Author's note: I wrote this as a kind of tribute to two of my favorite FF authors. Sinister Scribe and CSI Clue, this is dedicated to you.

Disclaimer: These wonderful characters are not mine. But what they do here is.

I

Lisa Cuddy had been planning the hospital fundraiser for three months. She had sent the invitations, reserved the banquet room at the Plaza Hotel, hired the caterer and orchestra. Yet here it was, only a day away, and Dr. Cuddy now stood in front of the light board in exam two, looking at an X-ray of the fractured left hand of the pianist she had hired to entertain her potential donors during the cocktail hour.

"Doctor Cuddy, I am so sorry . . . " he began to apologize for the seventh or eighth time in the last ten minutes.

"Don't, please? It's okay. I'm sure I'll be able to find a substitute." She reassured him, as she gently replaced the ice pack on his injured hand.

"Will it heal all right? I'll be able to play again?" He asked.

She nodded. "The bones are fractured, but they are in place. I'm going to send you up to orthopedics, they'll have a look at this X-ray too, and then cast it. There's no guarantee of course, but I have seen worse fractures than these heal up just perfectly. With some physical therapy you should be just fine. I wouldn't worry." She took the X-ray off the board and made a few notes on his chart. "I'm going to call for transportation and someone should be in here to take you up in a few minutes" she said as she reached for the door.

"I'm sorry, I really am," he said as she opened the door.

"Thank you. Oh, from now on, hire a handyman." With a smile she strode out the door.

II

Reaching her office she entered and closed the door behind her, slumping against it. No pianist. 'Well it isn't the end of the world' she thought to herself as she stood upright and moved to her desk, sinking down into her chair gratefully. 'The whole orchestra could have cancelled.' That brought a smile to her face, the thought of a roomful of very well-to-do people dancing to, God forbid, a disc jockey. 'Might cut down on donations though, then again maybe boost them? The hospital can't even afford a band for a dance?' Sighing, she reached for her computer and began entering information about her newest patient.

A knock on the door made her look up, to see Greg House leaning on his cane in front of her. "How come I wasn't invited to your fundraiser?" He asked, settling into a chair.

"House, I didn't invite any of the staff. I intend to solicit funds from the people I invited, and the staff gives their fair share already. At least, MOST of them do." She had placed unnecessary emphasis on the word most, and he grinned.

"You get my donation every year."

"Yes, and when I stop at Starbucks the next morning I spend it. What do you want really? You hate these things, unless there's poker involved."

"I want to know who's taking you to the fundraiser." His eyes narrowed a bit. "Wilson?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm not taking a date."

"So, you're looking to meet someone there, maybe someone with a lot of money and no one to spend it on? Someone who looks good in a tux with lots of bucks?"

She scoffed. "Are you jealous?"

"No, I just found out who's catering and I want dinner."

"How did you find that out? Never mind. I don't want to know. Listen, if you do your clinic hours I'll bring you some leftovers for lunch." She told him, motioning toward the door with her hand. "Now get back to work. I'm busy."

He stood up and limped to the door, turned back toward her. "I'll have the filet. Medium rare. Twice-baked potato, veggie. Oh, and if it's an open bar you know what kind of bourbon I like . . . "

"Out!" She cut him off and he left.

III

Thursday dawned bright and clear. It was going to be an unusually warm day for this time of year, the calendar still said winter but it felt more like late spring. Cuddy had taken two days off, one to prepare for the evening and the other because, well, she could. Or rather, she couldn't remember when she had last enjoyed a four-day weekend. After a long soak in the tub and leisurely breakfast, she hopped into her car and headed off for the Plaza to meet the decorator and check on the preparations.

When she arrived at the hotel, she found that the decorating was well underway. The tables were covered with rich, dark green cloth, and the accent color was a very deep shade of burgundy. A grand piano stood in one corner, and a pang of regret shot through her. For a moment she considered having it taken away, but then thought better of it. 'Who knows, maybe someone will just start playing anyway'. That possibility brightened her immediately, as did the florist, who was just arriving with bouquets for the tables. Spring arrangements, with tulips and daffodils delicately situated in small gold vases. They looked stunning on the tables and she smiled contentedly as her cell phone rang. Looking at the ID she answered it, and gave the caterer the name of the room. He assured her that his menu was as they had planned, and that he would arrive with his crew to personally oversee the evening.

Satisfied that things were going well, she returned home. There was still a lot she needed to do. She had taken a room at the Plaza for the night, fearing it might get too late and she'd be too tired to drive back home. She had the orchestra playing until midnight, and she wouldn't leave until she'd hit up every single attendee for a donation.

She packed methodically. First, she put her evening gown into a dress bag, and added the shoes. Then into her overnight bag she put her slip, stockings and underclothes. A small jeweled clutch purse got the earrings and necklace. Then she put in her makeup bag, nightgown, robe, slippers and toothbrush. She could wear the clothes she had on the next day, coming home. The Plaza had a pool, she debated bringing her swimsuit, decided against it, then changed her mind and threw it in.

From the front hall closet she took her long coat, realized she wouldn't need it and donned a light leather jacket instead. Then she went around the house, checking the appliances. Stove, coffee maker, hair dryer, curling iron. All off. In the living room she checked the stereo, tv, and turned on a light. She tossed her cell phone in her purse, picked up her keys, and headed for the hospital for one final check in before she left for the hotel.

When she arrived at the hospital, she was annoyed, and a little relieved, to see House's motorcycle was not in his assigned spot. 'Damn him' she said out loud, 'he knew I wasn't going to be here so he's off playing hooky'. That is, until she tried to pull into her space and almost ran over the bike. 'Asshole' she said, and parked nearby.

As he had already parked in her spot, she wasn't at all surprised to find him sitting behind her desk when she entered her office.

"What?" He asked her, lowering his feet from the desktop.

"I'm gone for maybe six hours, and you've taken my parking space and commandeered my office? Is this some sort of coup?" She said, snatching the television set from his hand and snapping it off.

"Someone has to be in charge." He snickered, and got up as she motioned for her chair.

"I'm in charge, thank you, and I intend to stay in charge. Now get out of my office."

He looked chagrined. "I was going to call you. I forgot to give you my dessert order."

"Bad children don't get dessert." She retorted.

He ignored her. "I'll have the Death by Chocolate cake. Extra chocolate sauce, hold the whipped cream."

Cuddy handed back the television set. "Go watch your soap in your office. And don't forget your clinic hours this afternoon. If I call in tomorrow and find out you skipped them I'll move your parking spot so far away you'll have to get a cab to the door."

House turned the tv back on and limped for the door. "I'm serious. No whipped cream."

She wished she had something to throw at him as the door slammed shut behind him.

Cuddy checked up on two of her patients; the pianist had indeed had his hand and wrist cast and was scheduled for a follow-up in two weeks. The other had been discharged per her orders, following an overnight stay for fluids, the result of a nasty bout of the flu. All well and good, she turned the computer off and left her office. She checked her watch; she'd have time for a quick bite and a nap before she had to get ready for the fundraiser.

IV

The alarm bleeped softly and when she awoke from her nap she rolled over and looked at the clock. Right on schedule. She stood up slowly and stretched; it had been a long time since she'd gotten this much uninterrupted sleep and she luxuriated in the feeling. She walked over to her purse on the dresser and checked her cell phone. No missed calls, no messages. She smiled and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the evening affair.

As she stood under the hot water, she ran the guest list, trying to guess which man would end up as her dining companion. The choices were slim, most of the people she had invited had been couples, and the single men she had sent invitations to had scraped up dates. Still, there was a short list. She laughed to herself when she thought of that, most of the men on that list were indeed short. "All the better to get them to write big checks!" She cackled in her best 'Wicked Witch' impression. Yet she was a little afraid of having to spend the evening with a short, rich, puppy dog tailing her every move. 'Maybe I should have asked Wilson' she said, turning off the water and toweling her hair. 'At least I know where I stand with him.' She wondered if it was too late to invite him. And then she wondered how she'd explain THAT to House. Not that he deserved an explanation, but she had told him specifically that she hadn't invited Wilson: House would make both their lives miserable if she called Wilson now.

She took her time getting dressed, spending more time than usual on her hair and makeup. She had chosen green for the evening, hoping that the color of money would cause some to appear. The Plaza had donated the use of the ballroom, and the orchestra had given her a cut rate in hopes that some of the wealthy guests would hire them for their private to-do's. The only one who refused to donate or discount his services was the caterer, and she had never minded paying for quality when it came to food.

When she had finished, she stood in front of the mirror and admired her work. 'Damn I look good', she muttered as she fastened the clasp on her necklace, and centered the stone between her breasts, 'I hope they appreciate this'. The phone on the bedside rang softly, and she moved and picked it up. "Yes?"

"Doctor Cuddy? This is the concierge. Your guests have begun arriving."

"Thank you. I'll be down shortly to greet them."

She hung up the phone and went back to the mirror for one final check. Her pulse had quickened slightly, to be honest she enjoyed these dress-up evenings much more than she let on. She picked up her evening bag, slipped her cell phone and room key inside, and headed for the elevator.

A soft chime and the elevators doors opened to the lobby. She crossed through quickly, only partially aware of heads turning her direction. The dining room was spectacular. The decorator had done a splendid job of setting the mood for the evening. Small candles were lit on each table, and the light danced off the vases of the flower arrangements. Her guests had begun making use of the bar, and she stopped at her table to set her purse down before going to the bar and ordering her own cocktail. She introduced herself to the first couple she met, and before long she had introduced herself to well over half her guest list. Some she knew; she had invited a few of her current benefactors to help sway the others.

She was in the middle of a discussion regarding the construction of a new woman's center at the hospital when she realized suddenly that someone was playing the piano. 'Good,' she thought, 'whoever is playing isn't going to get the hard sell from me tonight.' She stood on tiptoe, trying to see the piano from the corner she was in, but it was blocked from her view. The three women to whom she had been talking took notice, and one of them commented.

"The pianist you hired is quite good," the woman said, also turning to see who was playing.

Cuddy smiled. "Yes, but I didn't hire him. The fellow I hired is home, with his left hand in a cast. He was changing storm windows and fell off his ladder." She sipped her drink.

"Lucky for you," one of the other women said, nodding in the direction of a few couples who had begun to dance.

Cuddy nodded. The pianist was good, she was surprised at the quality of the music and secretly hoped it was one of the men from her short list. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll just go and find out who."

She made her way around the room, craning her neck in an attempt to see who was entertaining her guests. She stopped at the bar and downed the rest of her cocktail, got a fresh one. It took her some time to make her way to a clear vantage point; everyone she made eye contact with wanted to talk to her about the hospital, and she could not pass on her opportunities to solicit their donations. She listened and nodded politely, then excused herself as quickly as possible. As she drew near, the crowd parted and she stopped dead in her tracks. Nope, not her short list. Definitely not the short list.

Seated at the piano, in a black tie and tails, was Greg House. Eyes closed, his head was bent over his fingers as they danced over the keys, and the melody fit so perfectly with her idea of the mood for the evening that it almost frightened her. She took a long swallow of her drink and set the glass down on a table before moving to stand beside him.

He didn't notice her until she placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He tensed as her words hit him, then relaxed again as he recognized her voice. "Playing."

"I know, but how did you know?" She asked.

He still hadn't looked at her. "Friend. Of a friend."

"Thank him for me."

He raised his head then and looked at her, and for the first time the notes faltered. His mouth dropped open as he gasped, and the only thing he could think of to say was "Wow."

She looked positively stunning. Her loose curls had been pulled to the back of her head, and the emeralds she wore in her ears and on her neck complimented the deep green gown perfectly. Her eyes shone in the dim light of the room and for one brief moment he lost himself in that vision. "My God, Lisa . . . "

She smiled at his reaction, and moved her hand from his shoulder to rest on the piano. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He hung his head. "It's rented."

She laughed. "So what? Who owns tails anymore, really?" She spied the oversized brandy snifter on the piano. It was almost half full of cash. "You're collecting tips?" She squeaked, horrified at what her guests must think.

He nodded. "Gotta pay for the monkey suit somehow." As if on cue, a woman approached and stuffed another bill into the jar, moved to him and asked for a request. He nodded and effortlessly modulated into her selection as she moved away. He grimaced. "Ugh. Show tunes."

"You're taking requests?" Cuddy was flabbergasted.

"It'd be irresponsible of me not to, after they've already tipped."

She grew suspicious. "What do you want for this? I'm not letting you out of clinic . . . "

He shook his head. "Let me stay for dinner."

"What?"

"I want dinner."

"I was hoping you'd play while we ate, too." She told him, watching as he struggled not to show his disappointment.

"You can eat when we've finished and moved into the ballroom."

He whimpered. "It'll be cold."

"I'll make sure that it isn't. Deal?"

He nodded. "Deal."

She patted him on the shoulder and moved away, retrieving her drink from the table as the wait staff appeared and began serving the appetizer course.

V

She ended up sitting at a table with three other couples, two of them current benefactors and the other a huge prospect. Her dining companion had actually replied with a date, but she had cancelled on him at the last minute, or so he said. Truth be told, he was a perfectly charming man, the middle son of very old east coast money. He wasn't short either; she had noticed when he stood as she moved to her chair and assisted her into it. She was grateful for his company, he was a good talker and kept their conversation lively. Between her current contributors and herself, she had her prospect promising her a very large donation before the entree arrived. She had chosen the duck breast, and her companion the filet. When the waiter set the plates down in front of them, she felt a little twinge of guilt. She motioned the waiter back to her, and told him to save a filet plate for the pianist, and to keep it hot. He nodded politely and served the rest of the table before disappearing into the kitchen.

Her dinner companion spoke. "This is really excellent. You'll have to give me the name of your caterer."

"I'd be happy to."

He continued. "That pianist too. He's very good, but I've never seen him before. Wherever did you find him? Musicians' union?"

That almost had her choking on the orange sauce. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He smiled. "Try me."

She swallowed. "Actually, he's one of the physicians at the hospital." She quickly forked a bite of her asparagus.

He looked at her, mildly amused and seriously puzzled. "You're joking."

She shook her head. "He's the head of the Diagnostics Department."

One of her current benefactors raised his head, turning to look at the piano. "That's Doctor House?"

She nodded, and she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. "It is."

He continued. "You know, I sit on the board of the Princeton Philharmonic. Do you think he'd join them for a concert? We could make it a fundraiser for both groups, your hospital, my orchestra."

Lisa was beginning to feel faint. "Are you serious?"

"He's excellent."

She nodded. "He is, isn't he?"

"Give it some thought, I'll talk to the rest of the board and you ask Doctor House. I'll call you next week and we'll take it from there."

She nodded and forked in another bite of asparagus, to keep from laughing. She couldn't wait to tell him, even though she knew he'd say no.

When the waiter came around with the dessert cart, she motioned to him again. She whispered in his ear and he nodded, removed two slices of Death by Chocolate cake and took them back into the kitchen. When he returned, he served her remaining guests, and they absolutely gushed at the quality of the meal. Her dinner companion was especially complimentary, pausing only to inquire as to why she was passing on dessert. He nodded politely when she told him she was too full to enjoy it.

When they had finished and the busboys came to clear the tables, Lisa suggested they move into the ballroom and her guests readily agreed. Seeing their hostess leave, the rest of the tables followed suit, leaving House playing to a group of busboys and waiters. One of the latter stood up and walked over to the piano.

"Excuse me, sir? The lady left word that you're to be served dinner. Would you like it now?"

House finished playing and stood up stiffly, rubbing his thigh. "Yeah, I'm starving." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Vicodin, downing two before moving to a table. The waiter set a place for him, served his salad, and brought him a glass of bourbon on the rocks. House looked at him questioningly.

"The lady, sir, ordered you a drink as well."

He nodded. "Ah. Thank you." Bless you Cuddy. He dove into the salad with gusto as the caterer and his assistants appeared from the kitchen with their meals. Seeing House at a table alone, the caterer moved to him and sat down. "Doctor House, I'm glad you could join the party. May I join you?"

House grinned at him through a mouthful of greens. He swallowed. "Of course. This dressing c'est magnifique, Marcel."

"Merci" the caterer smiled. "Your music was very good," he said in a deeply French accent. "The music world lost a genius when you chose medicine, no?"

"Merci," House said, pushing the salad plate away and diving into his filet. "Wow, this is absolute perfection. Kobe?"

Marcel nodded. "Oui. Doctor Cuddy, she ordered only the best."

"Which is why she hired you." House told him, raising his glass to toast Marcel's wine glass. "To Doctor Cuddy."

"Doctor Cuddy." They clinked glasses and finished their meal in relative silence. From the ballroom they could hear the orchestra. "Are you going to stay for the dancing?" Marcel asked, before quickly looking at the cane and shaking his head. "My apologies, I forget."

House nodded. "It's okay. I think I'll just have dessert and go home, get out of this tux." He looked at Marcel. "Are you staying?"

"Doctor Cuddy, she invites me to stay but no, I must begin preparation for tomorrow." He smacked his forehead with his open palm. "She asked me to tell you, wait for her. She needs to talk to you before you go." House stood up and rubbed his stomach appreciatively. "Merci, Marcel. Let me know if I can help you out again."

"My pleasure, Doctor House. I will bring dessert momentarily." He cleared their plates and went back into the kitchen.

House limped over to the piano and picked up the tip jar, grinning. Closing the lid over the keyboard he took the brandy snifter and moved back to his table. He turned the snifter upside down and shook it, tumbling cash onto the green tablecloth. It reminded him of a serious poker game, the green velvet and the green and white cash, and he the only player left at the table. He sat back down and began to sort the bills by denomination.

Not surprisingly, there were a couple of business cards thrown in with the cash as well. All of them from women. He quickly slid these into his breast pocket and smiled. It never failed. He hadn't seen any unattached women other than Cuddy, yet here they were. He finished sorting and began to count. When he finished, he folded the wad of bills and stuffed it into his trouser pocket. It had been a very good night. One of his best, in fact. He picked up his glass and hobbled over to the bar for a refill, and asked the bartender for the bottle. When he returned House handed him a one-hundred dollar bill, for the cost of the bottle, and told him to keep the change. It was very good bourbon, but the tip was excessive. He didn't care. He had helped out a friend, made a small fortune in tips, and enjoyed an excellent meal. He felt very good, better than he had in weeks. As he raised the glass to his lips, he felt a hand slide around his waist.

He turned to look and found Cuddy, who slipped her other arm around him and hugged him. "House, thank you so much. You were wonderful. I've had so many compliments. I'm sure you helped the hospital a lot tonight."

He leaned on his cane and put his glass down, and his free arm slid around her and he cautiously returned her embrace. "That isn't why I did it."

The bartender came over and she was going to order another drink, but House held up the bottle. "Bourbon?" He asked.

"Did you steal that?"

"Nope, bought it. Care to help me finish it?"

"I'll just have a glass with ice, please," she told the bartender, who complied with her request and sidled away, leaving them alone. Houses added the bourbon and she sipped the drink, and motioned to the table he had been sitting at.

Houses looked over to find that dessert had arrived. Two desserts to be precise. He looked at Cuddy who was smiling at him. "You having two desserts? Are you pregnant?"

She slapped him on the arm playfully. "No. I waited for you." She took his arm and the bottle, and he led them to the table, graciously pulling out her chair for her.

"Why?" He asked, sitting down next to her and hooking his cane over the back of the next chair.

"Why what?" She said, forking at her warm cake, fudge sauce oozing.

"Why did you wait for me?"

"I wanted to talk to you before you went home. I'm so grateful for what you did for me tonight, Greg, I almost don't know how to thank you." She took a bite of the gooey cake, closed her eyes and groaned. "Oh my God this is divine."

His eyes were on her lips as she drew the fork out from between them, leaving a shine of chocolate sauce he found incredibly moving. He sampled his as well. "Mmm, good. No whipped cream."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "None of the desserts had whipped cream."

He nodded. "I know. I told the caterer to leave it off. Dairy allergies are all too common these days, and I didn't want to be called into service wearing a rented tux. I'd have to go back to the hospital and people would talk."

She shook her head. "I don't miss it."

"What?"

"The whipped cream. I don't miss it."

"Of course not. It doesn't have any flavor or add anything to the dessert except sweetness and calories. This cake has plenty of both" he told her, stuffing a huge bite into his mouth, making her laugh.

Unfortunately for her she had just begun to take a bite when her laugh stopped her hand in midair. The cake, however, kept on moving. It fell off the fork and she opened her mouth, catching it just before it fell onto her lap. But a small drizzle of fudge landed inside the edge of her gown, and began a slow, inexorable journey downward across her breast.

House was transfixed. His body screamed at him to go ahead and lick it off. His mind screamed 'no no no no'. And he heard a voice in him that he couldn't really place, telling him to offer her his napkin. It was a calm voice, a gentle voice. That was exactly what he needed, to calm down.

He chose.

Reaching into his lap he removed his napkin and offered it to her. "Want me to..."

"I'll get it, thanks." She snatched the napkin from his hand gratefully. "I'll bet it'd cost the price of this dress to get chocolate sauce out of it."

"Did I tell you how great you look in it?"

"The dress or the fudge sauce?"

"The dress. Well both really." He watched her blush and again found himself moved. "You look beautiful."

For the first time all evening she really looked at him. He hadn't shaved, but had trimmed his scruff short and neat. He had remembered his hair too, and the bow tie was nearly perfect. His eyes danced in the candlelight and she felt something stir deep within her. She was attracted to him more than she cared to admit even to herself. "Thank you." It was barely above a whisper, and she wasn't sure that she said it to House, or whoever had invented the tuxedo. But he certainly did look fine tonight.

"Dance with me?" He asked, looking away quickly toward the sound of the orchestra in the next room. He didn't want a direct hit in case her answer was no.

"Your leg?"

"It's fine. It's not a conga line." He stood up and moved behind her chair, pulling it away with one hand as he offered her the other.

She put her hand in his and allowed him to assist her.

Not releasing her hand he led her toward the open area at the piano. The orchestra was playing "Moonlight Serenade" and he spun her slowly toward him, clasping his hand over the small of her back. The dress was cut deeply there too, and his thumb brushed her skin in the small angle of the vee. He felt a small thrill, slid it higher until his whole palm was flush against her spine. He began to move them, slowly, with small steps so precise that anyone watching would never know he was a cripple.

She moved with him, lightly, quickly adapting to his lilting gait. He was warm beneath her touch and she could feel the strength in him as he controlled their every move. She pressed her head against his chest and sighed. She felt his chin land gently on the top of her head, then slide sideways to be replaced with his cheek. Lisa felt wonderful. She had thrown a terrific dinner party, scored over a dozen new donors, and now she was dancing in the arms of a man who had come to her rescue and played only for his supper. It was a superbly perfect moment in the life of Lisa Cuddy, and she meant to savor it for as long as she possibly could.

House was in The Zone. He had Cuddy in his arms and a half-full bottle of bourbon and an obscenely huge wad of cash in his pocket. It was exactly how he imagined it as he had gotten dressed this evening. It hit him hard, then; he was smack dab in the middle of one of his fantasies with no real idea of how he had gotten there. But here he was, here they were. If this was a dream then he had no business depriving himself of the chance to make it come true. He turned his head and inhaled deeply. The scent of her hair was lavender and vanilla, with a hint of cigar smoke. He leaned his head back and exhaled through his mouth to taste her, and involuntarily shuddered at the sensation.

Lisa felt him shudder and she pulled her head from his chest and looked up at him. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed. She slowly slid her hand from his shoulder to his neck and ran it upwards, fingertips pressing lightly yet firmly enough to draw his head down toward her face. "House," she began as he slowly opened his eyes, "I . . . " She never finished her sentence, the look in his eyes took all thought from her. All she could see in his eyes was herself and she found it extremely exciting. Slowly she raised onto her toes and slipped her other hand behind his neck. She closed her eyes.

She is going to kiss me. 'Oh Lord thank you' he thought as he felt her drawing his face to hers. She closed her eyes and rose up on her toes, and he groaned softly as he lowered his lips onto hers, moving his newly freed hand to join the other, slowly caressing the soft skin of her back. She pressed her lips to his and opened her mouth slightly, letting her tongue trail across his lips, leaving sparks in its wake. House pulled her to him tightly, crushing her breasts into his chest, opened his mouth and thrust his tongue into hers. He was breathing heavily and his heart was racing and the taste of chocolate and bourbon in her mouth sent him reeling with delight.

When he kissed her, she felt his hands at her back, gently stroking her spine. She could feel a trail of fire wherever they went. She licked his lips and he reacted by squeezing her even tighter. He tasted like bourbon and indeed her first swallow of him was hot and raw, burning all the way down to her toes. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and she felt him swirl it around her teeth before meeting hers in a fiery tango.

The need for a complete breath is the only thing that stopped them. She looked into his eyes briefly then dropped her head back onto his chest. She was trembling and breathing hard and the air around them shimmered with their heat.

He held her, and ran his hand upwards from her back to her head, stroking the soft curls at the back of her neck. He was afraid to speak, afraid he'd say the wrong thing, or the words would be right but come out all wrong. "Lisa" he managed, and she looked up at him with eyes aflame. "Will you . . . ?"

She raised two fingers to his lips, preventing him from finishing the question. "Greg, will you join me for the dance?" She almost whispered the question.

He took her hand from his lips and held it. "As long as you don't plan on dancing every dance with me, I will. Not sure how long this leg will hold out."

She nodded. "Of course. People will talk if I spend the whole evening with you." The simple idea of it made her knees weak.

Not releasing her hand, they limped back to the table and gathered their things. Cuddy slipped her arm through his free one and together they made their way into the ballroom.

VI

At the door to the Empire Ballroom, House stopped. He looked down at her. "Are you sure about this? 'Cause if you walk in there right now, on my arm, tongues will be wagging whether we dance or not."

She thought about it for a split second. "I'm sure. Besides, they are only going to think that you are part of the committee, not my date. You entertained them and you are a doctor at the hospital. That makes you staff. These people would NEVER be caught dancing with a member of their staff. It won't even cross their minds." With that, she pushed open the door and on his arm, entered the ballroom.

To generous applause. She stopped them dead in their tracks and looked up at House, panic beginning to spread across her face as the ovation continued. He smiled down at her. "Go on, enjoy, you deserve it." With those words he spun her outward into the throng, half-bowing himself with a small flourish. House moved to an unoccupied table near the bar and sat down heavily, hooking his cane over the back of the chair next to him and placing his bottle down. He fished his pills from his pocket, eyes never leaving her, even as the orchestra began again and she was escorted to the dance floor by the man she had eaten dinner with. He motioned to the bartender, held up the bottle. The man nodded and brought him a glass with ice. House slipped him a twenty, told him to bring an empty glass, and make sure his was never out of ice. The man pocketed the twenty and returned with an empty glass and a small bucket of ice. As he moved away back to the bar, an older gentleman moved from the bar and sat down at the table next to him.

"Doctor House? I'm Anthony Magellan."

House looked at him quickly, eyes returning to Cuddy who had changed partners. "How did you know my name?"

"My wife and I had the pleasure of dining with Doctor Cuddy this evening. She told me who you were when I commented on your music."

House tore his eyes from Cuddy to face him. "I'm glad you liked it."

Magellan nodded. "I liked it very much. You are very talented."

House turned back to Cuddy. "Thank you."

Magellan continued. "I happen to sit on the board of the Princeton Philharmonic. I was thinking that perhaps you would join them for a benefit concert? For both the hospital and the orchestra?"

House turned back to look at him. "You're kidding, right?"

Magellan laughed. "I rarely kid, Doctor House. The Philharmonic is always looking for new ways to raise money, as is the hospital. I believe that if you joined them, for one night, we could fill the concert hall and rake in quite the fortune. If it is as successful as I think it could be, we could make it a yearly event."

House shook his head. "Sorry, Tony, but I don't play in public."

"So tonight, in the dining room, was what?"

House nodded toward Cuddy, who had again changed partners. "Her pianist broke his wrist yesterday. She needed a replacement and I owed her."

Magellan leaned in toward him. "From what I hear, you owe her quite a bit more than two hours of cocktail music. You cost the hospital more money each year in legal fees alone than she could make if she had a fundraiser like this every week."

House groaned, raised his head. "You're on the hospital board too. See, that's why I don't like these things. I'm not even on the floor and I'm still dancing."

Magellan chuckled, shook his head. "Not on the board, but I do make donations. There are people in my circle who do sit on the board. I hear things."

"Oh undoubtedly."

Magellan reached into his pocket and pulled out his business card. "Look, I certainly don't expect you to give me an answer tonight. In fact I still need to bring this up to the people at the Philharmonic. I will promise you this, I won't approach the board until I've got a confirmation from you that you'll play." He slipped the card into House's breast pocket and held out his hand. "If you'll excuse me, I must go find my wife. It was a pleasure meeting you. Hope to hear from you soon."

House took his hand, shook it. "It was interesting." Magellan moved away from him and he turned back to watch Cuddy.

She was clearly in her element. She was laughing in the arms of a man much shorter than her as they danced. He knew she wasn't seriously enjoying it, but still he felt a twinge: of what, jealousy? Possibly. They had danced together a little more than an hour ago, and it was the most exciting thing he had done since buying his motorcycle. Even the bike didn't move him like she had. He would love nothing more than to interrupt them, change places with Shorty Baldman, and sweep her off her feet. He sipped his drink, and considered his options. The tempo of the music was just too fast. He set his glass down and picked up his cane, stood up and pushed his way through the crowd to the orchestra.

As he approached the stage the bandleader stepped away from his stand, leaned back toward House. Palming a bill, House shook his hand and made his request. The bandleader nodded, taking the bill calmly and smoothly thrusting it into his pocket without missing a beat. House scanned the room- no one had noticed. He made his way to the edge of the dance floor, near where Cuddy and Shorty were dancing.

When the music stopped, they separated and politely applauded the orchestra. Before the music could begin again however, House moved in. He took Cuddy's elbow and leaned down, whispered in her ear. "I'm leaving. Just wanted to say goodnight."

She turned toward him. Her chest was heaving and glistened with perspiration. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked absolutely gorgeous. He felt the blood rise in his groin, as well as his cheeks.

"What? So soon? We haven't even had one dance."

He looked at his watch. "It's almost 11:30. The orchestra is going to finish up in a half-hour."

She checked her watch. "Oh my God, you're right." She looked up at him. "Just dance my last dance with me. Then you can go. Please?"

A small grin began to creep across his lips. "All right. Since you said please." He handed his cane to an extremely disappointed Shorty and took her arm, leading her out onto the floor just as the orchestra began playing his choice. He pulled her toward him and again felt a thrill as she placed her arm around his waist. They danced slowly through the intro, and when the melody started he leaned his mouth to her ear and sang to her, softly:

Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa, men have named you

You're so like the lady with the mystic smile

Is it only cause you're lonely they have blamed you?

For that Mona Lisa strangeness in your smile?

She lowered her head to his chest as he continued, slowly maneuvering them around the floor, only occasionally looking to ensure they wouldn't run into anyone. She felt so right in his arms, it almost frightened him.

Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa?

Or is this your way to hide a broken heart?

Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep

They just lie there and they die there

Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa?

Or just a cold and lonely lovely work of art?

When the music stopped, they were dancing, alone. The remaining guests had pulled back from the dance floor to watch, and politely applauded.

Cuddy lifted her head from his chest, her eyes meeting his. She didn't speak, she was dumbfounded and words just didn't seem to be able to form themselves. Tears, however was another matter entirely, and her eyes were brimming. He said nothing, just lowered his lips to hers and kissed her chastely. It was all he could do not to push things any further, not here, not now. Tenderly, he used his thumb to brush a single tear from her cheek. She rested her head in his palm as he leaned in toward her ear and spoke in a voice that conveyed the passion that inflamed him. "Come home with me."

She stood back and shook her head, smiling and wiping her eyes. "No," she said softly.

For a split second his disappointment registered on his face, and disappeared just as quickly. "For god's sake why not?"

"I have a room here." She bit her lip. "Stay with me."

He tilted his head slightly and nodded his aquiesence. She slipped her arm around his waist and they moved back to the edge of the dance floor, where Shorty had deposited his cane on a table before leaving. He took the cane and leaned on it, made his way back to the table at the bar. He reached into his pocket for a vicodin and washed it down with the last of his drink. She finished hers and reached for her purse, opened it and pulled out her room key. She took his warm hand in hers and placed the key on the palm, closing his fingers over it. He put the key in his pocket and hefted his cane, spinning it once before claiming the hook in his palm.

"I need to say goodnight to my guests. You go ahead, I'll be up in awhile."

He picked up the bottle and watched her as she walked away from him. "Gorgeous," he said, and she turned and smiled at him as she approached a group who were finishing drinks and donning jackets. If he could have kicked up his heels he would have. Instead he clutched the bourbon tightly and headed for the elevator. Ten minutes. She'd be knocking on the door in ten minutes. Possibly less.

VII

He arrived at the room and slid the card through the security lock. It emitted a small beep and he turned the handle when he heard the lock click open. He entered and flipped a wall switch, which turned on the lights next to the bed as well as on the dresser. He grinned. She was so neat. Her overnight bag was placed on the luggage rack, closed. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. The small room smelled of her perfume and shampoo and he felt a surge in his groin. He used the john and washed his hands before switching off the light and moving back out into the room. He removed the tuxedo jacket, hanging it next to her garment bag, along with his cane. He started to remove his tie, thought better of it with a wicked little grin. He sat down on the bed and removed his shoes and socks with a sigh of relief. 'Someday, someone will invent dress shoes that are actually comfortable' he thought, wriggling his newly freed toes in the plush carpet. 'Have to email Nike about that one.' He stuffed his socks into his shoes and put them next to her sneakers under the luggage rack. The bed had already been turned down; he pushed the covers back up and lay on top, grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. He quickly ran through the channels until he came to the music stations, and selected R&B. Then he lay back, hands beneath his head, legs crossed at the ankles, and waited for her. A thought surged into his mind and he got up and retrieved his cell phone from his tuxedo jacket. Not even checking for messages, he flipped the phone open and hit the first number on the speed dial.

She had never been more excited to hear her cell phone ring. She opened her purse and removed the phone. She checked the ID- the hotel was calling? Probably about the bill.... She snapped it open. "Cuddy," she said, realizing the man she had dined with was standing behind her. The voice from the phone caused her breath to catch in her throat.

"Bring some ice with you."

"What are the symptoms?" She asked, looking helplessly at a disappointed millionaire who had just asked if he could see her home.

"The patient has a fever and needs a doctor with an ice bucket."

"I see. Start him on fluids, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Hurry up."

She hung up the phone and looked at her dining companion. "I am sorry, but I have to get to the hospital."

He was persistent. "Let me drive you."

"No thanks, I have my own car and I don't know how long this is going to take." She took his hand and shook it. "Thank you for the wonderful evening," she told him, hoping that all the sincerity she could muster would be enough.

Apparently, it was. "Thank you for a lovely evening. May I call you?" He asked, a little too hopefully.

"Sure. You can reach me at the hospital." She said, heading for the door. She waved a 'good night' to the orchestra leader, and disappeared into the hallway. Lisa went to the front desk and asked for a bucket of ice to be sent to her room. Then she moved quickly to the elevator and jabbed the button. She shifted impatiently from foot to foot as she waited for the car. When the doors opened she stepped quickly inside, pressing the button for her floor. When the doors closed behind her she slumped against the wall and pressed her hand to her forehead. House was waiting for her. She trembled a little as she let her mind think of what lay ahead. Fortunately, before she got too far ahead of herself the elevator arrived at her floor and she stepped out, walked to her door and knocked softly.

Hearing her knock, he got up from the bed and moved fairly quickly to the door. He turned the lock and the handle, letting her cross in front of him as he held it open. As she passed he turned and closed the door behind her. "Don't lock it," she told him, "room service is bringing the ice any minute."

She sat down heavily on the bed and threw her purse onto the dresser. "God, one of these days someone will invent a high heeled shoe that is actually comfortable," she said, reaching down and unfastening the straps that held the shoes to her ankles. She toed them off and kicked them into the closet, where they hit the wall with a satisfying thump.

House just watched her, fascinated. "It's not going to happen," he said.

She froze. "What?"

"It isn't possible."

"What isn't possible?" Oh God he had changed his mind already. How awkward was THIS going to be?

"It isn't possible to make a high-heeled shoe that is comfortable. The human foot wasn't designed for it, period. It's out of the question."

She heaved a sigh of relief and stood up, moved to him and turned her back. "Would you help me with this?" Motioning to the zipper at the bottom of the vee.

House licked his lips and moved closer, taking the zipper in his fingers and gently tugging it down. A sharp knock on the door startled him and he let go, as if he had gotten caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. "Room service" came the voice from the other side of the door.

"Ice" Lisa said as she scooted into the bathroom and closed the door. House opened the door and took the ice bucket, gave the kid ten bucks and closed the door, locking it with the chain as well as the deadbolt. He hobbled to the desk and set the bucket down, filled two glasses with ice and bourbon, swirling it around to chill it quickly. He snapped off the light on the dresser and took the glasses to the bed, and set hers down on the nightstand. Sipping from his, he sat down on the end of the bed and began nodding his head in time to the music coming from the tv.

He heard the bathroom door open and looked up just as she snapped the light off. When she moved into the room he drew a quick breath. She was wearing a nightshirt that extended to mid-thigh, and that appeared to be all. She turned and hung up her dress and put what he assumed were her undergarments into the top dresser drawer. He held out her drink and she came to him, stood between his knees and took a swallow, set it back down. She removed the glass he was holding and set it next to hers, and then, placing her hands on his shoulders she slid them over and began to work the knot at his throat. His arms came up to her hips and he groaned as his hands confirmed what his eyes had seen: she was naked beneath the nightshirt. She had the tie undone in a tick and was working the buttons from top to bottom. He took her face in his hands and lowered her, capturing her lips and groaning loudly as they melted together once again. His hand worked around her jawline to the back of her neck, and he released the clip that still bound her hair in place. Jet black curls spilled around them, and she finally had the shirt unbuttoned and began to push it off his shoulders and down his arms. He released her and struggled to remove the shirt, only to realize his cufflinks were still in place. "Little help?" He asked, and she pushed the shirt back up and unfastened the cufflinks, jiggling them in her hands as she went to put them on the dresser.

"Nice," she told him.

"Wilson gave them to me as a gift for being his best man. Second wedding, I think. Maybe third." He had pulled off the shirt and now threw it in the corner.

"You really should hang that up" Lisa stated.

"Gotta get it dry cleaned anyway, don't bother." She moved back to him and he took her in his arms again, kissing her hungrily. "You taste so good" he said, running his tongue along the shell of her ear and nibbling her lobe.

The sensation of his tongue on her ear, and the heat of his breath on her neck caused her to moan with delight. "Oh House, that feels amazing."

He chuckled softly. "Mama like?" He asked, swirling his tongue up and around the curve of her ear before slipping it deftly inside.

"Yes, mama like very much," she said, slipping her hands between them and running her fingers through the smattering of grey curls between his nipples. She pushed him backwards gently, and as he fell back onto the bed she let herself down on top of him slowly.

House groaned as she lay on top of him, the delicious feel of her weight on him, her hair spilled over them both was almost too incredible to believe. He was about to put his arms around her and crush her to him again when she pushed herself up and rolled off of him. He looked at her questioningly and was about to make a comment when she reached for the belt buckle that still held his pants on.

She had the belt, buttons and zipper undone in a tick. "Lift up your hips," she instructed and he complied instantly. With a sharp tug she had them down, and she couldn't help but laugh when her hands encountered his boxers. "House! Silk?" She asked him, throwing the pants into the corner where his shirt lay. "I would NEVER have guessed."

He smiled at her. "What? It feels good, and it slides over my thigh better than cotton. Doesn't rub."

Lisa nodded. She could have guessed, it was never about fashion with him. He wore the silk out of necessity. She absently wondered if she should prescribe them for him, would the hospital's insurance pick up the tab? She let her hand travel to his damaged thigh and gently slid it over the scar tissue, through the boxers. When he didn't flinch she began to explore the injury. "How long has it been since I looked at this?" She asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know. It hasn't changed, it's still ugly."

She moved her hands to the leg of his boxers and pushed it up, exposing the flesh beneath. He was right, it was ugly. A jagged ridge of scar tissue lay in place of the incision, and as it grew together it had pulled the surrounding flesh tightly over the missing muscle beneath. She ran her index finger upwards along the scar, it was hard and inflexible.

House moved his hand and captured hers, sliding it upwards to the waistband of his shorts. "If you're done with your exam, I think it's my turn." She got off of him and lay down, and he rolled onto his side next to her. He stretched out his full length against her, and let his hand drift down to the lower edge of the nightshirt.

He leaned his head to her and brushed his lips across hers and slipped his hand beneath the soft cotton, and she trembled as his broad palm slid upwards along her thigh in a gentle caress. He felt her shiver and slowly slid his hand around her hip to gently squeeze her ample behind. True, he had always had a thing for her breasts, they being so prominent in his sight line most of the time; when it came right down to it however, it was her ass that attracted him more. He squeezed it again, gently, and she let go a soft groan. The sound struck a chord deep within, and he realized once again that one of his fantasies was coming true.

He leaned into her and Lisa rolled onto her back, causing the nightshirt to ride up over her hips, revealing a tuft of black curls that exactly matched the ones on top of her head. He settled himself between her thighs and resting his weight on her, used both hands to slide the shirt completely up to her neck, where she deftly slipped it off over her head.

She now lay beneath him, completely and gloriously naked. "Beautiful," he whispered into her ear, with a little more breath than was necessary. "Magnificent." He moved his head lower and captured a nipple with his lips, gently suckling as he massaged her breasts.

Her hands came up behind his head, holding him in place as she twined her fingers through his hair. "Oh House..." she began, and arched against him as a wave of pleasure coursed down her spine.

He had positioned himself low enough to keep his growing erection from coming into contact with her- he was unsure how long he would last. He switched his lips to the other nipple and she arched into him again, grinding her hips into his belly, causing him to groan against her chest. Her legs came up around his hips and she grasped his head with both hands, dragging him upwards for a soul-searing kiss that made his whole body shudder.

Lisa was having a hard time holding on to the shred of restraint left in her. She wanted nothing more than to feel him deep within her. Her hands traveled the length of his spine, and she began to push his shorts down.

House pushed himself up and rolled away from her to sit on the edge of the bed, carefully removing the boxer shorts. He reached for their drinks, handed hers over, and they sipped from the glasses. Lisa handed hers back and he replaced it on the night stand and, still holding his glass, turned on the bed to see her stretched out behind him. The sight of her made his cock throb, and he was struck by a sudden realization. "Lisa?"

"Mmm, yes Greg?" She purred, running her hand across her belly and up to her breasts, twirling an already hard nipple between her fingers.

"I forget..." he started, then shook his head to clear it and continued. "I didn't plan this, you know."

She looked into his eyes. "I know."

"I don't have a condom."

She smiled and a wave of relief swept over him even before she spoke. "You're clean, right?" When he nodded she continued. "Well I am back on the pill, so there's really no need for...". She was unable to finish as his lips landed on hers once again, gently this time, and she moaned into them as he reached over and snapped off the light.

He stretched out against her once again, and lowered his lips to her breasts, licking the nipples each in turn and gently squeezing them. "I have a confession," he told her softly as he switched nipples.

"Mmm, what?" She asked, only slightly curious. She was having a very hard time concentrating on anything other than the delicious sensation of his mouth on her.

"Whenever I talk about having a threesome, I'm really talking about these. The 'twins' here."

"So you're having a threesome right now?"

"That's what I'm gonna tell everyone when they ask me what I did this weekend." He began to move his lips lower, and stuck his tongue into her belly button, twirling it around lazily before sliding it along the crease at the top of her thigh.

Lisa opened her legs and he slid between them, setting soft kisses on her delicate flesh. She trembled and opened wider, throwing her legs over his shoulders and he grinned as he began to lap in earnest, his hands massaging her butt cheeks.

His tongue found her delicate little bud and flicked over it, suckled just enough to make her moan, and began to twirl around it. With each caress she wriggled against him, and made these crazy little whimpering sounds that ran down his spine and gripped his balls. Her breathing became quicker and she closed her legs around his face, intent on keeping him there until she had finished.

He had no such intentions. He couldn't remember ever having been this hard and there was nothing he wanted more in life at this moment than to bury himself as deeply inside her as he could. Her whimpers became moans and he pried her legs apart, freeing his head and dropping his wet chin to settle on her pubic bone. He looked up the length of her torso: it was splendid scenery and he closed his eyes momentarily to cement the image in his mind. When he opened them she was looking down at him, and the want on her face told him everything he needed to know. He kissed his way upwards, drawing his lean frame along with his lips, and as he raised himself over her he dropped his head and kissed her hungrily.

She reached between them to guide him, and when he felt the wet heat of her he paused only briefly before slowly pushing himself within her. She moaned loudly and he thrust as her legs came up and around his hips, holding him there. He stayed motionless for a moment to give her time to accommodate him.

"Oh Greg..." she began, but he silenced her with his lips and began to pump himself into her, swivelling his hips until he found just the right angle. "Greg!" She screamed his name and her nails raked his back, and when he felt her contract around him he lost control. Thrusting hard he exploded into her for what seemed like an eternity, gasping and shuddering to his own completion.

As the last wave of his orgasm subsided he collapsed on top of her. Lisa removed her nails from his back and ran her hair through the damp curls on top of his head. "Greg, are you okay?" She asked softly.

"Unngh", he grunted, and rolled off her and onto his back next to her.

Lisa rolled away and sat up, pulling the covers over her lap and reached for their drinks. She took a sip of hers and handed Greg his, who propped himself up on his elbows and took it gratefully, downing half the glass. "Vicodin?" She asked him as he handed the glass back to her.

He lay back down and pulled the covers over him, leaving only his chest exposed. "No." He patted the space next to him and she set her drink back down, and slid across the bed to lie in his arms. She lay her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"Lisa I'm sorry that wasn't..." he began.

"Are you kidding? My God I haven't felt like that since college." She was tracing the outline of his nipple with her index finger.

"It's just that, I don't know, you do something to me."

"Do I? What would that be, exactly?" She was teasing him just a bit.

"You make me so hard that I want to bury myself in you and never leave." He lowered his nose into her hair and inhaled. "Your lips, your eyes, your perfect breasts, your 'daddy gotta grab a handful' ass... there's no one I'd rather be with than you."

She snuggled tightly against him and moved her leg gently across his damaged one. "You realize, of course, that it is against hospital policy to sleep with a coworker."

He raised himself up onto one elbow and looked at her. "You want me to quit?"

She laughed. "Don't worry- I think I have a way around it."

"How's that?"

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked into his eyes. "Well, I got an offer tonight, from Anthony Magellan. He's interested in holding a joint fundraiser for the Princeton Philharmonic and the hospital. He wondered if you'd be willing to join the orchestra for a concert."

For a moment, House wasn't exactly sure how he wanted to play it. He hadn't seen Magellan after they had danced, and was fairly certain Magellan hadn't told her he'd asked already. "Seriously? Me and the Princeton Philharmonic at Symphony Hall? Quit kidding around."

"I'm not kidding. He's going to ask the symphony board if they'd be interested. I told him I'd ask you and let him know." She lowered her head back to his chest. "So what do you think?"

"How exactly would this concert get me around the 'sleeping with a coworker' rule?"

"You would be a coworker AND a donor. If the concert sells, a big-time donor. Major perks."

House snorted. "So all I have to do is play with the symphony and I can sleep with you whenever I want?" He trailed his fingers down the curve of her shoulder before pulling her closer to him.

"I never said that."

"You did."

"Did I?"

"Yep."

"Well, will you?"

"Sleep with you whenever I want? Yeah, I will." He cocked his head. "Wait a minute... do all your big-time donors get this same perk? 'Cause I'm really not interested in sharing."

"Then you'll do the concert?"

"Not so sure about that." He pulled her chin up and brushed his lips across hers again. "I might need a little more persuading."

She rolled on top of him and placed a hand on either side of his head. "How much more persuasion do you need?"

"Oh- a lot. How long do we have this room for?" He smiled, and she returned it.

"Until tomorrow. Checkout time is eleven." She began to lick his lips, down his chin and throat, and swirled her tongue across one stiff nipple. He groaned his approval as she continued down the center of his chest. Her hand slipped lower and she cradled his balls. "Now I know why you get away with everything that you get away with." She began to fondle them and he squirmed with pleasure as her other hand grasped his firming erection. She gave a quick stroke down the length of it and he groaned again.

As she removed her hand from his testes and lifted the covers to duck her head under, his hand shot up and grabbed her hair. "Don't," he said, gently but firmly.

She looked up at him, startled. "You don't want me to...?"

He shook his head. "No. Come back up here."

She did, and as she lay back he rolled to her and looked into her eyes. "Until now I have paid for that pleasure, and only that pleasure. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she told him, surprised by the fact that she actually did understand his confession, and moved that he cared enough to tell her. "Well that limits my options. Tell me how to persuade you."

"Let me have those lips" he said, and pulled her face to his.

EPILOGUE

As the sunlight begins to filter in around the edges of the drawn shades, Gregory House wakes slowly. He lies still for a while before opening his eyes, and when he does, two things strike him immediately. First and foremost he is not in his own bedroom. Second, and perhaps more important, he had awoken with Lisa Cuddy in his arms for the second time in his life.

They lie spooned together, her back to his front, and he inhales deeply through his nose. Her ass, her rack, her hair; these things were cause in themselves for joy, but he knew that it was the scent of this woman that stirred him more deeply than anything else. To him she simply smelled female. She could mask it at times, with perfumed soaps or a lovely body spray, but he could always, always detect that female scent lurking just below the flowery covering. The room they now shared is filled with that scent. He smiles.

He shifts the covers a tiny bit, so that they slip down revealing her bare shoulders. Moving his head slowly he places his lips there. She stirs at the contact, and he begins to kiss and nibble his way from her shoulder up her neck, moving her hair out of his way as he breathes softly into her ear. His hand returns to the warm place it had been occupying at her belly, then moves upwards to caress her breast. Those magnificent breasts! They are just a smidgen more than a handful, round and wondrously, lovingly blessed with perfectly placed nipples. The feel of them in his hands, and the thought of them in his mouth, opens a floodgate of blood to his groin. He can feel himself beginning to rise, and realizes his dick is positioned between her ass cheeks.

Oh lucky dick! Her ass is one of the seven wonders of the natural world. Very few women possess an asset this amazing. He loves the way it rolls when she walks away from him, when she knows he is watching. Yes, she pretends it bothers her to be the object of his desire for her, but then she saunters off and flaunts that tight little bottom in his face. And he cannot turn away: the motion is fluidly hypnotic. When he finally does turn away nine times out of ten, it is to get back to his office, where he can hide his hard-on beneath his desk.

Yep, Lisa Cuddy is a fine example of what nature is capable of. Right now, as she lays motionless in his arms, he realizes that perhaps, just perhaps, he is holding the complement to himself. His body is damaged, and hers is perfect.

He runs his thumb across her stiff nipple and feels her shiver. He smiles again: he knows she's awake. He sucks on her earlobe and begins moving his hips, rubbing his now fully erect penis between her cheeks. She groans and pushes back against him and he moans softly into her ear. She lifts her leg slightly and he pushes himself deep within her. He doesn't move: she is oh so tight and he can feel her muscles alternately contract and relax around his thick cock. He moves his hand from her breast and slips it between her legs, to tease her clit. She gasps as his hand finds his target and he bites her neck, soothing it with his tongue. He feels her relax and slowly withdraws before thrusting again, holding himself there and then he begins to move in sync with his fingers at her delicate little bud. She whimpers and the sound loops around his balls like a silken cord drawn tight. She whispers his name and pushes herself back at him and it is all too much. He thrusts again and can feel her begin to buck in his arms, shuddering and shaking and he groans her name into her neck as he comes hard and fast and just as deeply as the position will allow. He pulls her tightly to him as he begins to soften within her, but he doesn't withdraw. He strokes her hair and belly and breasts, and whispers her name again and again until she has calmed down.

Then she does something completely unexpected. She pulls herself from him and rolls to face him. She looks into his eyes and tells him she loves him, that she always has loved him, and that she always will.

He believes her because he knows it is possible. He knows it is possible because he has loved her from the moment he detected that unmistakably female scent wafting from the study carrel behind his some fifteen years earlier. He places his hand on her cheek, and wipes a single tear from her eye before placing a lingering kiss on each eyelid. He sighs and holds her tightly to him, and from his very soul he tells her he loves her, that she is his and he will never let her go again. She kisses him this time, tenderly, and then rolls back onto her side and spoons up against him once more.

He wraps his arms around her and thinks, before drifting back to sleep, that he might never wake up without her again. With that one simple thought the wall he had reinforced for years came tumbling down and he surrendered himself completely to the happiness he had kept at bay for so long.

Author's Note: Already working on the concert story. Interested in that one, gang? REVIEW please!