::  Blame it on Voodoo ::

Summary: Mac and Webb find themselves in New Orleans for a conference. Six other Federal agents uncover what a gentleman Webb can be.

Spoilers: Takes place before Lawyers, Guns, and money. (In other words they never went on a mission in Paraguay together.

Author’s notes: This is strictly a thank you fic for a bunch of wonderful women on one of my lists. You know who you are. Thanks to Linda for reminding me to file my unemployment claim. Thanks to Anne for a wonderful beta. Thanks to Laurel for random and detailed encouragement. To the rest of you great ladies, not mentioned here, just ask Zephiey. I’ll probably get around to immortalizing you all – for good or bad (sorry, Renee and Lady Thistle, VBEG).

 

Tulane University
April 15
1130 Hours

Mac sat in the padded lecture seat and tried desperately not to nod off. She was so tired she wanted to cry. «One more hour. One more hour, and you can go back to your room and crawl into bed and just sleep. I can’t believe the way these people party! We didn’t get in until 0430 this morning. Linda and Anne were as drunk as dogs. Thank God, Laurel was there to help. Look at them. They look like they’re all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, staring at the speaker. Who is he? Some profiler for the FBI? Kind of cute, I guess, if you’re impressed by tall, dark, and handsome, with bright blue eyes. Sorry, girls, been there, done that, just got over the heartbreak. I wonder where Harm is now? The Admiral sent him on a TDY, but I think he’s due back sometime this week. Maybe that’s why Chegwidden sent me down to this so-called ‘important conference’ on ‘The Law and Counter Terrorism.’ Sheesh. I’ve heard nothing that I didn’t already know. Thank God, the sponsors appreciate the fact that information is so dry. No, wait. That’s the reason why I’m so damned tired!»

For the past three days she’d listened to various experts. And, if she were inclined to be kind, she’d admit she had learned some things. But it was the afternoons and nights that were killing her. The sponsors had wisely limited the actual lectures to the early morning (though she’d noticed that, throughout the week, more and more people were stumbling in later and later). In the afternoon, there were various tours throughout the city. She’d enjoyed the carriage ride throughout the Garden District. She was sorry, but she’d definitely have to skip the bayou tour this afternoon.

«Sleep! I want sleep!» The participants were on their own for dinners, but she had no shortage of dinner invitations; all of which she’d turned down, until Linda from the FBI had insisted that she hook up with her, her partner, and a couple of other women. All of them were fun and lively. It gave her a taste of the college experiences she’d missed while trying so hard to live up to her Uncle Matt’s expectations. «I think I’ve seen every single shop in the French Quarter and listened to every band on Bourbon Street.»

Her favorite thing, though, was when the six women would pull several of the round tables together at Café Du Monde and just sit, talk, and people watch. They’d drink their café au laits, and scarf down plate after plate of the hot beignets heaped in powdered sugar, all the while exchanging war stories, both professional and personal. It had been good to hear she wasn’t the only professional woman in DC with a lousy love life.

Her room at the Holiday Inn was nothing special, but it was clean and reasonably quiet. But then, she could sleep anywhere, even here in this seat. She felt her chin hit her chest and didn’t think she had the strength to lift it, until she felt a sharp nudge to her side. "Mac!" Linda hissed at her side. "Wake up. The next guy’s ready to speak."

"Yeah, yeah." Mac jerked up, but didn’t open her eyes.

"Hey, he’s really cute – in a stuffy kind of way."

Since Linda had yet to meet a man that she didn’t think was cute (well, except for that one guy who hit on her at the zydeco bar, who was flabby and only had six teeth in his entire head), Mac wasn’t really impressed – until she heard the announcer say, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Clayton Webb, of the Central Intelligence Agency, will now speak on the increase in terrorist activity in South America."

"Damn. They don’t usually send people to these things," Susan, who was sitting on her other side, said. "You’re right, Linda; he’s a definite cutie."

"Clay?" «When did he get back? I can’t believe I didn’t know he was back. Well, why would you? It’s not like he has any reason to keep in touch after what happened. It’s a wonder he didn’t put a hit out on both of us.»

Webb stalked out to the podium, keeping his eyes on the cards in front of him. «I can’t believe this shit. Three days back in the States, and Watts pulls this shit. I guess I’m still in the doghouse. I don’t believe for a minute that Martin’s really sick. In the old days, we wouldn’t send anybody to these things. In the old days, it certainly wouldn’t have been me. Stop it. You’re home. Out of the jungles. Of course, it’s as hot and humid here as it was in Suriname and Paraguay. Well, at least it isn’t some high school career day speech. That’ll be next.»

He looked up from his notes and started to open his mouth, but he stopped and just stared. «Mac? What the hell? Holy cow, she looks like a college kid. I guess the ‘business casual’ dress code went right out the window. Everyone’s in jeans or shorts and casual shirts. And me? I’m back in uniform. Well, don’t I feel like a freak. She probably thinks I’m a pompous ass anyway. Look at the way she’s staring at me. Wonder where Rabb is? Shit! They’re all staring at me now. Talk, idiot!» He cleared his throat. "Uhm… good morning. I just returned for a prolonged stint in Paraguay, and the Director asked me to come down and share some insight with you on what’s happening down there."

Mac couldn’t believe it. He looked just the same. She was suddenly very self-conscious about the way she was dressed. None of the military personnel had worn their uniforms after the first day. Gradually with each day, dress had become more and more tuned to what they’d need to wear for the afternoon outings. Then yesterday, when the air conditioner in the building went out, everyone vowed to wear comfortable and cool clothing. This morning, when she’d finally managed to open her eyes, she’d paid scant attention to her attire, wearing a pair of modest shorts and the New Orleans Jazz Festival tee shirt she’d bought last night. She felt self-conscious and embarrassed now. «Not that the rest of them look any better.»

"Wow. If we’d had professors like that back at Ball State, I would’ve continued my education." Linda was staring at him with an almost predatory smirk on her face.

«Hey! Back off! Whoa. Where did that come from? He’s a big boy. I’ve got no claims on him. Oh, my.» She leaned forward and studied the man before her. They’d known each other for nearly nine years now. Not well, but somewhere along the line she’d begun to consider him to be a friend. «He looks as tired as I feel.»

He hated speaking before a group of people. It wasn’t his style. «I’m a spy, for God’s sake. I don’t do this whole sharing thing well. Damn, she looks good. Maybe afterwards…yeah, right. Last I heard, she and Rabb were actually dating. Well, good for her. From what I could tell, that’s what she’s always wanted. Why is she looking at me like that? Oh, not good. Focus on what you’re saying, you idiot.» He ran his hand through his hair nervously, but continued with his briefing on the training camps they’d discovered while he was down there. He was proud of his time in hell. He’d danced to Watts’ tune, and proved that he wasn’t some pampered rich kid. Now he was back, and he planned on staying back.

"Would you look at that lock of hair?" Linda was starting to really bug Mac.

"Hush. I’m trying to listen."

Linda looked her, and snorted softly. "You’re drooling, Mac."

"Ssssshhhh." «I am not. But, boy, he really looks cute with that lock of hair over his forehead. Why have I never noticed before? But there are more lines now; at his eyes, and around his mouth. He’s getting older - just like me. I can’t believe he’s the same guy that we had to rescue in Colombia. I wonder what it was really like for him down there. I’ve missed seeing him at JAG ops. He’s looking right at me. Damn, he’s cute.»

When he finally finished, there was polite applause, but he really didn’t hear it. He stood there for a moment, just watching her. She wasn’t applauding; she was sitting there looking right at him. Her expression was unreadable. «She almost looks confused. Kind of like I feel. Why? I’ve known her for nine years. Well, not known, really. Except for Colombia and Afghanistan, we never worked really gotten together on any cases. I remember her cross-examining me on the witness stand a couple of times. Oh, man, I got hard then, too. Too! Shit! Calm down, fella. You have to walk out of here, hopefully without embarrassing yourself.» He picked up the glass of water and took a long drink, trying to pull up the most horrible images from his career. It worked a little, and he was able to shake the hand of the moderator without blushing. «Just get out of here.»

"Thank you, Mr. Webb. Please, express our appreciation to your boss for allowing you to share your experiences."

"Sure, no problem." Webb hurried off the stage. He was glad to see the men’s room off to the side, and quickly went inside.

"Wasn’t he hot!" Susan said, as they all stood to leave for the day.

"Hot! Oh, man. It was the first time I’ve paid any real attention to what any of them were saying," Olga said.

"You actually listened to what he said?" Anne laughed.

"Hey, why haven’t we seen him before today?" Shelia demanded

"Maybe they flew him in for the day. Maybe the poor guy has to go back to South America," Laurel said.

"Man, talk about hot."

"Yeah, he’s hot, all right. You think we should offer to buy him lunch in appreciation?" Laurel giggled.

Mac stopped listening. "Excuse me. I need to use the restroom."

"Hey, Mac, you coming with us on the bayou tour?"

"I don’t think so. You ladies tired me out last night. I need to get some sleep. I’ll meet you for dinner. Emeril’s, right?"

"Yeah," several chorused.

She hurried out into the hallway. She needed to get away from them. «They all thought he was cute. Not one of them mentioned the Rabb clone who spoke before Clay. Why the heck have I never noticed before? Oh, yeah, blinded by dress whites and those gold wings. How sophomoric.» She was hurrying past the men’s room when the door swung open and someone bumped into her. "Excuse…Clay."

He’d reached out to steady her, only to find he was holding her lightly. He gulped. "Hello, Mac."

"When did you get back?" She stared into his eyes and found them darkening from his normal hazel to a darker green. «When did I notice the color of his eyes?»

"Uhm…three days ago. The person who was supposed to attend got sick, and Watts decided I could give the speech better, anyway." «I don’t think I’ve ever touched her like this before. You need to let go now.»

"Well, Anne, I see now why she had to get out of there so fast," Shelia from the DEA said to the head of the FBI contingent.

They turned to find her new friends standing just outside the conference room doors, staring at them. Webb didn’t think he’d ever seen Mac blush so bright a red. Quickly, he released her and stepped away from the bathroom door.

Linda spoke up. "You two know each other?"

"Well, yes, actually. We’re old friends. Clay’s worked with JAG Corps on several cases."

"Hey, I’ll remember to ask for CIA assistance the next time we need help," Olga, a Major with the Army JAG Corps, laughed.

"Do tell," Linda purred.

"Clay?" Anne smiled. "We were all just going to lunch, and you were such a wonderfully non-boring speaker – for a change – we’d like to buy you lunch."

"You would?" Webb was rather stunned. There were six women, all of them knockouts, grinning at him like he was Harmon Rabb, or something. He was embarrassed and flattered, all at the same time.

"You don’t mind sharing him, do you, Mac?" Laurel teased.

"Didn’t you say you were tired and wanted to take a nap?" Linda reminded her. She slipped her arm through Webb’s. "We don’t mind one bit, making sure that your friend here has a good time; right, Olga?"

"Absolutely!" Olga started to reach for Webb’s other arm, but noting the stern look on Mac’s face, grinned and backed away. "Hey! How about Margaritaville on Decatur? Come on, we’ll find a couple of cabs."

"But don’t you guys want to make the bayou tour?" Mac said hopefully.

Webb saw a look on her face that he never, ever expected to see there. «She’s mad. Mad that they want to take me to lunch. Hey. I don’t get a chance like this very often. Why is she upset? Does she want to talk to me about something? Is Rabb in trouble, and she wants me to do something about it? Already? Bullshit. Six beautiful women want to take me out to lunch.» "Lead the way, ladies. There’ll be another bayou tour later."

"Damned straight!" Susan said, leading the way outside.

Mac had no choice but to follow, or go back to her hotel room and sulk. Suddenly, she wasn’t tired anymore. «Would you look at that! Ladies, today, the part of Harmon Rabb will be played by Clayton Webb. He’s eating it up! No. He looks flattered that they’d pay that kind of attention to him. Harm would just consider it his due. Oh, man. I better go along, just to protect him.» "Come along, double-0-seven." She moved in next to him and linked her arm through his free one. Leaning close, she whispered, "Welcome back."

They could only find one cab, but they made it work. Two of the women climbed in front with the cab driver, the rest climbed in back. Someone would have to sit on Webb’s lap, and Mac made sure she was that someone. «At least I know him. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.» She made sure to not sit too close. From the look on his face, she didn’t want to know the effect the attention of all these women would have on him.

They arrived at the restaurant at the height of the lunch hour, but the maitre d’ took one look at the group, and hurried off to find them a table. As the waiter was passing out the menus, he leaned in close to Webb, and whispered, "Lucky bastard."

Mac was rather surprised when, after most of the women had ordered margaritas or hurricanes, Webb ordered iced tea. "Unsweetened, please."

"Oh, are you on the wagon, too?" Olga asked. "Ouch, Shelia, why did you pinch me?"

Webb laughed. "No. I enjoy a scotch now and then, but I figured, around you ladies, I’d better keep my wits about me."

"Why, Mr. Webb?" Anne purred. "Do you think we’d take advantage of you?"

Mac heard Laurel mutter softly, "I sure would."

Webb gave each woman a smile, pausing for a moment longer on Mac, "Now, that would be chauvinistic of me to even assume such beautiful creatures as yourselves would be interested in me. I just find, when surrounded by intelligent women, that I get into less trouble this way."

All the women eyed their drinks with a bit of embarrassment. Shelia finally had the courage to say, "So, tell us all about your adventures in South America."

Silence fell on the table, and Shelia blushed a bright red. Mac watched in amusement as Webb tried to figure out a way to respond that didn’t include the phrase, ‘That’s Classified.’ "Oh, come on. A noted…travel agent…like yourself must have plenty of amusing stories."

Linda jumped on Mac’s lead. "Yes! And since we’re all travel agents, though I’m sure none of us have your wide experience, we’d love to hear some details."

Webb sighed, and waited until their cheeseburgers and other food arrived. He began to regale them with stories that had them laughing so hard they barely touched their food, until he paused, and said, "So, Mac. How’s Rabb?"

She studied him for a moment, then smiled softly. "Mr. Rabb is off to sea. I understand his girlfriend’s very upset the TDY is for so long." She met his steady gaze and the table grew quiet for a moment. The women, all trained observers, suddenly sensed the sudden change in tension between the two.

Webb took a long drink of his tea. «Is she saying what I think she is? Rabb, you incredible, wonderful jackass! I wonder what happened? No, I don’t. Outstanding!» He looked around the room. "Uhm…ladies, it appears that we’re the last ones here."

"Oh, my gosh. It’s nearly 4:30!" Linda exclaimed. "We can’t take the bayou tour now."

Laurel rubbed her hands excitedly. "Well, then…"

The entire group, including Mac, groaned dramatically.

"Oh, come on, you guys." Laurel stuck out her lower lip and pouted. "I’ve done all the stuff you guys wanted to do. I don’t know why we can’t do something I want to do."

"Oh, and you didn’t want to go into the strip…"

"Anne!" The women chorused, and looked quickly at Webb for his reaction.

He bit his lips together, trying hard not to burst into laughter. "I take it you were on a…uhm…fact-finding mission?"

«He looks so relaxed and happy. I can’t believe this is the Tin man. I can’t believe I just told him – and the entire table – that Harm and I aren’t an item – like we were for that long. » "Yes, Clay," Mac kept her voice solemn. "We…travel agents…have to make sure that we’re aware of the highpoints and the pitfalls of any city we visit."

Webb turned his attention to Laurel. "So, tell me, what’s this tour you want to take?"

She blushed, then held her chin up. "I’ve wanted to take the cemetery and voodoo tour. The one at night’s supposed to be really neat."

"I see." Clay looked briefly at Mac, and she really didn’t have the heart to shake her head ‘No,’ even though she suspected that he’d follow her lead, if she did. "Well, where do we go?"

"Oh, boy!" Laurel, who’d spent nearly six years with the FBI’s VCTF and was known as a real hard case amongst her peers, jumped up and down in her seat excitedly. Linda sighed and glared at Anne, who just shrugged.

They bought their tickets; Laurel insisting that she buy Clay’s. "My treat! If you hadn’t said you wanted to go, they wouldn’t have come. Thank you, kind sir."

"Thank you." Clay was aghast at the outrageous price.

Evidently, most people were getting ready for dinner, because there was only one family on the tour with them. Their guide, a pretty young woman who introduced herself as Renee, smiled brightly, "So, are you all visitors to our fair city?" When they nodded yes, she asked, "What do you all do?"

The father spoke up. "I’m in insurance. My wife’s a school teacher."

The rest looked at each other, and Webb spoke for their group, "We’re travel agents, in town checking out the sites.

"Wonderful. Now, let me explain some of the rules and the itinerary. We’re going up St. Anne, straight to the cemetery. I’ll show you that, and, please, keep close together. St. Louis Cemetery #1 is like a little city with streets and everything; however, none of the streets have names, and it’s like a real maze in there, so I don’t want any of you to get lost."

Webb and the rest all exchanged smirks and grins, but said nothing as the mother eyed her teenaged sons. "You hear that! I told you it was dangerous." All three boys rolled their eyes.

Clay made sure he was next to Mac as they set off on the six-block walk through the more residential section of the French Quarter. "So, Mac, how did you pull this detail?"

She glanced around at her fellow conference goers, but Renee was good at her spiel and soon had even the most cynical of the bunch listening raptly. "I think the Admiral’s afraid that…" Her voice trailed off, then she sighed. "I don’t know if you knew it or not, but Harm and I actually dated for a while…but…"

He gulped and looked away. "What happened?"

"Nothing, really. You know, for so long I thought I was so in love with him. I think I was more in love with the idea than the reality. He’s a good looking man, and there’s no doubt that he’s charismatic."

"I can’t argue with that," Clay said a little bitterly. "He always gets what he wants."

"I suppose. He certainly had me dancing to his tune." Mac’s voice also turned bitter for a moment. "So many wasted years."

"You said nothing happened, though?" They’d dropped back a bit, and Renee waited patiently for them to catch up. "I mean to cause the break up."

"It really wasn’t a break up, really. Just one day we looked at each other - we were supposed to go out that night - and discovered neither of us really wanted to. He hadn’t even met Nancy yet."

"I take it Nancy is his latest blond?"

"Yep."

"Excuse me, folks," Renee said rather sternly. "We need to cross the street here."

"Sorry, Renee," Webb said for both of them. He took Mac’s elbow, looked at the traffic, and led her across Rampart Street, the border of the French Quarter. Both of them felt the surge of electricity that flowed between them, and they grinned sheepishly. Clay released her arm once they reached the other side.

They were quiet inside the high walls of the cemetery, letting Renee tell them about the rules of burial. She showcased several graves, including the famous Marie Leveau mausoleum, it’s marble surface completely covered in tiny little ‘xxx’s. "We have no idea where this originated; there’s no correlation in voodoo for the ‘x’s."

"Hey, where are all the offerings?" Laurel demanded. "The pictures I’ve seen show crosses and dolls and beads covering the grave."

"The Catholic church owns the cemetery and makes the rules, even though many of the families still take care of the gravesites. However, the diocese decided a few weeks ago that the staff providing perpetual care would clean up the grave at least once a week. A shame, really. People would get quite carried away." Renee sighed mournfully before leading them deeper into the white washed and brick miniature city. Once again, Clay and Mac hung back a bit.

The sun was beginning to set, and the shadows grew longer, casting most of the narrow pathways in shadow and darkness. "So, tell me, Clay, was it very bad down there?" Mac asked softly.

"Bad? No. It was kind of lonely. I worried about mother, but she managed. I did good work down there."

"I know you did. But I still feel guilty about what happened." She hadn’t meant to sound so whiny, but her lack of sleep was beginning to wear on her again.

"Why?" He stopped, then stepped into a small space between two tall tombs, pulling her with him. "Did you think I was without recourse? Did you think that if I hadn’t wanted to help those people that Harmon Rabb could’ve talked me into it?" he said, the aggravation clear in his voice.

"Of course. That’s what he excels at," she snapped angrily. "No matter why you did what you did, it was a good thing. You deserve ALL the credit. And I’m still sorry." «Why doesn’t he understand?»

«I guess the Tin man doesn’t have a heart, huh, Mac?» He’d wrestled with the problem so long, and he knew he had done what he’d done for the right reasons, Harmon Rabb be damned. Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her closer and hissed, "I don’t want your pity. I’m a big boy. I did what I did for those families. I can be motivated to do the right thing without Harmon Rabb making me feel guilty about it. You two just can’t ever come to me and say, ‘Clay, we have a problem – how do YOU think we can solve it?’"

"That’s not fair, and it isn’t pity, you jerk."

"Mac! Clay!" someone called, and Webb released her.

"We’d better catch up. Don’t want Renee to have to report she lost two…travel agents." He pushed past her and stepped out into the main aisle, she followed him, and they found everyone in the group staring at them. The six women were all trying hard to keep their giggles to themselves. Renee rolled her eyes, and muttered, "There’s always a couple of people who have to try…"

Mac stepped forward and said brightly, "Sorry. We found an interesting inscription. Now what?"

Renee rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well, we walk back to a couple of voodoo shops and museums. Everyone kindly keep up now."

Mac stalked away from Clay. Standing between Anne and Laurel, she dared them to say anything further on the subject. Linda took the opportunity to take Webb’s arm. "Isn’t this fun?" she said, in a voice that suggested that she wouldn’t mind it if he suggested they go to a nice cozy bar somewhere.

"Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it for the world."

While Renee was enthusiastic about her subject, and most of the people found they were hanging onto her comments with bated breath, Webb and Mac were lost in their own dark thoughts.

As they walked into a rather seedy looking house advertising itself as a museum, Clay berated himself. «I should’ve known. She wasn’t interested in me. She was just feeling guilty. Damn it. I have to get out of here. I don’t need her damned pity. Hell, any one of these women, and from the looks the tour guide keeps giving me, even she’d be happy to have dinner with me. Why do I put myself though this? It’s the same old shit, all over again. Harmon Rabb is the center of the fucking universe. Even his discards…stop it. All she was doing was trying to apologize. She looks really mad. Why did you have to come on so strong like that?»

Renee smiled sweetly. "Now, your tour fee included admission in to the museum. However, a tip would be acceptable, if ya’ll enjoy the tour. Who knows, ya’ll might just find that Madam Amanda will grant you a special wish." With that, she waved brightly and left them in the company of a pretty young woman with the unlikely name of Lady Thistle. She was dressed in vaguely African robes, and her blond cornrows hung down, the heavy beads clicking against her shoulders. She spoke in a thick (and probably fake) Jamaican accent, and gave them a brief history on voodoo and the high priestess who’d died in this very house, nearly 50 years ago. "Her ghost still haunts the house, and don’t be surprised to see strange mists or hear strange noises." She gave them a conspiratorial smile. "We’ve never been able trace the source of the odd smells, but we have it on good authority that it smells like the perfume Madam Amanda wore. Feel free to touch anything layin’ about, and, if you have a wish to be fulfilled, just leave it on the altar. There are pads of paper there to write them down."

Webb snorted softly, but Lady Thistle was good, and soon had most of the party under her spell. «This is so cheesy. I’m out of here. When we leave here, I’m going back to my hotel.» Mac was directly in front of him once again. He followed her from room to room and focused on her perfume, trying hard to ignore the smell of incense, pot, and something else, cloyingly sweet and almost overpowering. Tiny speakers filled the rooms with sounds of drums and low murmurings.

Lady Thistle continued, "What you need to understand, is that Voodoo is nothing more than a way of curing and helping people through prayer and powerful spells."

"Oh, yeah! What about turning people into zombies?" one of the boys demanded.

Webb tuned them out and followed Mac into the next room. This room was even darker, with a few spotlights on a collection of large jars filled with murky liquids, and containing dead…well, he didn’t even want to consider what they really contained.

"Oh, cool!" Laurel exclaimed.

"You’re one sick puppy, girlfriend." Anne shuddered, and paid special attention to the old photos on the wall.

It was so close in the room, Mac could feel his breath on her shoulders. «What the hell happened back there? One minute we were getting along. I was having so much fun. Then…then…then the ghost of Harmon Rabb reared its ugly head. Damn it. All I wanted to do was… He’s right. He’s a big boy and…what the hell?» They’d come to what appeared to be a dark smooth wall, she’d just made out their refection on the surface, when a light was thrown and she found herself staring into pink beady eyes. She quickly stepped back – right up against Clay, who reached out once again to steady her. Taking her by the upper arms, he looked over her shoulder at the glass wall to see what had startled her.

"Jesus. What the hell?"

An oily, faintly effeminate voice spoke up, "This is Clyde. He’s my albino Amazon boa constrictor. Albino snakes are very rare, and exert a powerful magic. We use him in some of our very special rituals." Clay tried to shake his head to clear it. The sights, sounds, smells, Mac’s proximity, and the odd singsong voice of the man were having a strange and exhilarating effect on him.

Stepping to the side of the window, the man continued on, explaining the various ways that snakes are used in voodoo ceremonies. "You’re especially lucky. My sweet Clyde only eats once a week, and today’s the day."

"Oh!" One of the young boys asked, "What does he eat, rats?"

"Of course not. Clyde eats a medium sized rabbit."

Linda gulped, "Cut up?"

"Don’t be silly. But come, I’ll show you. But first I’ll show you a special ceremony in this other room."

Mac hated snakes, all snakes. And this one was particularly evil looking. Its pink eyes seemed to glare at her. Clay’s hands on her bare arms were so warm; his breath against her cheek was intoxicating, and, most of all, his chest against her back, while comforting made her feel tingly inside. When the man reached into the snake’s cage, she stepped back farther still, and found her ass firmly against Clay’s erection, a very impressive erection. His hiss of surprise and embarrassment was oddly erotic, and she felt herself respond in a most embarrassing way. She became more aware of the sounds around them, the whisperings that had been in the background since they entered the first room were becoming a bit clearer, but she still couldn’t make out the words. When the man took the snake and draped it over his neck, Clay stepped back and pulled her with him.

"You’re very lucky tonight, my friends. Most people don’t get to see this on the tour." The words were hypnotic, but the snake frightened her.

"Clay?" «I just whimpered. Jesus, Marine, suck it up. God, I hate snakes.»

"It’s okay," he whispered. "Hey, you guys, it’s kind of close in here, I think I’ll wait outside."

"I’ll wait with you," Mac agreed, thankful that he’d given her the excuse. Everyone else seemed too mesmerized by the man’s voice and the spell he was weaving.

"See you when we come out." Linda let out an embarrassed giggle as the snake flicked its tongue close to her nose.

Clay led her through the maze of rooms. They turned several times, and he was beginning to think that they’d somehow doubled back into the house. «Damn, it didn’t look this big from the outside.» The artifacts and altars, brimming with pennies and small tokens, seemed to be in every empty room. The voices of the tour group faded while the background music rose. The whisperings became a chant, and Clay thought he recognized the language. «French? Cajun? What are they saying?»

Mac was trying to fight the strange feeling that seemed to deepen with each moment. «I’m just tired. That’s it. There’s something in the air. I wonder if it might be some kind of drug.» She gripped Webb’s hand.

They entered a room, darker and a bit larger than the rest. A different woman, hidden in the shadows greeted them. "Welcome, children. You wish a private consultation?"

"No," Webb rasped. "We just want out of this fun house." He voice was harsh and his breathing was becoming ragged. «Something isn’t right. What the hell is that smell?»

"Fun house, boy!" The woman stepped forward. She was an old crone, the smoker’s wrinkles on her face so deep Mac thought you could hide a penny in some of them. "You think voodoo is a game?"

"I think voodoo’s crap, and the lady wants to leave now." Webb stepped forward dragging Mac with him.

"Crap! You think you know what the lady wants? Tell Madam Amanda what you want, Cherí. I have the power to give you what you want right now." The voice dropped to a soothing tone. "Don’t even say it out loud. The spirits know your thoughts and desires. It costs you nothing, though, if you’re happy, you should place your offering at the altar. Think, Cherí. Madam Amanda knows what you want. Knows what your man wants. Do you?" Without warning she held up her hand and blew a fine powder in their faces. "Go now. Let your feelings release the energy inside you."

Webb shook his head to try and clear it again. "Out! Now!"

The old woman just smiled, and pointed to a doorway. "Through there, precious boy. Don’t forget to be generous in your offering."

Clay tried to pay attention to the warning bells going off in his head. He’d get them out of here, give them a damn donation, and then…then... He took a deep breath, and gasped when he realized what he was seeing. In all the other rooms, the decoration had a look of almost pre-Columbia art about it. African masks, weapons, and even the crosses looked old and dirty. All the rooms had been dimly lit. Here, strobe lights seemed to capture his will. Each flash drew his attention to the bold pictures of sex covering the walls. Everywhere they turned, they could see men and women loving and caressing each other in the most detailed ways. The light seemed to animate the bold colors. Cocks seemed to thrust, breasts heaved, and sexual moans joined the music, which in here was louder. The haze of incense «what is that smell!» almost choking.

"Clay?" Her whimper had turned from fearful to damn sexy, he thought. "What is this place? What’s happening? What are they saying?" She looked down, trying to avoid looking at the pictures, only to find erotic displays on the tables. An altar was here; its phallic obscenity was covered in personal items she didn’t want to identify. The music was beginning to throb in her veins.

«What the hell is this scam? They’re pumping something into the air. Son-of-a-bitch. I have to get her out of here.» "Hold on, Sarah. There’s a doorway." He nudged her toward the opening.

Only it wasn’t a passageway. Once the beads were parted, they found themselves in a room as small as a closet. He followed her so closely that, when she stopped, his body pressed her against the far wall. It was cool against her fevered skin, certainly cooler than the heat radiating off of Clay.

His arousal was painfully hard. «I have to get away from her. She’ll kill me. I can’t let this happen.» "Mac? Uhm…we need to...I need…"

His breath was hot against her skin. The erotic images from the next room seemed rooted in her mind. But, as she tried to erase her thoughts, the breathy moans of sex seemed to surround her, and she finally began to make out the words. «French. I know this song. Oh, God. I want you inside me. I want your love. I want you inside me. Pound your love into me.» She turned to tell him, but the look on his face mirrored everything she was feeling.

His lips were hotter than anything she’d ever felt before. His arms were strong, and, even if she’d wanted to struggle, she knew she was powerless in his embrace.

"Oh, God. Sarah," he moaned, as he trailed kisses down her face to her neck. «I have to stop. This isn’t right. I have to touch her!» Her hands caressed through his hair, urging him onward, silently pleading for more.

His hands roamed over her, pausing to squeeze her ass cheeks and pull her tight against his erection. Releasing her just enough, he worked his hand between them to caress her breasts. Her nipples strained against the cotton tee. He tugged at it until he pulled it free of her shorts and caressed the skin of her belly. "So soft." His groan filled the room, stilling the taped sex, but the music was ingrained in them.

Her moan joined his as he pinched her nipples. "Clay, oh, please." Her sigh spurned him on, and his touch grew bolder, rougher. He bit and tugged at her lower lip before his tongue invaded her inviting mouth once again. Now his hands found the waistband of her shorts, and he deftly opened the snap and zipper. His fingers explored her belly and lower, finding her mound. By now, she was frantic in her need. The only sound she heard, the only beat she felt, was the music, which seemed to surround them. «I want you inside me, I want your love. I want you inside me. Pound your love into me.»

Webb thought he was going mad. For so long, he’d denied his feelings for her, refusing to even acknowledge her beauty. It had been hopeless. But now she was touching him, calling his name. No other. «Not Rabb – Me! So soft. So wet. So damned hot.» He shuddered as his hand dove between her legs, roughly caressing her clit, but not lingering there. His fingers spread her labia. «Dear God, she’s sopping wet. For me. She wants me.»

She gasped as he released her lips for a moment to torment her nipples through her bra. "Clay. Oh, please. Baby, please, don’t stop. Harder. Please, Clay." He plunged two fingers deep into her core, moving the heel of his hand to rub that spot just above her clit. "Oh, damn you! Harder!" She shouted out her release, rocking against him. She collapsed, holding his hand still inside her. Even when she gently pushed off of him and stared at him in awe, she held his hand in place. The look on his face – shock, desire, and need – drove her on. Grasping his hand, she pulled it free and brought it up between them. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she took one long lap of her juices. "Nice. Taste me." It was a command he couldn’t refuse, and he brought her fingers to his mouth and began to suck on them. "You like that, don’t you? You like my taste."

"More. I want more." But, before he could do anything, she pushed him hard against the wall and began her own assault. Her mouth sought his and captured it. Her tongue invaded and swept across the roof of his mouth, sending waves of pleasure straight to his groin.

She ripped his tie loose, opened his collar to bath his neck in kisses and bites that would leave marks. And still the music drove her on. Her hands rubbed across his chest and, even through three layers of clothes, he could feel her nails raking his flesh. She was already moving lower, pulling the shirt from his suit pants. She rucked up shirt and vest until she could kiss his skin. «He’s so hot. He’s burning up.»

His heartbeat took on the pulsing beat of the music. «I want her. I want to be inside of her. I want to fuck her right now. Right against the wall.» "Sarah, please. I need you. I want you now."

But Mac had other plans. Ignoring what might be on the floor, she knelt before him. Gazing up, nailing him with her stare, she pulled down his zipper and pulled his cock free. «I have to taste this. I have to have him in my mouth. But I want him inside me. He’s so thick, so long.»

He watched, stunned. «Sarah MacKenzie is sucking my cock. Her tongue is on my cock. Her hands are on my balls.» He wanted so much to tell her how good it felt, but he couldn’t get the words out. All he could do was run his fingers through her hair. He had every intention of being gentle, but Webb knew French, too, and the words began to insinuate themselves into his blood. «I want you inside me, I want your love. I want you inside me. Pound your love into me. Pound your love…Pound…Pound…» He grabbed her head, and began to thrust in and out, deeper each time. And, instead of struggling, Mac reached up and grabbed his ass, pulling him tighter, holding him deeper, until he felt his cock slide down into her throat. «Shit! Sarah MacKenzie’s deep-throating me.» The very thought was too much, and he began to pulse deep inside her, coming harder than he could remember having done before. He didn’t think he’d ever stop. "Sarah!" He collapsed against the wall.

Gently, she cleaned him, the act turning her on yet again. She began to suck his flaccid cock, willing it to grow again. «Inside me. I want your love.»

He lolled his head back, and stared up at the ceiling. Stared straight into the blinking red light. His blood turned cold, and his cock shriveled tight against his balls. And he was aware that volume of the music was lower now. «Oh, fuck. God damn, son-of-a-bitch. Fucking bastards! Of course, they lowered the music. They audio-taped us, too! » As his anger grew, adrenaline cooled the affects of the drugs in his system. «You stupid novice. Shit! Shit! Shit!» He wanted to fling her away, cover her; protect her. «Stay cool. Don’t let them know you know.»

Mac froze when she felt his body stiffen and his cock wither. «What’s wrong?» She felt his hands, still on her head, grip it painfully. Something was horribly wrong. «What? Is he feeling guilty? Does he think I’m some slut on the rebound?»

He urged her to stand. As she rose, he moved his hands from her head to her arms, pulling her close. He stared into her eyes. «I have to make her understand. I can’t let her think that this was chemically induced. She looks scared.» "Wow. That was something else." He tried for a light tone, but he could see the fear and anger growing in her eyes. «When did it get so bright in here? That damned camera eye seems like the sun right now. I can’t let her see it. I want them. They’re going to pay for this.» "Sarah." He tried so hard to communicate what he wanted to say to her, but she was already struggling within his grasp. "Damn it, woman. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that? You’ve driven me crazy all day."

"Well?" she demanded. "What’s wr…" His lips on hers cut off her question. He was so gentle, and he never closed his eyes. «What’s he trying to tell me? What’s he…»

As the possibilities began to crowd in, her fear increased. «What?»

"Sarah?" His voice was so soft, she barely heard him. "Do you trust me?" The years she’d known him flashed before her, quickly balanced and weighed, and she finally nodded. "No matter what, know that this meant more to me than you can ever imagine." With that, he released her, returned his penis to his pants, zipped and straightened the rest of his clothes. Then he gently tucked her shirt back inside her shorts and zipped them closed. Taking her hand, he led her back into the hazy smoke of the next room. He wanted to cough; she did.

"Clay?"

"Hang on." With anger keeping the effects of the powerful drugs at bay, he found the route back to the front of the house.

"Well, sir, ma’am. Did you enjoy the tour?" Miss Thistle purred, pointing to the large altar. Instead of containing the pennies and small tokens they’d seen throughout the rest of the building, the bowl was filled with tens, twenties, and the odd fifty and hundred dollar bill. Even now, the urge to take out his wallet was compelling, but he understood what had happened, and his CIA conditioning reasserted itself.

Pushing Mac behind him, he pulled his gun from his holster and pointed it at the woman’s head. Mac gasped, and Miss Thistle went deadly pale. "Give it to me now."

"Are you crazy!" The Jamaican accent was replaced with the harsh twang of New York.

"Give to me. No. Take me to the control center."

"What are you talking about?" The girl’s voice rose, and he could hear rustling behind her.

"Listen to me, sweetheart. You made a huge mistake. You really do need to pick your marks better. Mac."

She took a deep breath. She suspected what had happened, and she knew that mortification would sink in later, but for now she’d follow his lead. "Yes, Clay."

"Yell back through…"

"Hey, you little pervert. Get your God damned hand off my ass." Anne’s voice sounded tinny, and Webb looked around for the speaker. Only now the sounds were coming in stereo. Over the speaker behind the curtain, and from somewhere close by.

"Hey!"

"Freeze, shit-face! Federal agent."

"Terrific." Webb wanted the tape. He had no idea what was happening with the rest of the group, but he hoped that they’d kick some butt. Wouldn’t mind if they ended up closing down the operation. But he didn’t want the tape of he and Mac enjoying each other to be part of the evidence. He could hear the commotion coming closer, until the couple, white-faced and slightly dazed, hurried from the back, each dragging one of their younger sons. The oldest boy kept looking over his shoulder, confusion and embarrassment reddening his face. "Get out. Go back to your hotel." Webb practically threw him out the door. He turned his attention back to Miss Thistle. "Get it now, and I’ll let you run, but, sweetheart, I want it! Now!"

The girl came to a quick decision, and pulled back a thick curtain hanging just behind her. He almost whistled in admiration. The system was state of the art. There were no videotapes involved, it was digital. He could wipe it. "Step away from there, and get the hell…" Just then, the snake master came flying through the curtains.

"You perverted son-of-a-bastard!" Laurel followed close behind him. Susan and Shelia were leading Linda out. All three looked slightly dazed. "What the hell kind of shit are you pulling here?" Laurel’s gun was drawn, and she caught the girl Clay had released. "Stay put, bitch."

"But he said I could go," she whined, and pointed at Clay, who gave Laurel a look, and shrugged.

"Tough shit. I said stay put." Laurel looked back at Clay, and demanded, "What’s going on?"

"Blackmail, Agent," Clay explained, and showed her the taping equipment.

"Call the cops," Olga said, dragging the old woman out. "I can’t believe it. I finally recognized the smell. It’s…"

"I know what it is. Give me a minute, then call the local office of the Bureau." Clay found the small monitor, and played back the scene on the first channel. His eyes grew wide. "Holy shit! What was he trying to do back there with that snake?"

"Fuck! He got that on camera?" Linda groaned, and slumped against her partner.

"Can you erase it?"

"Oh, yeah."

"But that will erase the evid…" Anne sighed, looked at her partner, then sighed again. "Do it."

Clay found the other channel, and almost groaned at the incredibly clear images of Mac going down on him. He erased that, too, knowing he wouldn’t need a tape. He’d remember what her mouth felt like on his cock until the day he died. Going back a little farther, he found it didn’t make him feel any better knowing they weren’t the only ones caught up in the scam. But then it occurred to him, "Why? Do you all still have your IDs?"

They all quickly checked their purses, butt-packs, and pockets. "All here?" Susan demanded.

"Yes," they chorused, their confusion growing.

Mac, stunned, stepped away. «Oh, my God. What happened back there? Drugs. We did that because we were drugged? No way. What did he say? He knew. He must’ve seen the camera light. That’s when he went tense on me. Fuck! You stupid slut! How could you have done that?» Her own anger cleared the remaining cobwebs from her mind. She began a search, and, when she didn’t find what she was looking for, went back to the room where the tour had started. A room that looked almost pious compared to the rest of the house. Peering through the darkness, inspiration struck, and she went right to the heavy framed picture of the bleeding-heart Jesus. Behind it, she found the control panel. She flipped switches at random, flooding room after room in bright light. Now she could see that the rooms all opened onto each other. Lighting seemed to change the appearance, depending on the angle that you came upon each. She came to a circuit, threw it, and the music, just whispers here, died.

"What’ve you got, Mac?" Anne asked softly.

"You call the Bureau?"

"Shelia did. Now, what’ve you got?"

"This building’s bigger than it looks. It must go into one of the buildings next door, which means there’s a doorway off of one of these rooms."

"We should wait."

"No way. I want to know what the hell this was all about."

Webb found the room they were looking for, and swore in disgust. "I should’ve known. For God’s sake."

"Oh, shit." Laurel picked up one of the gaudy boxes. "Real Voodoo sex! Shit, that looks like Senator…oh, my God. It’s blackmail."

Webb snorted. "Blackmail when they could, but they had a regular production company. Look at this. ‘Erotic Voodoo Ceremonies. Lose your inhibitions. Madam Amanda will show you how to get what you want - Now. See real people fall under her spell.’ Cheesy amateur sex tapes. I bet there’s a website." «Please, don’t let that have been a live broadcast.» He made no comment about what he’d seen on the videotape in the ceremony room. He was just glad that most of the women had been able to fight the effects of the powerful pheromone-based smoke that they’d inhaled. The agency used a variation of the same drug. «Hell, it might be the same. Who are these people? What did we stumble upon? No way was this a setup just for us.»

"Webb!" Shelia called. "The New Orleans SAC is here, along with the chief of police."

Mac groaned. «I’m never going to get to bed tonight.»

Webb looked over at Mac. «She looks so lost. I have to get her out of here. Plus, no way do I want my name and job in any of the reports.» Looking around, he motioned to Anne. "Look, you ladies take the credit. The family’s long gone. I take it you took no names?"

"Yeah, the man looked like he was going to have a heart attack. His wife really succumbed to the drug. I think it was her youngest kid squealing, ‘Mom! Button your shirt back up!’ that woke me out of my stupor. We’ve got enough. You wiped the tape, and made sure there wasn’t a back up?"

"Yeah. Look. You know the score; I was never here."

She looked back to where Mac was just standing, staring at nothing. "Okay. I’ll arm wrestle Susan for the credit, though DEA is going to be interested in what we found in another room. Must be a regular little conglomerate here. Sex, drugs, and videotapes."

Clay reached into his vest pocket and found a business card, albeit a crumpled one, and handed it to her. "I’d appreciate a copy of the report."

She grinned at him. "It’s going to cost you, Webb."

"Oh, yeah?" He quirked his eyebrow.

"Yeah. All of us, except Olga, are stationed in DC, Philly, and Baltimore."

"Let me guess? Dinner? How about the City Club?"

"God damn! Yeah. That’ll be more than an acceptable payment. I don’t think my boss has ever been there."

Webb grinned. "Give me a call, and I’ll set it up."

She gave him a wry salute, and walked over to Mac. "Hey? You okay?"

Mac yawned, and nodded. "Fine. I just need some sleep." «And to try to forget that I gave head to Clayton Webb in a voodoo club in New Orleans.»

"Well, girlfriend, if you decide to cut Mr. Webb loose, you let me know. Damn, he’s cute." Before Mac could protest, she walked back over to the other agents.

"Come on, Mac. Let’s find you a cab." Webb took her arm, and even though the drugs were scarce in this part of the building, even though she was embarrassed to the depths of her soul, she still felt the electricity that had been with them all day. «I must be going mad.»

Monday morning.
JAG Ops
1030 hours

Mac leaned back in her chair and groaned. She’d just finished the last of the emails clogging her navy.org account. «Why didn’t I check them while I was down there? Oh, yeah. When did I have the time? Between the meetings and the party animals of the western hemisphere, I’m surprised I got what little sleep I did. I wonder if he’s still in town? I bet he’s out of the country.»

She let her mind wander back to when they parted outside the voodoo museum, just four days ago. He’d hailed a cab, and held the door open for her. "Do you want me to ride with you, Marine?"

She’d been grateful for his gentle tone. "I think I can manage."

"I figured. I’ll call you tomorrow."

He had, but only to leave her a quick message that his boss needed him back in DC right away. «Damn it. There’s no hope for this relationship. Relationship? It wasn’t even a one-night stand. Snap out of it, and get back to work!»

She opened the top folder and stared at the manpower reports she’d need to have on the Admiral’s desk by tomorrow, but, before she’d finished the top page, she heard a brisk knock on her doorframe. She looked up to find Harriet standing there, holding an incredible bouquet of roses. "They’re for you!" Harriet said, actually shaking in excitement and anticipation. Placing the delicate porcelain vase on the desk, she waited expectantly. Mac didn’t have the heart to make her leave. She even read the card out loud. "I need no voodoo, spells, or drugs. You are the only intoxicant I want."

"Voodoo! Spells! You met someone in New Orleans? Who?" Harriet demanded, figuring she might as well go for broke.

Mac smiled softly. "It’s unsigned."

"But you know!"

"Yes, Harriet, I know."

"Well?"

"It’s classified."

Harriet started to pout, then her eyes grew round in recognition. "Classified. No!" But Mac’s only response was happy smile. "You’re not going to tell me for sure?"

"No. And it would be very unwise of you to speculate." Mac was pretty sure she knew that Webb would make his own grand entrance when he was ready.

"You don’t want me to say anything?"

"I wish you wouldn’t. It can be our secret, okay?"

"Oh, fine." Harriet knew she couldn’t even tell Buddy. «Classified! It can only be Clayton Webb! What was he doing in New Orleans? Voodoo? What’s up with that? Oh, man, this is going to be good!» She left the office, determined to keep a very careful eye out on the situation.

Mac stared at the card for a long time. Rabb, of course, had honed in on the intel that ‘Someone sent Colonel MacKenzie flowers,’ and showed up in her office moments after she’d tucked the message away in her purse. "Hey, Mac. Secret admirer?"

"Not to me, flyboy. You going to be ready to brief me on the O’Connell case this afternoon?" she said, deftly closing the subject. He took it with surprisingly good grace.

"Yeah, I really appreciate you taking it. Nancy really wants to get away for a couple of days. Do you want to talk about it over lunch?" His smile said they’d discuss not only the case, but the roses, too.

She really couldn’t call it a premonition, more of a certainty. "No. Uhm…how about 1430 hours."

He studied her for a moment, shrugged, and said, "Oh, you’re going to work through lunch? I guess you’re really bogged down?"

She snorted, and glanced at the pile of work on her desk. "Ya think?"

"Okay, after lunch then."

After he left, she attacked the pile with renewed vigor, until her phone rang at 1100 hours. "MacKenzie."

"Lunch?" Webb asked, without preamble.

Glancing up through the open door, she saw Harriet watching her closing it, and it took her a moment to remember routing all her calls through Harriet for screening so she could get some work done. Harriet hadn’t put a single call through, until now. Dropping her eyes back to the phone, she purred, "I’d like that. Should I meet you someplace?"

"Why? You afraid to have me come and pick you up?" She knew it was a little test, but didn’t really mind – too much.

"No. I figured you’d want to actually eat lunch, not face an inquisition. What did you say to Harriet?"

"Me? Not a damned thing. Why? Oh, did she get the flowers and bring them to you?"

"Yeah, and I wasn’t thinking when I read the card – which was very sweet."

"She figured it out from that? I didn’t sign it!"

"She’s psychic, just like me. Now, about lunch?"

He was quiet for a bit, then said firmly, "I’ve been tortured before. I’ll be there in 30."

As luck would have it, Harm and the Admiral were talking in the middle of the bullpen when Webb stepped off the elevator.

"Webb!" The Admiral said in surprise.

"Hey, buddy! Welcome back!" Harm started forward to shake his hand, only to have Mac brush past him and say, breathlessly, "Hi! Right on time. I’m ready!" She rushed Webb out of the bullpen. As soon as the elevator doors closed, she turned to him. "Sorry. But I’m swamped, and really hungry, and definitely not in the mood to field questions. After lunch, you can walk me back upstairs and duke it out with them then."

He narrowed his eyes. But she diffused the situation by leaning in and kissing him roughly, pulling back before he had a chance to recover. "Okay, Sarah." He led her outside to his car. "Chinese okay?"

"Great. There’s a place just around the corner."

"Aren’t you afraid that other people from JAG will see us?" he demanded.

She buckled her seatbelt, and turned to him. "No, actually. I told you the truth, Clay. I can’t take a lot of time today, but I really did want to see you and talk." He pulled out of the parking lot, and she continued softly, "The flowers are beautiful, but the card meant a lot."

"Not too mushy? Not too pushy?"

He was intent on his driving, and she could see he was nervous. «Well, good. I’m pretty nervous, too.» Reaching out, she touched his thigh, and she was pleased to feel him relax a bit instead of jumping. "Definitely not too pushy."

His laugh further lightened the mood. "Didn’t think I had it in me?"

"Let’s just say that I think I’m going to be continually surprised by you."

They walked into the popular restaurant, which was already starting to get busy. The owner led them to a booth, and they sat across from one another. After placing their order, Clay reached across and took her hands in his. "So."

"So." She smiled, and squeezed his hands. "I take it you don’t have to go out of town again."

«She seems happy about that.» "No. The old man just wanted my input on a couple of things. Actually, I’m going to be pretty busy it seems, but here in town."

"That’s good." She lowered her eyes. "Clay." He didn’t say anything. Just waited. «What a wonderful change from Harm.» "What happened…it…" He brought one hand to his lips and kissed it, but still he said nothing. "It was special, wonderful, fantastic, but…" Her words trailed off, and now she looked at him. Beseeching him to read her mind.

He took a deep breath. "But you want to take it slow. Want to get to know each other a bit, before…" He shrugged, then grinned. "Before jumping into bed?"

She let out a deep breath. "Yes, please. I don’t want it to be a one-night stand. I’d kind of like to see if we could take it all the way." At that admission, she blushed a bright red, and she was extremely grateful that the waiter was approaching with their food.

Once they were alone again, Clay picked up his chopsticks and plopped a piece of chicken in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Good."

"You mean that?"

"Yes. Though, I have to tell you, I don’t see us waiting eight years."

"Idiot." They ate in companionable silence for a bit, and Mac found she was growing more and more comfortable with each passing moment. "So. You think you might want to date for a bit? See if we like the same things?"

"Absolutely. There’s the new dinosaur exhibit at Natural History this weekend. How about a picnic at Wolf Trap on Friday? Do you like horses?" He rattled off several other things they could do, and she was nearly overwhelmed by his enthusiasm.

"What? You don’t want to go hiking in the foothills?"

He laughed, "You want to think about it?"

"How about Wolf Trap and horseback riding, to start. We’ll save the paleontology for later." They talked some more, both gently delving into each other’s likes and dislikes, until he looked at his watch, and sighed. "Damn, that went by fast, but I don’t want you feeling guilty about going to lunch with me."

As he drove her back, she was quiet until they pulled into the parking lot. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she said softly, "It’s probably a good thing we didn’t go any farther in New Orleans. I haven’t been on the pill for about a year. And, as much as I want kids – someday – I don’t want them right now."

"There are other ways, Mac…when you’re ready." Leaning over, he kissed her softly. "I’ll call you Thursday to finalize Wolf Trap. But, if you get a free minute and just want to talk, you have my number, right?"

"I do have your number. You don’t want to come upstairs?"

"Nah. Rabb already saw me kiss you." He laughed, and she turned to see Rabb standing by his car, staring at them in shock.

"Coward!" She giggled, and got out of the car. "Friday."

That weekend, they picnicked at Wolf Trap, listening to the orchestra play show tunes. He kissed her good night at her door, promising to pick her up on Sunday morning for breakfast. On Saturday, she did all the things she did most Saturdays, except in the afternoon she met Anne and several of the other women from New Orleans. They saw a movie, talked trash at dinner, and she went to bed at a wonderfully early hour. Sunday, he took her to the stables at his mother’s estate. Porter Webb met them, talked for a few minutes, but didn’t seem inclined to probe too deeply into their relationship.

They found they enjoyed each other’s company immensely, finding dozens of things to discuss and gently argue about. And, while they kissed and gently touched, Clay didn’t demand that they go further. "When you’re ready." For her part, Sarah called her doctor for a refill on her birth control pills. «I definitely want to be prepared, even if we have to be extra careful the first couple of times. I don’t think I want to wait too long.»

Unfortunately, the following week he had to call her with bad, but not unexpected, news. "I have to go, Mac."

"I won’t ask you where, but I will ask you to be careful and call me, when and if you can."

Three weeks later, Friday
JAG ops
Late afternoon

Mac studied the report that Linda delivered earlier in the day. She was grateful that her name wasn’t even mentioned. She was beginning to think very fondly of New Orleans. Not only had the trip brought her Clayton Webb, but six new friends – all women. She didn’t make friends easily, but they’d become dear to her in a short period of time, and the ones stationed in DC helped to fill the lonely void of Clay being away. He’d called her several times during the mission, and they’d talked once for over an hour. «I’m really glad the Agency’s picking up the tab for that.» The last time they’d talked, he told her he’d contacted Anne and had her set up the dinner at the City Club, calling in the confirmation. "Saturday. I should be back Friday, and I don’t want to let that go too long. You’ll be there?"

"Absolutely. I don’t trust you around those ladies. They all have designs on you."

"You wouldn’t like that much?"

"Fishing for compliments?"

"Dinner, Friday?"

She paused, a slow smile following the progress of her thoughts. "Yes. But I’ll pick the place. Pick me up at 1900 hours."

"You got it, beautiful."

She’d spent hours on the computer, printing out and carefully reading directions. Now she verified the time, shut down her computer, and picked up her cover. She stopped by Harriet’s desk. "I’m gone for the rest of the day. I’ve got some personal business to attend to."

Harriet eyed her friend, and tried hard to keep her knowing grin to herself. "Big plans for the weekend, ma’am."

"Hope so." «Damn, I hope I can pull this off. It’s kind of risky. I hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew. I hope he knows that this is kind of scary for me. I just hope I don’t ruin it.»

"Hey, Mac!"

"Not now, Harm. I’ve got stuff to do."

"Whoa. I was just going to ride down on the elevator with you."

"Oh, sure. No problem." He hadn’t said a word to her about Webb and the kiss he’d witnessed in the parking lot nearly three weeks ago. He hadn’t given her any grief. She hadn’t even caught him staring at her with that strange look he used to give her while she was dating and engaged to Mic Brumby. «Maybe he’s okay with it. Maybe, because he hasn’t seen Clay, he thinks it’s already over. Well, my dear. We haven’t even begun. But after tonight…»

"So, big plans for the weekend?"

Mac remembered the size and feel of Clay’s cock in her mouth, and giggled. "Hopefully."

His eyes widened a bit, and he gulped. "Uhm…Mac?" She glanced over at him and waited. "Never mind. I…never mind."

Just as they were stepping outside, her cell phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hi." He sounded relaxed and happy - he wasn’t calling to cancel.

"I take it you’re back," she purred.

"This morning. I’ve finished up my paperwork, and wanted to make sure everything was still on. Wanted to see if we could get together a little sooner."

Harm was standing next to her, and she knew he was listening intently. «Probably doesn’t even think it’s rude. Well, get an earful, Commander.» "I’d love to, Clay, but I’ve got stuff I have to do. Show up promptly at 1900 hours. You won’t be disappointed."

"I won’t, huh?" He paused, then chuckled. "What can I bring?" his silken whisper let her know that he could read her like a book.

«You think you’re so smart. Just you wait, Clayton Webb.» "Oh, wine, if you want it."

"No. I think I need to keep my wits around you."

"Oh. Before I forget. Olga called. She’s really upset, she can’t make it."

"Why?"

"Taylor is sending her to Germany tonight. She said to tell you she expects you to be a perfect gentleman – at least until she can join us the next time." She hadn’t even realized the import of her words, until she heard Rabb’s gasp.

It was loud enough, and he was standing close enough, that Webb demanded, "Who’s that?"

Mac shook her head in aggravation, and walked over to her car, leaving her partner standing there, imagining God knew what. "Harm. He rode down on the elevator with me, and didn’t have the decency to walk away when I answered the phone. He’s probably scarred for life."

Webb’s laugh excited and soothed her at the same time. "Well, serves him right. Has he given you any grief?"

"Not a bit and, to tell you the truth, it’s been great, but a little nerve wracking, too. Almost like he’s waiting for the right moment to pounce." She slid into the front seat of her ‘Vette. "Did everything go okay? Do you have to head out again?"

"Yes, it went great. And, no, I’m in town for at least three weeks, ‘making meetings.’"

She pulled out into traffic, and sighed contentedly. "I’ll see you tonight – not a minute early, Clay."

He stood at her door, hands full with the ridiculously huge bouquet of flowers. He’d seen them in a florist’s window on his way over, U-turned, and paid the outlandish price. «She’ll probably kill me.» He’d struggled with them out of the car and up her stairs, now he kicked at the door to let her know he was outside.

"You’re la…Oh, my God!" she gasped in surprise. "What the…! Clay! They’re beautiful." «Where the hell am I going to put these?»

"Hi." He followed her into her apartment. "Oh, man. They didn’t look that big in the window."

"Move this thing." She nodded at the only table in the room where they’d fit and not obstruct the view. He picked up the lamp and held it, while she carefully set down the vase. "I can’t believe you." She turned, and took the lamp and walked out of the room. "Have a seat!" she called.

He remained standing, finally taking a deep whiff of the scents around him. "Wow! Whatever you’re making smells great."

"I hope you like it." She appeared from the bedroom, and he noticed a smudge on her face. In fact, he finally noticed what she was wearing. A huge shirt covered her from neck to knees. The shirt was splattered with a palette of colors. «She looks positively incredible. Sexy.» "God, I’ve missed you." Without regard to his suit, he stepped up to her and pulled her to him. Their lips met and parted. Their tongues twined together as they stood there holding one another. Finally separating, he gazed into her eyes. "Now. What’s for dinner?"

«Damn! You couldn’t have ordered in pizza? You had to make a damned five-course meal. He probably won’t even like it. You could be in bed, right this minute.» She sighed, and led him to the dining room table. "Sit. I’ll be right back."

She watched him carefully throughout the meal, as he heartily ate everything she put before him. He suspected she didn’t do this often. "You made the soup from scratch?"

"Yes. Too salty?"

"No. It’s good." «I don’t have high blood pressure; a little extra salt won’t hurt me a bit. Besides that, it really is good.»

The salad was crisp and green, and the dressing perfect. He probably went a little overboard in his praise, but she beamed and he didn’t care.

"I was going to try a soufflé, but then decided, why do that to myself. I hope you like roast."

It was a little more done than he would’ve liked, but the cut of meat was excellent, and he ate every bite on his plate.

"Don’t you dare compliment me on the potatoes," she growled.

"Why not? They’re good mashed potatoes," he insisted.

"That’s nice. They were supposed to be scalloped," she said through gritted teeth.

He tried hard, but the laughter bubbled up from inside him. "For goodness’ sake. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble. It’s fantastic. It’s beyond fantastic, and the next time I have scalloped potatoes, I’ll probably wish they were yours." He stood and went to her side, kneeling on the floor next to her, pulling her head down until his lips touched hers briefly. "Do you have any idea how nice this is? I don’t think any woman I’ve ever dated has gone to this kind of trouble for me. I’m touched, and pleased, and kind of turned on by the shirt."

"Shirt? Shirt! Oh, God damn it." She stood up so quickly he fell on his ass. "Son-of-a…oh, phooey!" She looked like she was about to cry. "I went to all this trouble, and bought this sexy dress, but I didn’t want to get it messy. I meant to change it before... Oh, darn it."

He quickly stood up and took her by the shoulders. Once they stopped kissing again, he whispered, "Take off the shirt, Mac. Let me see your dress."

"I don’t have it on. I have to go change."

"All the better." His eyes blazed a darkening green. He voice was suddenly harsh and low. "May I take off your shirt, Sarah MacKenzie?"

"But…we haven’t had dessert. I…"

He unbuttoned the top button. "I like dessert. What did you make?"

"Flourless chocolate cake."

"A favorite of mine," he whispered, as he opened another button and placed a kiss on her neck. "You have whipped cream?"

"O-o-of course. Oh, Clay," she moaned, as he continued, revealing the red demi-bra barely encasing her breasts.

"Damn, Sarah. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t see you in the dress," he gulped, as the rest of her lingerie was revealed. Red lacy underwear covered by a black garter belt holding up her sheer stockings. "Uhm…I’ll just go back and sit down, and you can still serve dessert." «I know exactly how I want to make love to her, and it won’t be with her bent over her dining room table. But, someday, Colonel MacKenzie, someday I will.» He forced himself to return to his seat. Carefully lowering himself into the chair, he moved his already straining cock to a more comfortable position. She was standing there, shirt agape, staring at him in shock. "Sarah? Cake?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." She unsteadily walked into the kitchen. «Damned stiletto heels. I’m going to break my neck, and then where will we be? I can’t believe he wants to eat this. It looks awful. Well, I’ll cover his slice – scoop – in whipped cream. Oh, man I could think of so many better ways to use this whipped cream.» She blushed at the image of him lying on her bed, covered in the stuff, her kneeling before him, slowly licking her way to his maraschino cherry topped cock. «Someday, Mr. Webb, someday.» She got herself under control, and put a bit of a sway to her step, making sure the shirt swung open across her breasts, revealing her panty-covered mound. Walking up to him, teasing him by bending far lower than necessary, she placed the plate in front of him. "I’ll just go get coffee."

She sat across from him, the shirt resting open. She made a production out of eating the cake, taking way too much whipped cream in, making sure that some of it stayed on her lips, then pulling the fork out of her mouth with seductive slowness. The cake, no matter how messily it had come out of the pan, was delicious. "Like it?" she whispered huskily, before slowly bringing her tongue out to lick the whipped cream off her upper lip.

He shuddered at the sight, and barely tasted the chocolate. "Very nice." He sipped at his coffee, but never took his eyes off of her. "Very nice indeed."

«Oh, you’re a cool customer, Clayton Webb. But I’m going to break that steely control. I did it once before. I’ll do it again. I read that report. Linda said the concentration of the drug where we were wasn’t high enough to do more than break down a few inhibitions.» "I’ll just put the dishes in the sink. Would you do me a favor?" she purred, as she removed his plate.

He gripped his coffee cup like it was a lifeline. "Sure."

"Could you flip on the CD player." She quickly put the dishes in the sink before kicking off her shoes and tiptoeing her way back to the doorway. She wanted to watch his face when he realized what she’d found. It had taken her two days, searching the internet on her own. She figured Bud Roberts could’ve found it for her immediately, but she’d been too embarrassed to ask for help.

He knelt in front of the player, and studied the control panel. Finding the power switch, he waited for the music to start. He was surprised only by the fact that she’d been able to find it. As the pounding rhythm filled the room, he slowly stood and turned to her. «When did she turn down the lights? When did she take off the shirt? Oh, no, you don’t, Marine. My way, tonight.»

She stood there, the shirt hanging from one hand, her body swaying slightly to the beat. «I want you inside me. I want your love. I want you inside me. Pound your love into me. I want you, Clay. I want your love.»

He pulled the tie from his throat, and ripped the suit coat from his frame. "Come here," he demanded, his voice raspy in his need. She took her time, so that when she was within arm’s reach, he was standing before her in his boxers. "Sarah MacKenzie, you’re one of the smartest women I know. You can’t realize what your friendship has meant to me. Not just this past month, but for as long as I’ve known you. I’ve silently admired your courage. And your loyalty to your friends is something that I’ll strive to earn every day. That you’re beautiful goes without saying. But I will tell you this; you’re so incredibly sexy. I’ve relived that moment in the voodoo museum an embarrassing number of times the past month. Please, may I make love to you? Can I show you everything I want to make you feel?

His soft admission brought the sting of tears to her eyes, and all she could do was nod. Reaching out, he took her hand. "I want to make slow love to you, in your bed." And, even though he knew the way, he let her lead him back through her apartment.

«Well, well. You little planner, you.» He paused in her doorway. Her room was bathed in soft light from several pillar candles. The scent was faintly floral. Standing behind her, he ran his hands over her shoulders and brought his lips to her neck. "I’m going to make slow love to you, Sarah. I’m going to start by kissing you until we both are out of breath. Then I’m going to finally see, touch, taste, and torment those luscious breasts of yours." To make his point, his hands reached around and cupped her, teasing her nipples. She groaned softly when he rested his hands on her hips. "That alone may take all night. By the time I’m done with your legs, I’ll know every spot that makes you arch off the bed. Then, and only then, Sarah, I’m going to smell and taste, lick and torment you. I’m going to eat you until you can’t tell when one orgasm stops and the next one starts." He began to punctuate his words with kisses on her bare skin. "Only then will I take my pleasure. And I will take my pleasure. I’ve wanted this for a month, and I will have my way with you."

His words were every bit as hypnotic as the con artists in the Voodoo museum, and she felt herself falling under his spell. She felt like she was floating, only to find instead he’d gently turned her and lowered her onto the bed she’d already prepared by pulling down the covers. "I’m so glad you want this, Sarah." He covered her mouth with his briefly, before placing soft kiss against her shoulder, savoring her smell, reveling in her hot breath against his face. "So incredibly beautiful." His fingers traced random circles on her flesh, burning an unbidden path directly to her core. By the time his lips reached the soft skin behind her ear, her breath was coming in soft pants and her womb was clenching, already wanting him to fill her.

"Please, Clay." Her whimper was so close to what he remembered from that night. The music from the front room was as indistinct now as the opening whispers had been. But it was oh, so very different tonight.

Tonight, the soft sheets caressed their skin as he moved lower, to feel her heart pounding, not to some alien music, but to the cadence of his own heart. Her fingers in his hair were soft, as well as demanding, but he refused to be rushed. Using his teeth, he tugged her bra strap off her shoulders, trailing kisses lower still, until he came to the outer edges of her dark aureoles. "I didn’t get to see them that night, Sarah. I want to see them now." Deftly, he flipped open the front catch of her bra, freeing her as the material seemed to spring away, leaving her exposed to his touch and gaze. He used his tongue to paint the tips, until they shimmered in the candlelight. He paused to gaze into her passion glazed eyes. "Do you like this?"

"Oh, yes, Clay. Please. It feels so good." She stroked his temple, and he arched up for another long wet kiss. Their bodies seemed to mold perfectly together as his hand came to rest against her thigh. He brushed the bare skin between her stocking tops and her panties, working the nylon free from the garter clasp. Success compelled him to move lower, kissing a path to the valley between her breasts. He took so much time and was so gentle, that she took his head between her hands and demanded, "Harder, Clay. I’m not a China doll."

He stilled his movements, and gazed up at her, "Oh, but you’re wrong. You’re my doll, at least tonight, my toy to play with. I told you what I was going to do to you. I usually attempt to carry out my plans to the fullest." She gasped at the implications, only to find she was even more turned on than she had been before.

He chastely kissed the crown of each breast, before continuing to slowly torment her until she was arching up, nearly crazed with her need. Each second was blissful torture, as his lips mapped every erogenous zone on her body. A spot, just above her belly button, seemed to intrigue him. Before his tongue began to trace intricate patterns there, she hadn’t even realized how that pressure point seemed to be connected directly to her clit.

"Clay," she sighed his name. Her whole body tensed, as his lips hovered right over her mound. His hot breath played in her curls, but nothing else. She forced her eyelids open, to find him kneeling between her thighs. His cock had burst free from its confinement. The need on his face was intense, and she thought for a moment that he’d abandon his plan and push back her panties and take her. But she saw the determination reassert itself. "You’re a stubborn man."

"Just about the important things, Sarah, Sweet, Sweet Sarah. My Sarah. My plaything. My Goddess." He freed the other stocking from its tether, and worked first one, then the other, down her legs, flinging the nylons carelessly behind him. Kneeling back on his haunches, he grasped one leg, bringing her foot to his lips. He kissed that spot that normally would have her giggling, but now had her moaning his name. He was true to his promise. Nipping, biting, licking his way up each leg, he had her thrashing. Fisting the sheets did nothing to help ease her nervous need. Reaching up, she grasped the rails of her headboard and held on. She couldn’t bear to watch him anymore. Closing her eyes, she let the sensation wash over her.

By the time he got to her inner thighs, she was in such a state that she barely discerned the soft whisper of silk against her skin. Her panties were down below her knees before she felt the cool air kiss her sex. It was welcoming, and distracting, and she opened her eyes, already knowing what she’d find. His eyes were locked on hers, waiting. Once he saw he had her attention again, he brought her panties to his nose and inhaled the scent of them. Then tossing them away, he grinned evilly. "I’m going to eat you alive, Sweet Sarah."

Before his lips even touched her sex, the orgasm that had waited so impatiently for just enough stimulus, was already beginning. As his tongue traced her labia, she was gripping the rails so tightly she thought her fingers would fuse with the wood. She arched up, driving his tongue deep inside her. Her legs circled his head to hold him in place as she began to buck.

«My God, she’s a wild cat. Before New Orleans, I would’ve never thought that Sarah MacKenzie had such a side. She tastes so good. She’s so hot. She’s MINE!» He grasped her hips, cupping her, spreading her. His long fingers mapped her crack, and when one reached and began to probe her anus, the shock waves that shook her body went right through him. «I have to have her. I need to be inside her now.» But now he was the captive. His nose pressed against her clit couldn’t take in enough air. His mouth could inhale her essence, drink in her nectar, but he was beginning to feel a little light headed by the time she finally collapsed beneath him. His breathing was as ragged as hers. His cock was so hard that he was almost afraid to free it from his boxers. «Note to self - next time strip completely before getting into bed.»

He fell back and struggled with his underwear, only to find that her stamina was greater than even he suspected. She crawled down to him, and finished the job for him. "Want you. Want you inside of me. I want you to pound your love in me." She mimicked the song that had been the backdrop of their meeting in the Voodoo shop, and was now once again on the stereo system in her front room. "Pound your love into me. Take me hard." She fisted his cock and stroked him roughly. Her magic was working its way into his blood, her voodoo claiming his soul. Holding on to his flagging determination, he reared up, pushing her back to the pillow, and positioned himself at her opening. "You want it rough, Marine?"

"Sir, yes, sir," she purred, as she began to stroke her breasts. "You think you’re up to the challenge?"

He shut up and showed her. Plunging deep, he was pleased to see her eyes flutter shut for a moment. He pulled all the way out, until his cock rested against her folds again. She opened her eyes and growled menacingly, until he rammed in again. He lifted her ankles and held them outstretched. Rotating his hips, he watched as the vivid red blush spread across her body until she cried out, pinching her nipples as she did. But he wasn’t done. He had no idea how he’d manage, but he wasn’t going to stop. This was the dream that had sustained him throughout the past four weeks. For once in his life, something was working out exactly the way he’d imagined it. And, for once, something he had wanted was every bit as good - no, better - than he’d thought it would be. Even his own feelings of impending release paled at the image of the woman spread before him. This was so much better than New Orleans. Now they were truly joined. As his climax roiled up from his balls, he knew that he could never let her go, that he’d do anything within his power to keep her. "Sarah!" he shuddered, before going rigid in his release.

She lay there, studying him through hooded eyes. She took in every nuance of his concentration, and a sense of profound relief flooded through her. She hadn’t even realized how worried she’d been that the feelings they’d experienced in New Orleans had been drug induced. Oh, she knew she’d liked him. Even though they’d been separated by his job for the past three weeks, she’d found herself eagerly awaiting his phone calls, so that she could discuss little things that had impressed her and worrisome aspects of cases that were bothering her. No, there was no doubt that their friendship had become more intimate, but now she knew that she pleased him in bed. «This wasn’t just a fuck. This means something special to him.»

As much as he wanted to collapse, on top of her, next to her or even backwards at her feet, he didn’t. He had the details firmly in his mind. Carefully lowering her legs until they lay on bed, he allowed his cock to fall from her. Resting his hands on her waist, he leaned back until his hips were against his calves. He felt like a supplicant before his goddess. He knew she was watching him, wondering what he was going to do next. She was just beginning to get her breathing under control when he began to move forward, keeping his lips right above her skin, pausing only to place feather-light kisses on her thighs, pausing to inhale the musky scent of their love making, licking up the sweat that glistened on her body and lubricated his exploration. He wasn’t sure if her whimpers were appreciative, or annoyed. But he continued on until his lips hovered over hers.

Gazing into her eyes, he silently communicated what was too early to say out loud. He thought he saw an almost frightened acceptance of his devotion, so, appeased, he settled for platitudes – after all, trite or not, it was still the truth. "That was the most incredible experience of my life." He leaned in and kissed her nose, before settling down beside her. They were both so hot and sweaty, he wasn’t sure if she’d welcome his embrace, so he lay there and waited for a moment, before adding, "May I stay?"

«He asked. I can’t remember another man ever actually asking. They either ran away as soon as was polite, or just assumed I’d want them to stay. He’s even waiting to see if I want to cuddle. I can feel him laying there, all tense, waiting for me to make the decision. His finger’s tracing circles on my hand. I can’t remember another man ever… Oh, brother. Fart or something, would you? I mean it’s way to early to fall in love with you. Incredible? It was perfect. I can’t deal with perfect. Not this early. Oh, God. Maybe he’ll snore » Sighing, she rose up and laid her head on his shoulder. His arm lightly embraced her.

"Rest a bit?" he murmured.

"Okay."

"Then a shower, I think. Unless you want to shower alone."

«Oh, fuck.» She hoped he’d pass off her hot tears for just more sweat.

"Hey. What’s this?" He lifted her chin. "Why are you crying? What’s wrong? Do you want me to leave? Mac, talk to me."

"Talk to you?" She sat up and swiped the tears from her face. He followed her up, and their faces were scant inches apart.

"Yes. Tell me why you’re crying. I’m no expert, but those aren’t tears of joy."

She closed her eyes for a moment, but didn’t look away. "You don’t understand." When he didn’t say anything, she sighed and told him, "Every single relationship I have is flawed, fatally." She shrugged, and looked away, the sting of Harm’s retort to Turner still so easily remembered. "Sometimes literally fatal, though I guess I’ve accepted that you’re more vulnerable than most."

"Unlike a certain jet jockey cum lawyer who insists upon saving the world every chance that he can." He said it lightly, stoking her chin. He was relieved when all she did was chuckle.

"Yeah. Unlike him." She met his gaze. "That’s what has me in tears, Clay. I’m just afraid that this was too perfect."

"You thought this was perfect?" He cocked his head to one side. He knew he had to shake her out of her doldrums. "Hey, babe. I was just getting started. I’ve got all sorts of tricks to trot out. It’s just that I have to rest between times."

All she could do was sigh, and accept the fact that, no matter what he said right now, she’d find it adorable and fall more deeply in love than she already was. No matter that it was too soon. No matter that they’d have fights every bit as incredible as their lovemaking. "Come and shower with me, Mr. Webb." She crawled out of bed and went the door leading to her bathroom. Looking back, she found him still sitting on the bed, that pleased smirk firmly on his face. «Oh, yeah. This is definitely going to be interesting.»

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