CM--Combustion, Part 5
Criminal Minds--COMBUSTION, PART 5/5:
Author: kosmickway
Rating: MATURE
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Summary: When an apartment fire renders Emily temporarily homeless, Rossi comes to the rescue.
A/N: For innerslytherin for the Queensland Flood Relief auction.
A/N 2: It's finally done! Thanks to all my readers for your patience!
"There's a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark." -Adele, Rolling in the Deep
This was really the life, Emily Prentiss thought as she settled onto the lounger on the back deck. A perfect Virginia spring day with low humidity, a cool breeze, and nothing but the sound of bird song. She had a good book in her hands, a glass of iced tea on the table next to her, and a goofy dog running around the yard in front of her, snapping at butterflies. If her insurance company wasn’t being so damn unreasonable, things would be about as perfect as they could possibly get.
She leaned back on the sun-warmed cushions and adjusted her sunglasses. She’d been sitting out in the sun so much recently she was starting to get the barest hint of a tan on her pale skin. The decadence of sitting on a quiet back porch facing the Northern Virginia woods was still intoxicating. She’d rarely sat out on the patio in her apartment and then only at night … it was too busy and noisy during the day to make it worth her while.
She flipped open the paperback and dove back in eagerly. It wasn’t the sort of novel she usually read, but Rossi had brought it home to her a few nights earlier.
“What’s this?” she asked, taking the book from the bag. “You went to Barnes and Noble without me?”
“Had to stop for Mudge’s food,” he said, heaving the bag of Purina Science Diet into the pantry. “It was right next door.”
“The Black Swan. Not like the movie, though, right?”
“No, definitely not. This is a re-telling of “Swan Lake” from the point of view of Odile, the sorceror’s daughter.” He pointed to the cover, which was a beautiful rendering of the main character, Odile, in a jet black dress encrusted with jewels and feathers, holding a swan mask, walking next to the glowering sorcerer, Von Rothbart, menacing and almost Viking-esque, who was carrying a mask of his own face turned into a cheerful smile. “The artwork caught my eye. Then the title. And when I read what it was about …” He shrugged. “I thought of you. I don’t know why.”
Emily smiled and flipped the book over to read the back. It sounded intriguing and just escapist enough to keep her mind off of her anxieties regarding her insurance company and the damage estimate she’d just turned in.
“Thank you,” she said warmly, rising onto her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I can’t wait to read it.”
Now, almost 100 pages in, she was hooked … not just on the story, which was compelling enough, but on the way the author’s prose had of making her forget completely and utterly where she was and about anything that was going on. It was Tolkien-esque in that regard … like she’d been transported to another world completely.
She was jolted back to reality when she heard the garage door open. Mudge barked and shot across the lawn, skittering up the steps with a clatter and into the kitchen.
“Whoa, Mudge!” came Rossi’s voice, laughing. “Down, buddy. Down. Glad to see you, too, boy.”
Emily heard the sound of the cupboard door opening, of Rossi digging for a treat, of Mudge’s happy whine of approval, and then of the dog’s nails clicking on tile as he came out through the door and into the yard.
“Em? Are you home?”
“Out here,” she called, marking her page. “In my own personal paradise.”
Rossi appeared at the door, pulling off his tie. He smiled and sat on the end of the lounger. “Hey. How’d it go?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “The damn apartment complex hasn’t completed their investigation or turned in their damage reports. So my insurance company can’t do anything until it has a complete listing of everything lost in the fire, including the stuff in my apartment that wasn’t even mine to begin with … you know, washer/dryer, dishwasher, refrigerator, that kind of thing. Then they factor in all of my stuff that was damaged or lost, do some math, and come up with some kind of arbitrary number to determine how much money I get. Basically, it’s going to be awhile.” She heaved a sigh. “So I came back here and decided to read instead of going back to work. Don’t tell Hotch, okay?”
“I don’t think Hotch would blame you one bit.”
Emily eyed the tie. “Did you have a meeting with Strauss?”
“Actually, I had a meeting with the Director. My next book is going to be on cold cases. He wants to approve the cases I plan to write about.”
“Which ARE you planning to write about?”
“The usual suspects … Zodiac. Black Dahlia. Lindbergh baby. NOT Jack the Ripper.” He
shrugged. “Although I was sort of thinking about focusing on child abduction and murder cases instead and how they’ve increased over the last 30 years. Start with the big ones like Adam Walsh and Polly Klaas, then go into Elizabeth Smart, Jaycee Dugard, Madeleine McCann, JonBenet Ramsey.”
“It’s never been proven that JonBenet was the victim of an abduction or even an attempted abduction,” Emily pointed out. “The ransom note made it seem that way but whoever left it never even made it out of the house with her. But arguing aside, I like that idea better than the cold cases. Everyone’s done cold cases. Even Henry Lee, though he did the forensic side of it. I’d like to see a good book about trends in child abductions, though. It would be really helpful since they are, as you said, on the rise.”
“So you think I should put cold cases on hold?”
“Unless you think it would be easier to do than a child abduction book. I mean, that IS really tough material to live with.”
Rossi nodded. “It is. But I think I can handle it. If I’ve got distractions on other fronts, that is.” He nodded at her. “Like a beautiful woman reading a book on my back porch.”
Emily blushed. “Thanks,” she said, trying to hide how flustered it made her feel to hear him call her ‘beautiful.’ “It’s really good. You should read it.”
“Not really my style,” Rossi replied. “I’ll stick with ‘Game of Thrones.’”
“Why is it that men are only willing to appreciate ‘guy oriented’ fantasy whereas women are perfectly willing and able to enjoy both?” She grinned when Rossi sputtered in indignation-- she loved goading him. “I think it’s because we’re more open-minded about our reading choices. And I think you guys are terrified of being asked why you’re reading a ‘girlie’ novel.”
“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start!” Rossi started before his cell phone cut him off. “Rossi. Hey, Garcia.” Emily was interested to note that his face flushed as he spoke to their technical analyst. “No, not yet … I just got home a few minutes ago, cut me some slack! … I will … I said I would, didn’t I? … All right … Talk to you later, Garcia … Bye.”
“What was THAT about?” Emily asked, amused.
“Just something I said I’d do,” Rossi replied, suddenly very intent on watching Mudge gallop around the back yard.
“Something you said you’d do?” she parroted. “Something that makes you blush? What did you say you’d do, proof-read her erotica?” Emily yelped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, shit! I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that! Delete, delete, delete!”
It was Rossi’s turn to look amused. “Garcia writes erotica? Are you KIDDING me?”
“No! She doesn’t! I mean, not under her own name or anything. She just … oh, FUCK!” Emily swore. “Dave, forget I said that, okay? Please. She’ll kill me for saying anything.”
Rossi laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll forget you ever said it.”
Emily eyed him suspiciously. “On one condition, right?”
“Nope. On no condition. I won’t say anything, you won’t say anything, and Garcia’s secret is
safe.”
“There’s a catch here, I just know it.”
“Are you implying that I won’t do something nice unless there’s something in it for me?” He crossed his arms and tried to look imposing. “Think hard before you answer, Young Jedi.”
Emily was saved from having to answer by Mudge, who came running up the stairs and dropped a well-chewed hunk of rope at her feet.
“Oh, looks like Mudgie wants to play tug of war.” Emily bounded up out of the chair and grabbed the rope. “Come on, buddy!”
Rossi grinned as he watched her walk out into the yard and offer the end of the rope to Mudge, who began pulling on it determinedly.
“You feel like going out?” he called, much more at ease now that she wasn’t staring at him with those gorgeous eyes.
“Out where?” she asked, wresting the rope from Mudge and throwing it out into the yard. The lab took off like a shot and came pelting back, panting, to drop the rope at Emily’s feet again.
“To dinner. Somewhere nice.”
“I don’t have anything nice to wear. Most of my clothes still smell like smoke, even with repeated washings. I’m dropping them at Nosmo King’s on Monday.”
“Who the hell is Nosmo King?”
“A company that specializes in mold, smoke, water, fire, and crime scene clean-up. They’re going to have a go at my clothes and some of the books.” Emily yanked at the rope Mudge was trying to get away from her, throwing her whole body into the game. “But to get back to your question, I’d love to go out but I don’t have anything nice to wear.”
“We don’t have to go someplace dressy. Jeans and a nice top will work.”
“Where’d you have in mind?”
“Cristobals.”
“That gorgeous French place out by the interstate?” Emily pulled on the rope again, setting Mudge to growling. “That’s date-night nice.” She stopped pulling long enough to look at Rossi. “Dave, are you asking me out on a date?”
“Well … yes.”
A triumphant tug from Mudge both pulled the rope out of Emily’s hands and yanked her forward, sending her stumbling to her knees on the grass. Rossi dashed off the deck.
“Mudge! Bad dog! Are you okay, Emily?”
Emily was laughing hysterically and reaching for the dog by the time he got to her side. “I’m fine,” she said, grinning, ruffling the dog’s fur. “He knows how to win a game, that’s for sure.”
“Take advantage of a weak moment,” Rossi said, rubbing Mudge’s nose. “He learned that from me.”
Emily grinned at him, eyes sparkling. “Gee, really?”
“So how about it?” he asked, meeting her eyes. “You want to go on a date with me?”
“By date you mean dinner, dessert, maybe a movie afterward?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Although ‘movie’ might turn into ‘several episodes of Twin Peaks,’ seeing as how there’s nothing good in the theatres right now.”
“So, basically, what we normally do on weeknights … we’d just be calling it a date.”
“No.” Rossi shook his head. “No, there’d be differences. You’d wear whatever it is you’d wear on a date with a guy you like … perfume, your good jewelry, shoes you’d never EVER wear to work. And I’d break out the really expensive cologne. And we’d spend a lot of time making eye contact over the wine bottle and trying to size each other up with tentative bits of flirtation.”
“Really?” Emily was peering at him with undisguised affection and amusement. “And then what?”
“We’d talk a walk around the downtown area because it’s a nice night. Maybe stop and get some ice cream. I’d spend a lot of time watching you walk and thinking about how nice it would be to kiss you.”
He reached up, drew her sunglasses away from her face, and lightly touched her cheek. Her eyes had darkened and her breathing was coming faster.
“And when we got back to my car for the ride home, I’d open your door for you. And as you went to climb in, I’d stop you, turn you around, take you in my arms, and kiss you.”
He leaned forward, hoping against hope that she’d meet him halfway, and felt his heart leap when his lips brushed hers, which were warm, full, and responsive. His hand circled the back of her neck, urging her closer, and hers came up to rest on his chest.
He wanted to live forever inside that kiss, the sweetness of her on his lips, the taste of her in his mouth. He whispered her name, then groaned it, and thrilled when he heard her murmur his in response … not ‘Rossi’ but ‘Dave.’ His name had never sounded so sensual.
She broke the kiss and he let her. For all he knew, she didn’t want to be kissed that way by him. But one look at her face when he opened his eyes told him that wasn’t anything he needed to worry about. There was heat in Emily Prentiss’ eyes-- not the warmth of friendship and camaraderie but the flare of tamped down spark and flame.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she breathed.
“I think it’s a fantastic idea.”
“We work together.”
“And?”
“And nothing, kiss me again.” She was the aggressor this time and reached for him, her mouth seeking his, her hands squeezing at his shoulders. He pulled her to him, splayed his hands across her back, and poured every ounce of pent up sexual energy into the joining of their lips.
“Christ, Emily, you’re going to burn me up!” he groaned, sliding a hand under her shirt to touch her bare skin. “At this rate I don’t even want to think about going out.”
“Oh, I think we’re staying in,” Emily replied, fingers fumbling on the buttons of his shirt. “At least until we get this out of our systems. I couldn’t go anywhere now without wanting to pull you into a dark corner.”
He grinned at her boldness. “YOU were planning on pulling ME into a dark corner?” He gently tipped her neck back and kissed the line of her throat. “Emily Prentiss, what has gotten into you?”
“Nothing yet,” she replied brashly, sliding his shirt off his shoulders. “And nothing for quite a while now. That’s the trouble.” She brought her mouth to his bare shoulder and bit, making his skin sing.
“So this is you, scratching an itch?” He wasn’t sure he liked that idea.
Emily stilled her hands and mouth and looked right at him. “No,” she said firmly. “This isn’t me scratching an itch. This is me making love to a man who I can’t seem to get out of my head.” She laid her palm against his cheek and stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. “Is that okay?”
“Better than okay,” he murmured, kissing the inside of her palm. “It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
***
He was right. They didn’t go out. They stayed in … in as many senses as the phrase allowed.
Once they made their way into the house and into his room, they stayed there, locked together, kissing, caressing, and exploring every inch of each other.
He stayed inside Emily, savoring the heat they generated together, glorying in how responsive she was to his touch, how wet and ready she was whenever his fingers slid to the places she most wanted them to be.
It was a heady experience, being with Emily Prentiss. She wasn’t shy about her sexuality, but she wasn’t domineering either. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it … or simply to take his hands and show him what it was she wanted. She was eager to make love and to be made love to and she was generous with her kisses and caresses.
He’d expected her to be self-conscious about the scar from the puncture wound she’d received at Doyle’s hands but she paid that no more mind than the tattoo at the small of her back that he’d finally gotten to see (an owl silhouetted against a full moon). She was more embarrassed by the discolored mark on her upper chest from the brand that Doyle had seared onto her skin … it had actually taken some coaxing to get her to look at him as he gently touched, then kissed the mark, treating it as if it were no more important than any other small blemish on her skin.
“I-I hate that,” she murmured, brushing her hair out of her eyes self-consciously. “It’s a constant reminder.”
“Reminder of what?” He lightly touched the area in question, stroking with gentle fingers.
“Him. That day. The stupid mistakes I made.”
Rossi tipped her chin up, waited till her eyes were on his face. “Don’t give him that kind of power over you. You can give it a different meaning, make it a different reminder.”
“A reminder of what?” Emily laughed haltingly. “I can’t even begin to think of a way to make that mark seem like a good thing.”
He bent his head to the small patch of skin and nipped, scraping with his teeth and tongue then moving up her neck and throat to her mouth where he kissed her, long and deep. When Emily pulled away, she was laughing in happy, genuine bursts of giggles.
“Did you REALLY just leave a hickey on me, David Rossi?”
“Yes. I thought it might give you a more pleasant association for that particular bit of skin.” He kissed her again and whispered against her mouth, “Are you planning to do something about that?”
“I might leave a mark or two on you,” she replied and pounced playfully, rolling him onto his back and sinking down on top of him with a soft sigh.
If it weren’t for Mudge forlornly whining in the hallway, they might never have come up for air. Emily flopped onto her back on the sheets, breathing hard.
“I think Mudge is lonely.”
Dave rolled onto his side to check the clock and laughed. “He’s not lonely … he’s hungry. I forgot to feed him.” He placed a kiss on Emily’s shoulder. “I was too busy feeding my own appetite.”
She laughed. “God, Dave, that’s a terrible line! It sounds like a cliché out of a romance novel!”
“Well, no one said I was a good writer.” He ran a hand up and down her hip. “You hungry, baby?”
“I could eat.” She took his hand in hers and kissed the center of his palm. “If I get to have you for dessert.”
He laughed. “Now who sounds like a romance novel?”
“Never said I was a writer either.” She smiled at him. “You’d better get out of bed while I get my breath … otherwise I may not let you leave.”
Rossi rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of cargo shorts that were lying on the chair next to the window. “I’ll go feed the Mudge man, then bring us something up. Sound good?”
“Sounds decadent.” Emily stretched languidly. “You know, if we keep on like this, I may never get around to finding another apartment.”
He took Emily’s face in his hands and kissed her gently. “Who said I wanted you to?”
END.
Author: kosmickway
Rating: MATURE
Pairing: Rossi/Prentiss
Summary: When an apartment fire renders Emily temporarily homeless, Rossi comes to the rescue.
A/N: For innerslytherin for the Queensland Flood Relief auction.
A/N 2: It's finally done! Thanks to all my readers for your patience!
"There's a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark." -Adele, Rolling in the Deep
This was really the life, Emily Prentiss thought as she settled onto the lounger on the back deck. A perfect Virginia spring day with low humidity, a cool breeze, and nothing but the sound of bird song. She had a good book in her hands, a glass of iced tea on the table next to her, and a goofy dog running around the yard in front of her, snapping at butterflies. If her insurance company wasn’t being so damn unreasonable, things would be about as perfect as they could possibly get.
She leaned back on the sun-warmed cushions and adjusted her sunglasses. She’d been sitting out in the sun so much recently she was starting to get the barest hint of a tan on her pale skin. The decadence of sitting on a quiet back porch facing the Northern Virginia woods was still intoxicating. She’d rarely sat out on the patio in her apartment and then only at night … it was too busy and noisy during the day to make it worth her while.
She flipped open the paperback and dove back in eagerly. It wasn’t the sort of novel she usually read, but Rossi had brought it home to her a few nights earlier.
“What’s this?” she asked, taking the book from the bag. “You went to Barnes and Noble without me?”
“Had to stop for Mudge’s food,” he said, heaving the bag of Purina Science Diet into the pantry. “It was right next door.”
“The Black Swan. Not like the movie, though, right?”
“No, definitely not. This is a re-telling of “Swan Lake” from the point of view of Odile, the sorceror’s daughter.” He pointed to the cover, which was a beautiful rendering of the main character, Odile, in a jet black dress encrusted with jewels and feathers, holding a swan mask, walking next to the glowering sorcerer, Von Rothbart, menacing and almost Viking-esque, who was carrying a mask of his own face turned into a cheerful smile. “The artwork caught my eye. Then the title. And when I read what it was about …” He shrugged. “I thought of you. I don’t know why.”
Emily smiled and flipped the book over to read the back. It sounded intriguing and just escapist enough to keep her mind off of her anxieties regarding her insurance company and the damage estimate she’d just turned in.
“Thank you,” she said warmly, rising onto her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I can’t wait to read it.”
Now, almost 100 pages in, she was hooked … not just on the story, which was compelling enough, but on the way the author’s prose had of making her forget completely and utterly where she was and about anything that was going on. It was Tolkien-esque in that regard … like she’d been transported to another world completely.
She was jolted back to reality when she heard the garage door open. Mudge barked and shot across the lawn, skittering up the steps with a clatter and into the kitchen.
“Whoa, Mudge!” came Rossi’s voice, laughing. “Down, buddy. Down. Glad to see you, too, boy.”
Emily heard the sound of the cupboard door opening, of Rossi digging for a treat, of Mudge’s happy whine of approval, and then of the dog’s nails clicking on tile as he came out through the door and into the yard.
“Em? Are you home?”
“Out here,” she called, marking her page. “In my own personal paradise.”
Rossi appeared at the door, pulling off his tie. He smiled and sat on the end of the lounger. “Hey. How’d it go?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “The damn apartment complex hasn’t completed their investigation or turned in their damage reports. So my insurance company can’t do anything until it has a complete listing of everything lost in the fire, including the stuff in my apartment that wasn’t even mine to begin with … you know, washer/dryer, dishwasher, refrigerator, that kind of thing. Then they factor in all of my stuff that was damaged or lost, do some math, and come up with some kind of arbitrary number to determine how much money I get. Basically, it’s going to be awhile.” She heaved a sigh. “So I came back here and decided to read instead of going back to work. Don’t tell Hotch, okay?”
“I don’t think Hotch would blame you one bit.”
Emily eyed the tie. “Did you have a meeting with Strauss?”
“Actually, I had a meeting with the Director. My next book is going to be on cold cases. He wants to approve the cases I plan to write about.”
“Which ARE you planning to write about?”
“The usual suspects … Zodiac. Black Dahlia. Lindbergh baby. NOT Jack the Ripper.” He
shrugged. “Although I was sort of thinking about focusing on child abduction and murder cases instead and how they’ve increased over the last 30 years. Start with the big ones like Adam Walsh and Polly Klaas, then go into Elizabeth Smart, Jaycee Dugard, Madeleine McCann, JonBenet Ramsey.”
“It’s never been proven that JonBenet was the victim of an abduction or even an attempted abduction,” Emily pointed out. “The ransom note made it seem that way but whoever left it never even made it out of the house with her. But arguing aside, I like that idea better than the cold cases. Everyone’s done cold cases. Even Henry Lee, though he did the forensic side of it. I’d like to see a good book about trends in child abductions, though. It would be really helpful since they are, as you said, on the rise.”
“So you think I should put cold cases on hold?”
“Unless you think it would be easier to do than a child abduction book. I mean, that IS really tough material to live with.”
Rossi nodded. “It is. But I think I can handle it. If I’ve got distractions on other fronts, that is.” He nodded at her. “Like a beautiful woman reading a book on my back porch.”
Emily blushed. “Thanks,” she said, trying to hide how flustered it made her feel to hear him call her ‘beautiful.’ “It’s really good. You should read it.”
“Not really my style,” Rossi replied. “I’ll stick with ‘Game of Thrones.’”
“Why is it that men are only willing to appreciate ‘guy oriented’ fantasy whereas women are perfectly willing and able to enjoy both?” She grinned when Rossi sputtered in indignation-- she loved goading him. “I think it’s because we’re more open-minded about our reading choices. And I think you guys are terrified of being asked why you’re reading a ‘girlie’ novel.”
“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start!” Rossi started before his cell phone cut him off. “Rossi. Hey, Garcia.” Emily was interested to note that his face flushed as he spoke to their technical analyst. “No, not yet … I just got home a few minutes ago, cut me some slack! … I will … I said I would, didn’t I? … All right … Talk to you later, Garcia … Bye.”
“What was THAT about?” Emily asked, amused.
“Just something I said I’d do,” Rossi replied, suddenly very intent on watching Mudge gallop around the back yard.
“Something you said you’d do?” she parroted. “Something that makes you blush? What did you say you’d do, proof-read her erotica?” Emily yelped and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, shit! I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that! Delete, delete, delete!”
It was Rossi’s turn to look amused. “Garcia writes erotica? Are you KIDDING me?”
“No! She doesn’t! I mean, not under her own name or anything. She just … oh, FUCK!” Emily swore. “Dave, forget I said that, okay? Please. She’ll kill me for saying anything.”
Rossi laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll forget you ever said it.”
Emily eyed him suspiciously. “On one condition, right?”
“Nope. On no condition. I won’t say anything, you won’t say anything, and Garcia’s secret is
safe.”
“There’s a catch here, I just know it.”
“Are you implying that I won’t do something nice unless there’s something in it for me?” He crossed his arms and tried to look imposing. “Think hard before you answer, Young Jedi.”
Emily was saved from having to answer by Mudge, who came running up the stairs and dropped a well-chewed hunk of rope at her feet.
“Oh, looks like Mudgie wants to play tug of war.” Emily bounded up out of the chair and grabbed the rope. “Come on, buddy!”
Rossi grinned as he watched her walk out into the yard and offer the end of the rope to Mudge, who began pulling on it determinedly.
“You feel like going out?” he called, much more at ease now that she wasn’t staring at him with those gorgeous eyes.
“Out where?” she asked, wresting the rope from Mudge and throwing it out into the yard. The lab took off like a shot and came pelting back, panting, to drop the rope at Emily’s feet again.
“To dinner. Somewhere nice.”
“I don’t have anything nice to wear. Most of my clothes still smell like smoke, even with repeated washings. I’m dropping them at Nosmo King’s on Monday.”
“Who the hell is Nosmo King?”
“A company that specializes in mold, smoke, water, fire, and crime scene clean-up. They’re going to have a go at my clothes and some of the books.” Emily yanked at the rope Mudge was trying to get away from her, throwing her whole body into the game. “But to get back to your question, I’d love to go out but I don’t have anything nice to wear.”
“We don’t have to go someplace dressy. Jeans and a nice top will work.”
“Where’d you have in mind?”
“Cristobals.”
“That gorgeous French place out by the interstate?” Emily pulled on the rope again, setting Mudge to growling. “That’s date-night nice.” She stopped pulling long enough to look at Rossi. “Dave, are you asking me out on a date?”
“Well … yes.”
A triumphant tug from Mudge both pulled the rope out of Emily’s hands and yanked her forward, sending her stumbling to her knees on the grass. Rossi dashed off the deck.
“Mudge! Bad dog! Are you okay, Emily?”
Emily was laughing hysterically and reaching for the dog by the time he got to her side. “I’m fine,” she said, grinning, ruffling the dog’s fur. “He knows how to win a game, that’s for sure.”
“Take advantage of a weak moment,” Rossi said, rubbing Mudge’s nose. “He learned that from me.”
Emily grinned at him, eyes sparkling. “Gee, really?”
“So how about it?” he asked, meeting her eyes. “You want to go on a date with me?”
“By date you mean dinner, dessert, maybe a movie afterward?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Although ‘movie’ might turn into ‘several episodes of Twin Peaks,’ seeing as how there’s nothing good in the theatres right now.”
“So, basically, what we normally do on weeknights … we’d just be calling it a date.”
“No.” Rossi shook his head. “No, there’d be differences. You’d wear whatever it is you’d wear on a date with a guy you like … perfume, your good jewelry, shoes you’d never EVER wear to work. And I’d break out the really expensive cologne. And we’d spend a lot of time making eye contact over the wine bottle and trying to size each other up with tentative bits of flirtation.”
“Really?” Emily was peering at him with undisguised affection and amusement. “And then what?”
“We’d talk a walk around the downtown area because it’s a nice night. Maybe stop and get some ice cream. I’d spend a lot of time watching you walk and thinking about how nice it would be to kiss you.”
He reached up, drew her sunglasses away from her face, and lightly touched her cheek. Her eyes had darkened and her breathing was coming faster.
“And when we got back to my car for the ride home, I’d open your door for you. And as you went to climb in, I’d stop you, turn you around, take you in my arms, and kiss you.”
He leaned forward, hoping against hope that she’d meet him halfway, and felt his heart leap when his lips brushed hers, which were warm, full, and responsive. His hand circled the back of her neck, urging her closer, and hers came up to rest on his chest.
He wanted to live forever inside that kiss, the sweetness of her on his lips, the taste of her in his mouth. He whispered her name, then groaned it, and thrilled when he heard her murmur his in response … not ‘Rossi’ but ‘Dave.’ His name had never sounded so sensual.
She broke the kiss and he let her. For all he knew, she didn’t want to be kissed that way by him. But one look at her face when he opened his eyes told him that wasn’t anything he needed to worry about. There was heat in Emily Prentiss’ eyes-- not the warmth of friendship and camaraderie but the flare of tamped down spark and flame.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she breathed.
“I think it’s a fantastic idea.”
“We work together.”
“And?”
“And nothing, kiss me again.” She was the aggressor this time and reached for him, her mouth seeking his, her hands squeezing at his shoulders. He pulled her to him, splayed his hands across her back, and poured every ounce of pent up sexual energy into the joining of their lips.
“Christ, Emily, you’re going to burn me up!” he groaned, sliding a hand under her shirt to touch her bare skin. “At this rate I don’t even want to think about going out.”
“Oh, I think we’re staying in,” Emily replied, fingers fumbling on the buttons of his shirt. “At least until we get this out of our systems. I couldn’t go anywhere now without wanting to pull you into a dark corner.”
He grinned at her boldness. “YOU were planning on pulling ME into a dark corner?” He gently tipped her neck back and kissed the line of her throat. “Emily Prentiss, what has gotten into you?”
“Nothing yet,” she replied brashly, sliding his shirt off his shoulders. “And nothing for quite a while now. That’s the trouble.” She brought her mouth to his bare shoulder and bit, making his skin sing.
“So this is you, scratching an itch?” He wasn’t sure he liked that idea.
Emily stilled her hands and mouth and looked right at him. “No,” she said firmly. “This isn’t me scratching an itch. This is me making love to a man who I can’t seem to get out of my head.” She laid her palm against his cheek and stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. “Is that okay?”
“Better than okay,” he murmured, kissing the inside of her palm. “It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
***
He was right. They didn’t go out. They stayed in … in as many senses as the phrase allowed.
Once they made their way into the house and into his room, they stayed there, locked together, kissing, caressing, and exploring every inch of each other.
He stayed inside Emily, savoring the heat they generated together, glorying in how responsive she was to his touch, how wet and ready she was whenever his fingers slid to the places she most wanted them to be.
It was a heady experience, being with Emily Prentiss. She wasn’t shy about her sexuality, but she wasn’t domineering either. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it … or simply to take his hands and show him what it was she wanted. She was eager to make love and to be made love to and she was generous with her kisses and caresses.
He’d expected her to be self-conscious about the scar from the puncture wound she’d received at Doyle’s hands but she paid that no more mind than the tattoo at the small of her back that he’d finally gotten to see (an owl silhouetted against a full moon). She was more embarrassed by the discolored mark on her upper chest from the brand that Doyle had seared onto her skin … it had actually taken some coaxing to get her to look at him as he gently touched, then kissed the mark, treating it as if it were no more important than any other small blemish on her skin.
“I-I hate that,” she murmured, brushing her hair out of her eyes self-consciously. “It’s a constant reminder.”
“Reminder of what?” He lightly touched the area in question, stroking with gentle fingers.
“Him. That day. The stupid mistakes I made.”
Rossi tipped her chin up, waited till her eyes were on his face. “Don’t give him that kind of power over you. You can give it a different meaning, make it a different reminder.”
“A reminder of what?” Emily laughed haltingly. “I can’t even begin to think of a way to make that mark seem like a good thing.”
He bent his head to the small patch of skin and nipped, scraping with his teeth and tongue then moving up her neck and throat to her mouth where he kissed her, long and deep. When Emily pulled away, she was laughing in happy, genuine bursts of giggles.
“Did you REALLY just leave a hickey on me, David Rossi?”
“Yes. I thought it might give you a more pleasant association for that particular bit of skin.” He kissed her again and whispered against her mouth, “Are you planning to do something about that?”
“I might leave a mark or two on you,” she replied and pounced playfully, rolling him onto his back and sinking down on top of him with a soft sigh.
If it weren’t for Mudge forlornly whining in the hallway, they might never have come up for air. Emily flopped onto her back on the sheets, breathing hard.
“I think Mudge is lonely.”
Dave rolled onto his side to check the clock and laughed. “He’s not lonely … he’s hungry. I forgot to feed him.” He placed a kiss on Emily’s shoulder. “I was too busy feeding my own appetite.”
She laughed. “God, Dave, that’s a terrible line! It sounds like a cliché out of a romance novel!”
“Well, no one said I was a good writer.” He ran a hand up and down her hip. “You hungry, baby?”
“I could eat.” She took his hand in hers and kissed the center of his palm. “If I get to have you for dessert.”
He laughed. “Now who sounds like a romance novel?”
“Never said I was a writer either.” She smiled at him. “You’d better get out of bed while I get my breath … otherwise I may not let you leave.”
Rossi rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of cargo shorts that were lying on the chair next to the window. “I’ll go feed the Mudge man, then bring us something up. Sound good?”
“Sounds decadent.” Emily stretched languidly. “You know, if we keep on like this, I may never get around to finding another apartment.”
He took Emily’s face in his hands and kissed her gently. “Who said I wanted you to?”
END.