CM--Combustion, Part 3
Criminal Minds--Combustion, Part 3
Author: kosmickway
Rating: TEEN
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: Apologies to all my readers for the delay in getting to part 3. I've been working on a theatre production that's pretty much taken over my life. It will continue to take over my life till mid April, so I can't promise part 4 right away, but it WILL get done.
Emily sighed and rocked back on heels, surveying the mess of objects spread over Dave’s garage floor. Everything she owned in the world had been reduced to a tangle of soot and ash stained ephemera. It was unnerving how totally helpless that made her feel.
Dave turned from the washing machine, which was chugging away at a load of towels and clothes and gave Emily a crooked smile.
“A little overwhelmed?”
“A little doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she replied, running a hand through her hair. “This is … I don’t even know where to start.”
“Clothes are a good start,” Rossi said, gesturing to the washer. “And JJ and Morgan worked on the books yesterday, right?”
“Yeah, but I have no earthly idea how to get the smell of smoke out of the pages. There are books in there I’ve had since I was a kid! There are things I can’t replace. I’ve got a copy of Dante in Italian that my first boyfriend gave me. Am I supposed to keep it in a plastic bag the rest of my life because it smells like smoke?” She stopped, dangerously close to tears.
Rossi came over and extended a hand to help her up. “We can look up fire clean-up on line. Right now it might be better just to leave it. If you’re about ready for some dinner, I can cook.”
“Oh, Dave, you don’t have to do that. I can fend for myself.”
He shrugged. “I want pasta so I’m making it. It’s as easy to make pasta for two as it is to make it for one. It’s not any trouble.”
Emily acquiesced with a nod. “All right. Tomorrow I’m cooking, though.”
“Sounds like a fair deal. How do you feel about garlic alfredo sauce?”
“It sounds decadent and amazing.”
“Good. I’ll get it started.” He released her hands. “Mudgie might follow you upstairs. He’s curious about new people. Kick him out into the hallway if he bothers you.”
“Okay.” Emily headed upstairs and Mudgie did, indeed, follow her, settling onto the rug in the center of the room, guaranteeing she’d have to step over him every time she wanted to move.
It only took ten minutes to unpack her meager belongings, which was depressing in and of itself. The fact that her home was gone, that most of her belongings were utterly destroyed, was starting to sink in and a sense of panic was overtaking her. She knew all about trauma, of course, and understood that the feeling was a normal part of the aftermath of a major life crisis. But counseling others through a crisis was much easier than trying to counsel herself.
Unpacking done but not yet ready to go downstairs, she curled up in the window seat and looked out at the rain drenching the yard.
She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt yet about staying with Rossi. She was touched that he’d asked her-he was obviously concerned for her well-being. But she couldn’t help but wonder if there was an ulterior motive there, too.
To say that Dave Rossi was unreadable wasn’t exactly accurate. She could read him, but only to a certain extent. He never shied away from showing emotion about a case but it was rare that he let that same depth of feeling show when it came to his colleagues. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about them-Emily would never question his loyalty and commitment to the team-it seemed as if he felt, somehow, that it might be dangerous to show those emotions. But Emily could feel him watching her sometimes, his eyes on her as she moved around a scene or paced up and down the aisles of the plane. There was warmth in his gaze that was reserved only for her-she knew that only because she’d never seen him give the same look to JJ or Garcia.
There was a soft knock at the door, interrupting her musings.
“Come in.” She smiled as Mudgie sat straight up at attention when Rossi walked in.
“Dinner’s ready.” He reached down to pat the dog. “Made a new friend, I see.”
“Are you talking to him or me?” Emily joked, swinging her legs down from the window seat and rising.
“Either.” Rossi smiled. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”
“Not at all. He’s good company.” She reached down to pat Mudgie and her fingertips brushed Rossi’s. “I never had a dog growing up.”
“Too much moving around?”
“My mother hates mess and debris. Just the thought of cat or dog fur on one of her good suits was enough to make her declare a ban on animals.”
“That sucks,” Rossi said frankly. “Every kid should have a pet of their own, an animal that loves them unconditionally. It made my childhood a hell of a lot better to know that there was at least one being on the planet that was never going to let me down.”
Emily ruffled Mudgie’s fur and thought of Butters, how comforting it had been to hold the corgi when her whole life was going up in smoke in front of her.
Her fingers brushed against Rossi’s again. He smiled at her and rose. “Come on and eat while the bread’s still hot.”
At the word “eat” Mudge took off down the hall. Emily laughed. “He knows what that word means, I guess.”
Rossi shook his head. “He even seems to know when I’m on the phone with the pizza place.” He ushered her out of the room ahead of him and followed, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder.
They ate in the dining room with Mudge begging at their feet. It was a simple meal-pasta, fresh bread, a Caesar salad. After some deliberation, Emily accepted a glass of wine. If she was going to live in his house, it was a good idea to keep the professional boundaries in place. But at the same time she also wanted him to know that she was comfortable enough around him to have a drink and let the walls down. The inherent conundrum made her head hurt, so she simply went with her first instinct which was, after a long and rather disappointing day, to indulge just enough to blur the edges.
She worried they wouldn’t have enough to talk about. She didn’t want to bring up work and Rossi was savvy enough to know that talking about the fire would only keep her up for hours, pacing the floor. She knew a moment of panic when, once they had their meals, they began to eat and there was only silence. Just as she was searching for something to say, no matter how asinine, Rossi looked up from his pasta and said, “Bob or Cigarette Smoking Man?”
Emily blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s a game. One of my nieces plays it with her best friend. It’s called ‘either/or.’ Given two choices, you pick which of the two you prefer. So, given the choice of recurring antagonists on a sci-fi series, who is better-Bob or Cigarette Smoking Man?”
“Surely you’re not comparing ‘Twin Peaks’ to ‘The X-Files.’”
“Why wouldn’t I be? ‘Twin Peaks’ clearly influenced Chris Carter’s creation of ‘The X-Files.’ Supernatural elements combined with violent crime, a skeptical FBI agent, townspeople with strange and suspicious backstories … you’ve got practically every base element for ‘The X-Files’ right there! Plus there’s the whole David Duchovny as a cross-dressing DEA agent thing.”
“’The X-Files’ is CLEARLY the superior TV show,” Emily argued. “’Twin Peaks’ is a mess of garbled storylines, bizarre characters, sub-par acting, and semi-humorous dialogue that’s trying WAY too hard to be tongue in cheek. Comparing Bob to Cigarette Smoking Man is an insult!”
Rossi stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “I can see your mouth moving and all I hear is this string of blasphemy! You, Agent Prentiss, obviously need to be re-indoctrinated into the cult of ‘Twin Peakdom.’”
“If you think you’re going to get me to watch that series again, you’re insane. Once was bad enough.”
“It’s supposed to be bad!” Rossi protested. “It’s camp! It’s surrealism! It’s 90s television!” He drained the last of his wine. “Oh, Emily, Emily, Emily …” He picked up the bottle of Merlot and re-filled first her glass and then his.
“Don’t Emily me,” she said, grinning at him. “No amount of begging is going to get me to re-watch that clunker of a series.”
“Oh, I’m not going to beg.” Rossi resumed his seat and passed her the bread. “I never beg. But I’ll get you to come around to my way of thinking eventually.”
“In your dreams,” she said cheerfully. “All right, my turn. Asimov or Bradbury?”
She had the pleasure of seeing Rossi actually splutter in response. “You can’t make me choose,” he protested, dropping his fork. “That’s cruel and unusual.”
Emily laughed. Maybe they’d have enough to talk about after all.
***
They cleaned up the kitchen together, she wiping down the counters and appliances, he placing the dishes in the dishwasher.
She laughed and made a disgusted face when he let Mudge lick the remains of alfredo sauce off his plate. He teased her about her carbohydrate addiction when she popped the last slice of bread into her mouth rather than let it go to waste.
She didn’t turn down a third … fourth?… glass of wine when he poured it for her. He didn’t stop his hands from lingering longer on her back than they should have when she brushed past him reaching for the sponge.
She didn’t protest … much … when he ushered her into the living room and turned on the pilot for “Twin Peaks.” And he didn’t protest at all when she insisted that they watch an episode of “The X-Files” to counter it and sat a little closer to him than she might normally have.
By the time ten o’clock rolled around, they were in the middle of an episode of classic “Star Trek” and dissecting the homosexual undertones between Spock and Kirk. Rossi had stopped drinking in the middle of the “Twin Peaks” episode, citing the need to be clear headed to counter any argument she might present regarding the superiority of “The X-Files.” Emily had finished her last glass of wine around the time they started watching “Star Trek.” She wasn’t drunk-he could spot someone who’d overindulged at a thousand paces- instead she was just relaxed enough to tune out the voices of worry and reason that he knew were constantly shouting in her head.
“I think we’ve exhausted Kirk and Spock’s love life,” Emily concluded, lounging back against the sofa cushions and giving Rossi a totally unguarded smile. “Hit me again.”
“Douglas Adams or Terry Pratchett?”
“Adams, duh!”
“Okay, Douglas Adams or Neil Gaiman?”
“Gaiman! No brainer.”
“Gaiman or Stephen King?”
“Not even in the same league!” Emily snorted. “I demand a better choice.”
“Nope, that’s your choice. Gaiman or King.”
“But I like them both!”
“Life’s full of tough choices, Em. Tick tock.” He drummed the side of her wrist where she normally wore her watch.
Emily thought it over, giggling a little. “Ugh! Fine. Gaiman. But only because he hasn’t retired and then untired twice in the last decade.”
Rossi winced. “Ooh. You’re losing points for that.”
“You never said anything about keeping score! Since when have you been scoring?” She blushed a little as she registered her unintentional entendre. “That came out wrong, didn’t it?”
Rossi laughed. Emily laid her forehead on her arm, giggling. “God, you should never have given me that last glass of wine! I sound like an idiot … a drunk idiot. Playing the world’s geekiest game show.” She giggled again. “And not scoring at all well, apparently.”
Her attempt at a joke made him grin, even if it did fall rather flat. He laid a hand on her arm. “You sound like you’re happy. I like hearing that in your voice.”
Emily smiled. “I am happy. Right now anyway. I’m happy not to be in the hotel another night. I’m happy I didn’t have to eat take-out for dinner again. I’m happy there’s a dog snoring by the couch and that I’m playing a stupid game with you.” She covered his hand with hers, met his eyes with her warm, beautiful ones. “Thank you for having me, Dave.”
“You don’t know how much I want to have you,” he thought, his pulse picking up at the thought.
He laid a hand on the side of her neck. “Any time,” he murmured, his voice more husky than he would have liked. “Whenever you need me. I’m here.”
There was a charged moment when the air was alive with possibility, when his hand on her neck, hers on his arm, their faces close together could have spilled into something else, something deeper, more carnal. It would only have taken a word or a movement from either and a sharp streak of white lightning would have seared them both from the inside out.
Then Dave let his hand fall away, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of her neck, brushing against her pulse point. And she eased her grip on his arm and withdrew her hand, her fingers lingering longer than they ought on his bare skin.
“I ought to-“ Emily pointed at the stairs. “Check email before bed. And call Auggie.”
“Yeah, and I should let Mudge out,” Rossi said, rising. The lab followed suite, eager for a visit to the night-time yard and its tantalizing smells. “If you need anything just knock on my door.”
“Thanks, I will.” Emily followed him into the kitchen to rinse her wine glass and put it in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You don’t have to get up,” he protested. “You’ve got tomorrow and Friday off for personal days. Sleep in.”
“I’m no good at that. I’ll crash later in the day--probably on the back deck with a book.” Emily gave him a warm smile. “Thanks for dinner, Dave. I’ll whip up something for tomorrow night.” She started for the door then turned. “Good night, Mudgie.”
The lab galloped over to Emily and pressed his nose against her palm. She fussed over the big dog for a few moments while Rossi watched. Finally she looked up and said, “Okay, I’m really going to bed this time. Good night.”
“Before you go-“ Rossi found the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Love or lust?”
Emily thought for a moment then smiled. “Why not both?”
“Why not indeed?” Rossi thought as he watched her walk out of the kitchen. He was certainly feeling enough of both when it came to Emily Prentiss.
Thanks for reading and commenting ... and MEGA THANKS for your patience! Stay tuned for part four!
Author: kosmickway
Rating: TEEN
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: Apologies to all my readers for the delay in getting to part 3. I've been working on a theatre production that's pretty much taken over my life. It will continue to take over my life till mid April, so I can't promise part 4 right away, but it WILL get done.
Emily sighed and rocked back on heels, surveying the mess of objects spread over Dave’s garage floor. Everything she owned in the world had been reduced to a tangle of soot and ash stained ephemera. It was unnerving how totally helpless that made her feel.
Dave turned from the washing machine, which was chugging away at a load of towels and clothes and gave Emily a crooked smile.
“A little overwhelmed?”
“A little doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she replied, running a hand through her hair. “This is … I don’t even know where to start.”
“Clothes are a good start,” Rossi said, gesturing to the washer. “And JJ and Morgan worked on the books yesterday, right?”
“Yeah, but I have no earthly idea how to get the smell of smoke out of the pages. There are books in there I’ve had since I was a kid! There are things I can’t replace. I’ve got a copy of Dante in Italian that my first boyfriend gave me. Am I supposed to keep it in a plastic bag the rest of my life because it smells like smoke?” She stopped, dangerously close to tears.
Rossi came over and extended a hand to help her up. “We can look up fire clean-up on line. Right now it might be better just to leave it. If you’re about ready for some dinner, I can cook.”
“Oh, Dave, you don’t have to do that. I can fend for myself.”
He shrugged. “I want pasta so I’m making it. It’s as easy to make pasta for two as it is to make it for one. It’s not any trouble.”
Emily acquiesced with a nod. “All right. Tomorrow I’m cooking, though.”
“Sounds like a fair deal. How do you feel about garlic alfredo sauce?”
“It sounds decadent and amazing.”
“Good. I’ll get it started.” He released her hands. “Mudgie might follow you upstairs. He’s curious about new people. Kick him out into the hallway if he bothers you.”
“Okay.” Emily headed upstairs and Mudgie did, indeed, follow her, settling onto the rug in the center of the room, guaranteeing she’d have to step over him every time she wanted to move.
It only took ten minutes to unpack her meager belongings, which was depressing in and of itself. The fact that her home was gone, that most of her belongings were utterly destroyed, was starting to sink in and a sense of panic was overtaking her. She knew all about trauma, of course, and understood that the feeling was a normal part of the aftermath of a major life crisis. But counseling others through a crisis was much easier than trying to counsel herself.
Unpacking done but not yet ready to go downstairs, she curled up in the window seat and looked out at the rain drenching the yard.
She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt yet about staying with Rossi. She was touched that he’d asked her-he was obviously concerned for her well-being. But she couldn’t help but wonder if there was an ulterior motive there, too.
To say that Dave Rossi was unreadable wasn’t exactly accurate. She could read him, but only to a certain extent. He never shied away from showing emotion about a case but it was rare that he let that same depth of feeling show when it came to his colleagues. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about them-Emily would never question his loyalty and commitment to the team-it seemed as if he felt, somehow, that it might be dangerous to show those emotions. But Emily could feel him watching her sometimes, his eyes on her as she moved around a scene or paced up and down the aisles of the plane. There was warmth in his gaze that was reserved only for her-she knew that only because she’d never seen him give the same look to JJ or Garcia.
There was a soft knock at the door, interrupting her musings.
“Come in.” She smiled as Mudgie sat straight up at attention when Rossi walked in.
“Dinner’s ready.” He reached down to pat the dog. “Made a new friend, I see.”
“Are you talking to him or me?” Emily joked, swinging her legs down from the window seat and rising.
“Either.” Rossi smiled. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”
“Not at all. He’s good company.” She reached down to pat Mudgie and her fingertips brushed Rossi’s. “I never had a dog growing up.”
“Too much moving around?”
“My mother hates mess and debris. Just the thought of cat or dog fur on one of her good suits was enough to make her declare a ban on animals.”
“That sucks,” Rossi said frankly. “Every kid should have a pet of their own, an animal that loves them unconditionally. It made my childhood a hell of a lot better to know that there was at least one being on the planet that was never going to let me down.”
Emily ruffled Mudgie’s fur and thought of Butters, how comforting it had been to hold the corgi when her whole life was going up in smoke in front of her.
Her fingers brushed against Rossi’s again. He smiled at her and rose. “Come on and eat while the bread’s still hot.”
At the word “eat” Mudge took off down the hall. Emily laughed. “He knows what that word means, I guess.”
Rossi shook his head. “He even seems to know when I’m on the phone with the pizza place.” He ushered her out of the room ahead of him and followed, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder.
They ate in the dining room with Mudge begging at their feet. It was a simple meal-pasta, fresh bread, a Caesar salad. After some deliberation, Emily accepted a glass of wine. If she was going to live in his house, it was a good idea to keep the professional boundaries in place. But at the same time she also wanted him to know that she was comfortable enough around him to have a drink and let the walls down. The inherent conundrum made her head hurt, so she simply went with her first instinct which was, after a long and rather disappointing day, to indulge just enough to blur the edges.
She worried they wouldn’t have enough to talk about. She didn’t want to bring up work and Rossi was savvy enough to know that talking about the fire would only keep her up for hours, pacing the floor. She knew a moment of panic when, once they had their meals, they began to eat and there was only silence. Just as she was searching for something to say, no matter how asinine, Rossi looked up from his pasta and said, “Bob or Cigarette Smoking Man?”
Emily blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s a game. One of my nieces plays it with her best friend. It’s called ‘either/or.’ Given two choices, you pick which of the two you prefer. So, given the choice of recurring antagonists on a sci-fi series, who is better-Bob or Cigarette Smoking Man?”
“Surely you’re not comparing ‘Twin Peaks’ to ‘The X-Files.’”
“Why wouldn’t I be? ‘Twin Peaks’ clearly influenced Chris Carter’s creation of ‘The X-Files.’ Supernatural elements combined with violent crime, a skeptical FBI agent, townspeople with strange and suspicious backstories … you’ve got practically every base element for ‘The X-Files’ right there! Plus there’s the whole David Duchovny as a cross-dressing DEA agent thing.”
“’The X-Files’ is CLEARLY the superior TV show,” Emily argued. “’Twin Peaks’ is a mess of garbled storylines, bizarre characters, sub-par acting, and semi-humorous dialogue that’s trying WAY too hard to be tongue in cheek. Comparing Bob to Cigarette Smoking Man is an insult!”
Rossi stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “I can see your mouth moving and all I hear is this string of blasphemy! You, Agent Prentiss, obviously need to be re-indoctrinated into the cult of ‘Twin Peakdom.’”
“If you think you’re going to get me to watch that series again, you’re insane. Once was bad enough.”
“It’s supposed to be bad!” Rossi protested. “It’s camp! It’s surrealism! It’s 90s television!” He drained the last of his wine. “Oh, Emily, Emily, Emily …” He picked up the bottle of Merlot and re-filled first her glass and then his.
“Don’t Emily me,” she said, grinning at him. “No amount of begging is going to get me to re-watch that clunker of a series.”
“Oh, I’m not going to beg.” Rossi resumed his seat and passed her the bread. “I never beg. But I’ll get you to come around to my way of thinking eventually.”
“In your dreams,” she said cheerfully. “All right, my turn. Asimov or Bradbury?”
She had the pleasure of seeing Rossi actually splutter in response. “You can’t make me choose,” he protested, dropping his fork. “That’s cruel and unusual.”
Emily laughed. Maybe they’d have enough to talk about after all.
***
They cleaned up the kitchen together, she wiping down the counters and appliances, he placing the dishes in the dishwasher.
She laughed and made a disgusted face when he let Mudge lick the remains of alfredo sauce off his plate. He teased her about her carbohydrate addiction when she popped the last slice of bread into her mouth rather than let it go to waste.
She didn’t turn down a third … fourth?… glass of wine when he poured it for her. He didn’t stop his hands from lingering longer on her back than they should have when she brushed past him reaching for the sponge.
She didn’t protest … much … when he ushered her into the living room and turned on the pilot for “Twin Peaks.” And he didn’t protest at all when she insisted that they watch an episode of “The X-Files” to counter it and sat a little closer to him than she might normally have.
By the time ten o’clock rolled around, they were in the middle of an episode of classic “Star Trek” and dissecting the homosexual undertones between Spock and Kirk. Rossi had stopped drinking in the middle of the “Twin Peaks” episode, citing the need to be clear headed to counter any argument she might present regarding the superiority of “The X-Files.” Emily had finished her last glass of wine around the time they started watching “Star Trek.” She wasn’t drunk-he could spot someone who’d overindulged at a thousand paces- instead she was just relaxed enough to tune out the voices of worry and reason that he knew were constantly shouting in her head.
“I think we’ve exhausted Kirk and Spock’s love life,” Emily concluded, lounging back against the sofa cushions and giving Rossi a totally unguarded smile. “Hit me again.”
“Douglas Adams or Terry Pratchett?”
“Adams, duh!”
“Okay, Douglas Adams or Neil Gaiman?”
“Gaiman! No brainer.”
“Gaiman or Stephen King?”
“Not even in the same league!” Emily snorted. “I demand a better choice.”
“Nope, that’s your choice. Gaiman or King.”
“But I like them both!”
“Life’s full of tough choices, Em. Tick tock.” He drummed the side of her wrist where she normally wore her watch.
Emily thought it over, giggling a little. “Ugh! Fine. Gaiman. But only because he hasn’t retired and then untired twice in the last decade.”
Rossi winced. “Ooh. You’re losing points for that.”
“You never said anything about keeping score! Since when have you been scoring?” She blushed a little as she registered her unintentional entendre. “That came out wrong, didn’t it?”
Rossi laughed. Emily laid her forehead on her arm, giggling. “God, you should never have given me that last glass of wine! I sound like an idiot … a drunk idiot. Playing the world’s geekiest game show.” She giggled again. “And not scoring at all well, apparently.”
Her attempt at a joke made him grin, even if it did fall rather flat. He laid a hand on her arm. “You sound like you’re happy. I like hearing that in your voice.”
Emily smiled. “I am happy. Right now anyway. I’m happy not to be in the hotel another night. I’m happy I didn’t have to eat take-out for dinner again. I’m happy there’s a dog snoring by the couch and that I’m playing a stupid game with you.” She covered his hand with hers, met his eyes with her warm, beautiful ones. “Thank you for having me, Dave.”
“You don’t know how much I want to have you,” he thought, his pulse picking up at the thought.
He laid a hand on the side of her neck. “Any time,” he murmured, his voice more husky than he would have liked. “Whenever you need me. I’m here.”
There was a charged moment when the air was alive with possibility, when his hand on her neck, hers on his arm, their faces close together could have spilled into something else, something deeper, more carnal. It would only have taken a word or a movement from either and a sharp streak of white lightning would have seared them both from the inside out.
Then Dave let his hand fall away, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of her neck, brushing against her pulse point. And she eased her grip on his arm and withdrew her hand, her fingers lingering longer than they ought on his bare skin.
“I ought to-“ Emily pointed at the stairs. “Check email before bed. And call Auggie.”
“Yeah, and I should let Mudge out,” Rossi said, rising. The lab followed suite, eager for a visit to the night-time yard and its tantalizing smells. “If you need anything just knock on my door.”
“Thanks, I will.” Emily followed him into the kitchen to rinse her wine glass and put it in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You don’t have to get up,” he protested. “You’ve got tomorrow and Friday off for personal days. Sleep in.”
“I’m no good at that. I’ll crash later in the day--probably on the back deck with a book.” Emily gave him a warm smile. “Thanks for dinner, Dave. I’ll whip up something for tomorrow night.” She started for the door then turned. “Good night, Mudgie.”
The lab galloped over to Emily and pressed his nose against her palm. She fussed over the big dog for a few moments while Rossi watched. Finally she looked up and said, “Okay, I’m really going to bed this time. Good night.”
“Before you go-“ Rossi found the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Love or lust?”
Emily thought for a moment then smiled. “Why not both?”
“Why not indeed?” Rossi thought as he watched her walk out of the kitchen. He was certainly feeling enough of both when it came to Emily Prentiss.
Thanks for reading and commenting ... and MEGA THANKS for your patience! Stay tuned for part four!