Four Years Ago…

Derek yawned as he strolled into the hotel lobby. The lecture had been long but informative. And the best part? The blonde temptress standing at the front of the room with plenty of cleavage and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Yep, the white button up that she'd worn (not buttoned up quite as much as one might think) had given him quite the view. She'd been wearing a camel colored skirt that fell below her knees. It hadn't shown much leg, and it might have been just that reason that it was so damn appealing. Mini skirts weren't Derek Morgan's thing. He liked clothes that were sexy without being too revealing. If he was going to open the package, he wanted there to be some mystery underneath.

She'd been talking almost non-stop for two days, educating everyone on the latest technology making its way to the F.B.I. She hadn't been hard to listen to—she'd kept it interesting, and with her sense of humor, at times it had even been fun.

Derek loosened his tie as he made his way onto the elevator and headed up to his room. It was nice to see Boston again, but he was anxious to get back to Chicago. There were mounds of paperwork on his desk, and he desperately needed to get caught up on it.

The first thing he did when he reached his room was grab the menu. He was more famished after sitting down all day just listening than he was when he spent the day in the field.

But then the scent of cigarette smoke assaulted his senses and he frowned. It was the only room available when he'd booked and he'd had no choice but to take it. But luckily, he did have a choice on where he would eat.

___

Penelope spritzed a little hairspray on her hair and then gave it a tousle. Sure, she was eating alone, but a girl still liked to look good, even if it was only for herself. She reached onto the counter of the vanity in her hotel bathroom and grabbed her lip gloss, deciding she might as well freshen that as well. She leaned in closer to put her lip gloss on and that was when she noticed her shirt. She blushed furiously—even though she was alone—and proceeded to curse. When in the hell had her third button come undone? Had she spent the entire day flashing a conference room full of F.B.I. agents? She groaned as she dropped her lip gloss in the sink and hastily fixed her third button. She almost buttoned the second one, too, as some sort of recompense, but that would just look silly. She rolled her eyes—this was such a Penelope moment—and then snagged her lip gloss and finished primping.

She walked back into the main part of her room and traded her pumps—they were practical when you were going to be on your feet all day—for her camel colored high heels. They matched her skirt perfectly. But the thing she liked most about them was that they made her feel incredibly sexy. She picked her bag up off the stand near her door and made her way to the dining room.

___

The dining room was dimly lit. Each table had a small flaming candle in the center that seemed to give off more light that it should. Penelope was perusing the menu when she caught someone out of the corner of her eye. She looked up and it was him. The man who had been right in the middle section of the conference room—three rows back if she wasn't mistaken. It was probably in her mind, but she would swear she'd felt his stare on her more than once during her presentation. And it had definitely been more than an 'I'm interested in what you have to say' stare. "Can I help you?" she asked in a friendly voice. He could certainly help her. By taking off that damn shirt and flexing his arms. She forced herself not to blush at the thought.

"I was at your lecture today," he told her.

"Yeah, I know," she said with a smile. "Middle section, near the front."

He grinned. "You noticed me."

She laughed. "You're hard to miss," she informed him (as if he didn't know). "And my money says…just as hard to forget."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Eating alone?" he asked.

She nodded.

He put a hand on the chair that was across from her. "Do you mind?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Not at all."

He pulled the chair out and sat down, resting his forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together. "So you're from the D.C. office?"

She nodded. "And you?"

"Chicago," he told her as the waiter appeared.

"Can I get you a menu?" he asked.

Derek looked at Penelope. "Do you know what you're having?" he asked.

She nodded and he looked at the waiter. "Whatever she's having is fine," he told the man, and then returned his eyes to Penelope. "Share a bottle of wine?" he asked.

"Sure," she agreed.

Derek ordered a bottle of wine, Penelope proceeded to order their meals, and then the waiter left.

"I'm Derek Morgan," he told her.

She grinned. "Penelope Garcia," she said, introducing herself.

For some reason, they forsook the shaking of hands. They made small talk and after a few minutes, the waiter came back with their bottle of wine and two glasses and poured them each their first drink. Derek took a small swallow of wine. Penelope was looking at the couple who had just walked into the dining area and he took the opportunity to study her. She'd done up one of the buttons on her shirt. Pity, he thought. As her hand lowered the wine glass to the table his eyes fell to her lips. They were practically glowing in the candle light, almost as if they were beckoning him. He wondered what she'd do if he dove across the table. He almost grinned at the thought. Sweet Lord, he really needed to get laid.

"So, what's you're area of expertise, Agent Morgan?" she asked.

He grinned. "Derek," he corrected. "Right now I work in the Criminal Investigative Division," he told her, then expanded on what it was he did for the F.B.I.

Penelope listened intently. This mans voice was sure to capture any woman's attention and right now, he had hers. After talking about his job, he went on to tell her a little bit about his family and the engagement that had ended nearly a year ago due to the long hours he put in at work.

They broke conversation for a short while when their meal was delivered, but sitting across the table from one another, they had little interest in eating. They'd barely touched their meals when Penelope decided she was going to sleep with him. And now that she'd decided it…well, her spaghetti and meatballs held zero appeal. She was moving her glass in slow circles, the red liquid sloshing back and forth in the glass, when she tilted her head to the side. "So I'm thinking we should just head up to my room," she said, then lifted the glass to her lips and took a small swallow.

He sat back in his chair for minute—one hand on his knee, the other resting on the table—and studied her face. His eyes were glowing in the candlelight, and Penelope had the sudden revelation that the key to this man was hidden in their dark depths.

"We'll probably never see each other again," he reminded her.

She laughed softly. "I loathe missed opportunities," she confided.

He tossed his napkin down beside his plate, pulled some bills out of his wallet and threw them on the table. And then reached for her hand. They walked to the elevator in silence, and then stepped inside. "What floor?" he asked.

"Five," she answered quietly. They were both facing the elevator doors, when Derek took a sideways glance at her, then looked away. When he looked again, her eyes were on him. The next thing he knew, they were a tangle of arms and legs in the elevator. His mouth was hot on her neck, her fingers digging into his shoulders while she groaned loudly. He reached for the waist of her skirt and tugged her shirt upwards, his hand resting on her ribcage. His fingers squeezed lightly and she whimpered.

Derek forced her backwards until she was against the wall of the elevator. He was reaching for the clasp on the front of her bra when the elevator dinged. "Fuck," he said breathlessly. "Why couldn't you have been on a higher floor?"

She giggled at his statement—and reveled in his obvious desire for her.

The doors slid open and thankfully, no one was standing there. Penelope couldn't imagine how unkempt she must look with half of her shirt untucked. Her hair probably wasn't in very good shape either. Not that she cared how she looked at this exact moment, but she certainly didn't want anyone to know what they'd just been doing in the elevator.

When they reached her hotel room door, she pulled the keycard out of her bag. But her hands were shaking and she couldn't manage to get it in the lock. Derek put a hand over hers to steady it, then proceeded to guide it to the lock. The door opened and they practically flew inside, Derek slamming the door with such force she was amazed it didn't fall off its hinges.

Her purse had barely dropped to the floor when he reached her again. He picked up where he'd left off, his hands reaching for the clasp of her bra underneath her shirt. He got it with amazing speed and he pushed her shirt up to her neck, his mouth descending to her chest. His tongue was soft and hot as he tasted the flesh surrounding her nipple. One of his hands lifted to her other breast and he began to run the pad of his thumb back and forth over its peak, his touch soft at first, then more forceful. Her body went limp beneath his touch and his other arm shot out to catch her by the waist, holding her up while the rest of him concentrated on her breasts.

She didn't know what to do with her arms—unfortunately she was in no state of mind to return the attention he was paying her at this moment—so she lifted them to the back of his head, as if to keep him there. But much to her pleasure, he wasn't going anywhere just yet.

He finally lifted his head to look at her--her head thrown back, her lashes resting on her cheeks. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, her breathing ragged. Derek grinned as he realized he hadn't even taken the time to remove her shirt. That hadn't been very nice of him. He'd take care of that right now. After it was gone, he reached for the zipper on the back of her skirt. She lifted a leg to kick off one of her heels, but he grabbed her behind the knee, holding her still. He shook his head fervently. "Uh-uh," he said with a growl. "Leave them on."

Present Day…

Penelope grinned at the recollection as she snapped her suitcase shut. That had certainly been a weekend to remember. He wasn't her first one night stand—although the number wasn't high—but he'd certainly been her most unforgettable. She'd have given anything to have another night with Derek Morgan.

And she'd gotten her chance the next year. She was sure when she saw him that he wouldn't possibly be as good as she remembered—that she'd somehow built him up in her mind. But she'd been wrong. Oh, how she'd been wrong. She shivered at the thought.

This would be their fourth year of scorching, passionate sex together—if he was there. And Penelope could hardly wait.