Once again, while in the middle of a current story, my brain decided to write another. During a chance viewing of "About Face" I noticed the curious look Rossi gave Prentiss when they first met -as though he had seen her before but wasn't sure. And then there are the little ways she has pulled away from him after their initial introduction. So when I heard the Dr Hook song, I got to thinking: What if Em and Dave met 15 years ago and had a one night stand as the song suggested -no last names, no real personals, just two lonely people looking for a little comfort and no-strings?

I don't own Criminal Minds.

Author's note: I changed up the chance meeting between Dave and Em. The original setting didn't sit well and I think this makes it more realistic.
_

Sharing The Night Together

Emily Prentiss was running late. Of course that was nothing new. She was late to everything so often she wondered if her actual name was Tardy Prentiss. Even her birth was late by two weeks. Instead of a hospital, she had decided to make her debut at the British Embassy. It wasn't the first nor the last time she upstaged someone important.

Ironically, the only time she wasn't late was when a paper or report was due. Like tonight. Fortunately, since her report was on the criminal profiling lecture at the downtown convention center, it could only guarantee that Emily wouldn't entirely miss it. Unfortunately, someone failed to notify the traffic and her car. At least her track record was intact.

Her roommate had decided to bow out of the lecture and got someone to attend and take notes. Waiting for the light to turn green Emily wished she had done the same. Alas, it was too late now; maybe she could borrow her roommate's notes. She could only wonder what that was going to cost her. She breathed heavily as the pock-marked face of her roommate's brother flashed in front of her eyes. Dating Phoebe's hapless, geek sibling didn't seem fair for lecture notes...now if she was facing a firing squad then a date could be a possibility. At least she had the weekend to think things through.

Shifting the car into first gear it lurched and back-fired but managed to go forward. Dear God, she needed to get a new car. Well, her birthday was coming up…maybe she could butter her father up for something more reliable than the beat up Malibu she had insisted on instead of the Accord her parents had wanted to buy her. If there was one thing she hated more in life, it was begging for something after she had made up her mind. But sometimes you just had to swallow your pride and ask for help.

Turning into the nearby parking lot, Em tried to find an empty space. Four rows over and near the darkened corner of the lot, Em pulled in and switched off the engine. Grabbing her purse, she locked the door, and jogged to the pay box. Dropping in the money, she took the ticket and hurried to the auditorium. The closer she got, the more people she could see. Her stomach dropped. That was not a good sign. Maybe there was an intermission and everyone was getting a bit of fresh air.

Breathless, she made it to the front door of the auditorium. Trying one of the handles, she found it locked. Surprised, she looked around.

"Hey lady," a squeaky voice called out. "Are you here for the FBI lecture?"

Em turned to see a kid no older than seventeen looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. "Yeah. I thought it was here. Tonight."

"It was, but it ended about a half hour ago."

Em was speechless. "The David Rossi lecture? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. He signed a couple of autographs, and then he left. Kinda rude if you want my opinion."

"I thought it start at eight?"

The teen laughed. "You might want to get a new watch; it's nine o'clock." He looked Em over, turned around, and walked away. Taking a quick glance at the flyer, Em read the time: 7pm - 8:30pm. Where the hell had she gotten that it started at eight? Balling up the paper, she tossed it into the curbside wastebasket.

Damnit! Emily cursed to herself. She had missed the lecture, couldn't take notes, and now it was over. She was so going to fail her class and instead of going to Europe on vacation, she was going to have to take a make-up class so her parents wouldn't find out. Or worst of all, she was going to have to date him. Just the thought was enough to make her want to get a room and get drunk off her ass.

Taking a glance at her watch, Emily decided that that was the best idea she had had in a long while. She could commiserate being a failure over a bottle of wine. Since everyone was heading to the club, she decided to visit the corner pub instead. As she walked in, the dimly lit, cool, and quiet atmosphere greeted her. The bartender looked up and nodded as she took a seat at the bar.

"What will it be tonight?" he asked as he tucked the bar rag over the brass handle.

"Sangiovese di Romagna, please." She watched him pour the drink and place it in front of her. Taking a sip, she let the distinct red grape roll over her tongue. "Mmmm, that's good."

"Will there be anything else?"

"Not at the moment, thank you." Taking another sip, Emily closed her eyes and relished in the drink. If there was anything she missed most about her mother being an ambassador, it was the traveling and visiting different countries. She missed the cultures and the wonderment of how everyone seemed to get along. Maybe it was her age, innocence, or being away from America, but no matter where she went, people seemed to always be drinking, eating, and dancing. Nothing like what was on the news station at night.

She gave a small chuckle as the memory of her weekend in Greece crossed her mind. Oh, the wine. What she would give for a bottle of Malagousia.

"If I buy you a drink, would you share with me what's so funny?" a deep tenor voice asked from behind.

Jumping out of her skin, Emily's eyes flew open. Turning around on the stool, she tried to find where the voice had come from. Standing before her, a tall, dark, and handsome man with a crooked smile watched her every move. Twice his eyes had scanned her from head to toe -probably sizing her up as a potential victim- and when he finished, unlike most guys who concentrated on her breasts, he kept his gaze on her face. In particular, her eyes.

Emily was used to men looking her over and undressing her with their eyes. She had long ago gotten used to the vulgar stares, rude comments, and suggestive remarks that would make a sailor blush. None of that bothered her anymore. Until now.

Looking him over, she did her own analyzing. A psychology major with a minor in Criminal Justice, Emily decided this was a great time to put some of her profiling education to use. Concentrating on his eyes, she watched them widen with humour, but she could see the spark of desire slowly simmering with each second that passed.

Dressed conservatively in a suit and tie, he may have appeared to be just a regular businessman, but looks could be deceiving and Emily had learned about suits and men's attire by watching her father and the many dignitaries she had met over the years. The suit was Christian Dior, the Rolex was real, and there was no doubt that his shoes ran over three figures. If clothing made the man, then this man was a gift from God. Of course, this man was anything but a businessman. Although she was sure he meant business...if that come-hither look was any indicator.

Finishing her scrutiny, Em took in his clean shaven face, black hair brushed neatly back, and even white teeth -it was apparent he was particular about his appearance. Not a bad thing for a man. Actually, that was a plus in her book. She just wished she could see his hands. Hands were, perhaps next to eyes, the essence of a person and who they were.

"I take it you like what you see?" he asked. Emily found herself blushing as his comment -or rather suggestion- caused her heart to race and her blood to run hot.

Grabbing her glass, she tried to play nonchalant as she looked at him over the rim. "And if I do?"

"Well, in that case, I would repeat my question and ask if I could sit beside you."

"I'm not a hooker," Emily offered.

The man pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "Many things may have crossed my mind since the moment I saw you, but hooker was never considered."

"Then you may sit," Emily primly gave permission. Extracting his hands, he sat down heavily. Looking at her glass, he asked: "What are you having?"

"Sangiovese di Romagna."

"Ah, a Tuscany blend." Motioning to the bartender, he ordered what Emily was having, plus one. Savoring the drink, he watched her face as she took each sip.

Feeling his eyes on her, Emily got uncomfortable. "What?"

"Your order is rare for a woman."

"I used to live in Rome when I was a teen-ager. This was served at dinners; I developed a taste for it."

"When you were a teen-ager? What was that: last year?"

"Very funny; I am 23."

"Legal."

"Bad?"

His eyes flicked down to her mouth. "No. Nice and good. Very good."

Emily Prentiss was not a virgin -not by any stretch of the imagination, yet she wasn't completely experienced- but it wouldn't take Dr Ruth to figure out that she was more than just slightly attracted to the stranger sitting beside her. In reality, it was more than physical -it was brazenly wanton lust. And his response only added fuel to the fire.

"Good. I like what I see too," Emily replied coolly. Oh dear God, did she just really say that? Sipping long and slow, she hope that she came off as composed despite the butterflies dancing in her stomach. Casting a look at the third glass, she shrugged. "Is that supposed to be for me?"

"Call me old fashioned, but I was raised that if you see a beautiful woman alone in a bar, and she allows you to sit beside her, you return the favour by buying her a drink. Too forward?"

"Depends…are you married?"

"Divorced. Twice."

"Perhaps you should have been buying drinks for your wives instead of for strange women you try to pick up at bars."

"Touché. I have never had to buy a woman a drink to pick her up."

"Cocky and arrogant. Two big turn offs in my book."

He drank his wine. "Holier than thou attitude with a dash of a faux noble air. Two big turn offs in my book."

Emily threw back her head and laughed. "May I ask your name?"

"Call me…Dave."

"Okay…Dave. What brings you to town? Business or pleasure?"

Dave finished his drink. "What if I said both?"

"I'd say that you are covering all your bases. What is your business?"

"Writing."

"Ah, an author."

"No. Just a writer."

"You say that as if it hurt."

"Maybe it did. I haven't made it to 'author' status yet."

"Hmmm."

"What?" Dave's tone was curious.

"It's funny: your appearance is immaculate, your clothes are expensive-" Emily sniffed the air appreciatively. "I think I smell expensive cigars in your coat pocket. Care to share one?"

It was on the tip of Dave's tongue to suggest what Emily could share, but instead he reached into his coat and extracted two cigars. Handing her one, he lit his and turned the flame toward her. He nearly choked on his tongue as he watched her move in. His lower body stirred with desire as she took a drag and then let it out.

"Nice. Different. What kind is this?" Em complimented.

"Al Capone."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Wow! You are sophisticated and learned."

"I like what I like. When I was in Chicago, a friend introduced me to these sinful delicacies." Dave puffed. "To be honest, they were my secret up until a minute ago."

"You are telling me that you have never shared these with any one?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

Emily watched his face. "You don't seem to be lying."

"I'm not." A really long silence fell between them. "So, you were dissecting me before you conned me out of a smoke; care to finish?"

Emily took a long drag. "Where was I?"

"Expensive clothes…"

"Yes. Expensive clothes and refinements, but I can tell you come from a working class background. Your accent is a cross between West Jersey and Manhattan."

"Close: Commack."

"Your speech is still too refined to be New York. Your cadence is a bit too precise. Something tells me you stuttered as a child and learned tricks to conceal it. I notice you stay away from certain letters. Of course, if you have to say them, you drop your voice just a bit lower than its normal tone."

Suddenly self-conscious, Dave grabbed the spare glass of wine. "I never thought I would be given a psychological profile by a beautiful woman in a bar."

"I like to know what I am getting into. Especially if I plan on getting into it all the way." Em twirled the wine in her glass.

"Well, before I let a woman dissect me for her own pleasure, I want to know her name first."

"Em."

"Just Em?"

"Yep."

"Is that your first or last name?"

"Em?" she asked. Dave nodded. "Why is that so important?"

Looking over the rim, he scanned her from head to toe and leveled a steel brown gaze directly at her. His voice came out as a cross between liquid velvet and a fine scotch. "Because I want to know what to call you when I take you to bed tonight."