Profiler Secret Santa Gift for Kajivar
Profiler Secret Santa 2005 ...
"An Evening Out" ...
To kajivar, from kosmickway
Ship: John/Sam
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Takes place post-"The House That Jack Built"
A/N The Second: Happy holidays, Kaji! And as part of your gift, a promise to write part 2, should you so desire it. Just let me know.
If he ate Chinese for dinner one more night he was fairly sure he was going to puke.
John stared at the take-out menu with an expression of disgust bordering on loathing. It had finally happened. He’d come to the end of the massive list of entrees, house specials, combo dinners and a la carte items that the Pink Lotus offered. (Considering that there were over 100 items on the menu, this was no small feat). His tolerance for Chinese had finally reached a breaking point.
He threw the menu back in the drawer and banged it shut. No more Schezuan chicken or shrimp-fried rice tonight. Tonight he wanted something different, something home cooked. Something that didn’t involve duck sauce.
And he preferred not to cook it himself, if at all possible. His skills in the kitchen left much to be desired. He disgusted himself, when it came down to it, and he was proud of the fact that his stomach was made of cast-iron.
Okay. No Chinese. No cooking. What now?
Well, he’d go out some place. But not by himself. That was entirely unacceptable. Going out alone was a mark of desperation. Why go out on his own when there were a hundred women willing to go out with him?
But not just any woman. Who did he feel like talking to tonight? Who did he want to spend time with during his few off hours from work? Who was gorgeous, stimulating, and unrelated to work?
The list was enormous, really. He knew plenty of women, ready and willing to go out, have a ball, have a drink, and come back to his place for a tumble between the sheets. Who was the lucky lady going to be tonight?
The only face popping into his head didn’t fit the criteria.
Sam.
Gorgeous? God, yes, with all that incredible spun-gold hair and that trim, tight body.
Stimulating? Christ, he got hard just thinking about her.
Unrelated to work? Not so much.
He’d never known Sam NOT to discuss work. She was fixated on the Jack case, utterly obsessed. In the past half year it had been all work and no play where she was concerned, the search for Jack endlessly consuming her attention, especially in light of the team’s most recent run-in with the psychopath himself.
Stumbling upon the madman’s lair had been both a blessing and a curse. Yes, they were closer to discovering the man’s identity, but the extra stress on the team had been terrible. After Grace’s husband was almost killed and John himself had been kidnapped by one of Jack’s paid disciples, the team was battle-weary and praying for a break in the case, a break that didn’t seem forthcoming.
John stood up and grabbed his leather jacket. He’d thought about it long enough. It was Sam he wanted to spend some time with. No one else would do. If she started to talk about work, he’d distract her. He certainly knew enough ways to distract a woman. A back rub, a few sweet words, some soft music …
He headed for the door and down to the garage where he kept his Porsche, his mind on Sam. No doubt about it, he was totally enamored with her. It was a bizarre mix of feelings that were all jumbled up inside him-- a longing to be more than friends with her, a protective desire to take care of her, and an overzealous urge to get her into bed and have her long legs wrapped around his waist.
And now he couldn’t get that last image out of his head.
He climbed into the Porsche, revved it, and headed down the street toward Sam’s firehouse, half hoping she’d be home and half wondering just what the hell was going to happen if she was.
***
“Are you sure this is okay?” Sam asked nervously as they stepped out of the elevator onto the floor of Top Shelf, the restaurant located on the very top floor of Billings Towers. “I’m not really dressed for this kind of place.”
“You look perfect,” John assured her.
And she did. In jeans, black-high heeled boots and a powder blue scoop necked sweater under a black leather coat, she was so stunning he couldn’t stop looking at her. Didn’t matter that half the room was dressed to the nines. It was the two of them, tall, good-looking, and dressed in matching black leather coats that everyone was staring at.
“Let’s grab something to drink,” John suggested. “They serve great champagne here.”
Sam gave him a quick, appraising look and nodded. “Okay. But let’s get some food, too. I’m starved.”
Once settled at the bar with champagne and a plate of flash-fried calamari, Sam looked over at John and gave him one of her trademark half smiles. His heart thudded as he studied her mouth, which he’d only recently learned was even fuller and more sensual than it looked. He put a hand on her arm, leaned forward and--
“I know what’s going on, John.”
Her voice thudded him back to the bar. “Yeah? And what’s that?” He turned the lean forward into an excuse to dunk a bite of squid in tartar sauce. “Mmm, cephalapod.”
Sam giggled, then quickly schooled her features into a more serious expression. “I’m serious. I know what this is.”
“Two friends having dinner,” John said and flashed her his own winning grin, the one very few women could resist. “Neither of us wanted to cook so here we are.”
“We both know there’s more to it than that. Champagne and a classy dinner at the Top Shelf isn’t what you do with friends after work.”
Dammit all, WHY did she have to analyze everything? Or was it just that he was incredibly transparent?
“If you have enough disposable income it is.” He speared another bit of squid and lifted it to her lips, hoping to fend off the rationalizing. “More eat, less talk, Sam. Just enjoy this. I know I am.”
Sam obligingly took a bite and fixed those marvelous eyes on him. “Is that your way of telling me to turn off the profiler for one evening?”
Yes.
“No, of course not. It’s just a shame for me to eat all these marvelous pieces of squid on my own. The longer you talk, the less you get to eat.”
Sam leaned her chin on her hand and stared at him, amused.
“I can still see right through you, John. I know why you asked me to come out tonight.”
Dammit. He must look REALLY desperate right about now.
“Look, Sam, I’ve been thinking about this a lot and--”
She broke in by putting her cool hand on his wrist. “You’ve had what happened two weeks ago on your mind.”
“If you mean nearly catching Jack two weeks ago … yes. I’ve had that on my mind. And if you mean me kissing you two weeks ago … yes, even more so. I see you behind my eyes when I go to sleep.”
Where in the hell had that come from? The heart? More like the gut. He felt a long pull of desire deep in his belly when he stared at her and found that she was staring just as intently back at him.
“Sam, I’m--”
He floundered, not sure what to say or how to go on. He lifted a hand and brought it to her cheek. Those blue eyes. He had never understood the expression “drowning in someone’s eyes” until now since he was fairly sure he was about to drown in Sam’s. He literally couldn’t remember anything he wanted to say. All of his carefully crafted lines and compliments were gone, his head completely empty.
“Sam, I really care about you.”
Oh, god. How lame could he possibly get? That was a line straight from a Lifetime movie, a tortured cliché from a romance novel.
“And I want to--”
She stopped him with a kiss, a hard and desperate kiss completely opposite of the one they shared two weeks ago. Where that one had been a slow exploration of lips and tongues, this one was reckless, fierce, and deeply erotic. Definitely not a kiss for a public bar. He had the presence of mind-- just barely-- to put his hands on her upper arms and gently push her away.
“Sam,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Public bar. Private kiss. If we’re going to finish this--”
“Oh, we’re going to finish it,” Sam said, her voice soft and insistent.
“--We need to go someplace else.” He fumbled for his wallet, tossed a fifty on the bar. “Come on.”
As soon as they were in the elevator and the doors were closed he pressed her against the wall and pushed up her sweater from the waist, his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers. She bit down on his lower lip, prompting a groan from him as her hips moved against his and her hands pulled him closer to her.
She was all sweet curves and luscious skin and wonderfully nimble fingers. She smelled of citrus and vanilla and something soft and uniquely female. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat and breathed in, completely lost.
The elevator slowed and they pulled away from each other quickly, straightening their clothes and hair. The doors opened into the lobby and John grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the street level entrance to the parking garage and his Porsche.
“How did you know I wanted this?” John asked as they walked quickly toward the Porsche. He felt lighter and freer than he‘d felt in years.
“Because I wanted it, too,” Sam said, squeezing his hand. “In fact, if you weren’t going to make a move after that kiss two weeks ago, I was going to make one. Tonight, in fact, I was getting ready to call you when you came over.”
John stared at her, astonished. “So why didn’t you just say something to me right in the beginning? We could have stayed inside and been in bed by now.” He kissed her again and felt her giggle as his mouth moved over her throat.
“Because there’s really nothing I enjoy more than knowing that I can drive you crazy.” She slid her hand into his back pocket and gave his ass a quick squeeze. “Come on. Take me home.”
End part 1.
"An Evening Out" ...
To kajivar, from kosmickway
Ship: John/Sam
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Takes place post-"The House That Jack Built"
A/N The Second: Happy holidays, Kaji! And as part of your gift, a promise to write part 2, should you so desire it. Just let me know.
If he ate Chinese for dinner one more night he was fairly sure he was going to puke.
John stared at the take-out menu with an expression of disgust bordering on loathing. It had finally happened. He’d come to the end of the massive list of entrees, house specials, combo dinners and a la carte items that the Pink Lotus offered. (Considering that there were over 100 items on the menu, this was no small feat). His tolerance for Chinese had finally reached a breaking point.
He threw the menu back in the drawer and banged it shut. No more Schezuan chicken or shrimp-fried rice tonight. Tonight he wanted something different, something home cooked. Something that didn’t involve duck sauce.
And he preferred not to cook it himself, if at all possible. His skills in the kitchen left much to be desired. He disgusted himself, when it came down to it, and he was proud of the fact that his stomach was made of cast-iron.
Okay. No Chinese. No cooking. What now?
Well, he’d go out some place. But not by himself. That was entirely unacceptable. Going out alone was a mark of desperation. Why go out on his own when there were a hundred women willing to go out with him?
But not just any woman. Who did he feel like talking to tonight? Who did he want to spend time with during his few off hours from work? Who was gorgeous, stimulating, and unrelated to work?
The list was enormous, really. He knew plenty of women, ready and willing to go out, have a ball, have a drink, and come back to his place for a tumble between the sheets. Who was the lucky lady going to be tonight?
The only face popping into his head didn’t fit the criteria.
Sam.
Gorgeous? God, yes, with all that incredible spun-gold hair and that trim, tight body.
Stimulating? Christ, he got hard just thinking about her.
Unrelated to work? Not so much.
He’d never known Sam NOT to discuss work. She was fixated on the Jack case, utterly obsessed. In the past half year it had been all work and no play where she was concerned, the search for Jack endlessly consuming her attention, especially in light of the team’s most recent run-in with the psychopath himself.
Stumbling upon the madman’s lair had been both a blessing and a curse. Yes, they were closer to discovering the man’s identity, but the extra stress on the team had been terrible. After Grace’s husband was almost killed and John himself had been kidnapped by one of Jack’s paid disciples, the team was battle-weary and praying for a break in the case, a break that didn’t seem forthcoming.
John stood up and grabbed his leather jacket. He’d thought about it long enough. It was Sam he wanted to spend some time with. No one else would do. If she started to talk about work, he’d distract her. He certainly knew enough ways to distract a woman. A back rub, a few sweet words, some soft music …
He headed for the door and down to the garage where he kept his Porsche, his mind on Sam. No doubt about it, he was totally enamored with her. It was a bizarre mix of feelings that were all jumbled up inside him-- a longing to be more than friends with her, a protective desire to take care of her, and an overzealous urge to get her into bed and have her long legs wrapped around his waist.
And now he couldn’t get that last image out of his head.
He climbed into the Porsche, revved it, and headed down the street toward Sam’s firehouse, half hoping she’d be home and half wondering just what the hell was going to happen if she was.
***
“Are you sure this is okay?” Sam asked nervously as they stepped out of the elevator onto the floor of Top Shelf, the restaurant located on the very top floor of Billings Towers. “I’m not really dressed for this kind of place.”
“You look perfect,” John assured her.
And she did. In jeans, black-high heeled boots and a powder blue scoop necked sweater under a black leather coat, she was so stunning he couldn’t stop looking at her. Didn’t matter that half the room was dressed to the nines. It was the two of them, tall, good-looking, and dressed in matching black leather coats that everyone was staring at.
“Let’s grab something to drink,” John suggested. “They serve great champagne here.”
Sam gave him a quick, appraising look and nodded. “Okay. But let’s get some food, too. I’m starved.”
Once settled at the bar with champagne and a plate of flash-fried calamari, Sam looked over at John and gave him one of her trademark half smiles. His heart thudded as he studied her mouth, which he’d only recently learned was even fuller and more sensual than it looked. He put a hand on her arm, leaned forward and--
“I know what’s going on, John.”
Her voice thudded him back to the bar. “Yeah? And what’s that?” He turned the lean forward into an excuse to dunk a bite of squid in tartar sauce. “Mmm, cephalapod.”
Sam giggled, then quickly schooled her features into a more serious expression. “I’m serious. I know what this is.”
“Two friends having dinner,” John said and flashed her his own winning grin, the one very few women could resist. “Neither of us wanted to cook so here we are.”
“We both know there’s more to it than that. Champagne and a classy dinner at the Top Shelf isn’t what you do with friends after work.”
Dammit all, WHY did she have to analyze everything? Or was it just that he was incredibly transparent?
“If you have enough disposable income it is.” He speared another bit of squid and lifted it to her lips, hoping to fend off the rationalizing. “More eat, less talk, Sam. Just enjoy this. I know I am.”
Sam obligingly took a bite and fixed those marvelous eyes on him. “Is that your way of telling me to turn off the profiler for one evening?”
Yes.
“No, of course not. It’s just a shame for me to eat all these marvelous pieces of squid on my own. The longer you talk, the less you get to eat.”
Sam leaned her chin on her hand and stared at him, amused.
“I can still see right through you, John. I know why you asked me to come out tonight.”
Dammit. He must look REALLY desperate right about now.
“Look, Sam, I’ve been thinking about this a lot and--”
She broke in by putting her cool hand on his wrist. “You’ve had what happened two weeks ago on your mind.”
“If you mean nearly catching Jack two weeks ago … yes. I’ve had that on my mind. And if you mean me kissing you two weeks ago … yes, even more so. I see you behind my eyes when I go to sleep.”
Where in the hell had that come from? The heart? More like the gut. He felt a long pull of desire deep in his belly when he stared at her and found that she was staring just as intently back at him.
“Sam, I’m--”
He floundered, not sure what to say or how to go on. He lifted a hand and brought it to her cheek. Those blue eyes. He had never understood the expression “drowning in someone’s eyes” until now since he was fairly sure he was about to drown in Sam’s. He literally couldn’t remember anything he wanted to say. All of his carefully crafted lines and compliments were gone, his head completely empty.
“Sam, I really care about you.”
Oh, god. How lame could he possibly get? That was a line straight from a Lifetime movie, a tortured cliché from a romance novel.
“And I want to--”
She stopped him with a kiss, a hard and desperate kiss completely opposite of the one they shared two weeks ago. Where that one had been a slow exploration of lips and tongues, this one was reckless, fierce, and deeply erotic. Definitely not a kiss for a public bar. He had the presence of mind-- just barely-- to put his hands on her upper arms and gently push her away.
“Sam,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Public bar. Private kiss. If we’re going to finish this--”
“Oh, we’re going to finish it,” Sam said, her voice soft and insistent.
“--We need to go someplace else.” He fumbled for his wallet, tossed a fifty on the bar. “Come on.”
As soon as they were in the elevator and the doors were closed he pressed her against the wall and pushed up her sweater from the waist, his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers. She bit down on his lower lip, prompting a groan from him as her hips moved against his and her hands pulled him closer to her.
She was all sweet curves and luscious skin and wonderfully nimble fingers. She smelled of citrus and vanilla and something soft and uniquely female. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat and breathed in, completely lost.
The elevator slowed and they pulled away from each other quickly, straightening their clothes and hair. The doors opened into the lobby and John grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the street level entrance to the parking garage and his Porsche.
“How did you know I wanted this?” John asked as they walked quickly toward the Porsche. He felt lighter and freer than he‘d felt in years.
“Because I wanted it, too,” Sam said, squeezing his hand. “In fact, if you weren’t going to make a move after that kiss two weeks ago, I was going to make one. Tonight, in fact, I was getting ready to call you when you came over.”
John stared at her, astonished. “So why didn’t you just say something to me right in the beginning? We could have stayed inside and been in bed by now.” He kissed her again and felt her giggle as his mouth moved over her throat.
“Because there’s really nothing I enjoy more than knowing that I can drive you crazy.” She slid her hand into his back pocket and gave his ass a quick squeeze. “Come on. Take me home.”
End part 1.