PART FIVE

“I still have to call their landlord,” Maggie Walsh was saying to Ethan Rayne as they strolled casually through Sunnydale’s Woodridge park so their conversation would not be overheard and their meeting would appear to be only a chance happening. “Though, I have my doubts that he’ll be able to provide anything more that might be useful. I am, however, certain that Ms. Rosenberg will break down once we move forward with the official proceedings. She was amazingly transparent during my interview.”

“Oh?” Ethan replied disinterestedly, his gaze focused intently on the young woman jogging with her dog that was approaching them at a steady pace.

Once the woman passed by, Dr. Walsh continued, “She gave me the same basic story that all the others have about Ms. Summers and Mr. O’Connor’s meeting and subsequent marriage, but she stammered a lot and refused to make eye contact most of the time.” The BCIS agent let out a malevolent chuckled as she recalled the interview with the young couple only earlier that morning, “Her boyfriend held her hand and tried to cover up when she fumbled. It was … cute in a nauseating sort of way. Still, it was painfully obvious that she was lying in attempt to cover for her friends. Her deposition with the DA should prove quite enlightening.”

“Fine, fine, but quite frankly, I’m not interested in pursuing this matter any further,” the wealthy investment banker stated calmly, his gaze now locked on something in the distance. To anyone watching, it would appear as if he had only the slightest interest in their conversation, which was quite close to the truth. He had all but dismissed it from his mind until Maggie Walsh had called earlier wanting to speak to him. Almost as an afterthought he added, “Although I suppose if you do have sufficient evidence to deport Mr. O’Connor, there is no reason you shouldn’t continue with your report.”

“It hasn’t been an easy case,” Maggie declared bitterly, her jaw clenching in anger at the casual regard Ethan Rayne seemed to place on her time and efforts over the past months. “I’ve worked on this longer than I should have, against advice from my management, and with not much to go on given that you’ve made the key witness to the whole façade off limits. Given that particular restriction, the fact that I think I have any basis at all for making a case, is rather remarkable.” Her case was weak; at this point it was dependent on the testimony of a nervous girl and some circumstantial but inconclusive facts. It was only her reputation as one of the most competent and capable agents at the BCIS that would even get a case such as this one reviewed by the District Attorney.

“You will still be compensated for your time, Maggie,” Ethan murmured smoothly, his annoyance with the BCIS agent hidden. His outward appearance was always carefully controlled; it was one of the many reasons he had been as successful as he had been in his various business ventures.

“If you would let your granddaughter speak to me, we would be certain to bring the case to a satisfactory close.” Dr. Walsh persisted, hiding her relief that the banker didn’t intend to forgo their earlier agreement simply because he had apparently changed his mind about wanting Angel O’Connor deported. Now it was as much for the large sum that he had promised as it was for her ego and her growing dislike of the young couple that seemed to thwart her at every turn. Her reputation was on the line, and she wanted to prove to Doug Flutie that she had in fact, been right after all.

“Cordelia will not be dragged into this.” Ethan said, his voice as cold as ice as he reiterated his stance on the matter. “Angel O’Connor is no longer involved in her life and that is sufficient. I believe I had made my position on that abundantly clear several times.”

“Of course,” Maggie bit out almost apologetically, “then let me assure you that I plan to wrap the case up within the next month. I have meetings in Washington over the next two weeks that are unavoidable, otherwise I would complete the process sooner.”

“Fine.” The investment banker replied, his thoughts already moving on to other matters. “Your fee will be sent immediately on receipt of the final report. I would also like a copy of any papers that you file with the agency or the District Attorney, should you do so.” Despite his relative disinterest in the matter now, Ethan was detailed and thorough. He would make sure that there was nothing in the case that would be damaging to any of his interests. With a nod of dismissal, he turned on his heel and strolled away.

Dr. Walsh stood where he had left her for a few seconds before she too, turned and left the park.  Neither of them noticed the man that had been sitting on the bench across the grassy slope feeding the ducks and watching them.

* * *

The O’Connor’s apartment was bustling with laughter, conversation, and activity as everyone put the finishing touches on their costumes in preparation for the annual Halloween Party at the Delta Sigma Chi house.

Buffy gave an answering shout to the knock on the door, then smiled in the mirror as Angel opened the door to the small bathroom. She finished dabbing a trace of color on her lips, then turned to look at her husband who stood behind her now leaning against the closed door. Her gaze swept over him slowly from head to toe then up again, her eyes widening in surprise. Carnal urgency, heated and potent, struck Buffy like a blow.

“So, uh…” she stammered slightly, searching for words. They couldn’t go out. Specifically, he couldn’t go out. Not dressed like that. Angel was far too handsome, but dressed like that... he was positively sinful. Wicked was perhaps more appropriate a description, she thought, unconsciously running her tongue over her pink-tinted lips. The black silk shirt and form-fitting black leather pants he wore were in stark contrast to the white, brightly lit bathroom, but the warmth of his smile mitigated his almost predatory and intimidating appearance.

As the now familiar warm and tingly feelings that always seemed to accompany the sight of her husband washed over her, Buffy wondered if there would ever come a day when it would take more than just a look from him for her to want him. She was far too easily affected by his presence. She took a step toward him, a playful smile on her face. “What exactly is your costume?”

“I’m a vampire.” Angel stated as if it should be quite obvious, amusement in his eyes. He held out his arms and looked down before returning his gaze to her face.

“A vampire?” she questioned, one dainty brow lifting skeptically as she moved closer. “I thought vampires wore capes and white tuxedo shirts and medals and stuff.” She traced the silky, rich fabric of his shirt with her fingertips before placing her hands on his biceps and squeezing.

“Ah, my pretty Little Red Riding Hood, you have so much to learn,” he murmured, yanking her closer and nuzzling his face into her neck causing goose bumps to rise along her arms. “That look is so last century. I’m your modern master vampire. Only the finest leathers and Italian silks and the best designers will do.” He nipped her neck and Buffy gave a soft trill of laughter.

“Oh?” A melting heat flared inside her and her pulse raced. She tilted her head to the side to give him better access. “The fangs…” she gasped as he bit down on the smooth column of her throat, “are a nice touch.” As he suckled hard on the soft skin, her eyes closed and she wondered if they had to go out after all. Maybe they could just send their friends to the party and they could stay home. Her fingernails dug into his arms as she clutched him closer.

“ Mmm... thanks,” Angel whispered, his breath warm against her skin, “I have brow ridges and yellow contacts to complete the look. Costume shop on main. I haven’t put them on yet – they’re not exactly comfortable.”

“Ah.” Buffy acknowledged simply, her thoughts not on the particulars of his costume. Turning her head, she searched for his lips. His mouth found hers and he forced her lips open, plunging his tongue deep inside. Greedy for his kiss, she pulled his head down to her as she strained upward on tiptoe and rubbed her body against his tall, muscular form.

At the sharp knock on the door followed by a joking shout, they reluctantly broke apart.

“Just a minute!” Angel yelled in response to Wesley’s teasing commentary that could be heard through the door. Looking down at Buffy’s red and white checked gingham dress and red hooded cape, he added with a lecherous smile, “Though, if I had seen your costume, I probably would have gone as the big bad wolf.”

Pulling out of his arms and stepping back as far as the small bathroom would allow, Buffy’s gaze swept over him critically. “Well, I like this costume much better than some furry wolf suit.”

“Really?” Pushing away from the door, Angel moved aside as Buffy reached for the doorknob.

“Oh, definitely,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder at him suggestively. “It’s…” she pursed her lips thoughtfully as her eyes drifted down his tall frame once again, “well, for lack of a better word, hot. And besides…” An innocent smile curved her lips as she opened the door and stepped out into the hall, “It’s given me an idea for a naughty little fantasy. Something about being ravished by a vampire…”

Catching her around the waist before she could take two steps, Angel grinned and pulled her back against his chest. “That so? Then I’ll have to see what I can do to fulfill that for you.” His words, whispered huskily against her ear, were filled with carnal promise.

“Nice that you two finally decided to join the rest of us,” Wes drawled from his casual position leaning against the wall near the door. He was wearing a crimson smoking jacket with black trim over a pair of grey slacks and slippers. He had a white satin scarf wrapped around his neck and in one hand he held a pipe.

“Let me guess, Hugh Hefner?” Buffy asked, attempting to turn her attention away from the heady desire racing through her veins at her husband’s provocative whispered words. “It’s a good look for you, Wes.”

“And the best part, it’s not even a costume. He already had the jacket.” Angel joked back, reluctantly releasing Buffy from his grasp and attempting to rein in his nearly rampant desire for his wife. “He wears it around his apartment all the time.”

“It is kinda cute.” Faith said with mock seriousness, adjusting the lapel of Wes’ jacket slightly. She was dressed as a girl scout, complete with a brown beret and sash covered with sewn on patches. However, with her tight white shirt unbuttoned almost to her navel, the short khaki skirt and fishnet tights, she was distinguished from any troop any of the guys had ever seen before. Not that there were any objections… and certainly none from Wes, who had already decided that he didn’t mind one bit being set up with the gorgeous brunette for the party tonight.

As the teasing between Angel and Wes continued, Buffy shook her head and slipped into the bedroom to retrieve the basket that was part of her costume. Willow was there finishing up dressing.

“Nice little mark you have there,” the red haired girl teased, shrugging into the parka of her Eskimo costume. Grinning, she pointed to the small purple bite mark on Buffy’s neck.

“Huh?” Buffy’s hand flew up to her neck where her friend was looking. Leaning over, she peeked in the mirror then turned an accusing glance at her husband who was now standing behind her and putting the finishing touches on his own costume.

“I’m a vampire, that’s what I do – bite.” Angel gave an innocent shrug then returned his attention to putting the golden contacts in his eyes.

Buffy was eyeing the small bruise, debating on whether she should attempt to hide it with makeup or not, when Oz stuck his head through the door. “You guys ready?” He was wearing an orange t-shirt with the words “This is my Halloween Costume” written in black block letters on the front.

“Yep,” Angel replied, reaching for Buffy’s hand and tugging her along with him. “Leave it. You can just say it’s a vampire mark.”

“It’s about time. Thought maybe we were going to have to wait while you two, you know…” Doyle said with a wink as Angel walked into the living room with Buffy in tow. He was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, drinking a beer and flipping through a magazine while everyone else bustled around getting ready. Dressed in all black except for a red vest, horns and a pointed tail – his Devil costume was simple but seemed quite fitting for his mood. On the opposite couch, Gunn, dressed as a pirate, sat with his arm around Fred, who was a perfect replica of Alice in Wonderland.

It was almost ten by the time the group left for the party, the nine of them piling into Oz’s van for the short trip across town. When they arrived, the frat house was already filled with boisterous, costumed party-goers, the Halloween celebration in full swing.

Buffy stayed close to Angel, her hand held tightly in his as they mingled with their friends. He kept her close to him, ignoring the teasing comments from his friends about his unwillingness to be parted from his wife.

It was just after midnight, when Buffy, unable to find Angel in the dense crowd after returning from the bathroom, made her way along the edge of the room to where Doyle leaned negligently against the wall. They chatted briefly about the party and the various costumes when Buffy noticed that a cute brunette dressed as Tinkerbell kept sneaking looks over her friend’s heads in their direction. Buffy smiled, “I think you have an admirer.”

Doyle glanced up briefly before turning his attention back to his friend’s wife. “She seems a bit young.”

“Young?” Buffy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “And you’re old?”

“No, but older than most here I would guess.”

“By what? A year? Two?” she laughed and shook her head slightly. “You’re probably at most five years older than she is, which isn’t that much. Angel’s five years older than I am.”

He looked down at her. “Ah, but you see Angel’s an unusually lucky man. You’re beautiful and smart, and he grabbed you up. Me, I’d end up with a bit of a shrew screeching on my arm every minute or a spoiled lass that would demand attention every minute.”

“Thank you, you’re very sweet.” Buffy smiled at the unaccustomed flattery. Doyle had been the most standoffish and unaccepting of Angel’s friends, or at least that had been her impression before tonight, so the compliment had been unexpected. “And I doubt that. She doesn’t look at all shrewish or spoiled, but you won’t know until you give her a chance…”

“No, I’m not sweet at all.” Doyle said bluntly. “I don’t tend to say things I don’t mean.”

Before she had a chance to answer, a low murmur rushed through the crowd. Taller than Buffy, Doyle was able to see more easily the cause of the commotion as they both looked toward the door.

“I’m feeling a bit parched and in need of a drink.” Doyle declared abruptly, holding out his elbow playfully as if offering to be her escort. “How about you? Feel like fighting your way through the crowd to the bar out back?”

Buffy frowned at him, wondering if he wanted her out of the room for some reason. She glanced back toward the entrance just as the crowd parted slightly and caught a glimpse of Cordelia, Harmony, Xander and some guy that Buffy didn’t recognize making their way into the room. It would, however, have been impossible to miss them; besides the crowd parting for them to enter, the attention that the women stirred caused almost everyone in the room to turn in their direction.

The men’s costumes were nothing out of the ordinary; Xander was dressed in camouflage complete with toy weapons while Harmony’s boyfriend, who Buffy quickly heard from whispers that his name was Spike, was dressed as a punk rocker with a leather collar, torn sleeveless t-shirt and tight black jeans. He wore thick black eyeliner and his blonde hair was gelled into pointed spikes. Following immediately behind the guys, were Harmony and Cordelia.

Harmony was dressed as Goldilocks in a very low cut and very short yellow and white print dress with a tiny white apron. She wore white stockings that ended mid-thigh and on her feet were black high heeled Mary-Jane type shoes. She carried a small brown stuffed bear in one hand and a small purse in the other. Cordelia was wearing a similar very short, very sexy costume, only hers was a white with a pink ruffles and lace as Little ‘Bo Peep. Her stockings were a sheer white and her shoes were a high, clear platform sandal. In one hand she carried a hooked staff, and under the other arm she carried a small stuffed sheep. As she seemed to saunter into the room, her gaze was intently focused and she was smiling at someone suggestively. And that smile was for one person alone – Angel.

Buffy stared as the crowd parted to let Cordelia through. The beautiful brunette was stunning; it was no wonder that the attention of most of the men in the room was now focused in that direction.

Turning from his conversation with Gunn, Angel watched as Cordelia approached. He had to admit that she was stunningly beautiful, but he could also easily admit that she no longer appealed.

“Angel.” Cordelia said, her smile intimate, as she stepped closer and ran her fingers up his chest. “I like your costume.” She inched closer, brushing her breasts against his arm as she glanced coyly up at his face. “Do you like mine?” Rising up on her toes she brushed his lips with hers, leaving no doubt as to her intentions.

Dismayed, Buffy choked back her feelings. She thought Angel’s relationship with Cordelia was over, but it appeared that she had been mistaken.

“I think I’ll take that drink now.” Buffy said abruptly, ignoring Doyle’s arm as she wiggled her way through the crowd in the hallway to the kitchen and out to the covered patio, where the bar, such as it was, was set up.

“Buffy, lass,” Doyle began after they had gotten their drinks and had moved to the relative quiet in one corner of the covered patio. He was surprised by the strong need he felt to comfort her, to reassure her of Angel’s affections.

“Don’t…” Buffy said, holding up one hand and taking a drink of the strong rum punch mixture that the young guy manning the bar pressed into her hand only seconds earlier. Forcing herself to breathe, she tried to remind herself that Angel had said that he wasn’t seeing Cordelia anymore. She needed to trust him. But still, it had been so very hard seeing them together, even briefly. And harder still, to see them kiss. “I’ve always known about…them. From the very beginning of our marriage.”

“I understand. But you know there’s nothing to what you just saw in there?”

Buffy turned and looked out into the dimly lit yard. She sighed softly. “I … I don’t know that. I don’t know what I know.”

Doyle sat on the edge of the chair along the wall and stared at her, wondering what he could say. He could tell her what he thought Angel’s feelings were, but it would be meaningless. Angel needed to tell her himself.

“Trust me on this,” he said after a moment. “Even if they did have a thing… once, it’s over now. And even then, well, I’m certain that she didn’t mean a thing to him.”

“Then why would he…” Buffy paused, smiling ruefully. She took a deep breath. “I should talk to Angel about this. It’s my silly insecurities, not him. I just… I let it get to me sometimes.”

“I understand, lass, but you needn’t worry-”

“Buffy! There you are!” Willow called, pushing her way through small crowd standing in front of the makeshift bar to join them. Oz and Faith trailed close behind her. “ Cordelia’s out there doing her best ‘I’m a skanky ho’ impression. You’ve got to get back in there.”

“I agree with Red, B. You can’t just let slutty ‘Bo Peep rub all over your guy.” Faith added bluntly, giving Buffy a less than subtle nudge forward. “Go get your tail back in there.”

“I don’t know. It’s really crowded…” Buffy excused with a shrug, feeling a bit out of sorts. She didn’t want to chase the woman away from Angel, she wanted him walk away from temptation on his own.

“There you are. Angel’s looking for you,” Wesley declared, walking up to join them. He handed Faith one of the two red plastic cups filled with beer that he now carried.

“It’s nice that he remembered me after that…” Buffy muttered sardonically, the searing vision of Cordelia and Angel kissing still vivid in her mind.

“Yes, I remembered you,” Angel said from behind Wes, having swiftly shouldered his way through the crowd in search of Buffy just seconds after he unclasped Cordelia’s arms from his neck and managed his escape.

“We’re going to go get another drink…” Faith improvised, grabbing Wes’ hand. She ignored the obvious fact that they were both holding newly refilled cups and standing only a few feet from where the drinks where being served. Before they walked away, she gave Buffy a look that said she should talk to her husband and another to Willow and Doyle that hinted that they couple be left alone.

“We’re going to… dance,” Willow said abruptly, taking the cue. “Because there’s dancing. And music. And dancing. In the other room.” Trailing off self-consciously, she pointed to the other room. Oz gave a small shrug and half-smile, and followed his girlfriend toward the door.

Doyle stood. “I’ll leave you two alone to… discuss things,” he said with a wink to Buffy.

Angel smiled wryly. The time alone with his wife was appreciated, even if their friends were incredibly obvious in their going about it. He stepped close to Buffy, wrapping one arm around her waist. “Talk to me.” With his other hand hand, he tilted her head to look up at him. Their eyes met in the dim light. “Is something wrong?”

“I saw you… with Cordelia.” She quietly replied, unable to lie or dismiss her feelings of discord.

“You saw Cordelia behaving like a bitch in heat but I was not with her.” He didn’t pretend ignorance of the sexual overture offered to him, but he also had no desire to argue.

“You kissed her.” A touch of censure colored her tone.

“She kissed me. I couldn’t just shove her away, as much as I wanted to. She’d never forgive such a public rejection.” Angel explained, “Listen, I try to be nice to Cordelia because I don’t want her to go to the BCIS with the real story about our marriage. She’s unpredictable when she’s angry, and until we get things sorted out, I don’t want risk pissing her off. She knows too much about our situation that can be damaging.” Bending, he kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t like it any more than you do. I got out of there as quickly as I could.”

She hesitated, trying to sort out her conflicting emotions.

“Sweetheart, I haven’t even had a thought of another woman since you and I decided to try to make this – our marriage - work.” His lips brushed her jaw as he leaned closer. “You’re everything I want and need – and then some.”

Buffy searched his face. His words weren’t exactly the declaration of his feelings that she had hoped for, but it would do - for now. Even with the golden eyes and sinister vampire fangs, she didn’t doubt the sincerity of his dark eyes. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers.

Several long and heated kisses later, he slid his lips along the smooth column of her neck and murmured, “ Mmmm... You taste good.”

His closeness sent an irrepressible shiver up her spine, and she wished again that they had just stayed home.

“Let’s find somewhere else to continue this.” Taking Buffy’s hand, he led them through the crowd and down the hallway until they reached an open door.

They had only just closed the door of the shadowed bedroom behind them when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily, as if it had been days or weeks instead of hours since he last held her in his arms. Walking two steps backward, he pressed her up against the door. With his hands flat on the wall on either side of her head, he leaned close so she could see into his eyes. “And now I’ve caught you…” His tone was suggestive, playful.

A tremor of excitement course through her veins and Buffy sighed softly.

“You’re mine,” he whispered heatedly, his lower body moving ever so slightly against hers. His hands slipped downward and closed on her hips, pulling her hard against him so she could feel the extent of his arousal. “To do with what I want.”

His words ignited a scorching heat deep within her, her response immediate, fierce with need and memory of his earlier promise. “We can’t… not here…” she breathed, flustered. She could hear the sounds of people talking in the hallway right outside the very door she was pressed against.

“Yes, we can.” He murmured against her lips as his mouth covered hers, cutting off the rest of her sentence, her protest dying away with a sigh in his mouth.

His erection was blatant against her stomach, black leather and checked gingham gliding against each other in the smallest undulations. He murmured deep in his throat – half groan, half sigh – as he leaned into her soft, curvaceous body. His kiss changed subtly, deepened, his mouth forcing hers open, his tongue exploring, tasting, sliding deep into her mouth as a prelude to the more tantalizing offer of his hard body against hers.

“You’re mine, little Red, any where I want you,” he breathed into her ear. “Any way I want you.”

Buffy stifled a moan as lust spiked through her, jolting her senses. He was all muscle and hard strength beneath the slick silk of his shirt, the feel of the broad expanse of his back triggering memories of nights in his arms. The soft leather of his pants brushed her legs, adding to the dizzying rush of desire racing through her veins.

“I want to see you,” he said softly, nibbling on her bottom lip. With the weight of his lower body keeping her pinned against the door, he untied her red cape. Tugging it from behind her, he laid it over the chair on his left. Next, he raised his hand and ran his fingers along the neckline of her dress. He touched her breasts, rubbing the rounded mounds as her nipples hardened into aching points. Reaching behind her, he unzipped her dress enough to pull the fabric down her arms and expose her lace clad breasts.

Buffy slipped her own hands out of the short sleeves, leaving the top of the dress hanging around her waist as she reached up to clasp his shoulders again. She gasped when he pulled her bra down impatiently, baring her breasts. He squeezed and kneaded before delicately pinching her nipples between his fingers. A few seconds later, he unhooked her bra completely, pulling it from her and tossing it on top of her red cape.

Buffy bit her lip to keep from crying out with pleasure when he closed his hot, wet mouth over one hard nipple and sucked. Moving from one breast to the other, his velvet soft tongue licked and swirled, his teeth nibbled and bit as he crushed her skirt in his hand, lifting it up. The points of his costume fangs digging into her flesh only added to the shocking pleasure.

“Turn around.”

She opened her eyes just long enough to obey the husky demand, turning in his arms.

“Spread your legs.” His knee nudged her legs apart as his hands pulled her skirt up over the rounded curve of her behind. Her lace thong was slipped down her legs and tucked in his pocket in one smooth motion just before he stepped forward, his erection firm against her bottom, his chest a hard wall against her back.

His hands glided over her slowly, exploring, teasing as the low sounds of the ongoing party came to them through the door. He caressed her breasts, teasing the hard, aching peaks with his fingertips before dipping down to trace the curve of her hips.

Buffy dropped her head back to his chest when one strong arm curved around her waist to draw her back against him. The long fingers of his other hand glided along her stomach and slipped through her curls before moving lower, to stroke between her thighs. Her breath strangled in her throat as he deliberately caressed and probed with rhythmic attention.

She moaned softly as her body tensed, arching, reaching for that steadily beckoning climax. Reaching up, she circled her arms around his neck as she ground her bottom into his groin.

Angel whispered heated suggestions against her ear as he continued on, pushing her ever closer until at last, reality fractured and the shuddering sensations peaked.

Breathing heavily, the rapturous pleasure slowly beginning to subside, Buffy glanced over her shoulder at him and met his gaze. Lowering his head, Angel pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Now bend over, I’m coming in…”

Biting her lower lip in anticipation, she leaned forward slightly and braced her hands against the door. She felt his hands caressing her bottom, her hips, the backs of her thighs, slipping once more between her legs. She heard the zipper of his pants just before she felt him shift closer, the smooth leather brushing her thighs. His erection nudged her wet cleft and she leaned her back, encouraging him. She gasped softly when he thrust forward, filling her completely.

Holding himself motionless for a moment, Angel gritted his teeth. The feel of her hot, tight wetness surrounding him without the familiar latex barrier tested his control. It was only recently that they had been able to forgo the condoms, Buffy now on the pill, but each time he marveled at the difference in sensations.

His fingers gripped her hips hard as he began to withdraw then return, settling in a steady, plundering rhythm.

Buffy was soon inundated with desire, insensible to all but the steadily increasing pace of his movements. Her breathing grew ragged and her pulse raced as she moved in perfect concert with him until they were both barely clinging to sanity. Harder, faster he thrust until the whirling ecstasy broke, leaving them both shuddering, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

A short while later, he helped her adjust her wrinkled clothing and between kisses, tried to reassure her that no one would know what they had been up to. Of course, with his satisfied smile and her flushed cheeks and rumpled dress, it wasn’t hard for their friends to figure out.

The teasing was ribald and constant, but strangely, tucked in the curve of her husband’s protective arm contentedly, Buffy didn’t mind.

* * *

Angel answered the knock on the door and the welcoming smile immediately slipped from his face. “I would invite you in,” he offered politely though his tone was cool, “but I’m sure you have pressing business elsewhere and can’t stay.”

“I’m recommending that charges be filed against you and Ms. Summers. My report will be in the DA’s office by the end of the month.” Dr. Walsh said unceremoniously, a malicious smile curving her lips. Her blue eyes were icy cold. “I suggest that you start packing.”

“While I appreciate your concern for my belongings,” Angel replied sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame, “I think I’ll wait until an official decision is rendered by the courts.”

“You do that, Mr. O’Connor,” the BCIS agent countered smoothly, “thought I can say with a fair degree of confidence that you will be sorry.”

“I’m willing to take my chances.” Angel challenged calmly, prepared to brazen his way through the conversation with the unpleasant agent. Already though, his mind was shifting through several possible next steps. They only had another four weeks of classes before the quarter ended. If Dr. Walsh presented her case this month it would likely be stalled due to the holidays so chances were good that they could at least finish their classes up for the quarter. After which, he could take Buffy back to Ireland. They were probably too late to get applications in for the spring semester at any of the schools there, but they would at least be free from any sort of legal action. They could stay there for the next couple of years if necessary then they could return to the U.S. He hated throwing a wrench in Buffy’s plans, and he’d probably be giving up any shot at a career with the FBI, but he wasn’t about to put Buffy at risk.

His tone pricked her temper, but Maggie Walsh was too professional and too calculating to let it show. Instead, she gave a single nod of acknowledgement and switched topics to the real reason she had stopped by the apartment complex. “I’m looking for your landlord, Lorne. He hasn’t returned my calls.”

“Lorne only owns the building, he doesn’t actually live here. His place is across town, but you won’t find him there either. He’s in Bali. Vacation.” Angel said casually, a little surprised that Dr. Walsh hadn’t already discovered those facts for herself, seeing how she appeared to be quite resourceful and diligent, not to mentioned extremely detailed. “He said he was staying through Christmas in fact.”

“I see.” The BCIS Agent said in clipped tones. “Then I assume that you have a number where he can be reached? Or would you like to provide an alternative reference?”

“He’s at the Ritz Carlton, Jimbaran,” he replied after a brief hesitation. “I don’t have the number, but I’m sure it’s easy enough to find.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Walsh returned with a cool smile. “Have a nice day, Mr. O’Connor.” Her case was still weak and she knew it, but she also knew that a good bluff would often send the guilty running. At the very least, it would give them some sleepless nights.

* * *

The Thanksgiving holiday was a welcome respite from the increased pressure of classes as the term neared its end, and the O’Connor’s spent their days in blissful companionship.

They slept late in the mornings, a pleasant rarity due to the holiday weekend, and made love often. Weather permitting, they sat on the small deck and enjoyed the sunshine, or took walks along the neighborhood streets or to the beach.

After a late and leisurely breakfast of eggs, fruit and toast one morning, with a fire burning in the small fireplace, Buffy settled on one couch to read while Angel lounged out on the other, his sketch pad in hand.

He drew the rough outline of the background with quick strokes, brushing in some semblance of texture for the sage green sofa then concentrated on the lithe figure of his wife stretched out before him.

He worked without saying a word for almost an hour, sketching carefully to capture the graceful lines of her casual sprawl, the curve of her hip, the small of her back, slight tilt of her head as she concentrated. When he started to fill in her face, he slowed, taking enormous pains to capture the delicate beauty of her features, wanting to show the quixotic temperament that charmed and lured, the depth and brilliance of her eyes that captured him so easily, the curve of her lips that enticed him, even now, to kiss her.

“What are you drawing?” Buffy inquired after a while, noting his intense concentration.

“You,” he replied with a small smile, not looking up from his work.

“Oh? Are you finished yet?” She asked curiously, closing her book and starting to roll off the couch.

“No,” he murmured softly. “Stay there for another fifteen minutes.”

Settling back into position on the sofa, she waited. After a few minutes, she shifted restlessly, impatient.

“Am I naked?” She inquired teasingly.

“Not yet.” He replied, his smile insinuating. His eyes flicked up to hers for a brief second.

“Have you drawn anyone… like that?” She asked curiously, shifting her pose yet again, her head resting on one arm.

“Not in a while.” He equivocated, not entirely sure if he wanted to go into details of his brief relationship with Darla years ago. “Probably not since an art class I took through a private studio. Why? Would you pose for me?”

She laughed, a hint of color fusing her cheeks, “Maybe.”

“I could probably draw you from memory.” Angel said after a few minutes of contemplation as he put the finishing touches on the drawing. Abruptly he stood and walked over to the couch where she lay on her stomach. He set the sketch in front of her as he sat down next to her.

“You’re very good.” She commended softly, studying the drawing. It was beautiful; she was beautiful, the way he had drawn her. Was that really how he saw her?

“It’s really beautiful.” She could feel him behind her, leaning down to drop the light skimming kiss on the back of her neck.

“It’s the subject. You’re beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her hair spreading it over her shoulders. “And now I want you naked.”

His words sent a tremor of anticipation soaring through her body and Buffy closed her eyes. She could feel the heat of his hands through the cotton of her t-shirt as they roved over her back, and down her hips.

“Take off your clothes,” he whispered huskily against her ear. “I’ll be right back.”

She had only just slipped off her shirt when Angel returned. He spread a fluffy blanket on the floor in front of the fire and next to it set a small round bottle. Next he stripped off his shirt and dropped it carelessly on the sofa. His pants followed. With a wicked smile on his face, he beckoned for her to come to him.

Buffy removed the rest of her clothes, shivering slightly at the cool air on her bare skin, and walked the few steps over to him until they stood just inches apart.

He brushed her face with his fingertips, leaning down to kiss her brow, her cheekbone, her jaw. He traced the full shape of her lips with his tongue before his mouth took possession of hers in a deep sensual kiss. He lifted her then, and lowered her to the blanket in front of the fire.

Urging her on to her stomach, he lifted her hair out of the way, then reached for the small bottle. He poured the scented oil in his palms, warming it, then smoothed it in sensuous, sweeping strokes along her back, kneading and massaging. Moving lower, he ran his palms slowly over the curve of her hips and the firm round swell of her bottom. She gasped when he kissed then gently bit the tempting flesh, then tensed as his fingers slid wickedly between the cheeks of her behind, arousing unusual but pleasurable sensations that made her quiver. His expert hands drifted lower then, working with long, smooth strokes along her thighs all the way to her feet.

Buffy sighed blissfully. The delicious fragrance of ripe peaches drifted to her, and her body turned from cool to hot as he continued to massage her firm, tanned skin until it practically gleamed in the firelight.

After a while, he encouraged her to turn over, only to begin again, his slick fingers gliding along her throat, down the valley of her breasts to her taut stomach and again down her thighs to her feet.

With patience and skill, he massaged the scented oil into every part of her body. As he worked, his voice, low and vibrating with passion flowed over her. He whispered heated promises of pleasure, telling her everything he wanted to do to her, reminding her of how he could make her feel and how she made him feel. He coaxed and petted and caressed, until she was almost breathless, panting with need.

Leaning over her, he tongued one hard nipple before sucking it into his mouth with a soft murmur of pleasure. His long fingers stroked her stomach before moving lower, between her legs to her damp and swollen sex. He explored gently, teasingly, before easing one finger inside her. She parted her legs further and arched into his hand encouragingly.

Her breath caught in her throat at the tremulous flurry of pleasure racing through her system from the explicit touch. He continued the dexterous rhythm even as he shifted position, moving over her.

The firelight gave the room a magical glow, gilding their entwined bodies and adding to their heated senses that afternoon. Buffy purred with satisfaction as he filled her again and again, bringing them both resplendent pleasure with unbridled stamina and finesse.

* * *

“This case has been under investigation for, what six months?” Lindsey curtly inquired, glancing up from his position across the desk to make eye contact with the BCIS director, Doug Flutie. “Is that typical?”

“About that, yes. It’s not atypical, though it’s a little surprising.” Director Flutie answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Surprising?”

“Quite honestly, Mr. McDonald, as I told you on the phone earlier, I would have to say there’s just not much of a basis for a case here.” Doug leaned back in his chair, pressing his hands together over his midsection, his fingers steepled. “The circumstances are suspect, yes, but I’m inclined to think it’s more a case of young lust and someone wanting to save themselves for marriage than a deliberate intent to defraud the government or some nefarious plan to keep Mr. O’Connor in the country. Which, quite frankly, the former is how I ended up married and I’m pleased to say that we’ll be celebrating our twenty-fifth in the fall.”

“Congratulations.” Lindsey glanced up from the file he was reviewing. “It’s nice to hear that some people actually stay married. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you. And yes, it is, isn’t it? There are certainly worse things to base a marriage on than simple attraction.” Director Flutie smiled and cast an affectionate glance at the family photo on his desk. “Are you married, Mr. McDonald?”

“No, I’ve managed to avoid taking the plunge so far,” the young P.I. replied with a smile, his green eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Ah well, it’s a matter of finding the right woman.” Doug commented affably.

“And finding the time to do that,” Lindsey countered with a shrug, returning his attention to the paperwork in his hand. “Something I just don’t seem to have enough of lately.”

“Yes, yes.” Director Flutie agreed with a nod.

“Anything else about the case strike you?” Lindsey questioned, setting the file on the desk now that he had finished his perusal of the contents.

“Well, in terms of peculiar… Dr. Maggie Walsh - the agent doing the investigation - is one of our best, and yet she didn’t interview the person that signed their wedding license as a witness, a…” The BCIS Director picked up the file, flipped it open and scanned the contents for what he was seeking. “Ah, here we go – a Ms. Cordelia Chase.” Glancing back up, he mused, “Unless the report of it is not in the file, but that would also be unlike Maggie. Other than that, the only other item of note is the fact that there’s not much to justify continuing the investigation. In all honestly, I would have thought that Maggie would have simply filed a completion report and moved on to another case by now.”

“Your agent – Dr. Walsh – does seems to have a dogged interest on this one, doesn’t she?” Lindsey inquired, watching the BCIS Director’s face carefully for a reaction.

“Yes, it would seem so.” Doug answered honestly, his expression slightly perplexed as he considered the reasons.

“It seems to me to be exactly the kind of thing that a Director of the BCIS would want to put a stop to.” His tone was circumspect, despite the loosely veiled suggestion. “After all, it’s inefficient use of valuable and limited resources, wasting time on a case like this one when there are so many others…”

Doug Flutie studied Lindsey’s face for a moment before he gave a slight nod.

“Thank you for your time.” Lindsey rose gracefully to his feet and extended his hand across the desk. “And your cooperation.”

“It’s no problem.” Doug replied, shaking the younger man’s hand pleasantly. “Although, do you mind if I ask what the Bureau’s interest is in this particular case?”

“I don’t mind if you ask, if you don’t mind that I don’t answer.” Lindsey replied with a friendly smile. “That information is-”

“Classified?” Director Flutie interjected.

“Not exactly,” Lindsey replied with wry smile, “But then I’m not at liberty to discuss it at this time.”

“I understand.” Doug nodded good-naturedly.

“Oh, before I forget…” The young P.I. reached into the case that he carried and withdrew a manila envelope. “I have something that might interest you.”

“What is it?” The BCIS Director asked curiously as he took the envelope from Lindsey’s hand. Opening it, he glanced inside to see what appeared to be a small stack of neatly arranged papers and several photographs.

“Take a read through there, I think you’ll see. And, uh, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention where you got that.” Lindsey added cryptically. “Thank you again.” With a brief wave he left the office.

* * *

When the brunette beauty approached the table, Buffy looked up. Rebecca Lowell, attractive and sophisticated, introduced herself with a friendly smile. “You’re Buffy, right? The guy at the counter said you might be able to help me. I’m looking for Angel.”

“Well, he’s supposed to be here in about an hour.” Buffy answered politely, her curiosity piqued. How did the woman know Angel? Her name wasn’t even familiar, so Buffy was almost certain that he had never mentioned her before.

“I told him I would take him up on his offer to study tonight, and I was worried that I was going to be late.” The attractive brunette offered in a tone that intimated that the offer had meant more than just study.

“Oh?” She studied the woman again, noting the stylish cropped hair, the low-cut red blouse, short black leather skirt and high heels that were more suited for a night at the Bronze than a study date at the Espresso Pump. By comparison, Buffy felt downright dowdy in her low-rise jeans and simple black sweater, her hair pulled back in a smooth pony tail.

“So, since you’re his roommate, you must know all of Angel’s secrets,” Rebecca said as she helped herself to the chair next to Buffy. “Tell me about him. I want to know everything…”

Buffy’s eyebrows quirked up in surprise. Roommate? Roommate?!

Rebecca’s further words went unheard as Buffy worked to collect her thoughts before she finally spoke, “So, uh, Rebecca, just how did you say you knew Angel? Because he’s never mentioned you...” She couldn’t resist including that last barb, unable to stave off the unwanted feelings of jealousy creeping over her.

“Oh, well. I don’t know that he would…” Rebecca countered defensively. “We only met recently, and he offered to help me with Criminology and in return, I offered to show him around. Explore the Sunnydale social scene a bit since he said he doesn’t get out much. Being a foreign exchange student is lonely at times. I know because I spent a year abroad myself, studying in Paris.”

“I see.” Buffy said, her temper barely in check. Even the woman’s voice had an elegant lilt to it. It grated. “Well, thank you, Rebecca, for your… generosity. But if my husband is lonely and needs to ‘explore’ the Sunnydale social scene, he’ll be doing it with me.”

“Husband?” The attractive brunette questioned with a lift of her perfect brows.

“Yes, husband.” Buffy replied coolly, setting her pencil down on her book and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hm, well, I guess he’s not the happily married type, since he didn’t tell me he was married when he was fucking me the other day,” Rebecca retorted with a malicious smile, leaning across the table as if to impart a secret. “Though I can see why you’d put up with such, er, indiscretions. He’s amazing.”

Buffy’s stomach lurched at the confident words, but nothing showed on her face.

“Tell him I said hello and I’m sure I’ll see him later.” Rebecca continued in a confident purr, completely undeterred by the anger she saw in the other woman’s eyes. She rose to her feet and gave a casual wave as she strolled out of the Espresso Pump.

* * *

Angel heard Buffy before he saw her, the sound of her laughter distinct to him even among the noise in the crowded Espresso Pump.

“So we found her,” Doyle casually remarked, keeping pace with Angel as he wove his way through the tables in search of his wife. “Good sleuthing on your part. Must be all that criminal justice training."

“Must be. Though having an agreed upon time and place for meeting helps too,” Angel joked back as he scanned the crowd for a familiar blonde head.

“She seems to be enjoying herself,” Doyle added as the sound of laughter came to them again. “Maybe there’s no need for you to worry as much about her being stressed as you thought then.” Earlier that evening Angel had shared his concerns with his friend about Buffy taking on too much, between work, school classes and the added stress of the as yet unclosed BCIS investigation. He was trying to find a way to tell her that she could cut her hours at Patina – or quit entirely if she wanted – but hadn’t yet found a way to bring it up for discussion. Given how self-sufficient she wanted to be, he wasn’t sure it was an argument he could win either.

“Maybe,” Angel returned, catching sight of his wife and coming to a sudden stop. He had not expected to find his wife sitting – and laughing - with an overzealous, panting Riley Finn.

His eyes shifted to Riley and he took in the hopeful expression, the adoring gaze in the puppy dog eyes. Outrage flared through his senses, pushing aside his earlier feelings of relief. How dare he think she was available? She was his, he thought moodily.

“Want something? I’m going to grab a coffee.”

His friend’s voice sounded distant in the sudden turmoil of his thoughts. When Doyle tapped him on the shoulder, he turned his narrow-eyed, furious gaze on his friend.

Doyle followed the track of Angel’s earlier glance and immediately knew the direction of his thoughts. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I’m sure.” His voice was low, but taut with anger.

“Don’t do something you’re going to regret,” Doyle warned softly, well aware of his friend’s temper and the recent, irrational jealousy he had shown with regards to his wife. He put one hand up to stop him.

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to go meet my wife,” Angel retorted, shaking off Doyle’s hand. And warn off the pup that’s drooling over her, he thought, his brows drawing together in a scowl.

With an exasperated sigh, Doyle watched as Angel wove his way through the small tables with a determined stride. He debated if he should follow, but then decided that it was highly unlikely that he could prevent whatever was going to happen from happening. Keeping one eye in that direction however, he walked over to stand in line to order.

Buffy stopped talking abruptly when Angel stepped next to the small table. Riley, following her gaze, also turned to look at the object of her attention.

“That’s my seat, Finn.” Angel tapped Riley on the shoulder hard enough that it was likely to leave a bruise.

“You weren’t in it.” Riley countered calmly. He had no intention of being ordered around by Buffy’s husband, particularly after overhearing the exchange between Buffy and Rebecca. It was pretty obvious that Angel O’Connor was fooling around, even if he hadn’t suspected as much after seeing him with Cordelia Chase at the Delta Sigma Chi Halloween party.

Angel leaned forward, resting one palm flat on the table, the other on the back of the chair. “I have no problem moving you. Your choice.”

Riley glanced into the dark eyes of the man practically leaning over him.

“Now that I have your attention,” Angel murmured smoothly, “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop drooling all over my wife. She’s not available to you or to anyone else.”

“You’re an ass, O’Connor.” Riley’s face was taut with anger.

“Maybe,” Angel said with a smirk. “But Buffy’s still in my bed at night isn’t she? That’s a sight you’ll never get to see Finn.”

“Oh, grow up,” Buffy lashed out, as hot-tempered as he after the meeting with Rebecca earlier that evening. Turning, she gave Riley a bland smile, “If you’d excuse me… it was nice to see you again Riley. Thank you for your company.”

Grabbing her books and book bag, she shot Angel and angry look and stalked toward the door.

Angel caught up with her just inside the door and narrowing missed grabbing her hand as she left the building. Still, he caught up with her in two strides and pulled her to a stop.

“Just what is your problem?” Buffy hissed up at him, her green eyes dark with anger.

“My problem?” he replied, his voice a growl. “My problem is that I don’t like other men drooling over my wife. Or are you going to tell me you like that? That you want that boy’s company?”

“I don’t believe this! How dare you!” She remonstrated, her patience gone. “You’re the last person to-to making that kind of accusation. If we’re going to talk about drooling, let’s talk about Rebecca.”

“Who?”

“Rebecca Lowell? She stopped in looking for you.” She stared at him pugnaciously, her hands on her hips. “Oh, and by the way, she mentioned that when you were fucking her the other day, you forgot to tell her you were married.”

“What? What are you talking about?" His eyes narrowed and he looked at her in stunned surprise.

“Rebecca Lowell stopped by the Espresso Pump tonight looking for you. She understood that I was your roommate, which was an assumption that I corrected, then she mentioned that you apparently forgot to tell her that you were married when you were fucking her. Of course, that should probably happen before rather than during sex, but what do I know about these things?” she said, her voice snide and too sweet and taunting.

“I thought we went through this already.” Still surly with jealousy, he resented her accusation. Still, he understood her anger – it was similar to his own seemingly uncontrollable feelings. “First, how would I have energy or time to fuck anyone else when I’m with you every night and then some? Second, I’d never be stupid enough to meet you and someone else at the same place at the same time. And third, I’ve told you time and again, there is no one else in my life but you. I can’t do any more to prove that to you and, honestly, Buffy, I’m getting tired of this.”

“We did. We have. But they keep popping up: Cordelia, Nina, Kate and now this Rebecca,” she muttered, sullen and glowering. “You’re saying that they’d just decide to make up a story about the two of you for some reason? That you haven’t been with them? If you’re having sex with other women, I’d like to know.”

“No, I haven’t. And how the hell should I know how they think?” His frustration surged, particularly given the complete reversal of his behavior since their marriage.

“I’m just repeating what she told me,” Buffy retorted petulantly.

“So was Finn going to be a retaliation fuck?” His question was flippant and rude.

“Do I need one?” she hotly questioned, her anger flaring.

His head came up and his eyes gleamed darkly in the night. His soft laugh was unpleasant. “If you need a fuck, babe, you only have to ask.” He reached for her, only to find his hand slapped away.

“I’m not interested.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

He didn’t move for a long moment, working to control his temper, as he studied her face. A sudden realization dawned and he sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Look, a woman named Rebecca asked me to dinner the other day…” he began with a grimace, “I said, thanks but no thanks. It was during a class, and I wasn’t interested in getting into a conversation with her about why. I didn’t mention it because I dismissed it from my mind as soon as it happened.”

“Right, dinner.” Buffy snorted, unappeased. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

“If it happens again, I’ll be very sure to mention that I’m married.” His anger had deflated in light of Buffy’s revelation and his subsequent realization and now he was contrite. The thought of hurting Buffy had brought him up short and he regretted his temper and harsh words.

“She didn’t seem to care that you’re married,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lower lip extended in a pout. “None of them do.”

“Well I do. Her asking meant nothing to me. None of them do.” His voice was low, quiet. He reached out again and took her hand. “I’m sorry for what I said. I lost my temper when I saw you with Riley. I promise you Rebecca’s lies are not worth worrying about.”

“I know,” Buffy sighed, her temper dissipating with his words and his apology. She still had some lingering doubts; why would the woman lie out right? But then, she trusted Angel. She knew in her heart that he was telling her the truth. She also knew in her heart that if he wasn't, she'd feel betrayed a thousand times over.

“I don’t know why, but I can’t think rationally when it comes to you,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “I just … react.” Drawing her close, he kissed her forehead.

“I’m jealous, I guess,” she confessed softly. She wanted him for herself only; she wanted him to love her as much as she loved him. But she wasn’t about to say that. “The women… they’re always so beautiful-”

“I’m sorry,” he interjected soothingly, his arms tightening around her, “but you, my beautiful wife, have nothing at all to be worried or jealous about.” He planted a soft kiss on her lips. “No one compares to you, sweetheart.”

“Let’s go home,” he murmured against her temple. “And I’ll prove it to you.”

Watching from the doorway just down the street as the couple walked away arm in arm, the figure hidden in the shadows smiled.

"Guys can be such jerks," Andrew said as the waitress set a chocolate soda in front of him. A bowl of ice cream smothered liberally with chocolate fudge and whipped cream followed, Anya reaching for it eagerly.

"You can't trust them," Hallie declared, eyeing her own strawberry and chocolate sundae concoction.  The three had walked over to the all-night diner after Patina closed, Anya wanting some company and commiseration after her announcement that she had broken things off with Lindsey. She had dropped in on him unexpectedly yesterday afternoon, only to catch him half undressed and with another woman.

"You should have seen him when I confronted him about it," Anya mumbled through a mouthful of ice cream. Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying. "He wasn't at all apologetic.  He just said that we never agreed to see each other exclusively, so he didn't understand the problem." She sniffed loudly, wiping her nose on her napkin. "I hate caring about a guy… it's so useless and emotional."

"It is." Andrew commiserated, noisily slurping his soda.

"She lives in my neighborhood."

"What?" Turning her head, Anya pinned Hallie with a glare. 

"I mean, I think she does. I think, maybe, that I've seen them…" The brunette trailed off, suddenly wishing that she had kept her mouth shut.

"You've seen him with her and you never told me?" Anya questioned with a touch of bitterness, stabbing her spoon in her ice cream.

"Well, I wasn't sure it was the same guy…"

"Hallie!"

"How could you not say anything?" Andrew rebuked in support, his tone of voice a nasally whine while his gaze was accusing.

"Okay, okay. I didn't want to tell you. Besides, I thought maybe it was his sister or something." Hallie excused, while at the same time giving Andrew a 'fuck off' glare. She only tolerated Anya's annoying co-worker for her friend's sake, the two women having been close since childhood.

"Yeah, right, a sister," Anya snorted skeptically. She might have been tempted to fall for that excuse had she not seen the woman, wearing only Lindsey's shirt, walk out of his bedroom. "Who is she? Do you know her?"

"I think her name's Eve," Hallie replied thoughtfully, pausing to slurp up one of the strawberries from her sundae. "She's maybe a year or two younger than we are at most.  She went to private school, which is why we never saw her at good old Sunnydale High. I don't know her but my Mom knows her Mom – the same nail salon or something. I think her Dad is some big lawyer at Wolfram & Hart."

"Do you think she's prettier than me?" Anya asked bluntly. "Or what? Because I know it's not just sex. We had sex. Good sex. Great sex even."

"No, not prettier. She's just … different." Hallie shrugged, not sure how to explain the laws of attraction to her friend, much less the behavior of a guy that she had seen only a few times and had only met once in passing through Anya but didn't know at all. "The few times I've seen her she's always dressed up, you know, Ally McBeal-ish, so I think maybe she works in some office downtown." She paused then added supportively, "Maybe he's into the career woman type or something…"

"I suppose. Though he seemed awfully interested in Buffy the few times he's been to Patina – and she's only a waitress," Anya pouted, wiping a trace of chocolate from the corner of her lips.

"She's the girl that's going to UC Sunnydale? Blonde, right?" Hallie questioned, having met most of Anya's co-workers at one time or another during her visits to the restaurant.

"And annoyingly cute and way too nice? Yes, that's the one." Anya confirmed with a sigh. She was being facetious, as she genuinely liked Buffy.

"I don't know that he's interested in her anyway," Andrew said with a shrug. "He just knows her husband. I've seen them talking in the bar a few times."

"See, that's not interest in her if he's friends with her husband," Hallie said unconvincingly, punctuating her sentence with a pointed finger. "Guys are notoriously loyal to their friends. Well, mostly loyal." 

"I suppose." Anya agreed weakly, jabbing her spoon in her dish.

"You'll find someone better, Ahn," Andrew offered, reaching across the table to pat her hand consolingly.

"Maybe," Anya grumbled, once more digging in to her ice cream with vigor.  "Or maybe Lindsey will get some horribly painful disease."

"Hey, maybe he'll get so fat, he'll be like a walking mini-van." Andrew sniggered at his own wit before taking another long slurp of his soda. 

"Ooh, or maybe his dick will fall off from overuse…" Hallie added helpfully, waving her spoon around.

Anya considered her friend's words for a moment then smiled for the first time since she had found out about Lindsey's philandering ways yesterday afternoon.

***

Angel stared at the store clerk with an expression that could only be described as bewildered as she explained the subtle nuances and specific details of the various bras that hung along one wall of the lingerie shop. He had no clue if the replacement bra he owed Buffy should have an underwire, seamless shaping, or advanced push-up cleavage enhancing technology, he only knew the size and that it needed to be black.

Black lace, specifically, since that’s what he had torn the other evening during a particularly heated moment that had led to an unforgettable encounter on the dining table. He blamed his lack of control on a few days of abstinence due to her menses combined with Buffy appearing in the kitchen wearing only his shirt, unbuttoned to her navel, and the matching black lace ensemble, complete with a garter-belt, sheer black stockings and the sexiest pair of fuck-me heels that he had ever seen in his life.  Dinner had burnt, causing the fire alarm to go off, which led to some embarrassment later when three Sunnydale firemen pounded on their door, but all-in-all it was an evening he would never forget. And, if the fading scratches in his back or the bite mark on his shoulder were any indication, neither would Buffy.  He smiled in memory.

The sales clerk was now staring at him expectantly, and he realized that she was finished with her pitch and was waiting for him to make a decision. With a gracious smile, he thanked the woman for her help and selected several items based more on personal preference and imagination than anything he had only partially understood from what she had said about each of the items.

Almost an hour later, with several other items in hand to save as Christmas gifts, he was finally in line at the cash register when he heard a familiar voice call his name. 

“Angel?”

Mentally bracing himself, he turned around.

“It is you! This is the last place that I ever thought I would run into you.”

“Cordelia,” he greeted politely, as she walked toward him. He would have to agree, the lingerie store was not a place that he had expected to run into anyone he knew, much less Cordelia. Well, anyone other than Doyle, who had come to the mall with him and was still flirting with an attractive salesclerk near the door.

“Doing a little shopping?” Cordelia asked, frowning at the items clutched in his hand.

“Christmas,” he replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“And how is little Buffy?” She smiled at him, but couldn’t quite keep the sneer from her voice.

“She’s fine,” Angel answered plainly, not wanting to get into any discussion about his wife with his former girlfriend.

"That's great," she chirped insincerely with a dismissive shrug. "I actually passed all my classes, can you believe it?  Grandpapa is springing for a New Year's trip to Vail for some skiing in celebration. Harmony and Spike are going." Chewing her bottom lip coyly, she inched closer. "I'd love it if you would come with us – my treat. We would have a really great time…" There was no mistaking the insinuation in her tone.

"Thanks for the offer, but no. We've been over this already, Cor-"

“Cordelia? Which do you think? The lavender or the turquoise?  Soft and flirty, or bold and aggressive? Or maybe I should just go with black? You can never go wrong with black- oh, hi, uh, Angel…”

“Rebecca.” Angel said, recognizing the girl from one of his classes at UC Sunnydale.

"Hi. So, uh, how… are you?” Rebecca stammered nervously. Her eyes flitted from Cordelia to Angel and back again. Immediately she dropped the hand holding the undergarments from his line of vision.

"I'm fine, thanks. I didn’t know you two knew each other.” His direct gaze was piercing as he looked from one of them to the next. Both women had slightly guilty expressions, though Cordelia was more obviously annoyed while Rebecca appeared contrite.  

“We just met.” Cordelia explained with a slight wave of her hand.

“We’ve known each other since junior high.” Rebecca blurted adamantly at the same time.

Angel's eyes narrowed as he recalled in a sudden flash what Buffy had told him that Rebecca had said about their relationship, as well as the brief argument that had ensued after. He debated on asking Rebecca about those comments, but decided it was not the time or the place.  Seeing her with Cordelia planted a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that the wealthy brunette was somehow behind the lies that Rebecca had told Buffy, that she was deliberately trying to cause trouble between he and his wife. He'd suspected as much after the calls from both Nina and Kate, particularly when he found out that both women were friends with Cordelia and Harmony… Now seeing Rebecca and Cordelia together… it was simply too much of a coincidence to discount.

"Oh, well, I mean we just met here, in this store tonight, to do some shopping," Cordelia explained with a high pitched laugh and false smile. Still, her eyes flashed as she shot another angry look in Rebecca's direction. "But we've known each other just about forever."

“Ah.” Angel acknowledged politely, though his suspicions were now confirmed: Cordelia was lying.  But, short of confronting her about it – which he didn't want to do in the middle of the crowded store – there was nothing he could do right now. Thankfully, it was now his turn to pay, so he could exit the increasingly awkward conversation gracefully. “It was nice to see you both. Have a nice holiday and a great time in Vail."  He turned away then and handed the things in his hand to the woman behind the counter. 

“Happy Holidays," Rebecca replied in a soft but friendly tone before she turned and fled to the opposite end of the store. She could tell that Cordelia was pissed, and she didn't want to be immediately in range when she unleashed her fury.

"Bye, Angel." Cordelia murmured half under her breath, her gaze following her ex intently. She was angry to be dismissed so easily and even more enraged to see the collection of frothy, sexy – and expensive – garments that he was buying. It wasn't fair! If Buffy hadn't entered the picture, Angel would be buying those things for her – she was sure of it.

Rebecca's blatant ploy had been the crowning glory of her scheme; she had thought for sure that Buffy would break things off after that, but no. The stupid little blonde still clung to him like a leech. Something he always hated! What on earth did he see in Buffy anyway?

Still, it was unthinkable to believe that she, Cordelia Chase, had lost him for good. She dumped guys, they didn't dump her! Men fell all over themselves just for a chance to take her to dinner, much less the favor of her bed – so just what was Angel's problem?  And just why, in the ultimate unfairness of all things unfair, was it that the more uninterested he seemed in her, the more she wanted him?!

The bigger question now though, was just what more was she going to have to do to split them up?

***

On Christmas morning, Buffy woke to the sound of Angel moving around in the kitchen and the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Quietly she got out of bed and pulled on her robe, then took the red and white wrapped package out of the bureau drawer.

The entire group had gathered at their apartment around one o'clock yesterday afternoon to celebrate the holiday with a potluck buffet-style lunch followed by a gift exchange, but she and Angel had saved a few of their gifts to each other for Christmas morning to exchange them privately.  Padding barefoot into the living room, she set the package next to the small tree that they had decorated only a few days ago with clear lights, red bows, white ribbon and some inexpensive ornaments. Mixed in were a few family heirloom ornaments that Buffy had managed to salvage from her mother's things, along with a couple of "First Christmas" ornaments that they had gotten as gifts from friends.

Engrossed in cooking, Angel didn't hear Buffy come up behind him until she wrapped her arms around his waist. Turning, Angel looked down to see her smiling up at him, an impish grin on her face.

"Merry Christmas, Angel," she said cheerfully. 

Clasping his arms around her waist, he returned her smile and dropped a kiss on her lips. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

"French toast?" she asked, peeking around his shoulder.

"With strawberries and whipped cream," he replied, kissing her lips lightly once again before dropping his arms and turning around to flip the slices of bread over. "Which I was going to bring to you in bed..."

"Ooh, that sounds nice," Buffy murmured, dropping a kiss on his shoulder before moving away to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Maybe I should go back and wait then..."

Expertly flipping the toast onto plates, Angel winked at her playfully. "If you want. Or we can have breakfast by the tree, and you can open your presents. Then we can go back to bed."

"Mmm... promises, promises," she murmured in reply, looking over the rim of her cup at him. She watched as he put the finishing touches on the food, then helped carry the plates to the sofa where they sat side by side as they ate, watching the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and talking about Christmases of years past.

After breakfast, Buffy insisted that Angel open his gift first. Like a young child, she watched him with nervous anticipation, her eyes lit with pleasure. She had purchased the sword charm and silver chain almost on a whim, thinking that it looked like something he would like.  Lifting it out of the box, Angel ran his fingers lightly along the expensive silver chain, then touched the sword charm dangling at the end. He looked up at his wife, her expression expectant with anticipation. Smiling, he slipped it over his head. "Thank you."

"You really like it?" Buffy asked eagerly. It wasn't much, but along with a book of Irish poems and a simple grey cashmere sweater he had opened yesterday, it had taken her entire Christmas budget, outside of a few small gifts for her friends and her half-sister, Dawn.

"Yes, really." Leaning over, he kissed her. "It's perfect – like you. And I love it."

Buffy's breath caught at the word love, and she wondered briefly if now was the time that she should tell him how she felt about him. As quickly as it crossed her mind, it passed; she didn't want to spoil the moment – nor did she want to create a situation where Angel would feel obligated to say that her feelings were returned. Maybe she would tell him one day, when she had more confidence or more assurance of his feelings for her…

"Open mine," he prompted softly, nodding at the boxes that set under the tree.

"You shouldn't have gotten so much," Buffy admonished softly, looking at the six remaining boxes as she picked up the first. He had already given her a beautiful floral blouse yesterday, along with a pair of Lucky brand jeans and a rose quartz pendant. 

"To be fair, most of them are actually gifts for me more than you. You just get to open them." he teased, taking a sip of coffee.

Buffy exclaimed with delight as she opened each one, feeling slightly decadent just looking at them. The materials were luxurious, satins, silks and laces, the colors ranging from red to black to the palest of pinks. They were garments made for seduction, for sensuous rendezvous, for meeting one's lover. A tantalizing feeling of wanton excitement crept through her, warming her, as she imagined wearing these for him. Even now, she could feel his dark eyes on her, watching her intently as she examined each item, and it gave her a heady sense of pleasure. How many times would they make love before it would take more than the merest touch from him, the slightest look, and she was near burning with passion for him? Her response to him was showing no signs of dimming, despite the months together and hours spent making love. He only had to look at her, or she at him. and it seemed that she was wet with desire.

"You like them?" he asked, breaking her reverie as he leaned over and kissed her, a long, slow, heated kiss. He felt her response as her mouth opened beneath his, welcoming him with a low purr of desire. They kissed leisurely, mouths and tongues toying and teasing, for several long moments.

"Yes," she said softly, her voice rich with passion, "Now which one should I try first? To see if it fits…" The tip of her tongue slowly, wetly traced her lips.

"Put on the red one," Angel whispered, his lips sliding down the column of her throat.

Pulling away, Buffy retrieved the box containing the specified garment. Lifting the strapless red lace and jacquard corset in her hands she held it in front of her and smiled. Trimmed with black, it laced up the back and had black garter straps. Beneath it, still in the box, was a matching g-string and black silk stockings.

Angel returned her smile as he lounged back on the couch and sipped his coffee, his large frame taking up most of the space.

Casting him a teasing look, Buffy dropped her robe and stripped off the tank top and shorts she was wearing beneath it. First, she pulled on the g-string. Next, she slipped her foot in one black stocking and drew it slowly over her knee and up her thigh. The lace elastic at the top held it in place as she lifted her other leg and pulled on the other stocking. Finally, she slipped the corset on, bending slightly to adjust the fullness of her breasts within the confines of the material. Tossing her hair over one shoulder, she turned her back to him. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "You know, I'm going to need your help if I'm going to model this for you."

"I'll help anyway that I can," he drawled suggestively as he set aside his coffee cup and rose to his feet. Working from the bottom he pulled the black ribbon snugly through each eyelet until he reached the top. "Tell me if it's too tight," he murmured, tugging firmly. Buffy's breasts were pushed higher, the snug fit of the corset compressing her waist and accentuating the flaring curve of her hips.

"It's fine," she murmured, casting a look over her shoulder at him. "And a perfect fit."

He tied the ribbon into a neat bow at the top.

"I can see that," Angel replied, his voice low and husky as he cupped her breasts in his palms. His fingers moved upward to tease the peaked crests of her nipples through the smooth material.

After fastening the garters to the stockings, Buffy leaned back into his body, her head lying against his shoulder as he petted and fondled her through the sensuous silk jacquard. Desire raced through her as his hands drifted lower, moving between her legs. Turning, she faced him, her breasts pressed against his chest as she slid her arms up his chest to twine around his neck. Her hips swayed in wanton invitation against his.

"So… you like?" Her eyes were half-closed against the heat coursing through her body, the exquisite urgency spiraling upward from his expert touch. The corset made her feel wanton, decadent. Already she was wet and ready for him.

"Most definitely," he answered, lifting her in his arms to carry her the short distance to the couch. He set her down only long enough to strip off his jeans and t-shirt. Sitting down, he lifted her onto his lap, straddling his thighs and facing him. Tugging the material of her g-string aside, he lowered her on his rampant erection.

"Does that give you any idea of just how much I like it?" He softly asked as he thrust fractionally upward, at the same time exerting downward pressure on Buffy's hips with his hands.

"Mmm… yesss," Buffy breathed, in answer to both his question as well as the dizzying waves of pleasure sweeping through her. As she moved on him, lifting and lowering herself, the world began to retreat until her focus centered entirely on the exquisite pulsing between her thighs, until only sating the hot, throbbing need seemed to matter.

"Angel…" Her voice was a heated whisper, the tight corset seeming to accentuate the sensitivity of feeling in her breasts and in the melting, hot center between her legs. She could feel his hard length inside her, filling her as she moved with increasing urgency.

"Slow…" He commanded softly, his hands on her hips slowing her descent.

"No." She pouted, squirming against his hold.

"Please… for me…" he cajoled softly, calmly, as if he weren't close to the edge of climax himself, as if she weren't panting with need, as if he knew how much better it would be if they prolonged the inevitable.

Capitulating reluctantly, Buffy slowed her movements to an unhurried, languorous rhythm. After a moment, she leaned forward and licked a path along his neck. A pulse beat later, his hand drifted over her abdomen to the apex of her thighs. He stroked the swollen and sensitive nub of her clit through the silky material, and she moaned softly. His legs flexed beneath her as he rose up to meet her as she once again sank down on his hardness.  Buffy's soft cry was muffled against his neck as she writhed on him, his fingers still stroking her with delicious abandon.

After her first climax, he slowed their pace yet again. This time, he tugged the material of her corset down slightly so he could suck on her nipples each time she rose to her knees over him. She lingered there for long moments, her fingers lacing through the thick mass of his hair to hold him close and prolong the astounding pleasure.

The phone rang, but they paid no attention to it.

Giles' voice speaking inaudible words drifted in and out of their consciousness, background noise only, subordinate to the pounding in their veins, and the heated undulation of their bodies as they moved with steadily increasing fervor.  The message went on and on while the slippery rise and fall of their rocking bodies neared the combustible sublime.

When the tiny, shuddering convulsions of her next orgasm began, Angel drove into her with fierce determination, wanting to join her in the throbbing, peaking splendor. Clutching her close, he closed his eyes as the wild delirium washed over them both. The last orgasmic ripples were just starting to die away when Giles' voice fully infiltrated their consciousness.

"…and have a wonderful holiday, though do try to avoid partying too much. I was young myself once, and I do know the temptation; however, a little prudence can be a good thing.  Yes, well, right then, Merry Christmas, and we'll talk soon."

Buffy laughed softly, her eyes opening marginally, her limbs blissfully lethargic from her position snuggled against Angel's chest.

"Your uncle had quite a bit to say."

Angel smiled, kissing her temple. "He can be like that at times. Now that Jenny is pregnant he's a little jittery as well, so he tends to ramble on more than ever."

"Mmm… understandable," she murmured, kissing him softly and snuggling back into her earlier position. "Shouldn't you call him back then?"

Standing suddenly with Buffy clasped tightly in his arms, Angel started toward the bedroom. "I'll call him later. It's still early yet and besides, I promised you we could go back to bed after breakfast."

"True," Buffy laughed, twining her arms more tightly around his neck. "And I wouldn’t want you to break your promise."

***

“Yeah, I found it. Finally,” Hank Summers grumbled into the phone as he glanced out the window at the building numbers. He eased the Cadillac Escalade into a vacant spot along the curb outside the building that Buffy’s Christmas card had listed as her current address. The fact that she had moved without telling him had only added to his annoyance. He snapped off the phone, got out of the car and climbed the stairs to the third floor. He knocked on the door impatiently, leaning in slightly to listen for the sounds that someone was home.

“What is he doing here?” Buffy exclaimed, peering through the peephole on the door. She tugged self-consciously on the belt of her robe, drawing it tighter as a sense of dread crept over her. In her experience, her father’s visits always meant that he wanted something. And at just before eight in the morning on a Saturday, it was unlikely to be a social call.

Angel, pulling a shirt over his head as he came out of the bedroom, caught the derision in her voice. Still barefoot, he padded across the floor to where she stood. “Who is it?”

“My Dad.”

“You want me to tell him to leave?” Angel’s voice was mild, but there was a hint of brusqueness in his voice. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her back against his chest as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

“No. I’ll talk to him.” Buffy took at deep breath and smiled up at her husband, taking in the narrow-eyed gaze. His touch was comforting, as was his staunch protectiveness. “I don’t even know why he'd come here. I haven’t talked to him in months.”

“If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to.” Angel emphasized, dropping his arms from her in preparation to answer the door as Hank Summers knocked again, harder.

“I know, but he is my Dad, so I should at least see what he wants. He's probably just feeling guilty since Christmas was two days ago, and I didn't even get so much as a card – even though that's all I sent him.” She glanced up at him again, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. She reached for the doorknob herself. “Be polite?”

“It depends,” he returned noncommittally, stepping aside.

She lifted one eyebrow in question. “On?”

“If he's friendly, I can be, too.” Angel’s expression was purposefully bland. He even managed to smile at her as he took a position leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

Taking a deep breath, she collected her wits and turned the knob, opening the door.

“It’s about time you opened the damn door,” Hank Summers snapped, pushing his way over the threshold.

“Hello to you, too.” Buffy replied, her voice tight with constraint. As her father shoved the door closed behind him, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

“I came to see why I’m getting calls from the Bureau of Immigration Services about my little girl’s wedding.” Hank answered, his gaze scanning the room before coming to rest on Buffy’s face. “When she didn’t even tell me herself that she got married. I can tell you I wasn't too happy to hear the news from a stranger rather than my own daughter – if that really is the truth.”

“It's the truth, though I didn’t think you cared to know since you stopped returning my calls months ago,” Buffy countered, her nerves suddenly on edge. She hadn't given the BCIS her father's name or number – why had they called him?  “And besides, I’m not your little girl, as Marisa has reminded me on more than once occasion. Your little girl now is Dawn.” 

Hank only snorted, ignoring her comments about her half-sister. “Well, at least you don’t look pregnant yet.” He stated, his glance rudely traveling over her figure before glancing at Angel for the first time. “So I guess you didn’t knock her up after all.”

“What do you want?” Angel questioned coolly, pushing away from the wall to come to his full height, which was several inches taller than the man currently sizing him up. He had been about to introduce himself as politely as possible under the circumstances to Buffy's father, but those thoughts went out the window with the man's rudeness.

“Can’t I check on my own daughter?” Hank asked belligerently, his face slightly ruddy.

“Why start now? I haven’t seen you or heard from you since you sold Mom’s house after she died.” Buffy interjected before Angel could answer. Still, she moved to stand by her husband, her arms crossed over her chest. “You never sent any of the money you promised either.”

"Well, now, honey, you know I was going to send you something, I was, but then the market took a down turn and all my cash was tied up in investments." Hank excused, his eyes darting away from his daughter in a pattern all too familiar to those that he often misled or lied too. "When things improve a bit, I'll send you a little something. I'll always look after my girl."

"You still haven't told us what brought you to Sunnydale," Angel reminded the older man, even as he unconsciously bristled at the man's words. Draping his arm over Buffy's shoulders protectively, he tucked her against his side.

"I think a father has a right to see his own daughter," Hank insisted, glaring at the younger man with a bravado he didn't quite feel.

"Don't try to pretend concern for Angel's sake." Buffy rolled her eyes slightly, both at her father's attitude as well as his false promise of sending money. "I suppose I should actually introduce you, since you're here. Angel, this is my father, Hank Summers. Dad, this is Angel. Angel O'Connor, my husband."

Angel tilted his head slightly in greeting while Hank Summers gave a brusque nod.

"Now that's over, what did the BCIS want when they called?" Buffy asked, anxious to find out what they might have asked or what her father might have told them.

Hank's gaze narrowed perceptively as he looked from Buffy to Angel and back again. "They wanted to know about your wedding, if I'd met my son-in-law, that kind of thing."

"What did you tell them?"

"Well, nothing of course, since you didn't tell me anything. I figured that you got yourself pregnant and got married, just like your mother did." Hank said with disdain. "It's a hell of a lot easier than finishing college I'm sure. Though I don't really blame you, given your situation. Academics never really were your thing."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." Buffy snapped, her expression cold as she reached for the knob to re-open the door. "Unless you have something more to say, Angel and I have things to do…"

"So that's how you're going to treat your father, is it?" Hank glared at the daughter that had never conformed to his notions of propriety or obedience. "After all I've given you? All I've done for you?"

"Don't overestimate your generosity. We both know all that you've given me." Buffy's tone was bitter.  He hadn't been involved in her life much, even when she was younger and her parents were still together. She was tired of his empty promises and lies, and now, thanks in large part to Angel, she felt strong and supported. She no longer felt that she needed to put up with Hank's bullshit.

"Now see here…" Hank began angrily, advancing toward his daughter.

Lifting her chin, she studied him coolly. "I think you should go."

"I agree." Angel added, taking a step forward. He was prepared to throw the man bodily from the apartment if he refused to leave. It was quite clear now why Buffy wanted nothing to do with her father, and he couldn't blame her.

"Fine," Hank ground out indignantly. "If I leave now, I won't be back, Buffy. Not until you call and apologize. And I won't be sending you any money. Not one single, solitary dime until you manage to show some respect for your father.  And as for you-"

"Don't bother," Angel interrupted. "There's nothing you could say that I want to hear, and I don't respond well to threats. Now get out. Unless Buffy invites you, you aren't welcome here."

Hank bristled and started to speak, but then thought the better of it. He cast a hard look at Buffy, then walked out the door.

When the door closed behind him, Angel turned the lock and glanced back at Buffy with concern.

"I feel like I should apologize for him," Buffy murmured, disappointed as usual by her father's behavior.

"Don't."

"He's just-"

"I understand." Angel reached her then, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. He hated that her father had hurt her. Pulling back, he looked down at her face. "How about we go pick up coffee and some chocolate croissants. We'll have breakfast at the beach and then take a walk on the pier."

Despite her disquietude, she fairly beamed up at him. He knew just what to say and what to do to make her feel better. "You're going to spoil me."

Kissing her lightly on the end of her nose, he smiled. "I intend to."

***

Buffy had been certain that working New Year’s Eve at Patina's was going to a disappointment, particularly since her husband and her friends were all going to be at Doyle's ringing in the new year, so she was surprised to see them all crowded around a table in the bar. Doyle’s date for the evening, Harri – short for Harriet – had even brought along a few colored balloons and streamers in an attempt to add to the already festive atmosphere.

It was almost midnight before Buffy finally had a chance to make her way over to the crowded table where her friends sat, laughing, drinking and exchanging stories. Stopping behind Angel’s chair, she put her hand on his shoulder.

With a grin, he took her hand from his shoulder and tugged her forward onto his lap.

“Angel,” Buffy smilingly admonished, “I'm supposed to be working. Besides, everyone is watching.” She searched the crowd furtively for Snyder, but fortunately he was no where in sight. Most likely he was back in his office where he had been most of the night, drinking wine and watching some New Year's eve special on his small TV.

“So?” He returned her smile, nuzzling her ear. "It's almost midnight, and I have to have my kiss."

“Are you drunk?” She eyed him suspiciously as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Maybe…” He teased, leaning closer. His breath was warm on her throat as he nibbled her tender flesh.  “Did I ever tell you how sexy you are?” he exhaled softly, sending shivers up her spine. Lifting his head, he captured her lips with his own.

Around them, the countdown to midnight began.

Angel lifted his hand, his fingers sliding in her hair.  Familiar fires ignited as they kissed, reveling in the familiar taste and sensation. For a brief moment they were alone with their desires, aware only of each other.

After the hubbub of midnight ceased, Buffy reluctantly slipped from Angel's lap and went back to work.

Just after two, when the festivities at the restaurant finally wound down and Buffy was able to leave, the party moved to the O'Connor's apartment.  The celebration continued there until dawn, Angel making a breakfast of omelets, bacon and mimosas just as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

They all agreed that night: that the new year looked promising.

***

Doyle, with his feet propped up on the small coffee table, drank his beer and half listened to Angel’s phone conversation from the next room. He didn’t say a word when Angel, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary, finally joined him, dropping heavily on the couch.

They sat in silence for almost a minute before Doyle finally spoke. “Takin’ the lass away for the weekend, are ya?”

“Yeah.” Angel replied cheerfully, the focus of his thoughts obviously elsewhere as he copied a phone number and address off a yellow postnote onto a page in his calendar. He handed one printed page to his friend then set aside the other. Reached for the beer that Doyle had placed on the table for him, he added, “She’s been working so hard, she deserves a vacation before school starts again.”

“Post Ranch Inn, nice." Doyle nodded, impressed. He handed the paper back to Angel who placed it on top of the others on the coffee table. "And there’s no benefit in this for you, I take it.”

“Well, I might get a thing or two out of it.” Angel returned his grin, thinking about a romantic weekend away with his wife, just the two of them at the relatively secluded inn on the coast near Big Sur. It would be a bit of a drive, but well worth it.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Doyle inquired casually after almost a minute of silence.

“About?” Angel paused, his bottle raised halfway to his lips. He turned to his friend with a bemused expression.

Doyle nodded toward the framed picture of Buffy and Angel that now set on the mantle. It was one that Wesley had taken at their Christmas Eve get together, Buffy sitting in Angel's lap. They were looking at the camera and smiling happily. “The lass.”

“Buffy? What about her?”

“Angel, don't forget, I know you. You’ve never before been interested in pleasure that comes with any sort of attachment or commitment.” Doyle said bluntly, “You shouldn’t lead this girl on. You’re only going to hurt her when you’ve had your fill.”

Angel dropped his eyes as his thoughts drifted to Buffy - her lithe sensual figure, her quick wit and logical mind, her generous heart, and her strength of character. Just a month ago, he hadn't quite realized. A year ago, he would have laughed at the idea. He hadn't wanted the closeness of marriage, the emotional ties. He'd seen how vulnerable that it had made his father – but he had also seen the good side of it as well. His parents were obviously in love and devoted to each other.

Now he knew with absolute, unwavering, frighteningly powerful certainty that Buffy was the one that he wanted to spend his life with. Without a doubt, he wanted her as his wife. And he couldn’t have been more surprised – at his own reaction.

He shifted uncomfortably, aware of Doyle's scrutiny. “Maybe I've changed.”

“She’s already in love with you, she’s only going to get more attached.” Doyle warned, setting his now empty bottle on the table.

"This whole marriage thing isn't what I expected," Angel said thoughtfully as he ran one his hand through his hair.  Was Buffy in love with him? Really?  “She’s not what I expected.”

“Lust?” Doyle asked as he got up and went to the kitchen for another beer. Returning with two bottles, he handed one to Angel as he sat back down on the couch. "She is a beautiful woman…"

“It’s not… just… lust.” Angel admitted reluctantly, suddenly interested in the label of the Corona bottle in his hand.

“Ah!” Doyle intoned, as if started by this new revelation.  Twisting the cap off his beer, he added smugly, "But then, I coulda told you that a couple of months ago."

Angel glanced up at his friend inquisitively, one eyebrow raised.

“I’ve never seen you like this with a girl before, and I’ve know you your entire life.” Doyle shrugged with a grin. He was surprised that Angel hadn't figured it out already; it was obvious to everyone that spent any amount of time with the couple that they were both wildly in love with each other.

Angel considered Doyle's words thoughtfully for several minutes until finally he looked up at his friend and gave a small shrug. “What can I say? I think she’s the one… I never expected it to happen ever – much less now.”

“You’re sure about that?”

There was a long pause before he finally spoke, Angel considering his next words carefully. “As sure as I’ve been of anything else in my life.”

Doyle lifted his bottle in salute. “Well, here's to love then.” 

Angel tapped the neck of his bottle with his own, his smile widening. “To Buffy.”

***

When Angel returned from the car with their bags, Buffy had opened the drapes and was gazing out the window at the magnificent view.

"This place is amazing. It's so beautiful, so romantic."

"And the view is better with you in it." He came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. "You complete the picture."

She leaned back against his tall, strong body. "You're sweet."

He shrugged faintly. "Not particularly."

She twisted around in his arms. "Thank you – for arranging all of this. You really didn't have to, you know."

"I know, but I wanted to."

She gazed at him with exacting regard, as if trying to sort out some internal dialogue. The disappearing, golden light from the sunset lit his features, revealing the stark perfection of his masculine beauty.

I love you. The words almost escaped her lips, but she forced them back. 

"So what do you want to do first?" she abruptly inquired, attempting to change the direction of her thoughts.

"Well, I thought maybe we should try out the bed…" he suggested with a roguish grin. "I think the view is better from there."

"What if I wanted to go check out the pool instead?" she teased with a smile. Already, she could feel his arousal pressing against her.

"We will… eventually," he whispered, leaning down to lick her upper lip. Gently, he pushed her toward the bed.

"Someone is impatient," She cast a playful glance over her shoulder.

"It was a long drive," he said as he gave her a small shrug. His gaze was enchanting. "And the air in the place seems to be… inspirational."

"It is, isn't it?" She purred softly as the delicious insinuation in his words stirred her senses, whetting her impatient passions.

"That's one reason I brought you here," he murmured, trailing his fingers along her throat, over her jaw to her temple. Once more, he was touched by her beauty.

"Only one reason?" She teased, her voice sounding low and husky to her ears. Her pulse picked up speed, sending the heated warmth of desire straight to her sex.

"One of many," he said, taking her hand as she walked backward toward the bed.

They undressed each other with playful kisses and smiles, delighted to be in such a secluded, romantic place together. They fit in every way, he thought as she lay back on the bed in a languid sprawl, her passion equal to his, her desire for him as greedy as his for her. He paused, his gaze traveling the length of her, from the mass of golden hair spread out on the pillow to the length of her legs and back up again to her smiling face. He considered himself the most fortunate of men.

"You're taking too long," she said, coming up on one elbow. "Is something wrong?"

"Not a thing." He sprawled next to her then, lifting one hand to brush her hair back from her face. What would she say if he told her he was in love with her?

"Then what are you waiting for?" Circling his erection with her fingers, she bent and touched her mouth to the crest of his erection.

"Nothing now," he whispered, a half smile forming on his lips. "Enough foreplay?"

"Yes," she murmured affectionately, "for now."

"A woman after my own heart." Rolling her on her back, he eased between her legs.

"Most definitely that." She arched up for a kiss, gently moving her hips.

His gaze was amused. If only she knew…

Her arms twined around his neck and she sighed contentedly with the first silken penetration.

They moved together, desire building steadily, coursing through their blood in equal measure, hot and insatiable. When his hands closed over her hips, holding her captive for his next plunging downstroke, all conscious thought disintegrated in the quest for the sublime ecstasy. Ravenous desire took precedent, the exhilarating pleasure racing faster and faster. Their intertwined bodies moved in a frenzied, uneven taking and giving until Buffy was shuddering with a seemingly endless wave of orgasms, one following the next until she was insensate with the mind-numbing, exquisite pleasure.

Not long after he joined her in climax, Buffy fell asleep in his arms, exhausted. Covering her with a light blanket, he eased from the bed and gazed out the window. Surveying the tranquil moonlight view, the beauty of the dark ocean waves seeming to offer solace to his restless spirit.

Turning to the bed, he gazed at his wife. Her legs were uncovered, their slender length pure perfection and only recently wrapped around him in the heat of desire.  Instant lust stirred in his body with the thought, and he wondered if there would ever come a day when she didn't affect him so powerfully.  He ran a hand through his hair. His feelings for her, the intense need and irresistible cravings for her, made him uncomfortable. It made him vulnerable. And yet, by all accounts, it was too late. He had already fallen head over heels for his wife…

A short while later when Buffy woke, Angel had managed to rationalize his feelings and soothe his disconcerted emotions. Things couldn't be better between them at present; no need to complicate things just yet. They had three uninterrupted days of bliss, and he intended to make the most of it.

"Ready to see the pool?" he asked genially.

"In a minute," she answered sleepily. Her hair was tumbled over her shoulders, her eyes half-closed giving her a delicious, sultry appeal.

Drawn to her like a magnet, Angel rose from where he sat at the window and walked over to the bed. Sitting down beside her, he ran one finger over one dainty eyebrow, then over her pouty lips. He gazed down at her with affection. "I can't get enough of you."

Lifting her hand, she grasped his and nibbled on his fingers. "You can have whatever you want."

"Anything?" He smiled slowly, running his hands down her arms.

"Anything," she whispered unequivocally.

Later that night, when they finally managed to make it out of the room to the pool, they clung together in the warm water, gazing at the moon and the dark waves of the Pacific Ocean, both reluctant to give voice to the feelings in their heart for fear that it would put an end to their enchanting idyll.

***

On Friday morning, Buffy dug frantically through her bag looking for the small peach colored compact, but to no avail. She would have sworn that she packed her birth control pills, but she had been through everything twice. She had even checked the car on the off chance that it had fallen out of her bag, but still no luck. She did remember seeing them perched on the edge of the bathroom counter as she packed, and with a sinking feeling, she suspect that they would still be there when they returned home. 

She could hear Angel in the next room returning from the main lodge with coffee, muffins and fruit for breakfast. Glancing down, she looked at the sheer pale pink babydoll that she wore. It was one of the things he had given her for Christmas that she had yet to wear; it was only one of several sexy things she packed for the trip knowing full well that they would probably spend more time in their room than anywhere else.

With a sigh, she sank down on the toilet to consider her options. If she told Angel that she forgot her pills, it could ruin the whole weekend. They'd either have to forgo the sex – which wasn't at all an attractive option – or they'd have to find somewhere to pick up some condoms. The shop on the premises would probably have them, but it wasn't open until 10:00 am and, given everything else here, they would probably be ultra expensive. Either way, it would throw a wrench into the weekend – a weekend that Angel had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to plan. It was their first real trip, just the two of them. And it was so romantic, nestled in the cliffs of Big Sur over looking the ocean. She didn't want anything to ruin it.

It was only a few days… the odds were slim that she could get pregnant if she only missed a few pills, weren't they?  

***

It rained almost the entire time during the rest of their stay; but that suited them perfectly as they left their room only twice: one afternoon to hike the nearby hills during a light drizzle and one night to have dinner in the restaurant, which had a magnificent view overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

The rest of the weekend turned into a sexual marathon, one of discovery, indulgence, excitement, urgency, sweetly virginal at times – hot raw sexual energy at others.  In short, in both their eyes – it was perfect.

**

“I need food.” Angel murmured tiredly from his position next to Buffy on the blanket they had spread on the beach. As if the weekend hadn’t been enough, they had stopped at a cozy spot on the way home, one thing led to the next and several hours later, satiated and replete and enormously glad that no one else had chosen the same romantic location, they drowsed together in the fading sunlight.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Buffy replied, her eyes still closed. “But I can’t go in anywhere looking like this.”  She lay on the blanket next to him, half sprawled on his chest, her hair in tousled disarray. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen from their kisses.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered, kissing the top of her head.

Eventually they dressed, and he managed to convince her to join him in the restaurant, where they shared a romantic dinner as the sun set.

When they finally reached Sunnydale in the early hours of the morning, Angel carried a sleepy Buffy into the apartment. She made no protest when he tucked her into bed, joining her only a few minutes later when he had brought their bags in. No doubt the sand from their bodies would mean extra cleaning and fresh sheets tomorrow, but he didn’t want to wake her for the world.

PART SEVEN

| Fiction Index | Home Page | Back |