Author's Note: This story is set sometime at the beginning of the post-Burns era. As we're not quite sure (yet) how that storyline plays out, I can't guarantee that this fic will necessarily make any sense if read as an actual follow-on of that story arc. It's probably best if you just take it for what it is.

Also, please note the rating. The first chapter in particular is very explicit. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Chapter 1

He startled at the knock on his office door. There stood Foster, grinning at his flinch.

"Hey there. Didn't mean to surprise you."

"No worries." He looked perplexed. "I thought you were out of the office meeting with that bloke from the Department of Agriculture."

"Nope. He cancelled at the last minute. Hey, listen, I don't want to take up too much of your time, but are you free for dinner tonight?"

Another surprise, he thought. Even before she'd started seeing Burns she hadn't been particularly available for socializing outside of work. His last few invitations to meals had been kindly but firmly rebuffed. He'd wondered why but, respecting her wish to keep personal boundaries intact, hadn't pursued the issue. Now he wondered what her reversal meant. Perhaps she'd open up over dinner.

Careful not to let his face reveal his surprise, he answered. "Yeah, sure. Where did you have in mind?"

"How about Caffe di Pagliacci? I'll drop by here around 6?"

"Works for me." She gave him one more smile before turning and heading back to her office.

She took a sip of her chianti and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. The restaurant was one of her favorites and it had been far too long since she'd been in. It was a cozy, warmly lit place. The tables were small, covered with white tablecloths and multiple candles. Like the restaurant itself, the menu was simple, featuring dishes from both Northern and Southern Italy. On this Tuesday night there were a handful of other patrons. She and Cal had chosen a table in a quiet corner.

She finished her first glass of chianti and motioned for Cal to pour her a second. Uh oh, he thought. When she starts drinking with a sense of purpose something's usually amiss. They chatted about nothing as he let her work her way through the chianti and a shared appetizer of calamari. She seemed to be slowly unwinding, but occasionally he thought he saw the barest hint of a frown and a distant look in her eyes. Patience wasn't his forte, but he knew if he asked her point blank what was wrong she'd deflect and ultimately shut down. So he bided his time and refilled her glass whenever it was empty.

They were midway through their entrees – veal parmesan for him, pasta primavera for her – when the damn broke. She calmly put her fork down, took a deep breath, and asked, "Cal? Can I talk to you about something?"

He gave her a smile he hoped was encouraging. "Always, love. You know that."

She was silent for a moment and he sensed her backing away from whatever issue she was about to bring up. Then she spoke. "I broke up with David a few days ago."

"Ah, love. I'm so sorry."

She saw the sympathy in his eyes and winced inwardly. "No, no. No serious damage done to my heart. Nothing like that." She hesitated.

"But?" he prompted.

"But. . . I misjudged him. Badly." She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

"Foster? Did he hurt you?" He was having trouble reading her and the thought that Burns had done something to injure her made his blood boil. "Foster? Look at me love."

She met his eyes and smiled sadly. "No, Cal. He didn't hurt me."

"Foster, I'm afraid I'm not following. If he didn't hurt you, why do you seem so upset?"

She sighed again and reached for her chianti. "I'm not so much sad as I'm mad, furious really - at myself. It's hard for me to accept, but I have the absolute worst judgment when it comes to men." She took a long sip of the wine before continuing. "I mean, I'm a deception expert for God's sake. So why is it that every single man I get serious with turns out to be a liar of epic proportions?" Her eyes glittered, whether from anger or impending tears he wasn't sure.

"Cal? Why can't I see what's right in front of me? What's wrong with me? "

His heart twisted at the anguish in her voice and he reached for her hand across the table. "Fos- Gillian, love, look at me." Her eyes met his and he could see the tears lurking there. "Gillian, listen to me. Nothing's wrong with you, darling, nothing." His thumb stroked her hand gently. "In fact, everything's right with you. So very, very right."

As he spoke, the warmth in his gaze eased her heart. Their gaze held and his thumb continued its slow path over the back of her hand. She thought he'd spoken to console her but studying his face she realized there was more behind his words. He'd dropped his usual impenetrable façade and was offering a rare glimpse of the true Cal Lightman, complete with feelings, hopes, and fears. She wasn't quite sure what she was seeing, but whatever it was made her breath catch in her chest.

Then he blinked and the façade was back. He smiled, squeezed her hand, and resumed eating. Unsure what had just happened, she did the same.

After a few bites, she heard him whisper softly under his breath, "Crybaby."

She tried not to smile but couldn't help herself. "Jerk," she fired right back. Grinning at each other, they carried on eating.

He pulled up in front of her house and she reached into the backseat to retrieve the doggie bag from the restaurant. Trust Foster to eat one tiramisu for dessert and order an extra one "for the road." Okay, technically he'd helped her eat the first one. He guessed she wasn't used to sharing.

Her hand started to reach for the door handle then reversed course and landed on his thigh.

"Come in for some coffee?"

From the look in her eyes and the feel of her hand on his leg, he doubted very much it was coffee she had in mind. He bit back a flirtatious response. Is that what they're calling it these days? Damn it all. There was a reason he counted on her to be the sensible one, chiefly that his judgment was not to be trusted in certain areas, particularly when it came to women, and even more so when it came to one woman, namely a certain Gillian Foster. He sighed and braced himself to decline her offer.

"Coffee sounds lovely. I'll just park the car. Won't be a minute, yeah?"

She beamed at him, gave his leg a squeeze and was out of the car in one fluid movement.

She fumbled in her purse for her house keys. Whoo eeee. Now you've gone and done it Gill. She couldn't even really blame the chianti, at least not entirely anyway. No, she knew damn well what she was about to do. This impeding fiasco was all on her. She figured that while she was making horrendous decisions about the men in her life, she might as well put the icing on the cake by sleeping with her longtime friend and business partner. She thought of something one of her college friends used to say. If you can't win, be spectacular. Yes, indeed. If she couldn't pick a decent man to be with, she might as well be the one who lit the flames her love life would go down in. She unlocked the door and went inside.

Moments later there was a knock at the door. As she moved to open it, she realized she wasn't the slightest bit nervous. Lovely, she thought. Not only are you about to do something incredibly reckless, probably stupid, and potentially destructive, but you're not even the slightest bit concerned about the consequences. She wondered if she'd been spending too much time with Cal – this level of self-destruction was right up his alley.

And speaking of Cal, there he was, standing on her doorstep, looking good enough to eat. Oh my. Did she really just think that? Oh, who was she kidding? She'd always thought he looked good enough to eat. It was just that she'd had other men on her plate at the time. For God's sake Gillian, enough with the eating metaphor.

She stepped aside and motioned him in. "Make yourself at home. I'll just see if the coffee's ready."

He shed his coat and wandered into the living room, tossing the coat on an empty chair before flopping down on the leather sofa. He'd sat in this very spot on several occasions but never under circumstances like these. He wondered how long she'd stick with the coffee story before she got down to the real reason she'd asked him in. For the tenth time since he'd parked the car, he cursed his own lack of self-discipline. But how on earth was he supposed to turn down the offer of something he'd wanted for years? Hell, he'd wanted her any way he could get her from the moment he laid eyes on her. His ex-wife had accused him of not wanting to examine himself too closely, fearing what he might discover about himself if he did. Little did she know that he'd been "managing" his attraction to Gillian Foster for years. He knew Foster wasn't quite herself tonight, but she'd given him an opening and he simply didn't have the strength to walk away. He hoped like hell they'd both be able to navigate the fallout of whatever was about to happen between them.

Just then she entered the room, bearing a tray with two mugs of coffee, spoons, a sugar bowl, and small jug of cream. She set it on the coffee table, flipped on the stereo to a local jazz station, and took a seat in a big easy chair perpendicular to the sofa. Sipping coffee, they continued their easy conversation from the restaurant – a bit of shop talk, the latest exploits of Emily, places they'd always wanted to travel, the latest restaurant reviews. He couldn't believe she was so relaxed and started to wonder if perhaps he'd misread her intentions.

Soon their mugs were empty and she got up to refill them, fetching the coffee pot from the kitchen. She refilled her own mug then reached for Cal's. He handed it to her, and she hesitated. Quickly, she put both the mug and pot on the tray. Before he could wonder what she was doing, she climbed onto the couch, straddling him, holding the sides of his neck with her hands. Instinctively, his hands went to her hips, steadying her.

He smiled gently at her. "Hi there."

"Hi yourself." Her fingers wandered up and down the sides of his neck, toying with an earlobe, running up into his hair, then back down, thumbs stroking his jaw line. "So I guess you knew I wanted more than coffee, huh?"

With one finger, he tucked a lock of hair threatening to fall across her face back behind an ear. "Yeah," he said softly.

Her fingers traced across his lips and he tried to capture the tips of one, unsuccessfully. "And you didn't run away while you had the chance?" She sounded so serious.

"No."

"Good." She leaned forward and softly pressed her lips to his.

They were tender at first, kissing each other softly, almost tentatively. He thought he could kiss her like this forever. Her lips felt so unbelievably soft and full. Then she deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth and he knew he needed more. Their tongues twisted together, slowly at first, then faster, becoming almost frantic in their need to taste each other. She felt him hardening beneath her and ground her hips against him. He bucked against her and she thought she heard him moan, but it was swallowed by her own mouth locked on his.

Minutes later, she broke the contact and his arms tightened around back, pulling her against his chest, stroking her hair with one hand. Her face nestled into the side of his neck and she planted tiny, delicate kisses on whatever flesh she could reach. They were both breathing heavily. His other hand worked its way underneath the back of her shirt and stroked the smooth skin of her lower back.

"Gillian, love?" His voice sounded strained and hoarse. "As much as I'm dying to make love to you, this sofa is cramping my style. I do my best work in bed. Shall we?"

She pulled back her head and met his eyes. "I believe we shall." She gave one more twitch of her hips before slowly sliding off him, laughing softly as he bucked again, seeking her heat once more.

"Ah woman, you're killing me."

She held out a hand to him. "Let me make it up to you in bed."

He put his hand in hers and she pulled him up from the couch. "Lead the way. I'm all yours."

She turned and led him into her bedroom.

Once there, she let go of his hand and quickly lit several candles sitting on a nightstand next to the bed. As she did so, he kicked off his shoes and started to unbutton his shirt, but was quickly relieved of that task when she turned back to him and said, "Let me help you with that." As she undid each button, her fingers brushed against his torso, sending shivers through him. When she reached the last button, she swept the shirt back off his shoulders, leaving his arms trapped in the sleeves.

He groaned when her lips began to kiss his chest, tongue tracing patterns around his nipples and down his stomach. His cock twitched and he realized she'd already unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned the top of his pants. Kneeling in front of him, she slowly worked down the zipper of his fly and slid his pants to the ground. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside, then pulled off his socks. No sooner had he stood up than he felt her lips on him. Swiftly, she took his whole length in her mouth. He heard himself give an inarticulate cry and his knees nearly buckled beneath him as she started doing something with her tongue that made him want to scream.

He tried to say her name but couldn't seem to force out the sound. He was so hard he ached and he desperately wanted her to keep doing what she was doing. At the same time, he knew he wouldn't last long if she kept it up.

Finding his voice, he called her name. "Gillian!"

As if she hadn't heard, she kept working her mouth on him, up and down, tongue twisting around and around.

Feeling himself rushing closer to the edge, he grabbed her shoulders and forcefully pulled her up. Kissing her hard, he tasted himself on her. He realized she was breathing as hard as he was and he'd never seen her eyes brighter.

Trying to buy himself a moment to regain some semblance of control, he laughed and said, "Careful love. I'm not ready for this party to be over just yet. Besides, you're entirely overdressed for the occasion."

He slid his hands under the hem of her silk blouse and pulled it off over her head, revealing a black lace bra. He reached for her breasts, then changed course, reaching behind her and undoing the hooks of the bra. He caught his breath as it fell away, offering up a view of the most perfect breasts he'd ever seen. He cupped them gently in his hand and ran his thumbs lightly over her nipples. She gasped and closed her eyes. Caressing one breast, he bent his head and took the other nipple gently between his teeth before swirling his tongue over it. She gasped again and grabbed his head, whether to push him away or pull his closer he wasn't sure. As he sucked hard on her nipple, he felt her nails scratching against his scalp. He moved his mouth to her other breast and heard her moan. He lingered there briefly, tongue flicking at her nipple, making it harden and her fingers twine restlessly through his hair.

Unable to help himself, he kissed his way down her stomach to the top of her slacks. Deftly, he unfastened them and let them fall to the ground. He admired her matching black lace panties for all of a second before sliding his fingers into the elastic at the top and peeling them slowly down over her hips and pushing them down her legs. Kneeling before her, he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her ass, pulling her closer to him so she could feel his breathing on her. He felt a shiver go through her and knew it was time to give them both what they wanted.

He stood and led her to the bed. She lay down on her back and he couldn't help but spend a moment admiring her exquisite body stretched out before him just like he'd fantasized countless time. The reality of her put his fantasies to shame. He'd wanted to take things slow, to leisurely become acquainted with each other's bodies but the sight of her lying there, legs parted slightly, just waiting for him spurred him on. He slid between her legs, holding himself above her with his arms, cock pressed against her exquisite heat. Her hands skimmed up and down his arms and shoulders, reveling in the feel of his muscles. Feathering kisses on the side of her neck, he slowly slid one finger inside her. She moaned and ground her hips against his hand. In response, he began to lightly rub circles around her clit with his thumb. She gasped and raised her knee to give him easier access. He grabbed his cock and rubbed it up and down her entrance. He lips brushed hers gently and he gave her a questioning look. Her answer was another kiss and a squeeze of his ass.

Eyes locked on her face, he entered her slowly, inching in, then withdrawing, entering again, deeper and deeper with each slow thrust, until, with one final push, he was sheathed inside her. He watched her eyes widen in shock and pleasure as he filled her. As he waited for her body to adjust to him, she blinked slowly. Cradling his face in her hands, she spoke.

"Cal. . ."

The way she said his name – so slowly, so gently, so full of feeling - and the icy heat in her eyes nearly made him lose control. Breathing heavily, he began to move, slowly at first, gauging her reactions to find a rhythm that would take her over the edge. He quickened the pace and she met him, thrust for thrust, wrapping her legs around him to pull him in deeper. Her felt her nails dig into his back, her hands grabbing his ass, pulling him hard into her. A deep flush began to spread up her chest and face as he felt the tension building in her.

One of them moaned but he wasn't sure which.

"Cal…," she pleaded, "Don't stop, please don't stop, don't ever stop. . ."

He wanted to answer her, say something to reassure her, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words. She threw back her head and fisted her hands in the quilt as the first spasm of her climax roared through her. At the first surge, his control nearly slipped and he almost came with her. Biting the inside of his mouth, he held on, driving into her, feeling her pulse hard around him. Finally, as the contractions slackened, he let himself go, calling her name as he came hard inside her.