[Room 15, with Michael]

[notinthebook]

 She's got the brand-new bottle of Johnny Walker Blue in one hand when she knocks at the door of Room 15, feeling unaccountably nervous.  

It's not like this is weird, or anything.  It's not like she thinks he'll be unhappy to see her -- or the whiskey.  And she wants to know how the latest mission went, whether there were more crab-monsters involved, or...whatever might be out there.

(But they haven't talked, alone, since her stint as bartender and the fight they'd had, which, in retrospect...she doesn't even remember how it got started, or why.  That feeling of sinking unhappiness is pretty immediately recognizable, though.)

If asked, she might not even be able to say why she's here, aside from the simplest reason she can put in words: she wanted to see him.

I miss you, he'd written, once.

Well, the feeling's mutual.

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[notinthebook]

Now that they aren't pulling at each other like she's trying to climb right under his skin, she can actually concentrate on this: this kiss, his mouth, the way his tongue sweeps across her bottom lip and the little noise that pulls out of her when his teeth graze the same spot. She can roll them both over, remote falling to the floor with a clatter, until his weight is pressing her into the mattress. Just for now there's nothing except the slanting sunlight falling across them both, warming the sheets, and that pleasant knot tying itself in her stomach, and the way her thumbs fit into the hollows of his hips.

If they're getting dinner anyway, then she's absolutely determined to work up an appetite. And what's the point of doing anything other than enjoying the moment? Isn't that why she came to find him, so she could have something else to think about, someone else to focus on?

God, is she screwed in the head, or what?

So she threads fingers into his short brown hair, tugs him down for another kiss, deep and lingering, and, really, Michael should not be this addicting. It's just another sign of how dangerous he is, right?

[luvs_yogurt]

Letting out a soft moan against her lips, Micheal lets himself get swept away in the moment - part of his brain still lingering on the outskirts enough to know every bit of what's going on around them, but more than anything he's considering how good it feels to press against her and just let it happen.

"God... Emma..." he murmurs, letting out a shuddering breath when the knot of arousal returns like the flick of light switch. "You have this... amazing effect on me..." he laughs, almost sheepishly before kissing her again. "It's really not fair."

[notinthebook]

Well, crap. That noise he makes sends shivers running over her skin like someone's holding an ice cube to the back of her neck, and she grins, bites gently at the fluttering pulse in his throat, voice teasing.

"I don't think it's exactly all that unusual."

There's nothing weird about this. He's an attractive guy, and he happens to be attracted to her; they like each other; they get each other. Normal, right?

Never mind the part where she sucks at normal, wouldn't know it if it smacked her in the face.

"I'd like to point out that you brought me to a super nice hotel in Miami. If anyone's not playing fair, here, it's you, not me."

[luvs_yogurt]

Definitely unusual for him, but he knows his frame of reference is skewed. The concept of normal doesn't happen anywhere near the Westen family tree.

"Mmm," he kisses her again, stopping her words a long moment before admitting; "in all fairness, Barry picked the hotel because it's within visual range of the house."

Hoping to gain a little face, he nips her lower lip and adds; "I just thought of you when my plan needed a beautiful woman that knows how to handle herself that I can trust."

The last being the biggest compliment he could give.

[notinthebook]

"Hmmm."

Her mouth twists into a petulant pout, twitching into a smile at the little bite, and flickering again at the compliment, even though she rolls her eyes at it, too, giving him a raised-eyebrows look that suggests he might be bullshitting her.

"Fair enough." Reluctantly, though her eyes are sparkling: "No point in not enjoying it, though."

[luvs_yogurt]

He'd never bullshit her... not without a very good reason.

"Exactly," he grins, pushing against her again - tracing one palm down the curve of her breast and between them to stroke lower. It occurs to him that room service is on the way - and he doesn't exactly like to rush things even if it is a bit of a second wind for both of them.

"I should cool off," his voice takes a sheepish tinge and he kisses her again with less passion than before, but no less interest. "Would you like a drink? I'm pretty sure they've got a decent minibar."

[notinthebook]

She feels like she should protest, because he's not the only one getting wound up, here: he pulls back and she wants to follow him up, roll them both over, pin him to the mattress.

Screw room service.

But she falls back against the pillow with a sigh that does nothing to disguise the way her breathing's gone shallow or her skin has flushed pink, and her hand curves at his jaw when he kisses her again.

"Sure," she says, "but seeing as you're on the wagon, a soda's fine."

[luvs_yogurt]

"You're still allowed to have a spike in yours," he grins wide, kissing her again - almost wishing she would push him further like the look in her eyes says she wants to.

Instead, he shifts his boxers and forces himself up rather uncomfortably making his way to the minibar to fetch a pair of Cokes. "Ice and rum? Or just the can?"

[notinthebook]

When he gets up, she stretches, lazy, taking up as much available space as possible for a moment, like a cat reaching across the sheets, before contracting back into herself and leaning up against the headboard. "Just the can."

It really is an awesome room, now that she has a second to look it over: fresh blue and clean white and tasteful decorations with a plate-glass window that must look out towards the house they'll be hitting tomorrow.

He'd have liked her apartment in Boston, she thinks. She liked that apartment, though not enough to put anything in it aside from the furnishings it came with. It was temporary, a place to crash.

And it was empty. This room might be gorgeous, but it's just a room, and the only thing that makes it different from any other room she's been in is that she's here with Michael, and he wants her here, thought of her, specifically.

It soothes some of that sting from finding Graham last night, that's for sure. When was the last time anybody wanted her?

[luvs_yogurt]

For reasons he can't even begin to explain, there's little he finds sexier than watching her at ease - like a cat on a windowsill, stretching and reclining. Comfortable. The naked part doesn't hurt, of course, but even fully clothed she'd still be just as gorgeous.

Standing a little longer than strictly necessary, willing his body to work with him instead of against him, he eventually makes his way back to bed with two cans of Coke and another kiss.

This time, he sits on the edge of the bed, half turned toward her with one knee up on the mattress - waiting for room service to knock at their door.

"So far, better than the last time you came to Miami?"

[notinthebook]

She's got absolutely nothing against him watching her, shakes her hair back and smiles at the kiss as she takes her can of soda and pops it open,

"Hey, I liked this part last time, too," she reminds him, settling back, getting comfortable. "And there hasn't been any violence or explosions or theft, yet, so we're definitely already doing better than before."

Mainly, she doesn't have to worry about him getting hurt or killed.

"I'd hate to have to try and sneak into this place."

[luvs_yogurt]

"If I recall, this point last time you were trying to get away from me."

His eyes darken, but before he can take the thought any further his cellphone starts ringing and he's digging for his pants on the floor. "Shit..." He mutters before picking up on the fourth ring.

"Barry? What's going on?"

Yeah, I've got something that'll help you on the case."

"Barry, this is my job... What are you doing?"

"No big deal, I'm on the way to the hotel now."

Michael grimaces; "No, I'm kind of really busy right now and we're almost ready move in on the target tomorrow night."

Before he can get a response, the phone beeps several times and goes dead; Damn it, I need to charge it."

[notinthebook]

Her mouth opens and her eyes widen, slightly, but before she can think of anything to say -- he's right, of course, she'd just about sprinted out of the loft the last time, but she'd thought, maybe, he'd understood it, or forgiven her for it -- his phone rings and she stays quiet, listening.

When he drops the phone from his ear to swear at it, she sits up, brings her knees up, arms looping loosely around them, the sheet bunching at her waist.

"Something wrong?"

She glances around for her clothes, looks back to him for an answer.

[luvs_yogurt]

He shakes his head, digging into his bag for the charger.

"Barry. He's on the way." A frown creases his lips after he manages to get the damn thing plugged in.

"He says that he's got a something that'll help - which in my few dealings with him I've come to assume means he's going to get us shot at."

Frustrated, he stabs at the dial back only to get a busy tone. "Damn it."

[notinthebook]

"So what you're saying is, we need to get dressed."

She lifts her eyebrows at him, but her smile is wry instead of teasing as she gets up, finds her clothes, tugging on jeans and refastening her bra.

"Seems like kind of a shame."

Barry had better watch himself. She's still not in a mood to be pushed around by anybody, and Michael was beginning to relax, too.

[luvs_yogurt]

"Not necessarily need," he sighs, "I might put a shirt on."

If he's insisting on interrupting his evening of not working, fine... he can deal with seeing boxer shorts.

"I'm almost hoping it's nothing, this doesn't need to get any more complicated than it already is."

As if on awkward cue, the practiced room service knock at the door sounds and Michael's quick to answer it, still not bothering with clothes. "Sorry I can't make it dinner in bed."

[notinthebook]

"Hey, it's fine."

She gives him a crooked sort of smile, raking fingers through her hair to try and neaten it from where his had tangled and caught in the curls.

"As long as he's not planning on staying the night. I might put my foot down about that."

The food smells great, and she glances over at it in the middle of tugging her shirt back over her head.

Her eyes might go to Michael, too. That last thing he said before Barry called...she's got the sinking feeling that tonight might not go as smooth as she'd hoped, regardless.

[luvs_yogurt]

"I'll physically remove him before it comes to that," he raises an eyebrow, serious but not without a hint of humor.

Still, he watches with thinly veiled annoyance as the attendant sets their meal at the small table tucked away in the suite's breakfast nook - complete with a rosebud vase and bottles of mineral water. After getting his tip, the silent man leaves them to their meal.

"Lets eat, I don't want to deal with him on an empty stomach." Really, he doesn't want to deal with him at all - but he got the impression that there was little choice in the matter.

[notinthebook]

Her smile widens, a little, as she sits down, long legs folding under the table, feet bare against the plush carpet. "I'm all right with that."

Dinner looks pretty awesome: there's plenty of good seafood in Maine, but it's mostly of the lobsters, steamers, and cod variety, and it lacks the spice and heat found everywhere in Florida. She digs in for a bite, looks over at him as she washes it down with a sip of water.

"Barry. He's the guy those Cubans wanted before, right?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael picks at the food, and while it is good it's not what's on his mind right now.

"That's the guy, guess you get the pleasure of meeting him now." He smiles, but there's a lingering frustration behind it. "He's an... interesting guy."

The question of how much not-strictly-legal behavior Emma will put up with is usually in the back of his mind. Michael's always worked above the law, outside of it, as a spy and the fact that he's working as a spy without official backing hasn't changed any of that... including the sort of people he tends to have to associate with.

"Barry's a money launderer, like most guys that handle a lot of other people's illegally obtained money he's sort of gotten used to being both treated well and despised. His clients don't have to like him, but they do have to treat like the man that could single handedly sink them in and all of their associates in prison for a very long time. Honestly, he's a nice enough guy but he gets on my nerves. All flash and spiky hair with a manicure."

[notinthebook]

"You have some pretty strange friends."

It's about the only comment she has to make about it, because any others get tossed out of consideration at the strange look on Michael's face, the way he's tensed up all of a sudden.

She nudges his ankle with one bare foot, frowning at him, a little.

"You're really pissed off about this. What's up?"

[luvs_yogurt]

"Just wait until you meet him." Oh God forbid she meet Sam... or his mother. Or Nate.

The gentle press of her foot against his ankle draws him back up and he shakes his head, taking a large bite of the perfectly done pasta and sauce.

"It's nothing, I just... you know, I told you we weren't working tonight."

He's trying. Whether she knows it or not, it's taking a good deal of effort for him not to be working, not to be dwelling on what's lurking around the corner. And for him that's kind of a big deal.

[notinthebook]

"Like you ever actually stop."

She twirls her fork in the pasta, comes up with a good-sized bite, shrugs her slouched shoulders. "Don't sweat it. There's time."

Time here, time at the bar, and, to be honest, it's not like she knows how to be this focused on another person.

Or ever knew.

"You never know. He could actually be helpful."

There's a sly sparkle in her eyes that suggests she is less than optimistic that this might be the case.

[luvs_yogurt]

His lips twitch, trying not to frown at the dig. He knows, and he knows that she knows. It's just who he is, but damn it... he's trying to do it her way.

"The last time I had a meeting with Barry he was followed by an assassin that was used as a distraction while the person that burned me blew up the front of a store full of civilians. I doubt it'll be helpful."

[notinthebook]

She pauses with a mouthful of water, hand stopping on its way to put the cup down, eyebrows digging together, and it takes her a second to regain her bearings and swallow.

"Seriously?"

There's a moment while she struggles with the information, decides it's too much to deal with on short notice, and ends up saying the first thing that pops into her head.

Because that always works so well. "How did this guy not get himself killed before he met you?"