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Drunk, Dazed and Derailed

Chapter Two

Lifting her chin defiantly even as her cheeks burned with shame, Emily said precisely, "Wonderful. I'm glad I could provide you with such a solid performance. But, where exactly are my clothes and how exactly did I come to be naked in my bed?" Pausing, she looked around the room self-consciously. Why the hell did all hotel rooms have to look so generically alike? "Tell me that this IS my bed, right?"

"Whose bed do you want it to be?" Dave asked, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I will kill you with only this facemask and toy train as a weapon, Rossi. I swear to God that I'll find a way!" Emily threatened through barely moving lips as she waved the objects in his face.

"Easy, killer," Dave soothed, gently robbing her of her potential weapons for the second time in twenty-four hours. The first had been the night before when she had volunteered to use her eye mask for more…erotic….applications than simple sleep. "I'm innocent." Well, mostly, he silently amended. He had taken more than one peak at her mouthwateringly unconscious body, but he hadn't laid a finger on her. Seriously, he should nominate himself for sainthood after resisting that temptation!

"You're innocent?" Emily snorted in disbelief. "Hello, Innocent," she said holding out her hand, "I'm Mother Teresa," she mocked.

"Are you done with your little comedy routine?" Dave asked sardonically, raising an eyebrow at her as he dared her to continue.

"I guess so," Emily grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced him.

"Good. As I was saying, I was a perfect gentleman. JJ helped you disrobe. I merely stayed to assure everyone that you didn't fall out of bed and land on your head. Evidently, you got a little enthusiastic in your inebriated state," he remarked with a pointed look at her dangling thong. "Nice color," he commented blandly, eyeing the neon pink scrap of material.

"Shut up," she muttered.

"It was a compliment," Dave retorted defensively. Jeez, if she was this testy over the dangling panties, wait until she found out the matching bra was still gracing the mirror above the bar. Perhaps, he'd let Morgan share that lush tidbit with the feisty woman glaring at him.

"Jerk," she huffed, growing more mortified with every passing moment.

"Eloquent," smirked Dave as he crossed his arms behind his head. "I'm crushed. I expected much better comebacks after last night's discussion, you know. "

"What discussion?" Emily asked, knowing immediately that she was going to regret asking the question when she saw the grin start to spread across Rossi's face again.

Shrugging his shoulders as he settled more comfortably against the pillows, Rossi replied cheerfully, "You really don't remember? Honey, from the moment you got settled in the room, you were a regular Chatty Cathy. Although I must admit, I blushed a tad when you went on and on about my well-endowed …."

Groaning loudly, Emily cut him off midsentence as she hissed, "Please, God, tell me I didn't say anything I'm going to live to regret." Pressing her hand to her flaming cheek, she muttered, half to herself, "Maybe this is all a dream. If I close my eyes, it will all go away and then I can start the day fresh and bright."

"You're welcome to try," Dave replied magnanimously, shaking his head as he grinned widely, "But I can assure you that this is very real. You want me to relay your conversation word for word or do you think you can make do with the highlights?"

"Quit enjoying this, Rossi," Emily snapped, shaking her head and immediately regretting the motion. "Just tell me how I ended up naked if JJ was supposed to help me change clothes!"

Wriggling his eyebrows, Rossi leaned forward as he whispered, conspiratorially, "Apparently you informed JJ that you just loooove to sleep in the buff. Something about how clothes are so confining." Letting his eyes drop for a moment to where her hands held the sheet tightly around her, he said in a mock-shocked voice, "The prim and proper Emily Prentiss is a closet nudist? Who'd a-thunk it?"

"I was raised in Europe. Things are different there," she groaned balefully, her breaths starting to come in shallow bursts as she attempted to overcome the sheer humiliation of the entire event.

"So you informed us both last night," Dave commented, struggling to keep a straight face. "And half the bar," he added gleefully. Screw Morgan. This was his fun.

Pupils dilating, Emily gasped, "What? What did I inform the bar of, Rossi?"

Leaning forward, Dave said conspiratorially, "Evidently, bras are confining instruments of torture created by men to suppress women. And in Europe, considered totally and completely unnecessary."

"No," Emily whimpered, covering her face with both hands, the sheet around her chest slipping ever so slightly. "Tell me I didn't..."

"Use your brassiere as a slingshot and decorate the bar's Budweiser mirror in intimate apparel the same lovely shade as those?" Dave asked happily, pointing toward the ceiling fan's new decoration. "Sorry, cara, can't do that." he declared sorrowfully.

"Why the hell didn't one of you stop me?" Emily yelped, blindly slapping his chest with a flustered hand.

"Trust me, honey, we tried. But if you weren't the little engine that could last night, you were definitely the little engine that was gonna damn sure she gave it her best shot," Dave relayed, choking on his laughter.

She'd been correct in her initial assumption upon waking earlier. She WAS very definitively in hell. And David Rossi had assumed the role of her own personal Beelzebub. And as if she needed further convincing of his new role in her life, Emily groaned in pain as she heard, "I feel like scrambled eggs this morning. Playing babysitter to you worked up my appetite."

Swallowing quickly as bile rose in her throat, Emily pressed one hand to her queasy stomach and the other to her lips. "Dave..."

"Ohhhh...and biscuits and gravy with those big chunks of country sausage," Dave said, obviously delighting in the olive green color overtaking her complexion.

"And maybe some tomato juice," he said, eyes narrowing as she lurched from the bed.

"I'm going to kill you," she moaned, jerking the sheet with her as she floundered toward the bathroom.

"Was it something I said?" he called after her as the bathroom door slammed.

Emily reemerged several minutes later clad in the white terrycloth robe, compliments of their hotel. Glaring at him as she slowly walked back toward the bed, she hissed, "One word about food and you'll need to take all your meals through a feeding tube, Rossi."

"Is that anyway to talk to your friends?" Dave asked genially from his position on the bed, hands propped lazily behind his head, his body well-covered by the appropriate clothing.

"With a friend like you, an enemy might not be such a bad thing," she muttered, easing carefully back on the bed, grateful to lean her aching head back once again.

"Just for that, you can figure out how to retrieve your panties on your own. I'm going in search of food," he informed her archly, his half-grin belying his tone.

And as the door closed quietly behind him, Emily glanced up toward the ceiling fan. Thanks to Dave and the rest of their team, at least she knew the location of her panties. Left to her own devices, who knew what could have happened?

Perhaps those people that made up her team really could be considered her friends after all.

And for the first time ever, she could admit to herself that she sort of liked Rossi's eyes glued to her little red caboose. Who knew what station her train would have arrived in without him conducting the journey?