A Velvet Paw's Cheeky Grasp   von Schneeblume
                                (Jane x Lisbon)
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                    Kapitel 1: A Velvet Paw's Cheeky Grasp
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Warning: Lime

    
December 9 – Sacramento in California, Art  Crimes Unit of the CBI


"Gentlemen, I don't need to tell you that this is a political  nightmare!"
CBI Director Bertram was not amused. In fact, he  was furious. And it didn't
help that he was facing Senior Special Agent in  Charge Kimball Cho and his
consultant Patrick Jane, as both of them were  showing a completely unfazed
expression. Cho, with his arms crossed in front of  his chest, was being as
stoic as ever, whereas Jane was wearing a lazy smile  and yawning occasionally. 
"You just did," Cho stated and Jane smirked, being proudly  aware that his boss
was taking revenge for getting yelled at in his own office.


"Excuse me?" Bertram, interrupted in his rant, looked almost  comically
confused.
"You just told us that this is a political nightmare," Jane  jumped in
helpfully.
They witnessed how the color of Bertram's face  turned into a deep angry tomato
red. "Is this all a joke for you  people?" he scolded. "The Blue Orchid is worth
several million  dollars and it has been stolen right under our noses. This
crook has been  fooling the Bureau for years and we're no step closer to
catching him."
"Or her."
Bertram ignored Jane apart from sending him a glare  and went on, "I'm deadly
serious, Agent Cho! I need results and quickly!  Catch the thief or at least
bring back that damn diamond, give me anything  that justifies this unit's right
to exist. Or else I'll be forced to think  about some restructuring measures!"
With that he stormed out of the office, leaving  Jane no chance to point out
that ACU had the highest rate of closure in this  city. 



"Such a grouch," he sighed and Cho rolled his eyes, replying,  "Yeah. Now come
on."
They went into the bullpen where Agents Wayne  Rigsby and Grace van Pelt looked
at them expectantly. 
"What did he say? He sounded pretty pissed," Rigsby wondered.
"That's because he is indeed very pissed."
"Not being professional, that's what he is," Cho corrected his  consultant and
stepped in front of the whiteboard. "Okay, people, let's  see what we have so
far. Van Pelt?"
"Well, after Jane's suggestion I dug a bit deeper. And ... all  indications are
that she is actually back."
"Wait, we already know who stole the diamond?" Rigsby blinked in  surprise. "Who
is she?"
Cho and Grace looked at Jane, who smiled and  paused for effect before he
answered with a cryptic voice.


"La Patte de Velours."


Rigsby furrowed his brows. "Patte  what?"
"The Velvet Paw," Grace translated. "It's French.  According to Interpol she'd
been active in Paris for a while, and that's where  she got her nickname."
"A misleading nickname if I've ever heard one, because this paw has  some claws!
I've always pictured her as a panther rather than a kitty  cat."
Cho rolled his eyes at Jane again, but before he  could intervene, Rigsby said,
"Hey, I've heard about the Velvet Paw! It's  the name of a clever and very
careful art thief who has never been caught  despite being responsible for
several multi-million dollar thefts. However, as  far as I know the gender has
never been confirmed. How do you know that it's a  woman?"


Finally stepping in, Cho explained, "The  last time we heard from her was right
before you joined our team, Rigsby, but  we actually started working her case
long before that. We collected every  single piece of information and followed
every hint we could find, as small or  unimportant as it might have seemed. No
other unit has ever come as close as  ours to catch her. And," he glanced at
Jane, "she is also the reason  why Jane transferred from SCU to ACU in the first
place."


"Really, why?" Rigsby turned to the consultant and even Grace  pricked up her
ears.
"Doesn't matter." Jane waved his hand and continued, "The  point is, I know more
about her than anybody else since I've studied her for  years. I could name you
every single piece of art she most likely has taken.  She never showed her face,
but I've memorized her silhouette in detail. I know  how she moves, how she
walks and runs. And I know what her voice sounds  like." 'Even the way she
smells is burned into my memory,' but he didn't  dare to say that out loud.
"Wow, that doesn't sound obsessive-Ouch, what?!" Rigsby  blinked at Grace who
had boxed him in the arm mere seconds ago. Before she  could give him a warning
look though, he stopped short in realization.  "Wait, you had a chat with her?"
"I wouldn't exactly call it a chat…"


"As I said," Cho's look was almost accusatory. "Last time  we were really
close."
"Just not close enough." Grace sighed and when she added an  afterthought, she
nearly did it in awe. "We have so much on her and yet we  always fail to get
her. I wonder how she does that."


"Isn't it obvious? There's a mole inside the CBI who is feeding her  just the
right amount of information." For the first time there was a hint  of anger in
Jane's voice. "But we've also never succeed in figuring that  one out. No matter
how hard we try and how close we play the cards to our  chest."
He turned away abruptly and walked towards one  of the windows to stare outside,
feeling his colleagues' eyes on his back.  After a moment of silence the agents
continued theorizing, but he hardly  listened anymore. He had already mulled
over every theory twice anyway. 



Taking a deep breath, he felt the anger fading  and being replaced by a familiar
thrill of anticipation and excitement. Perhaps  he started imagining things (or
he went nuts after all), but he actually felt  something similar like a
prevision. Somehow he was sure that he would see her  again and soon.


And this time he would get her no matter the  cost.


December 24 – An old jazz bar in Sacramento

    
It's Christmas Eve. The music is low and soothing, but not as soothing as  his
Scotch. Absentmindedly Patrick Jane twirls the glass between his fingers, 
watching how the candlelight dances through the amber-colored liquid. He isn't 
necessarily depressed, but he certainly isn't happy either. It's been two weeks 
since they learned about the Paw's involvement in the recent diamond heist and 
yet they are none the wiser. It's frustrating, really. There should have been a 
development by now, any news, but there isn't. Nothing he's expected,  and now
his mind is filled with disappointment and doubt.

He picks up the glass and empties it in one swig. The alcohol is still  burning
in his throat when he signals the bartender again. It's an elder man  with
bright eyes and an old-fashioned suit, who doesn't ask many questions and  fits
the outdated ambience like the last piece of a vintage puzzle. It seems as  if
he barely acknowledges his guest, giving only a brief nod as he refills, but 
there's a glint in the old eyes that catches Jane's attention. He furrows his 
brows, confused by getting pulled out of his musing so unexpectedly and subtly.

The bartender has already turned away, but Jane still wonders and when he  lifts
his glass again, there is a sudden shift of tension in the atmosphere,  freezing
his movement. The music is too loud all of a sudden and he hears his  own
heartbeat in his ears. Was it dimly lit before, the room now appears to 
brighten as if being stroked by sunrise, while the dusty air is interwoven with 
the crisp fragrance of winter.

He senses her the second she enters the bar – and when he turns his head 
towards the entrance, the glass still raised in front of him, he instantly 
knows who she is.
Her appearance is elegant and enticing. Her stature is rather small and  slim
but attractively feminine, whereas her posture tells a story about  confidence
and strength. The deep red dress, while surely being long enough,  hugs her
curves tightly in all the right places, turning some and not only  gentlemen's
heads in appreciation. White, velvet gloves add a touch of classic  to her
outfit. The color of her lips matches the dress and draws a little, playful 
smile, which would attract all the attention if it weren't for the brilliant 
shining emerald green eyes, framed by ebony waves of silky hair.

She seems oblivious to the awareness around her person and the spell that  lies
upon them all is eventually broken as soon as she starts moving through  the
crowd. Jane's look, however, is fastened on her figure, and even though she 
doesn't meet his gaze once, he knows she's noticed him too.

His heart beats fast and he feels heat welling up in his veins. He never  saw
her face, but he could paint a picture of her silhouette with all its  details.
He knows how she moves, walks and runs, and how her muscles flex  beneath
camouflaging fabric. Even her voice has he heard before, if only once.
Perhaps he's just about to hear it again, he hopes, as she constantly  weaves
her way through the people towards the bar – and towards him.
Tension sinks into every fiber of his body and he actually holds his breath 
when she reaches the empty stool right beside him, climbing it with a flourish.

"Staring not a very polite thing to do, Mr. Jane," she chides  gently, her voice
warm and soft, familiar. Jane releases his breath and along  with it he loses
all the strain, the frustration from the past weeks and his  mind a load made of
year-long suspense and wondering.
She finally turns towards him and he catches a whiff of her scent, fresh  with
orange and cinnamon, almost Christmassy, just like he remembers it. Then  her
eyes meet his and for safety reasons he considers it advisable to put his 
Scotch down on the wooden surface of the counter.

Despite her words he finds himself unable to stop staring. Her face is the  last
missing piece of her profile he has been illustrating in his memory palace  –
and he'll be dammed if he ever forgets it.
"You know, I could arrest you right here and right now," he  eventually manages
to say.
She smirks. "For what? Sitting on a barstool and ordering a  martini?" After
doing just that, she addresses Jane again. "Besides,  aren't you just a
consultant with the CBI? I seriously doubt you're permitted  to make any
arrests. And even if you were," she pauses and leans a bit  closer, lowering her
voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We both know now  that arresting me is the
last thing you have in mind right now."

For a moment they're holding eye contact, both for daring the other and for  the
simple reason that they couldn't stop even if they wanted to. She's close 
enough for Jane to taste her smell on his tongue and his mouth goes dry. 
Excitement over finally facing the thief he's been trying to catch for half a 
decade mixes with an unexpected thrill of pleasure and a completely different 
kind of excitement.
It's confusing and terrifying.

Jane takes a deep, calming breath and straightens, bringing a bit of  distance
between them. Feeling so vulnerable and transparent is very unusual  for him and
he desperately needs his composure back. When she mirrors his  movement, leaning
back, and reaches for her martini, his trademark smile is  firmly back in its
place.
"So, if I don't want to arrest you, what do I want instead?"
She takes a sip while throwing a thoughtful glance at him.  "Answers," she says
with a solemn expression. His own hardens  slightly, but before he can reply
anything, she continues.
"There are rules for tonight, Mr. Jane. Follow them and we can talk.  If you
don't, I'll be gone in the blink of an eye – and for good."

He raises his brow, but gestures her to go on.
"No tricks. No contact to your CBI friends or any other friend for  that matter.
No questions which require concrete information about my business.  When I
decline to answer, you have to accept that. Everything else stays  between us
– and after tonight I'm going to refuse admitting that I've ever met  you or
even talked to you. You okay with that?"
Jane shrugs nonchalantly and says, "Works for me," while his mind  is racing a
mile a minute.
"And we're not doing this here. I have a place just down the block  where we can
go."
Now his brows jump to his hairline. "Why, isn't that an interesting 
development."

She actually blushes slightly and glares at him over the rim of her martini 
glass. "Get your head out of the gutter, there will be no funny  stuff!"
He's sneering as it's his turn to lean in. "Too bad," he whispers  in her ear
and when she sucks in a sharp breath, he simply clinks his glass to  hers.
"Cheers!"

As soon as she realizes that he's been teasing her, she blushes even more  and
with an annoyed, "Oh, shut up!" she shoves her elbow into his  side.
Chuckling he drains his drink again and waits for her to do the same. She, 
however, gives him a defiant look and demonstratively takes one slow sip of her 
martini after another.
"I see, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Jane  states dryly.

But when she laughs quietly, a sound so sweet like music in his ears, there  is
warmth spreading from his belly to every cell in his body – leaving him out 
of breath and terrified once again.

xxx


Outside he helps her into her coat, gentleman that he is. After she turns 
around, she stands right in front of him, closely, looking up with sparkling 
green eyes. They are distracting, so that he notices her delicate fingers not 
until they're already slipped inside his jacket.
"Before we go..." she murmurs, her palms bringing heat he's able  to feel
through his clothes.
"What?" he all but gasps, while her hands trail along his chest.
"I'm keeping this for the time being."
He blinks in confusion and then all he can do is watching how his cellphone 
disappears into her purse.
"Hey!"

Grinning she pats his vest and steps back to actually start walking.
"You know, I'm disappointed," he says with a pout as he follows  her.
"How so?"
"A professional thief like you – I shouldn't perceive anything when  you pick
my pockets."
She falls into step beside him and links her arm through his, smiling  sweetly.
"You feel only what I want you to feel, Mr. Jane."

The implication isn't lost on him and something deep inside him, something  long
forgotten, stirs and makes him shiver. He manages to keep his mask in  place,
but it takes more willpower than he cares to admit. To get on safer  territory
he changes the subject.
"So, I've always wondered, that stunt in Paris two years ago ... how  did you do
it?"

xxx


"Here we are."
"What is this place?" he wants to know, immediately hooked, and  walks past her.
He's standing in an attic flat with wooden adornments, large  windows, and
ancient furnishings, all of them lit by a small, shiny Christmas  tree and a
fireplace with glass doors. There's a cozy old wing chair next to a  commode
with a record player and a historic globe on it. In the background  stand
bookshelves to the rafters and the creaking floorboards are covered in  rag
rugs.

"Don't bother, nothing in here can be connected to me," she  diverts and Jane
notices how she takes off her coat, throwing it on the chair,  but not the
gloves. He doesn't say anything, but strolls towards the commode  instead.
"Does it work?" Nodding to the record player he reaches for some  dusty covers,
and when she just shrugs, he pushes Elvis and The Beatles aside  to pick up good
old Frankie Boy.
Soon Sinatra's voice fills the air and Jane smiles satisfied, before he  turns
around.

He finds her sitting on the armrest and watching him. She looks beautiful  in
the fiery glow, like a femme fatale from a film noir, and it costs him his 
entire strength not to ogle her openly.
Casually he takes one step after another, approaching her, until he comes  to a
halt where her tiptoes are touching the floor. Capturing one small, velvet  hand
in his, he gently pulls her to her feet.
"I'm not going to dance with you." She frowns at him with fire in  her eyes, but
then, perhaps it's just a reflection. There's hardly any air  between them, but
neither the hunter nor the hunted draws away.

"Maybe not," he says, while his free hand takes a feathery walk  along her side
to sneak around her waist. "But you're going to tell me why  we are here."
"And here I thought you were the one with the good memory." She's  teasing him,
her eyes definitively sparkling now. "At least that's what  I've heard. I
already told you why we're here, remember?"
A faint smile on his lips and the tightening of his grasp make her place  her
own free hand on his chest. Whether to stop him or to brace herself against  her
weak knees, she doesn't know.

"Come on, little Paw, we both know that you won't give  me anything useful. So,
why have you brought me here?"
"Don't call me little!" Hissing she stiffens in his hold  and pushes him
backwards, but since he wouldn't dream of letting her go, he  pulls her with him
and they end up closer than before. "Besides, it's not  that you've had anything
better to do."
"Oh?" Raising his brows, he entwines his fingers with hers, her  hand still his
hostage. Despite the glove he can feel her pulse fast and  erratic beneath her
skin.

"You were sitting alone in a bar on Christmas Eve. It was a safe  bet." Stunning
green eyes are daring him, burning him, accompanied by warm  and rosy cheeks,
and her breath that's martini-sweet and hot against his lips.
He inhales deeply and almost loses his sanity.
"Fine." His voice is raspy and hoarse, but he is too enwrapped to  try for
control. "I'll agree if you tell me the truth." He lets his  gaze flicker to her
mouth and then his heart skips a beat as her pupils dilate  with ardor.
"A wise man once said," she whispers in reply. "Keep your  friends close but
your enemies closer."
"Ah, wise words indeed."

Her expression becomes serious, but her chest moves unevenly against his, 
distracting him for a second – because she feels so soft and strong, and 
wonderful.
"For so long," she confesses and he can tell without doubt that  she's being
honest. "I've been watching you from afar. At first, knowing  about you was a
necessary precaution, but somewhere along the way I started  desiring to know
you." She merely looks at him in wonder, her  fingertips trailing upwards, and
then she's tracing his cheekbone. "Until  watching just wasn't enough anymore."

Jane swallows and when she tilts her head unconsciously, his lips ghost  over
hers.
"It's been driving me crazy not know you, too," is all he can  say, which is
also the truth.
Her pretty face suddenly is all about smiles, dimples and flushed cheeks,  and
Jane simply can't restrain himself any longer. With a heavy gasp he presses  his
mouth to hers, leaving both of them breathless and dizzy with longing.
After a decade of being desperate and lonely, her lips feel like home, and  the
intensity of his emotions pull the rug out from under his feet. He kisses  her
with hunger, his body feeling hot with desire, and she answers with a  passion
that's both pure and sinful.

His fingers clutch the smooth fabric of her dress and she arches against  him.
"If you rip that dress, I will-humpf!" He gives her no time to  finish her
panted words – because who is she that she denies him those perfect  full and
red lips – and kisses her again. Over and over again.
Until she moans sensually and nearly swoons over his wicked teasing.

His talented tongue is doing even more dangerous things to her mouth while  she
guides him towards a hidden niche with a bed. They almost stumble over  their
feet on the way, because being distracted by someone pulling off someone  else's
clothes does this to a person, but eventually they make it there safely.  More
or less. Their garments certainly aren't so lucky. Piece after piece gets  lost
on the floor until there's nothing left but his black shorts and her white 
gloves.
Even with his mind fogged with lust he needs to pause for a moment to fully 
appreciate it. She is lying before him, nude and sexy, her eyes dark but 
glowing impishly, like the fairest piece of art she could possibly steal.

As a hint of insecurity sneaks into his expression, even though he tries to 
hide it, her look softens and she reaches for his hand.
"Come here," she invites, directing him on top of her. "I  promise to be
gentle."
And with this sweet mocking in his ears he starts kissing her again,  getting
rid of the remaining fabrics and forgetting any coherent train of  thoughts or
any idea about how he should ever be able to function without her  again.

xxx


"Jane?" The word is spoken quietly and with a tender yet deep  satisfaction.
He's just Jane now. The Mr. went out of the window  when he joined their
trembling bodies for the very first time.
He hums in acknowledgement and keeps stroking lazily over her naked  shoulder
since she's draped across him.
"It might look that way, but I really didn't intend for us to end up  in bed
together."
"So you had a different place in mind then?"
"What-no!" She slaps him, blushing prettily, and he laughs.

"No, I'm serious. I've learned so much about you that it feels like  I've known
you for ages. Yet it wasn't enough. I wanted to meet you in person –  which is
probably the silliest idea, considering my profession and our  history."
"Probably," he agrees and earns himself a pout. Smirking he  places a peck on
her nose to make everything better. Successfully so, given  that she can't
suppress a chuckle.

"While we're on it," he continues lightly as on an afterthought.  "It is the
perfect opportunity to actually talk about our history."  Immediately he
realizes that it's been the wrong thing to say, that she's  picked up his exact
thought. She's grown stiff in his embrace and when she  answers, her voice is
hard and cold.
"No."
"Come on," he urges, all smiles and facades forgotten. "You  know that I need-"
"No!" Lifting her head from his chest she glowers at him in  anger. "I told you
the rules. I'm not going to talk about that."

"Forget about the rules!" As his own anger and frustration are  breaking
through, he pushes himself upwards, forcing her to move off him. (He's  too
irritated to realize how he promptly misses her closeness.) "You said  it
yourself, I'm here for answers!" Without really noticing it, snapping,  he grabs
her wrist. "And I'm not going to let you go before I get  any!"
She has him overpowered and immobilized within seconds. From on top of him  she
pins him down with unexpected strength, holding his hands above his head  and
pressing one forearm against his throat.

"You don't get to threaten me, Jane," she declares, low and  dangerous, while he
gasps with surprise.
"I should have known that this is your only reason to be here. Silly  me." Her
words are bitter, betraying how much he's hurt her, but he only  glares at her,
blind with rage, and wriggles beneath her slim figure to get  free. Without much
success. (Maybe he's not really trying.)

She lets him fight, both with his gaze and physically, but eventually, when 
minute after minute has ticked away, he starts calming down.
"Please," he whispers, almost broken now. "Whatever it is  that you saw or heard
... I need to know! You are the only lead I have left to  find the murderer of
my wife and daughter."
She closes her eyes as if being in pain and loosens her grip. "I  can't", she
replies barely audible and for the first time he finds true  fear in her
posture. "It's not that I don't want to help you, I can't. Not  yet. There's too
much at stake." She opens her honest eyes and they seem  to be begging him to
understand. "It's too dangerous. Leave it alone for  now, please, Jane."
He is looking at her for a long time, and all the while no word is being 
spoken. There's just Frank Sinatra singing about love and femmes fatales in the 
background.

In the end, however, Jane exhales slowly and agrees, "For now."
She relaxes visibly and releases him, bracing herself on his chest, emotionally 
exhausted.
"It's not."
"Hum?" She blinks tiredly.
He's almost shy, as he explains, "It's not the only reason why I'm  here." And
with that a smile blossoms on her lips whereas goose bumps  dance over her skin,
caused by his warm hands on her hips.
"Good," she says emphatically, and while still straddling him,  she moves a bit
to find a more comfortable position.

"Uhm..."
"What?" She glances down at him in concern after he's uttered a  pressed moan.
"Er... you know, this," he points at her and her current resting  place
(himself). "This is actually kind of... enticing."
"Oh? –Oh!" Her face reddens, but it also turns  mischievous. "Is that so?" Her
body language becomes feline and  seductive.
"Yeah, well, I don't have attractive women sitting on me every day."
"You better don't." She bents down, her perfect breasts brushing  his chest in
the process. "Who else would try and catch me then?"
Their lips meet for a new dance and the air around them begins to hum with 
vibrating heat. His hands wander upwards along her spine until they teasingly 
slip to her sides, his thumbs caressing the sensitive skin right below her 
curves. She shudders on top of him, which he feels in every single fiber 
himself.

When they're both in need for air, they break apart, gasping, before she  starts
leaving kisses along his jaw line down to his neck. He answers with  pleasurable
touching of his own, finally bringing his sneaky fingers to her  rosy peaks.
First he brushes them playfully, then he rolls them gently between  his
fingertips, causing her to groan fervidly against his collar bone and to  press
herself yearningly against the central part of his body.
It's his turn to moan at the intimate contact, but he leaves the obviously 
needed control to her this time. There's desperation in her frantic movements, 
which in combination with their shared lust is like pouring fuel into a fire. 
It's the mix of emotions that is coursing through his veins as well.

They take their time to explore each other, to exchange touches and kisses, 
although not too much time passes, since the sensual pleasure pools quickly and 
rises until it's almost impossible to bear any longer. The air is filled with 
soft gasping and helpless moans, and when in the end she lowers herself to him, 
his hands never leave her, caressing, bracing and giving her comfort.

Her lips find his once more, kissing him with all her need, while she  brings
her arms tightly around his shoulders. With his returning the embrace  she
begins a gentle rocking of her hips against him, which soon becomes faster  and
demanding and even more desperate. He loses himself in her, the mind  blissfully
empty, and as soon as she reaches her climax with a small erotic  cry, he
follows her there mere seconds later.

They sink into the pillows together, skin on skin, their limbs tangled,  heavy
and shivering with delightful exhaustion. And sleep, no surprise there,  comes
over them like a warm, soothing blanket, while the tunes of Somethin'  Stupid
accompany them into a dreamless slumber.

xxx


It's very early in the morning when Jane awakes due to a sudden loss of  warmth.
He needs a moment to focus in the dim light, but then he witnesses how  his
little thief scurries around, picking up some red lace out of a pile of 
clothing. Smirking he leans back and enjoys the show, and his grin becomes even 
brighter as she rummages through her purse, cursing under her breath.
"Looking for this?" he asks and raises his fists. She flinches  and spins round,
fueling his amusement by staring at him with wide eyes. He  opens his hand
slowly and on his palm he reveals the Blue Orchid.

"When did you...? How did you know-?" she stammers, completely  caught off
guard.
"I saw it in your purse when you took my phone." He pillows his  head on one arm
and lets the soft light dance over the precious gem. "Care  to explain what it
was doing there?"
Ignoring his question she plants herself in front of him, hands on her  hips,
still only being clad in her undergarments. "You picked my pocket!"

Chuckling he nods. "Right before I pulled you off that chair. The only  question
left now is: Why did you have it on you to begin with? You see, I have  a
theory. You want to hear it? Great." He sits up while she keeps glaring  at him
with her chest heaving and lowering unevenly, and gorgeously flushed  cheeks.
(There's no point in denying that he truly wants her again.)
"There is no way that a thief so successful, professional and careful  like you
would carry around something so valuable, especially while intending  to meet
the foe. A foe you're fairly well informed about. It was to be expected  that I
would come across it sooner or later.
"But then, why heisting it in the first place? The answer to that is  simple.
You've never planned on keeping it. The only reason why you took it was  to give
it back eventually. To give it back, but not to get caught in the  process,
hence the whosever-it-is apartment and the gloves. You didn't touch  anything
with the bare talented fingers of yours, well," he laughs  quietly. "Except for
me of course."

She tries to conceal it, but the smile sneaks onto her lips nevertheless. 
"And?"
"And that leaves me with only one conclusion. It's an open secret that  my boss
is all about success. You're so sure of yourself that you've feared we  could
get removed from your case if we belied the expectations. So you've basically 
handed the success to us on a silver platter. Now, you don't expect me to say
thank  you, do you?"

She bents down, obviously amused now too, supporting her weight with the  hands
on the mattress.
"Why would I want to protect you?" she teases and allows him to  kiss her
sweetly on the lips.
"For my wits, charm and the good looks?"
She snorts. "Nah, my life would be so much easier without you."
"But also not nearly as much fun."

With a smirk she joins their mouths together again, before she breathes  against
his lips regretfully, "I have to go."
Not quite ready to let her go yet, he presses a few more heated kisses on  her
lips and the corner of her mouth, enjoying how one of her hand is buried in  his
hair and makes him tremble.
"One day," he whispers when they finally part. "I'm going to  catch you."
The promise coaxes her to smile softly and with a last fond caress along  his
cheek, she turns away.
"I'm looking forward to it."

December 25 – In the early hours somewhere in  Sacramento

    
She walks through the streets, feeling light and  oh so satisfied. Smiling
slightly she closes her eyes, breathing in the cool  air and enjoying the
peaceful quiet of Christmas morning.


A sudden noise makes her jump and she spins  around with her heart racing
wildly. A silhouette moves into the lamplight and  stops in front of her,
causing her to release some air in relief.
"Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me."
He furrows his eyebrows and scrutinizes her.  "You should be more careful."
"I'm careful enough," she argues.
"No, you're taking unnecessary risks." He sounds reproachful,  but she knows
that he's concerned. Yet she can't help being a little defensive  as she
replies.


"What, you mean Jane? I know what I'm doing."
"You sure? You shouldn't have shown him your face. I told you about  his
flawless memory."
"Well, I had to do something, and you damn well know it." She  throws him a
glare and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I don't  regret it." Raising
her chin she holds his gaze until he eventually sighs  and resigns. 
"Fine. Just be careful, okay?"


Her look softens and she places one palm against  his cheek. "I promise."
Standing up on tiptoes, she replaces her hand  with a chaste peck and adds, "See
you later?"
He nods simply, allowing the short moment of  friendly intimacy, before they
part. 
"Don't get your fingers burned," he warns once more while  disappearing back
into the shadows.


"Merry Christmas to you too, Cho." She tries for nonchalance,  but in private
she wonders whether it is too late already. Remembering Jane's  eyes – tender,
mischievous and sexy – the fervent passion returns to her veins,  filling her
stomach with liquid fire anew.


Maybe she's burned her velvet paws by now, but  when she continues her way, she
still can't bring herself to regret it.
Even if the burning is irrevocable, wild and  extremely addictive.


The End

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