"WAGs off the pitch, Buchanan!" a sharp voice barked from somewhere over Jen's shoulder, the sound of it so abrupt and so unexpected that she all but jumped out of her skin. She spun on her heel, her arms sliding down from around Nick's neck as she came face to face with the friendly leer of the referee.

"Match is about to start," the man said.

"Yeah, yeah," Nick answered, waving him off, and Jen could hear his smile before she saw it, before he used the arm still wrapped around her waist to turn her towards him once more. Somehow it never ceased to warm her heart, standing like this, so close to him, his strong arms holding her close while she gazed up into his gentle face.

"All right?" He asked, and for just a moment Jen lost herself in his warm eyes, his soft voice, his broad shoulders blocking out everyone and everything except for him.

"All right," she answered, just a little breathlessly.

Nick just laughed and kissed her forehead, but before he could speak another word there came the harsh trill of a whistle and a chorus of good-natured ribbing from Nick's teammates.

"I'll just go sit with the other WAGs then, shall I?" Jen asked with a mischievous grin. She squeezed his arm once and then turned away, making for an empty seat on one of the benches that lined the pitch.

It was a beautiful, sunny summer Saturday, and Jen and Nick were enjoying an RDO together, as they so often did. There was a pattern to their work; though no one knew yet what they were to one another outside of the office anyone with eyes could see they made a good team, and they were partnered for cases more often than not, which in turn meant their days off were often in sync as well. Jen wasn't complaining, because there was no one she wanted by her side more than Nick, at work or at home. He was even-tempered and practical, brave and strong, knew without asking when she needed him to make her smile and when his teasing would be unwelcome. In everything they did they were a perfect match, and some days she couldn't believe quite how lucky she was.

"So you're Nick's old lady then?" a stranger asked as Jen settled herself down onto the bench. At the question Jen turned, and found herself face-to-face with a dark-haired woman with an easy smile and a baby in her arms.

"Yeah, I guess I am," she answered, trying to sound more confident than she felt. No one knew that she was seeing Nick, not her friends or her boss or her mother, and it was strange to finally be able to speak that truth aloud. But she had come here to support him, to cheer him on as he and his mates tore about the field, and she could wear her connection to him proudly. It had been all his idea, that she come to his bi-weekly rugby match, and he had been so sweet and so strangely vulnerable when he suggested it that Jen had agreed without a second thought. It was worth giving up her Saturday, as far as she was concerned, to see him carefree and happy, surrounded by his friends.

Of course, it would have been worth it for the sight of his muscular thighs in those tight shorts alone, but she hadn't told him that. Yet.

"Jen," she introduced herself, thinking how strange, how lovely it was to be open and honest, for once, to not deny her connection to Nick but to bask in it, to give her name and not her occupation, to simply be Jen on a beautiful day.

"Mags," the woman volunteered her own name in response, shuffling the baby around until she could free one hand for a friendly shake. "I'm Paul's wife." She gestured vaguely towards one of the players on Nick's team, but they were all so far away, having a short pep talk before the match began, and Jen couldn't quite tell which man was Paul. Not that it mattered, she supposed; Nick had promised to introduce her to all the boys when they went out for drinks after the match.

"Right," Jen said; she couldn't think of anything else to say, but she was enjoying the conversation nonetheless, enjoying the chance to talk to someone about something other than murder. It made for a rather nice change of pace.

"I have to say I'm impressed," Mags told her in a conspiratorial whisper, her attitude so relaxed and friendly that Jen could not help but like her. "The boys have been teasing Nicky -" and oh, but Jen would tease him for that later, Nicky - "for ages about how he needs to get himself a girl. I've known him for four years and he's never once brought anyone along. He must be serious about you."

Jen beamed at her; she couldn't help it. It hadn't been so very long since she and Nick first fell into bed together, since they finally stopped fighting the feelings that had been threatening to burst forth between them since the night he turned up in Matty's kitchen. It hadn't been so very long, but they had such history between them, knew one another so well, spent so much time together that Jen felt as if she knew him inside and out, and she knew that he understood her better than anyone else ever had. He was kind, and gentle, and handsome, and he could with a single look read her very thoughts and see to her every need. Jen had never experienced anything like it; though she had not said the words, she was becoming more convinced with each passing day that she was, very much, in love with Nick Buchanan.

And she rather thought that he felt the same, given the reverent way he touched her, the tender way he spoke to her, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. Given that he had chosen to introduce her to this other part of his life, this secret world he had kept hidden from every woman who had come before her. And Jen knew there had been others; when they parted ways after their first stint with SIS they were both certain they would never seen one another again, and Nick was a handsome man. Jen hadn't been celibate during their separation, and she was certain that Nick hadn't either. They had never discussed it, but she'd never felt the need to; it didn't matter who Nick had been with before, because he was with her now, and every day he showed her how much he cared for her with every word he said and everything he did. And he had asked her to come with him today, to watch him play and cheer for him, and Jen could not have been more delighted.

Perhaps she had waited too long to speak, for Mags was grinning at her now.

"Oh, you do have it bad," she laughed, and Jen blushed to think how easily this stranger had read her thoughts. "I don't blame you, mind. He's a good man, Nick. Steady. Reliable. And not bad to look at, either."

The whistle blew, then, and the two teams converged on the field. Nick was easy to spot; he wore a dark navy and white striped shirt and a pair of dark shorts, and Jen's eyes flew at once to the shape of his thighs, the curve of his bum. Nick ran a few miles every morning, as much for stress relief as for exercise, and between that and the rugby every inch of him was hard, every muscle defined to its best effect. He was shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, and the movement of his bare thighs left Jen's mouth dry and her knees weak.

"No," she agreed. "He isn't."

And so Jen enjoyed the rest of the match, she and Mags chatting here and there between bouts of exuberant cheering and ogling their men. Thanks to Mags Jen slowly picked up the names of the other men on Nick's team, but as the match wore on it became harder and harder for her to even feign an interest in anyone who wasn't Nick. Under the brilliant sun he had begun to sweat, and she hungrily watched him move, watched him yelling good-naturedly to his teammates, charging around the pitch, tumbling through the grass and the dirt, unafraid and without care. He was lovely, her Nick, and she couldn't recall having ever seen such exuberance from him outside of their bed. It grew harder by the minute to fight the flush in her cheeks, the stirring she felt low in her belly as she watched his powerful muscles bunching and flexing, saw him stretch and run and devote every piece of himself to the game; it was hard not to recall exactly how he felt when he turned that strength, that single-minded focus, that beautiful body entirely on her. Hard not think of the solid heat of his thighs beneath her palms, his hips between her legs, the taste of his sweat when she pressed her lips against his neck to muffle the sounds of her pleasure. Rugby had never been as exciting for Jen as it was that afternoon, watching Nick in all his glory, every inch of him shining and perfect, like the marble statues of the Greek gods she'd studied in school.

If Mags noticed Jen's distraction she had the good grace not to comment on it; the ladies chatted to one another as the match wore on, but neither of them took their eyes from the field. They cheered for their boys until their voices went hoarse, and then, at last, leapt to their feet when the match came to an end, Nick and Paul and their mates the victors. Several of the other ladies who had been sitting on the bench with them - WAGs, the referee had called them, and Jen smiled, just a little, to think that such a title applied to her, now, that she was one of them, that she belonged here - began to stream down onto the pitch to celebrate. For a moment Jen debated with herself about whether or not she ought to go as well, but then Nick turned and scanned the crowd, and his eyes locked on hers at once. A wide, brilliant smile split his face and his gaze bore into her, hungry and challenging, and her feet were carrying her towards him quite before she realized what was happening.

As she approached him Nick broke out into a trot, not running full out but moving a great deal faster than she, and in an instant he had her wrapped up in his strong arms, gathered her close and swept her off her feet. A most undignified squeal left her then, and her legs locked tight around his waist out of reflex. It was hardly the first time he'd picked her up like this, but it was certainly the first time he'd ever done it in public, and Jen's heart sang to see him so free, so happy.

"Good game," she told him breathlessly, her arms around her neck, the tip of her nose just brushing against his own, her eyes locked on his.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, do you know that?" he growled in response, and then he leaned in, captured her lips in a searing kiss that left her dizzy, her ankles locking tight at the small of his back while her hands wound through his hair, clinging to him for dear life. He smelled like grass and dirt and Nick, was hot and hard beneath her hands, and the surge of his tongue past her lips stoked the fire that had been slowly growing in her belly from the moment the game began. He was beautiful, and happy, and hers, and she wanted him. Even now, surrounded by people, knowing they were making a scene, her heart was too full of love for him, longing for him, joy at the blessedly normal way they'd spent their day for her to even try to deny it; she wanted him, and she wanted him now.

"Oi! Buchanan!"

Jen tore her lips from Nick's with a gasp, and held on tight as he spun on his heel to face the man who'd yelled at him, a man who must have been Paul, for he was standing with his arm around Mags's waist and grinning just as wide as the rest of them.

"Put her down and come have a drink!" Paul shouted, beaming, while his wife offered Jen a little wave and a knowing smile.

"We'll meet you there, mate!" Nick yelled back, smiling and delighted. He did set Jen upon her feet, but he did not release his hold on her, only shifted so that his arm was wrapped tight around her waist, guiding her as he made a beeline for the carpark. His ute was parked at the end of the row, shielded from view by a small stand of scrubby trees, and as soon as they reached it he had Jen pressed back against the door, one hand on her hip and the other reaching up to brush against her cheek.

"I'm so glad you came," he told her earnestly.

"Me, too," Jen answered, arching her back just a little, fisting her hands in his shirt and pulling him towards her. He came willingly, his hand slipping around to cradle the back of her head as his lips found hers once more. And oh, but his kiss consumed her, left her weak in the knees and aching for him. The touch of his hand, the taste of him, the sure and steady way he lit her on fire for him had not lost its charm; if anything, the time she'd spent learning about him, about them, about what they might be together only inspired a deeper longing for him. There was an eagerness to him now that she did not often see, however, adrenaline from the game perhaps or just his genuine joy at having her here to share his life with him having made him bold. His hand slipped from her hip around to the back of her thigh and she moved with him at once, hooked her leg around his hip and drew him to her so that he could grind his half-hard cock against her aching center through their clothes. And even that most base form of contact was enough to leave her shivering, thinking all sorts of inappropriate thoughts, thoughts no copper should have while standing in a public carpark in the middle of the day.

Behind them everyone else was leaving, doors slamming and tires crunching against gravel, and they ignored it all, sheltered there in the shade of the trees with Nick's ute as a barrier to block out the world beyond. His hand on her bum, her thigh soft against the hardness of him, his lips warm and insistent; nothing mattered but Nick and the way he touched her, held her, loved her, with every piece of himself. He ground his hips against her, caught her just right, and she could not help but gasp into their kiss, her hands catching in his hair, desperate for some tether to hold her together in the moment. And in response Nick just laughed, abandoned her lips to press tender kisses to the line of her neck instead.

It would be madness, she knew, to give in to the longing she felt for him here, now, to reach between their bodies and catch his cock in her hand and send them both careening off into bliss, but it was a beautiful day, and Nick was sweaty and insistent between her thighs, and the crowds had departed, and she loved him. Love, she supposed, was its own special kind of madness, and she wanted, more than anything, to drown in it.

She felt wild, and free, unfettered and jubilant, and she did not want this moment to pass, did not want Nick to halt his advances, did not want them to slip into the ute and drive off to meet his friends while they were both distracted, unstated and unsatisfied. She did not want to go back to being Detective Mapplethorpe, did not want to bury her desires beneath a veneer of respectability and professionalism. She wanted him, and she supposed that moments like this, raw and unblemished, built wholly, solely, on affection and desire and the connection between two hearts, should be cherished, and not cut short for the sake of propriety. Nick was a very proper sort, she knew, but when he caught the delicate skin just above her racing pulse between his teeth and pressed his lips hard and fast to her skin, leaving a mark she knew would linger for days, Jen found herself suddenly certain that he would be more than willing to let his own veneer of civility slip, just for her sake, for the sake of having her, here and now.

And so she used the hands still anchored in his hair to lift his head, tilt his chin up so that she could look into his eyes. There were three little words she wanted to say to him now, three words that she knew would send them both plummeting from the precipice into a sweaty tangle against the ute, and she held his gaze steady as at last she gave them voice.

"I want you," she breathed, ragged and aching for him.

There was a flicker in his eyes as he warred with himself, the part of his heart that yearned for her in conflict with his own sense of decorum. This was not the calm and quiet of her bedroom late at night, far from prying eyes, and it was no long, slow, meandering dance she offered him now; beneath the blazing sun in a public carpark she could only offer him heat, and adrenaline, a fervent hope that no one would come to look for them, that for a few minutes they could afford to let their inhibitions slip. While he weighed his options Nick's hand kneaded her bum, gently, almost as if he wasn't even aware he was doing it, but the motion of his hand caused her hips to grind into his, and a desperate little sound left her. Determined to bring her point home she reached for his free hand - the hand not currently occupied with her bum - and carefully pressed his palm to her belly, just above the waistband of her khaki shorts. His eyes found hers, then, and silently she challenged him, encouraged him to slide his hand lower, to discover just how badly she wanted him.

It didn't take much encouragement, in the end; she leaned back against the ute and let him explore, closed her eyes while his hand disappeared into her shorts. It was a tight fit, but there was room enough for his fingertips to curl against her aching heat over her knickers, and that was all she wanted, anyway, just for him to know, to feel, the longing that overwhelmed her.

"Jesus, Jen," he growled, awestruck and hungry. She grinned, tightly, knowing that he'd found her slick and hot already, even through the thin satin of her knickers. In truth, her desire had been steadily growing over the course of the day, watching the graceful, powerful movements of his lean, hard body, and his kiss, the press of his hips into her, the very thought of letting him take her hard and fast up against his ute, had only left her more anxious to have him.

"Please," she answered breathlessly, and, in a stroke of boldness, she reached between them to palm his cock through his shorts. So far her courage had been rewarded, and she knew that she was safe with him, that even if he asked her to wait until later he would think no less of her, would love her no less than he did in this moment. She was in good hands with him, and she knew it.

The touch of her hand against his length was enough to sever the last remaining threads of his self-control, it seemed, for as she touched him he groaned and lunged forward, caught her lips in a ferocious kiss while his fingertips curled up hard against her and his hips bucked against her hand, desperate for her touch. But only for a moment, and then he was moving with shocking speed and a deliberate sense of purpose.

He pulled her hands from his body and pressed her palms flat to the door of the ute, and then caught her thigh with one hand, kept her leg wrapped tight around his hips while with the other he reached for the button on her shorts. Having him so close, realizing just what it was they were about to do, only fueled her desire; she was wet and aching for him, and he knew it, now, and she couldn't wait for him to sate her need.

"Are you sure?" he breathed against her lips, his voice strained and needy, giving evidence of his own yearning. And yet even in this moment he gave her a choice, held himself back just long enough to make sure that she knew what it was she was asking for, that it really was what she wanted. Christ, but she loved that man.

"Please," she answered, and then he was kissing her again, and unfastening her shorts.

With one quick tug he divested her of shorts and knickers both, and then he was pulling his own shorts down just far enough to free his eager cock. With both hands he caught her bum, lifted her just enough for her to wrap both legs around his waist, and now they entered the realm of the familiar, a ballet they had choreographed between themselves the first time they ever fell together, when he had taken her in his arms against the front door of her home, the night they let go of their restraints and gave into their love of one another. He held her firm and she reached between them, pumped his cock once or twice just because she could, because she liked the way he responded to the pressure of her hand, because she liked knowing that this man, this beautiful, powerful, glorious man belonged to her, and her alone. The feel of him in her hand, rock hard and smooth and ready for her, was a heady drug but time was not on their side, and so she drew him towards her, and then the head of his cock was pushing between her folds, and they were both of them groaning aloud at the sensation.

It was a feeling she prayed she'd never get used to, one she hoped would always be as electric, as all-consuming as it was now. He was thick and heavy against her hand, surging into her, driving into the soft, wet place where she need him most. Sure of his mark now he withdrew, and then plunged forward again, her hips caught between the hot metal of the ute and the blistering fire of Nick's body. She could not help the moan that escaped her as she stretched around him, took him in inch by blessed inch, as he single-mindedly set about satisfying the frenzied need he'd built inside her. Her hands scrabbled across his back, desperate for purchase, and fisted in the sweat-soaked fabric of his shirt, clinging to him for dear life as he rocked against her, as he thrust further and further within her until at last he was fully seated and he paused, for a moment, lifted one hand from her bum so that he could brush her damp hair back from her forehead.

"I love you, you know," he panted at her softly.

And of course she did know, had known for ages now, had known it from the moment he walked into Matt's kitchen with a case of beer on his shoulder and a bright, hopeful smile at the sight of her face. He had shown her in a hundred different ways over the intervening months just how much he loved her, had pressed his lips to her temple and cooked her dinner and made her tea and traced the length of her spine with reverent, trembling hands, eager as a puppy to please her, more determined to bring her joy than any lover she had ever known. He was steady, and kind, gentle and unwavering, everything she had ever wanted, ever needed, a fairytale prince nestled between her thighs. Or at least he seemed to be, for she could not imagine that anyone could ever fit as perfectly into her world as Nick did.

"I know," she breathed, lifting her chin so he could kiss her again. "And I love you." More than anything.

Maybe this was not the moment for such a declaration, given their compromising position and its inherent risks, but the truth was Jen had only contemplated doing such a thing because she loved him, and she knew he felt the same, that the desire, the comfort, the grace they found together was built on a love lasting and true, that the love they bore one another was the only force strong enough to have them both throwing caution to the wind.

But then his hips snapped hard against her, and she was lost, utterly consumed by him, holding him close as the hard length of him thrust into her again, and again, and again, his hand clutching her bum rolling her against him in time to the movement of his hips, the force of every thrust causing his pelvis to grind against her clit in a way that had her trembling and gasping in a moment. He filled her utterly, overwhelmed her every sense; she could smell the tang of his sweat where her nose pressed against his neck, could taste the salt of his skin beneath her lips each time she gasped against him, could hear his muffled grunts where his head hung low by her ear, could feel him pressed to every inch of her, the drag of his cock against her soft walls each time he withdrew and then rushed forward once more. It didn't matter, any more, whether someone might see, for Jen was certain that if he stopped now she must surely die of need.

"Christ, you feel good," Nick groaned, and she knew that it was true, because he felt good, and she could hear the sharp, wet sound of their joining with each potent thrust of his hips, because she could feel her own need growing as she pulled him into her, deeper and deeper. She wanted to tell him this, wanted to tell him how he overwhelmed her, how she never wanted to part from him, but she could not spare the breath, could only hold on tight and try to stifle the desperate, whining sound of her pleasure as she drew ever closer to the brink. She freed one hand, pressed her palm to the muscles of his chest, suddenly wishing she could tear the shirt from his body and see him, feel his skin against her own. Eager for him she curled her fingers against him, caught his shirt in her hand and dragged him closer.

"Tell me what you need," he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear as he curved around her, fucked her with everything he had. Even if she could have formed the words Jen had no idea what to tell him; all she needed was Nick, the steady thrumming of his body against hers, the way he seemed to touch every piece of her and yet leave her aching for more of him. He was not a particularly talkative man, her Nick, but when it came to her pleasure he was wholly devoted and unafraid to express himself, and the sound of his soft, serious voice was so blatantly provocative that in this moment she was certain all he would have to do to ensure her completion was to keep talking.

"I wanna feel you come," he said, and then he slammed her back against the ute, ground hard against her, and her head fell back and his lips at once fell to the curve of her neck. And it was enough, and she did, caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle her moan as her legs locked tight around his waist and she gave into the breathless, heartstopping bliss of him, as she held him tight within her and lost all sense of reason. That, it seemed, was enough for Nick, for then he was groaning her name against her neck and spilling himself inside her, sated and relieved.

For several minutes they simply stood, Jen's arms and legs wrapped tight around him, Nick's ute at her back holding the both of them up. They had already spent more time in the carpark than was wise, though, and so Jen ran her hands through his hair, pressed her fingertips against his scalp in the way she knew he liked until he was lifting his chin, looking deep into her eyes with a gaze that was warm and utterly besotted.

"Time to go," she whispered, and he smiled a bit sadly as if he, too, could hardly bear the thought of leaving her, but then he kissed the tip of her nose and eased her trembling legs down from around his hips.

"Wait," he said softly, and so she did, lingered for a moment while he knelt at her feet. He pressed a tender kiss to her inner thigh and then picked up her knickers, used them to gently clean her up before helping her back into her shorts. When she was sorted he wiped himself down and then pulled up his own shorts, and just like that they were both respectable, once again, no sign of the fervor that had gripped them save for the marks he'd left on her neck and the mess of her knickers, which he promptly tucked into his pocket.

"I really do love you," she told him, and he smiled, leaned down so that they were almost cheek to cheek. Still he surrounded her, though they were no longer as close as they had been only minutes before, and this, this softness, this tender regard, this vulnerability he showed to her now was to her mind every bit as attractive as the passion with which he'd taken her against the ute.

"Good," he said, and she laughed, and he kissed her cheek and then opened the door for her. She stepped inside and settled herself on the seat, smiled up at him in wonder. It was nothing short of miraculous, she thought, that they had found each other, that he had been returned to her, that fate or some other circumstance beyond their control had conspired to bring them together, and she was so grateful for it she could not find the words to speak. He leaned through the doorway for a moment, the muscles of his arms bunching as they bore his weight, his skin golden from the sun and still shining with sweat from the match and from what they'd just done together. And then, quite without warning, he reached for her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm, as if to seal the silent vow they'd made to one another, the commitment that came with the love they'd confessed, and her skin tingled where he touched her even after he let her go and closed the door. Something monumental had passed between them this afternoon, she knew, and while later she would fret and wonder about the future in the moment she felt only a brilliant, sun-drenched sort of peace.

And then he was settling into the seat beside her, and she leaned across to brush her lips against his cheek.

"We don't have to go for drinks, if you don't want," he told her softly. For a moment she was sorely tempted; her hair was a mess, and Nick was red from the sun, and they were both sweaty, and she wasn't wearing any knickers under her shorts, and they both looked like they'd just...done exactly what they'd just done. But these were Nick's mates, people whose company he enjoyed, a piece of his life he had chosen to share with her, and she did not want to keep him from them.

"Let's go," she told him. "One drink can't hurt." The brilliance of his answering smile told her that she had made the right decision, and so they set off, together.