The mouthwatering scents of chipotle, lime, and cumin were accompanied by a symphony of stainless steel lids clanking, the unmistakable hiss and sizzle of marinated meat as it kissed the molten surface of a grill, and the rapid-fire *rat-a-tat-tat-tat* of a scalpel-sharp knife blade as it shredded the tightly coiled green leaves, in the process introducing the cilantro’s crisp, fragrant scent into the mix. A dishtowel thrown over his left shoulder, Jack moved about the spacious yet cozy kitchen with the ease and speed of a seasoned chef.

“You know, Audrey, when told me to come over for dinner, I had no idea I’d be the one doing the cooking!” Jack called out.

“Can I help it if I’m addicted to your quesadillas?”

“And the truth comes out at last!” he grinned. Jack looked up from his efforts to see Audrey pad barefoot into the room, clad in an oversized Yale t-shirt. “You only want me for my skills in the kitchen!”

“This is true,” Audrey teased. She sauntered by, snagging a sliced bell pepper from the nearby assortment of sliced and diced onions, mushrooms, and red, green, and yellow bell peppers. Letting the jade colored sliver dangle from her lips, she leaned in wriggling her brows suggestively. Moments later, she and Jack were engaged in an imitation of the iconic “spaghetti kiss” scene from the animated classic Lady and the Tramp. The kiss dissolved into soft laughter from both parties as Audrey snaked her arms about his neck. “I also want you for your skills in the bedroom. You’re pretty darn good in there, too,” she winked, extracting herself from Jack’s embrace. “In fact,” she tossed over her shoulder, “if you weren’t in here looking like you’re auditioning for Iron Chef, I’d have you come upstairs and we could start practicing for our wedding night…”

She did not see Jack lower the flame on the stovetop then step away from the grill. She did not bear witness to the feral gleam in Jack’s eyes, nor the knowing smile of arousal beginning to spread across his handsome features. Not until with lightning speed he had closed the distance between them and spun her around, crushing her body to his. The tenderness of Jack’s kiss was a stark contrast to his startling act from moments earlier for Audrey. Their lips met once more, this time for a slow, lazy kiss that soon began to deepen. Jack’s tongue at first teasingly, then insistently explored her mouth.

The soft moan his actions elicited from Audrey was all the encouragement he needed. If he had any doubts as to Audrey’s desire that he continue, his confirmation was evident in the feel of the hardened peaks of her beasts straining against the fabric of her shirt. Moments later amid her gasp of surprise as he broke off the kiss, Jack deftly drew her shirt over her head. There she stood in the center of her kitchen, nude, her chest heaving lightly in response to her arousal, wisps of her blonde tresses framing her face. Jack was mesmerized by the almost fragile sensuality of the moment.

“You’re so beautiful right now,” he murmured. Instinctively, Audrey sought to cover her now nude body; her hands strategically darting high and low to cover her breasts and crotch, respectively. “Sweetheart, don’t. . .” Jack’s voice was like gravel as he gently pried Audrey’s hands away from the treasures she sought to deny him. “Let me look at you.” Still holding her hands, he took a step back, his gaze nothing short of ravenous as his eyes roamed the body he knew so well. “Let me feel you.” His gaze locked with hers as he drew the dishtowel from his shoulder and began to trail its fringed ends along first her collarbone, then across her chest, and finally between the valley of her breasts. A masculine smile of satisfaction tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched her ivory flesh begin to pebble. “Let me taste you.” Lowering his head to her breast, he took its soft rosy peak into his mouth, lazily sucking the pebbled tip, laving it with his tongue before releasing the now hardened, sensitive flesh.

Audrey whimpered from both the loss of the warmth of Jack’s mouth at her breast, and the feel of him smoothly sliding two fingers between the folds of her aroused sex. When he stealthily slid first one then two fingers inside her, she cried out in surprise; not in response to his fingers’ slow, steady invasion but the growl that tore from Jack’s throat.

“So tight,” he hissed, his breath warm in her ear, “so wet. . .” All the while he continued to mimic the slow, steady thrusts he knew she loved.

Seconds later, her cry of surprise gave way to one of protest as she felt him withdraw his fingers then raise them, glistening with her essence, to his mouth. Audrey made a face, shaking her head as if disgusted. “Jack, no!” she gasped. She reached for his hand, drawing it away from his mouth, taking great care not to touch his slickened fingers.

Jack was brought up short. He took a deep breath, trying his best to keep the mood from slipping away. “Sweetheart, I will never understand why you react this way.” Although irritated, his voice remained calm, soothing. “What’s to be offended by?” Jack asked. “It’s not like it’s another woman’s juices I’m tasting-”

“Jack!” Audrey exclaimed, cutting him off. “That’s so. . .vulgar,” she cringed. “Do you have to refer to it as. . . that?” Arms wrapped about her frame, her gaze swept the room looking for her shirt; looking everywhere but at Jack. She couldn’t. It was difficult enough for her to think about what he wanted to do, she surmised; looking at him while he talked about it was next to impossible.

“What, you prefer I refer to it as your ‘bodily fluids’ or ‘secretions’ instead? I mean, yeah, that’s what it is. . .if you insist on being so clinical about it. But this isn’t science, sweetheart. This is me. . .,” he raised his fingers to his mouth once more, deliberately savoring the taste of her as he held her gaze, “loving you, Audrey. Not giving you a damn annual.” His voice softening, he crooked a finger beneath her chin and directed her gaze back his way. “Sweetheart, don’t you want to know what it is I taste that keeps me between your thighs? What can have me down there for hours, if you’d let me?”

“The food, Jack. . .”

“Fuck the food,” he growled. Snaking his arm around her bare waist he drew her body to his, making sure she felt the evidence of his desire for her. “You are what I wanna eat, okay?” he said.

“Actually,” she began to gingerly ease from his embrace, “it’s more like burn the food. . .” Audrey nodded towards the stovetop grill, directing Jack’s attention towards the strips of flank steak that were on the verge of becoming charred. She all but breathed a sigh of relief as Jack prepared to turn his attention back to the meal.

“You’re lucky.” He claimed her mouth for a bruising kiss, lightly nipping her lower lip as the kiss ended. “But don’t worry, we’ll pick this back up later tonight, Mrs. soon-to-be-Bauer. . .,” he vowed as he made his way to the grill.

“I…I. . .can’t wait,” Audrey replied shakily. It was all she could do not to wretch knowing she had actually tasted herself. Silently, she was taking a mental inventory of her medicine cabinet, wondering if she had any Listerine.

Jack looked up from his efforts at the grill. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I. . .I’m just. . .cold,” she covered. Her arms were wrapped tightly about her chest as she furiously rubbed her arms.

In his passion-fueled haze, Audrey’s shirt had been tossed aside, and could be dangling from the top of one of the cabinets or the lighting fixtures for all Jack knew. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he said. Jack lowered the flame on the grill again then smoothly reached behind and drew his t-shirt over his head. Closing the distance between them, he mockingly bowed then gallantly offered the shirt to Audrey.

Hastily, she donned the cotton t-shirt, unable to meet his gaze the entire time. “Well,” she shrugged as she shifted nervously from foot to foot, “I’d better let you get back to our meal.” She sniffed the air, the scent of lightly charred meat invading her senses; making her eyes water ever so slightly and her nostrils tingle. “Well, what’s left of it,” she shrugged. “Sorry about that,” she added sheepishly.

“Don’t be.” Jack’s piercing stare didn’t waver in the slightest. “I’m not.” His gaze softening, he quietly regarded Audrey once more. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded, almost too emphatically. “See you in a bit.”

She leaned in to kiss him, this time on the cheek. As she walked away, Audrey glanced back at Jack and found him still watching her, a pensive look upon his face that soon gave way to a soft smile. Waving, she returned his smile. The moment she bent the corner, the smile evaporated; in its place, a look that was a strange mixture of apprehension and confusion. She couldn’t even begin to try and process what just took place in the kitchen.

‘For goodness sakes. . .in the kitchen of all places???’ she marveled in horror.

As she trudged up the stairs to her bedroom – she was suddenly desperate for a shower – Audrey wracked her brain wondering as to the cause of Jack’s behavior; if perhaps he’d had a particularly rough mission his last time out and the kitchen quickie was some sort of “outlet” for his pent up, unresolved emotions and issues? To her dismay that possibility was quickly dismissed when she remembered Jack’s last mission had been nearly six months ago. Moreover, effective three weeks ago, as a “gift” from his fellow agents, he was officially out of the Field Ops rotation until after the wedding. Perhaps it was a really old mission that was haunting him and he was having some sort of ‘flashback,’ she reasoned.

Whatever it was, she noted, he wasn’t himself. But she wasn’t worried. She was just. . .concerned. And while she wasn’t afraid of Jack – she knew to her core he’d never lay a hand on her – Audrey could not deny she did not like this side of him. She entered the bathroom and made a bee-line for the shower. Occasionally she’d dart her hand beneath the spray of water, adjusting the controls until she had the water at just the right temperature and pressure.

Satisfied when she saw steam billowing forth, she removed Jack’s t-shirt. As she prepared to deposit it into the nearby laundry bin, for some unknown reason, she raised the cotton material to her nose and inhaled. Seconds later, she recoiled in disgust, the scent of onions, peppers, and something not quite fragrant yet not entirely musky either assaulting her olfactory senses.

Using the offending shirt, she wiped away the steam-covered portion of the mirror to afford her a glimpse of her reflection. She wasn’t sure of what was happening with Jack, but she was confident whatever made him act the way he did downstairs, it was only a temporary thing; just something he needed to get out of his system, she reminded herself. And once he did, then he’d be back to the Jack she knew and loved.

‘Everything’, she reminded herself, ‘was going to be perfect. . .’