left," he answered, nodding towards the short hallway across the room.

"Great." She swept over him, hair blinding him momentarily as she dragged her lips over his. "I'll be right back." With that, she slid off his lap, hips swaying enticingly as she walked away.

Deeks sat back, head falling against the cushion with a heavy thump as he inhaled sharply. He'd had suspects come onto him in the course of the job before, but not like this.

Whatever her purpose, she'd been desperate for an excuse to escape. Just like at the club. He didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed.

Kensi followed Wyler's direction, not that the hallway was as long enough to really get lost. She considered the closed door to her right, and after checking that he hadn't followed her, she crept into the bedroom as quietly as possible. It was risky with Wyler just yards away, but she didn't know if she'd have another chance without taking things farther than they'd already gone.

She'd been dangerously close to sleeping with him, and didn't care nearly as much as she should. Just a few touches had her literally gasping in his arms. She could only imagine what else he could do with those long fingers.

Silently admonishing herself, she pulled her phone on and turned the flashlight on, turning in the room. It was minimally furnished with a bed, dresser, and side table taking up much of the space.

It wasn't much of an apartment, but better that she'd expected on a stripper's wage. Which made it more likely Jason Wyler was involved in some kind of illegal activity.

Kensi headed for the desk first; hopefully she'd fine something that linked Wyler with their murder or gave her enough reason to haul him in for questioning. If not, she'd have to go out their and continue the charade. The thought of arresting him absolutely did not make a tiny part of her sigh in disappointment.

The desk revealed that Wyler apparently had a yearly subscription to Surfer's Journal and kept his lips well moisturized based on the lip balm she found.

She quickly replaced everything and moved on to the dresser. Everything was neatly folded and sorted according to clothing type—Kensi rolled her eyes, sorting through a pile of shirts. Near the bottom, tucked underneath a black t-shirt, she found a sheathed knife.

Kensi pulled it out slowly, admiring the perfectly honed blade. It wasn't some little pocket knife, this was sizable and perfectly weighted too. Kensi reluctantly slid it back into its hiding place, glancing over her shoulder. Only a few minutes had passed, but she knew she didn't have much longer before Wyler might come looking for her.

In the middle drawer, she carefully lifted up a stack of jeans, cursing him for not be a slob. As she moved to the other side, she felt the bottom shift slightly.

She had just started to pry the bottom open when the door flew open, and she spun around, already reaching for the small gun she had concealed in the front of her dress. Wyler stood in the doorway, a SIG pointed directly at her.

"Jack, what are you doing?" she asked, taking a step back.

"LAPD, down on your knees. You're under arrest."

A/N: Did we see that coming?