If it wasn't winter, Elizabeth was sure she would have heard crickets chirping. The world around her was that silent. She swore she wasn't breathing and that her heart wasn't even beating, because she could hear nothing but silence.

Jason--being Jason--just sort of stared at her with some look she couldn't quite grasp the meaning to.

Yep, she could hear the snow falling it was so freaking quiet!

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. "Jason?"

As if just remembering she was there, he finally nodded his head and handed her the helmet that normally sat unused on the back of his bike.

"Thanks," she mused not ill-naturedly.

Strapping on the black helmet, Elizabeth maneuvered her way onto the back of the bike, using Jason's outstretched arm to prop her up. She tried to ignore the wave of heat that blazed from her hand to the rest of her body when they touched. But that was like trying to ignore she was alive at all.

"Be glad you're tall," she grumbled. "Why don't they make stepladders for these things? I always thought they could just put something on these bikes to make it easier for the vertically-challenged people. Something could just flip out like the kick stand does. Then all you’d have to do is just step onto it. Then, voila! You're good to go! Of course, you don't have problems getting on, so...yeah, I'm just going to be quiet now."

Her face flushed. She really needed to learn how to control that pesky rambling thing she developed every time he was around.

Wrapping her arms around him, she loved the rush she got when he took his foot off the ground and the bike roared to life and wailed down the street. She closed her eyes and let the wind rush over her face. God, it felt good.

They were half-way to her studio when she realized he was taking her home. Taking in a deep breath, she braced herself for the rejection she would see in his eyes once they got there.

She still had a few minutes until they got to her studio and she made them count. Her arms tightened around Jason and she pressed her cheek against his neck, breathing in that masculine spicy smell of him.

The motorcycle rolled to a stop. Elizabeth gathered her pride and collected her sketchbook in her hands before dismounting the bike.

"You can come in if you want...for coffee." The moments the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Idiot! Oh god, why didn't she just say “hey, want to go have sex?” that would have been less obvious. Everyone in the free world knew that inviting someone up “for coffee” was just a lame excuse, didn’t they? Hell, she didn’t even have any coffee in the studio! What was he thinking? And, oh man, did she just come off like a slut? Really, she hadn't meant it that way. She just...wanted to spend more time with him.

It was weird to admit that to herself. That she liked having Jason around and wanted to spend more time with him, but it was the honest truth.

Jason reluctantly shook his head and indicated the bag of food on the back of his bike.

"Oh, right. Well then, I guess this is goodnight. Thanks for the ride. I really like that bike." She smiled cheerfully, gathering up her pride and hoping her disappointment didn't bleed through the mask she wore.

Jason spared a glance her way, weakening his resolve to remain detached. Did she have any clue what she looked like? Her hair a wavy mess and her skin alive with color. Good lord, he was in trouble. He watched her open the door and start up the steps and when he couldn't see her any more, he finally let out his breath.

In the air, even after she'd walked the three flights of stairs and he saw the lights to her studio flicker on, there was still the soft essence of her perfume. Her smell lingered just like her image lingered in his mind at night when he tried restlessly to fall asleep.

He was a goner. Screwed with a capital S.

There was no use trying to deny his feelings anymore. He was falling for Elizabeth Webber. And at that moment, he needed to leave before he took her up on her offer of...coffee.

Elizabeth heard the purr of the ignition and rushed to her window hoping to catch one last glimpse of Jason Morgan. She sighed while she watched him speed away; a blur of black leather sitting high on his Harley.

She was in over her head. What the hell was she doing propositioning a man she barely knew? Who the hell was she kidding? Any woman that looked at him would offer him more than...“coffee” at first glance. But she wasn’t most women. She’d cleaned up her act. Hell, she was a downright prude these days!

Grabbing a brush from an old tin can, she stopped pacing and settled in front of a canvas. It looked like she was in for a long, rough night of painting.

Damn, Jason Morgan!

_______

Sonny had never felt so sick in his entire life. The trickle of vapor from the humidifier on the ground was the only thing keeping his lungs from feeling like they'd been fused together with a vat of peanut butter. His ears were swimming in fluid, making everything sound garbled. His nose and eyes were runny and red and his skin felt clammy, but despite all of those things he wore a grin so large his dimples were the size of quarters.

Hearing Jason's muted steps when he entered the room, Sonny sat up in bed.

Jason observed the tissues and antibiotics scattered on the desk, floor and night tables, and grimaced, pushing them aside.

Sonny cleared his throat and ran a tissue down his neck to mop up the sweat that had accumulated there.

"Elizabeth Webber's friend, Trisha, was it? She called looking for her. We had an interesting talk."

Jason scoffed and set the bag from Kelly's, containing soup for Sonny, on his bedside table.

Ignoring Jason's displeasure, Sonny continued, "I supposed you made sure she got home okay?"

Without even turning around, Jason nodded and left the bedroom, walking fast to drown out Sonny's soft laughter.

In his own room, Jason pulled out a travel book and began to read. Snapping the book shut after only a few sentences, he looked down at the cover. When the hell had he purchased a book on Italy? Biting the side of his cheek hard, he felt the slow ooze of metallic blood pool in his mouth. He knew sooner or later, he was not going to be able to fight his feelings for Elizabeth. Sooner or later, he was going to lead her to danger. Swallowing with disgust, he reminded himself that he was poison and didn't deserve the kind of happiness he might—would--find with Elizabeth Webber.

___

When Elizabeth woke up the next morning, she found that her ass hurt. Her right butt cheek to be more specific. Not just a little, insignificant, will-go-away-at-any-second kind of pain, but a holy-mother-of-pearl-someone-give-me-a-sedative-because-my-ass-feels-like-someone-fired-a-bullet-took-it-out-and-forgot-to-give me-the-memo, kind of pain. Sitting up very slowly, she leaned heavily on her left cheek and gouged around the cushions for the cause of her displeasure. And sure enough, where her right cheek had been moments ago, she lifted one tube of cobalt blue oil paint. Great, even in her sleep Jason was a pain in the ass!

Throwing the tube on the small table, where the rest of her paints were, she stood slowly and stretched her arms over her head.

She could hear the phone ringing somewhere, but couldn't seem to find where the damn thing was. Today was going to be the day that she proved to Jason Morgan that she was not going to be easily ignored, but before that she'd have to answer the phone. Searching under a pile of laundry, she finally came up with the blue cordless.

"Hello?" Elizabeth grumbled into the receiver.

On the other line, the distinct squeal of Trisha Harper rang through Elizabeth's ear. "Is he there?"

Looking around, Elizabeth rubbed her eyes confused. "What? Who?"

"Jason! He went home with you last night, didn't he? So, was it good?"

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth crossed the room and found her orange toothbrush. "I didn't sleep with Jason. He dropped me off and that was it."

"That's it? Come on, Liz. Just one itsy bitsy detail, please!”

“There are no details to give. Nothing happened!”

“Well, that's pretty uneventful considering you walked out on me and Lucky without a goodbye. I assumed you'd at least have a juicy sex story for me."

Holding the phone to her shoulder with her ear, she picked up the tube of toothpaste and discovered it was empty. "Sorry to disappoint," Elizabeth stated, distracted. She rummaged through drawers looking for a tube of toothpaste.

She really needed to go shopping. Just the thought of going back to the mall or any place like it anytime soon had her shuddering. "Hey, wait! When have I ever had a juicy sex story? I would like to hear it myself actually."

Finding a sample packet of toothpaste from the last time she'd been to the dentist, Elizabeth loaded her brush and stuck it in her mouth, methodically cleaning her molars.

"Okay fine,” Harper said, resigned, “so maybe you haven't tapped the market on juicy sex stories yet, but there's still time. And the way Jason was looking at you last night, I would say that time is coming soon, if you know what I mean.”

Liz’s eyes widened while she anticipated Trisha's next words.

“Oh, and did you see when he walked how his jeans bunched right at his-"

"I'm hanging up now!"

On the other end, Trisha laughed knowing she'd gotten the best of her. "Alright, love ya, babe."

"Yeah, love to torture me," Elizabeth snorted.

"Well, that too."

"Bye." Hanging up the phone, she set it down on the couch and stretched some more. She really needed to get a proper bed.

Tossing the toothbrush back into a cup near the sink, Elizabeth walked to a rack where her clothes hung and began to sift through them. Maybe it was time she got a juicy sex story of her own.

______

Three hours later, Elizabeth was spent and frustrated. She had no idea how exactly it had happened, but somewhere along the line she’d realized that wooing Jason wasn’t exactly something she could do on her own. She needed help. And there was only one person that she could go to…

That’s why she found herself standing outside of Trisha Harper’s dorm room, knocking like a woman possessed.

“Alright, alright! I’m coming already! You don’t need to be such a ball-breaker, Spe—Liz!”

“Expecting someone else?” Elizabeth smirked.

“Uh, no. Why would you…” she fumbled, flustered. “You know, never mind. Come in.”

Elizabeth took a step inside the dorm. It was a mess. And that was coming from someone that lived in organized chaos. “Love what you’ve done with the place, Harper,” she commented, throwing herself onto her bed.

“It’s home. So, what’s up?” she said, pushing a stack of books out of her way and throwing herself onto her roommate’s bed.

“Uh, well, I sorta… I need your help,” she said mournfully.

“With what?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. This was not going to be easy. “You know what.”

“Drawing a blank here, Lizzie-poo. I think you’re going to have to spell this one out for me.”

Elizabeth didn’t miss the evil smile on Trisha’s face. Oh, yeah, she knew what this was all about. “Don’t make me say it.”

That smile just got wider. “Well, I’m clueless here, girl, so you better explain.”

Okay, so maybe the dig about her cleaning abilities was going to cost her. She wasn’t going to be getting off easy. She was going to have swallow her pride and lay it all out there, every sordid word. She took a deep breath. “I need your help with Jason. I can’t get him out of my head and, okay, you were right I’ve been pining away since the moment I set eyes on him. Satisfied?”

“Very! Oh, yay!” She jumped from her roommate’s bed onto the one Liz was occupying. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“For who?” Elizabeth groaned. She was already regretting coming to Trisha for help. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No, no! This is going to be great. Super great, even! Oh, Liz, you will so not be sorry!”

“Sure,” she said, tersely. “What do you have in mind?”

Trisha rubbed her hands together. It looked maniacal. “I think it’s about time to get a little more…aggressive.”

Elizabeth cringed. What had she gotten herself into? “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Relax. It’ll be easy. We just need a plan.”

“What kind of plan?” Elizabeth watched her friend closely. She could see the wheels turning and she wasn’t exactly sure she liked where this was going.

“A simple plan. A plan to get Jason to notice you. I mean, really notice you. How do you feel about spandex?”

“Not going to happen,” Elizabeth answered bluntly.

“Fine. Um…do you own any halter tops?” There was no humor in her voice.

“No.” Liz was almost ready to bolt. But she had to give this a chance. Nothing else she had done seemed to make much impact on Jason. A woman of Trisha’s considerable experience had to know what she was doing. Didn’t she? “Trisha, I know you’re trying to help, but how about something a little less…”

“Slutty?” she said, unfazed.

“Not the word I was going to use, but okay, sure. Can we just do something a little more…subtle?”

“Okay, fine. But you’re still going to need to freshen up your wardrobe a little. I’ll lend you something.”

“Uh…”

“Relax. I’ll find you one of my more conservative outfits.”

Liz wasn’t exactly sure that Trisha owned anything conservative. But it was best not to verbalize that. “Okay, what else?”

“Attitude.”

“Attitude?”

“Yeah,” she answered, emphatically. “You’ll need to act a little less like you and a little more like me.”

“I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with this pl--”

“I’m not saying you have to burst through the doors and give the man a lap dance! Although…?”

“Absolutely not!” she said in horror.

“Fine. You just need to act a little more like a woman.”

“Okay, should I be totally insulted?”

“I just mean that you have to use your feminine wiles.”

“My what?”

Trisha’s eyes glimmered against the harsh fluorescents. “You know, a little flip of the hair, a lick of the lips, a sashay of the hips…” she said, demonstrating. “Those kinds of things.”

The thought of sashaying anything in front of Jason made Elizabeth blush. “I don’t think I can do any of those things.”

Trisha sighed. “Elizabeth, please, just listen to me instead of telling me all the things you can’t do! I’m trying to help, but you’re making it very difficult here. Just flirt with the man!”

“That’s it? Just flirt?”

“Yes! Now I have class, but it’s a good thing I’m such a kick-ass friend, because I’m willing to skip it for you.”

Trisha had never really needed much incentive to skip.

“How very generous.”

“I know, right? Okay, let’s find you something to wear and then we’ll work out the finer details. Jason Morgan’s not going to know what hit him!”

Trisha’s smile and enthusiasm was contagious.

Okay, so Liz had a mission: to prove to Jason she was a woman and he was not immune to her…feminine wiles.

____

"Damn collar!" Max groaned. He walked around the empty church, bored out of his scull.

What the heck did priests do on their off hours anyway? Over at the monastery, there had been a heated game of chess going on. Yeah, it looked like a lot of fun. Too bad, he didn't know how to play anyway. He'd wandered the grounds almost the whole morning and still had too much energy to sit still for longer than five minutes. Who knew priests woke up at six a.m.? Certainly he didn't and was none too happy to find out first hand.

Strutting around like a sly cat, Max studied the various figures of Jesus that sat on pedestals around the church. Finding one particularly interesting, he picked it up to examine the bottom, wondering where it was made. Whistling some tune that wasn't quite recognizable as “Silent Night” he laughed at the “made in China” emblem.

Behind him someone cleared their throat.

Startled, Max let go of the figurine and threw his hands up in the air. Once a criminal… He watched it crash to the ground.

"Oh, Christ, I'm going to hell!" Spinning around, his eyes fixated on Jason. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, my father was right, I am the son of Satan! Jason, tell me you can fix this."

Meeting him at the front of the church in three short strides, Jason crouched down. He took the fallen pieces of the ceramic in his hands and placed them in his lap piecing them together. Satisfied that it could be salvaged, he nodded and let a small smile pass his lips.

"You are the man!" Max yelled and slapped his hand down on the alter shaking loose the wooden cross that sat on top of it.

"That's it! I'm going straight to hell! My mother will be so ashamed she won't even attend my damn funeral and they probably won't even let me be buried in a Catholic cemetery after this. Oh god, I'll be the family outcast even in death. I couldn't have just been a florist like Uncle Maurice! No, no, I had to have a gun! Frickin’ crime dramas! Damn Scorsese and Coppola! Damn, Brando and De Niro and Pacino! No good, gun-toting fools! My mother said those movies would rot my brain. I should have listened! But, no. I had to be a big shot. That’s how they get you, you know. With all the glamour and glory… You didn’t see any of them masquerading as a priest, did you, huh?!"

Jason barely looked at Max. He patiently glued the statue of Jesus back together with steady, strong hands. Leaving the figure to dry, Jason clapped Max on the back and fetched the cross from the ground. The wood was splintered a bit, but that wasn't what concerned him. The figure of Jesus had actually been knocked from the cross and to replace it, Jason would have to nail him back to it. Looking over at Max, he grimaced and took the hammer out of his tool belt accompanied by a few nails.

Max tapped Jason on the shoulder. A thought had just come to him. "We cannot tell Sonny about this!" he stated, adamantly.

Jason shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t going to be the one to say anything to anyone.

"Oh, right," Max apologized and let a small chuckle pass his lips.

Letting paranoia claim the best of him, Max walked up and down the aisle making sure no one was around.
---------

Elizabeth rehearsed everything Trisha had told her on the walk over. She’d rejected more than half of her suggestions and only kept listening to the ones that didn’t make her blush. She had no idea how Jason was going to react, but was anxious to find out. Now she just had to do something to relax before she put The Plan into action.

She noticed a larger man shouldering the doors when she walked up to the church. "Oh, I'm sorry, Father, there's usually no one here at this time."

Caught off guard, Max turned around and stared down at the petite brunette. "What?"

"I just came to do some sketches before I went up to the main house and I didn't expect anyone would be here. I'm Elizabeth Webber." She smiled and offered a dainty hand to the guard disguised as a priest.

Max cleared his throat and took her hand in his.

So, this was Elizabeth Webber.

He hadn't been sure what to expect and he wasn't certain she was what he had been anticipating. But one thing was for sure, all the guards were right, she certainly was a looker. He scolded himself for even having such thoughts. He was supposed to be a priest, he reminded himself. Releasing her hand, he stepped back from the doors so she could enter.

"I was just checking on things… You know, seeing if there were any repairs to be made or anything. Jason was helping," he indicated over his shoulder where Jason was a moment ago, "to fix some things."

Elizabeth's brows crinkled. "There's no one there."

"Oh," Max said, stepping over to the Alter and genuflecting for Elizabeth's benefit, before he eyed the cross back in place with a small note attached. Picking up the note he read aloud. "Good as new. Jason. He certainly is a man of few words," Max commented.

"Sure is," Elizabeth agreed, hiding the little bit of excitement that rose in her stomach at the mention of Jason. "Do you have a name, or do you all just go by Father?" she teased and strolled past him easily.

"Well," he stammered, "I guess you can call me Father Max, or just Max, I'm not really sure how it all works," he said, his brows creased.

Turning to face him again, her eyes scrutinized his face. "You're not sure how it works?"

"Well, I'm new here. I've never actually been a priest before... I mean, in this area. I just came down here from...Canada. Yeah, things are done a little different up there."

"Oh, but you are a priest right? You're not another one of those fake priests are you?"

"Fake priests?" he asked, trying to remain looking innocent. A twinge of guilt pestered at him, but he swallowed it down and told himself it was for the best.

"Well, after that Edward man pretended to be a priest, how can I be so sure you're not pretending too?"

Max smiled.

Elizabeth was one smart cookie.

"I guess you'll have to trust me."

She tapped her chin with her index finger and her eyes lit up. "Or I could quiz you!"

"Quiz me?" Max asked, skeptically.

Elizabeth's smile broadened. "Yeah, like ask you a bunch of religious questions to make sure you're legit."

Rubbing his sweaty palms down the legs of his pants, Max took in some much needed air and then expelled it noisily. "If that's what it will take, go ahead."

Her stance widened and her shoulders squared and the smile that had been on her face seemed to vanish into thin air. Replacing it was a mask of indifference. "Okay, ever heard the one about the priest, the skydiver and the mailman?"

"What? That's a religious question?" Max ran his chubby fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with his nails.

Tilting her head to the side, she observed him again and then just as quickly as it had left, her smile returned. "It's a joke. Only, I can't quite remember how it goes, but I know it involves a bar and naked women...or was it sheep?"

"And how exactly would that prove to you that I was a real priest."

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. Receiving a shrug of the shoulders as an answer, she went on. "It's all about deductive reasoning. If you've heard the joke then you would have completed it and if you’d completed it, then I would have known you were a fake, because what would a priest be doing listening to silly, sexist jokes about barnyard animals and women with large... Um, anyway," Elizabeth studied him for a minute, before she finally sighed. "I guess I believe you."

"Well, I'm glad I passed the test." Max laughed. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Oh, I think I better stand." She grimaced, rubbing her sore butt unconsciously.

Max looked at her quizzically but didn't comment. They stayed silent for a long time before he realized she was staring at him. Ah, shit! "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"No. Not really. I'm not good at the whole confession thing. My mother was Catholic though. She took me to church every Sunday. Sometimes she even got up in front of everyone and read a passage from the bible. I know I could never do that. All those people watching me? No, thanks! But people were captivated by her. When she spoke, she made anything sound interesting. I always thought it took a lot of guts to stand up there in front of total strangers. She was always so brave." Her voice trailed off and she squinted trying to block the tears that had collected from falling.

Max looked down at her, took in her slumped shoulders and shaky breathing. "Was?" he asked softly, tenderly, like a friend she'd known for years.

Slowly, her head lifted and she rubbed at her eyes. Gathering her courage she spoke. "She died."

Rocking on his heels, Max shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Brushing off her cheek, she waved her hand at him like it was no big deal. "It was a long time ago."

"Just because time passes, that doesn't make the ache feel any less. You miss her a lot."

"Every day." Elizabeth looked off to the side, staring down her old demons. Finally she sobered. "Well, it was nice talking to you, Father, but I don't really feel all that much like sketching anymore. I think I'll go find where Jason went."

"Alright," Max said. His smile was warm. "You take care of yourself and remember I'm here if you ever need to talk."

"I will. Thanks."

Yep, Max was positive he was going straight to Hell.
_____

Ducking her head into the room, a smile grew on Elizabeth's face when she realized she'd finally tracked Jason down.

"So, this is where you wandered off to." Her tone wasn't accusatory. She was merely making an observation. "Father Max told me you were helping him earlier."

Jason looked up, acknowledging her presence and went straight back to his game of pool.

Elizabeth hesitated at the entrance, sucked in a breath and took the few steps needed to bring her directly into the room. Tilting her head to the side, she watched him.

Everything about him was raw and male. There was something so fierce about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But underneath there was a hint of vulnerability. He didn’t like to show that part of himself. But she’d seen it once or twice.

He was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt. There was a small hole right at his neck where the threads had started to pull loose at the collar. Her eyes were drawn to that spot. To that little patch of skin she shouldn’t be allowed to see. The skin there was just a shade or two lighter than the skin on his neck.

Sometimes when she stayed for dinner, she and Sonny would be at the table long before Jason. They always waited before they began to eat dinner. Waited until everyone was seated and the prayer had been said. But, sometimes, when Jason had just came in from outside, maybe after he’d been chopping firewood all afternoon, his skin would be a deep red and chapped from the cold. Sometimes she could still smell pine on his skin. When she knew he wasn’t paying attention, she would watch him. Watch him until the red began to fade and the natural color returned. Sometimes he’d catch her eyes and she’d have to look away. But there was something so…normal about it. His usually hardened features seemed more relaxed, like he was thawing. That was the Jason she wanted to get to know.

She wondered if he was avoiding looking at her or if he was really that into his game. Needing a few minutes to build up some courage anyway, she surveyed her surroundings. She hadn’t been in this room before. She’d walked by it, but this was the first time she’d actually stepped foot inside. The walls were a deep maroon, littered with black and white photos. There was a shelf filled with various objects she only vaguely recognized from places around the world; wooden shoes from Holland; Russian nesting dolls; a small sombrero from Mexico… Kitschy things. The pool table, a high-gloss oak model, took up most of the free space. The colors and contents of the room were all mismatched. It reminded her of a rec room. But it fit Jason.

Crouched over the green-felted table Jason prepared for his next shot, barely looking up from his game. He stroked the cue between his fingers. There was chalk dust on his index finger and thumb—streaks of blue that reminded Elizabeth of a stormy sky.

Taking the shot, Jason sunk a solid and continued until he cleared the table. He finally looked up at her and gave her a curt nod in recognition.

With tingles racing up her arms, she decided it was time to put her plan into action. She’d worn the tight black pants and somewhat low-cut top Trisha had recommended. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable and somehow she felt a little more like a woman--as much as she hated to admit it. She hadn’t realized how much, and for how long, she had suppressed her own femininity. She’d hidden herself for too long under bulky sweaters and modesty. She wasn’t doing this to be someone else. The high-heels and light make-up were as much for her as they were for Jason. It had been a long time since she’d felt…sexy. Or even alive.

And she did. She really did.

And that was what made this dangerous.

It was easy to get lost—to get caught up in feelings and sensations and the absolute beauty of Jason’s eyes.

She’d done it before and been wrong. It was easy, she knew, to get caught up in something…or someone, that could wreck her, pull her apart in ways she didn’t even know were possible. But that was the past. And she’d put the past behind her when she’d moved to Port Charles. Her grandmother had never let her dwell. Not on things she couldn’t change.

But everything was a risk. And she was willing to take this one. And, besides, Jason would never hurt her. For as much as she didn’t know him, she at least believed that about him, knew it deep in her gut.

Elizabeth walked further into the room. The clothes changed the way she moved. The material clung to her skin, hugging her curves and changing her stride. There was grace in her step and, without consciously making the decision, her hips swung back and forth ever-so-subtly in a welcoming sashay. She felt sensual and wickedly sinful.

Grabbing the stick from Jason's powerful hands, she rested her hip against the wood of the table. "You know,” she said, clearing her throat, washing away the last vestiges of her nerves, “we used to have a pool table at my house, but I never did learn how to play."

Jason watched her. There was something…different about her today. Her eyes were glimmering with determination.

She circled the table like a cat on prowl. Her movements were slow. Pulling out the balls from the corner pocket, she stretched over the table. Flicking out her wrist, she made sure Jason got a good view of the curve of her ass. If she was going to play this role, she was going to dive in headfirst and pull no punches.

"Am I doing this right?" Over her shoulder she eyed him and gave her brightest smile. "Relax, I'm not going to bite you," she laughed. "Unless that's what you're into," she whispered saucily under her breath.

She looked confident. She sounded confident. But inside, her heart was racing a mile a minute and her stomach was doing flip flops.

She’d seen Steven playing pool thousands of times, but the dynamics were way different here. She used to lie on the soft carpet under her father’s pool table in the den, ignoring her brother and sketching with her pencil crayons. Eventually, her father would kick her out of the room because she was “bothering Steven,” but she’d sneak back in and sketch for hours. She liked the way the light fell against the page. How she had to strain sometimes to see the paper and the images she was drawing. It was how she learned about shading.

"Are you going to help me?" she tossed over her shoulder, not able to look at him for fear he would see right through her lame attempt at seduction.

Jason watched her, wanting to find a flaw, some tiny blemish that might change his feelings for her; something that would make him turn away. But there was nothing. Not one spec of anything that could be perceived as wrong.

His mind screamed: turn away! Run like you always do! But he was sick of remaining detached; sick of not taking when he wanted, not touching when he so badly needed human contact.

Swaggering over to her, like he was drunk with the sight of her, he moved so he was behind her, practically pinning her to the wood of the table.

She let out a startled gasp. A jolt of fire started to slowly burn inside her. She didn't know how much she wanted him as close as he was until she felt his arms wrap around her and she was protected in the crevice of his shoulders and biceps.

He was lonely, so goddamn lonely. His chest actually ached when he touched her hand. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted to touch her until he did, until his fingers smoothed over hers and molded them to the pool cue. Relief washed through him.

Burying his nose in her hair, he drew in a breath, inhaling that soft, subtle smell that he'd become accustomed to. He knew he should feel ashamed of wanting her so much. But there was no shame when his fingers slid against hers, and his body pressed tightly against the round shape of her buttocks.

Together they slid the cue forward and sunk a striped ball into the opposite pocket.

"I got it in!" she said excited, letting the cue drop and ending their contact.

Elizabeth turned in his arms pitting their bodies so close she could feel his pulse against her chest. Looking up at him, she was saddened by what she saw.

He was like a child.

Unsure. Scared. Lost. She didn't know what her next move should be. Suddenly, seducing Jason didn’t seem right. Playing games wasn’t what she wanted this to be about.

Her hand hesitated and then she gave into the temptation, skimming her fingers over his chiseled forearms and up, over his biceps and sturdy shoulders and onto the cut of his jaw. He flexed and relaxed under her caress. "You have the saddest eyes I've ever seen. What makes you so sad, hmm?" Elizabeth said, tenderly, lightly touching his cheek with her cool, soft fingers.

Jason tongued the small wound inside his mouth, using it to remind himself to stay detached.

His hand covered hers, and though he was not physically rough, it still stung her heart when he pulled her hand from his face.

If possible, his eyes were even more sorrowful.

Poison, he reminded himself. That’s what he was.

"Jason, Max wanted to know if you have any more of that super glue. I told him I had no idea what he was talking about! I thought maybe you'd know," Sonny asked, stumbling into the room, his eyes on the ground and a cold compress on the back of his neck.

Jason and Elizabeth broke apart instantly and took up separate halves of the room.

Sonny looked up, but didn’t comment on the obvious tension in the room. "Oh! Elizabeth, I didn't know you were here."

"I was just leaving," she told him, her voice shaky.

Jason dug his hand deep in his pocket and faced the ground.

"Oh, well then, why don't you come for dinner tomorrow night? I'll make you something special."

Elizabeth consciously avoided looking at Jason. Her heart was still beating too fast for her to think properly, but she managed to take in Sonny's words somehow. "Sonny, why don't you let me make dinner tomorrow night? Give yourself a break and take a rest. You're not going to get any better if you keep pushing yourself so hard."

Pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and dabbing at his sweaty forehead with the other, Sonny decided there would be no harm in having Elizabeth cook dinner. "You know, Elizabeth, I think you're right."

"Great! Tomorrow night, then."

"Tomorrow night," he agreed enthusiastically.

Elizabeth couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

_______
Because she’d been having dinner at the Morgan/Corinthos house for so long, Elizabeth thought it was time to start earning her keep, so to speak. Since, Sonny, nor Jason, would take money for letting her paint and eating their food, she decided to help them out by giving Sonny the night off and cooking for the house.

Really, she did feel bad for Sonny, who obviously wasn't use to people helping him. Even in his weakened state, he'd left detailed instructions of what to cook and how to do it before he left to cook for the priests a few buildings over. Elizabeth mused that if she didn't know better, she'd think Sonny might have control issues.

Since he still wasn't feeling up to normal, he allowed her to help. Otherwise it would have been like twisting his arm to let her in his immaculate kitchen.

Elizabeth studied the now-smudged recipe card in her hand. She couldn't decipher some of the instructions, so that left her improvising a little. She knew Sonny had basically listed every ingredient and measurement before he left, but did he really expect her to listen? God, he could get so irrational about food.

Jason, for the past hour, had been sitting in the kitchen reading some magazine without lifting a finger to help.

She snorted. She had her suspicions that Sonny had made him sit there just to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't screw anything up.

"Hey, did Sonny say a tablespoon or teaspoon of chili powder?"

When Jason just shrugged, barely looking up from the motorcycle magazine he was reading, she puffed out an annoyed breath. Why did she even bother? It wasn't like all of a sudden Jason was going to miraculously give up his vow of silence just so he could tell her how much of a certain ingredient to put into the chili.

And it wasn't likely that after what had almost happened between them the day before that he was here of his own free will. God, she’d practically thrown herself at him! Who knows what would have happened had Sonny not interrupted them? So embarrassing!

"What do you think…three cloves of garlic or four?" She looked up briefly not really expecting a response, but found Jason holding up four fingers and that made her smile. "Well, well, you may be of some use yet, Morgan. I always say the more garlic the better. You think we should make it five?" Liz asked raising an eyebrow and with humor in her tone.

She got a thumbs-up and it made her laugh. Usually she would have felt like she was talking to herself even with Jason here, but somehow tonight seemed different. "Okay, I guess I'll just let this simmer or whatever, and start making the salad."

Elizabeth wasn’t exactly the best cook. She wasn’t horrible, but she certainly didn’t have the lingo down, either.

Sitting down, across from Jason, Elizabeth set to work peeling carrots. She held the orange vegetable in her hand and put the peeler taut against it.

Jason watched her and felt certain tightness in his jeans.

"You like motorcycles I take it," she said, looking up. All she had seen him read on her visits were either travel books or biker magazines and tonight it just happened to be the latter.

He nodded and resumed reading.

“I like your bike. It makes me feel…I don’t know… Free? That’s a good word for it, I guess. You know how people get that runner’s high? I think I get something like that when I’m on your motorcycle.” She could see him peering up at her from the corner of his magazine, pretending he was still reading. "Look, about yesterday… I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." She sighed. "I just thought... I thought you... I guess it really doesn't matter what I thought. It's over and done with and there's no permanent damage, right?" She chuckled, rolling her eyes. Next time she was going to leave the seducing to Trisha.

"You know, I probably shouldn't be telling you this..." She paused, getting up and throwing away the carrot peels. Sitting back down, she resumed, "Where was I? Oh yeah, I shouldn't be telling you, but your whole loner-boy, no-speaking thing, really intrigues me."

He met her eyes for that.

She swallowed hard. Those eyes…

"Most guys I know like to go on and on…and on about themselves and you can barely get in a word edgewise. I mean, who really cares if they score four touchdowns in some semi-final playoff or whatever? Am I right? Well, anyway, with you, I have to do all the talking. Not that I mind, like I said I tend to talk a lot when I'm nervous. Not that I'm nervous." She covered with a small laugh. "Anyway, my point is, you're not predictable. I never know what you're going to do."

Elizabeth looked up.

The magazine was on the table and he was studying her.

She was lying when she said she wasn't nervous. When she realized he was actually listening, paying attention, she started to worry.

"Jason...is-is it weird that I wonder what your voice sounds like?"

Jason's heart was pounding fast. If this girl had any idea how she effected him, they would not be sitting here anymore. If she knew he didn't find her the least bit annoying and that her voice was a comfort he hadn't known, he wouldn't be able to stand it any longer. He would carry her to his room and make mad passionate love to her. But, alas, he sat there and listened. The more she thought he hated her, the better off they both would be.

The last comment caught him totally off guard though.

"It's silly, really." She began to methodically cut the carrots into tiny rounds. She could feel his eyes on her, examining her, and it made her edgy. Taking a quick glance at his face, she misjudged the direction of the knife and sliced into her finger.

"Dammit!" Elizabeth swore, rising from her feet. The gash opened and spilled blood all over the carrots. "Why do things like this always happen to me?"

Jason stood, dishcloth in hand. He gently took her small hand in his, wrapping it up until they made it to the sink.

Elizabeth stared up at him, unblinking. His hands were large and looked strong; solid, just like the rest of him. She turned from his crystal blue eyes and focused on the blood rushing from one of her digits. The cut wasn't too deep and it didn't look like it needed stitches.

Jason ran cool water over the wound.

She flinched. "I do things like this all the time. I'm just clumsy, I guess. Lucky me," she sighed. "This is just great! Really, this is all I need! What kind of crap will I be able to draw now?"

He removed her hand from the water and examined the cut. His face remained stoic. He guided her back to the kitchen table, making her sit down.

Leaving her in the chair, he walked down the hall toward the bathroom. Rummaging through the bathroom cabinets, he located the first aid kit and hurried back to Elizabeth.

Once again he took her tiny manicured hand in his own and looked at her injury. Jason opened the case, taking out some gauze and antiseptic. Sloshing some onto a cotton ball he tenderly wiped away some of the remaining blood. The bleeding had all but stopped.

Elizabeth recoiled. The medicine slightly stung.

He must have noticed and the next time he dabbed at the gash he soothed it with a soft blow of air from his lips.

She closed her eyes. Actually delighted by the sweet sentiment, even if he didn't realize it was one.

He tried to remain impassive—tried to ignore the feel of her soft skin against his. But when she closed her eyes and let out the tiniest of sighs he was done for. Her lips looked so soft and he wanted to protest when she tortured the bottom one by gripping it with her teeth.

Sonny had called her beautiful.

He was wrong.

She was more than that. He didn't even have the words to express it.

Turning his attention back to her hand, he gathered all his strength to get it over with as quickly as possible. Two more seconds of holding her and being so close and he was sure he would do something he would regret.

She watched him while he wrapped and taped her wound with care. Not once did he look up and not once did she look away.

The tension in the air was palpable and would not be ignored. It took on a life form of its own so that Elizabeth and Jason were breathing it in, letting it sink into their lungs so their chests tightened.

He replaced the supplies to the box and left to return it to its rightful place.

Elizabeth, newly bandaged, and flustered, sat on her chair, trying to get a grasp of what had happened. Nothing had actually happened, other than the normally standoffish Jason was a little less that way, but yet she sensed something more was going on.

Was it just her that felt the jolt of pleasure when they touched? Was she alone in the desire to touch again?

Jason stopped in the hallway before he reentered the kitchen. He leaned against the wall and banged his head a few times, none-too-lightly. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself. The last thing he needed was for Elizabeth to think she had gotten to him. Dammit, when had things become like this between them? Or had it always been there?

Elizabeth had cleared the mess by the time he came into the kitchen. She was wielding another knife.

Jason slipped it easily from her.

"Hey!" she protested.

Jason shook his head and returned the blade from the drawer from which it came.

This did not sit well with Elizabeth who went to retrieve it when he walked away.

From the corner of his eye, he caught her movements and spun around grabbing her upper arm.

She resisted but he didn't let up.

"Jason, this isn't fair! I promised Sonny I would cook for all of us. I hate breaking my promises."

Jason, always the charmer, shrugged his shoulders.

Realizing he was still gripping her arm, she flashed her eyes over the connection.

He instantly released her and looked down at the ground. His face flushed pink and he stepped back a few steps, leaning against the counter.

Elizabeth sighed, hating to think she made him believe he had done something wrong. "Relax. I'm fine. You don't have to look so guilty." She smiled.

Watching him raise his head, she nearly gasped at the extreme blueness of his eyes. They were even more intense than she had seen before. He seemed to be unsure, not wanting to believe the truth. "You win, okay? I won't use the stupid knife. But when Sonny asks what happened, I'm blaming you." She turned then, burning from his gaze.

Jason was relieved. The thought that he had potentially hurt her was not one he was comfortable with.

_____

Sonny rubbed his full stomach and pulled his chair slightly away from the dining room table. "Thanks for making dinner, Elizabeth."

"I'm sorry about the salad." She bowed her head, embarrassed.

"Oh, that's all right. I would rather not eat than have you injure yourself further."

"Hey, I was doing fine until Mr. McMute decided to take away my knife." She scowled, aiming her fierce stare at an uninterested Jason.

"I think under the circumstances it was for the best." Sonny laughed. "How's the hand anyway?"

"Fine." She pouted. "He's getting off on this, you know. Look at him sitting there all smug. You're enjoying every minute of this, aren't you?!" Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at Jason. She knew it was immature but dammit when had she ever let that stop her? She suppressed a laugh when Jason first looked shocked and then repeated her action just when Sonny turned to catch him.

"Jason?" Sonny questioned, amused.

Simply shrugging his shoulders Jason eased back into the tall chair, ignoring the deep crimson that colored his cheeks.

That was all it took for Elizabeth to crack up, joined shortly by Sonny.

Turning his head to the side Jason tried to stop the smile that was creeping onto his face.

"Was that a smile?" Elizabeth cooed. "Jason Morgan, I knew you had a sense of humor somewhere. You should do that more. Smile, I mean. It looks good on you," Elizabeth said to him, even surprising herself with her forwardness.

Was she flirting?

Oh, God. She was.

No more wine!

"I have to... um...go pick up Father Giambetti from the...the McKenna's. Will you two be all right until I get back?" Sonny asked, already putting on his coat and pulling his keys from his pocket.

"We'll be just fine. I might even teach Jason a thing or two while you're gone."

Jason's head snapped up and he looked to Sonny for help.

"Relax, big boy, I'm talking about doing the dishes." She laughed and it was deep and throaty, almost seductive. Did she really just call him big boy?

"Let Jason do the dishes. I don't want you getting that cut infected, Miss Webber."

Elizabeth nodded. "No problem."

The blush on Jason's face just seemed to deepen the more she talked and she couldn't help finding it amusing. She felt relaxed and playful from the wine.

Jason stood gathering plates and glasses in his strong hands. He avoided her place setting and moved into the kitchen, coming back and forth until he had the table cleared.

Elizabeth sat silently watching him, noticing his concentrated effort not to look at her. "So domesticated,” she purred. "Do you do windows, too?"

He sent her a steady glare and then returned to the kitchen where he proceeded to fill the sink with water and soap.

Elizabeth followed him, leaning against the counter while she watched him pick up the yellow rubber gloves that were obviously too small for his hands. She propped herself onto the counter top and picked up a tea towel.

"I'll dry," she announced, watching his face flicker with some emotion she didn't quite recognize.

Deciding the gloves were too small, he threw them to the side.

The sight of Jason Morgan doing dishes was amusing, to say the least. This was the same guy that had jumped nearly two feet in the air with a roundhouse kick the first day she met him. He had the body of a Greek God and the hands...well, hands that were sinfully strong and worked-in. Hands that she wouldn't mind having touch her... Everywhere.

He handed her dish after dish and she dried in silence, stealing glimpses at Jason while his sudsy hands emerged from the water time and time again.

"I never thanked you," she said, piling the last plate with the others. "For fixing my finger,” she clarified, wiggling it for emphasis, “I didn't thank you."

Jason looked at her, let his eyes wander to her injured finger. It had bled some and the red stained through the clean white gauze.

Taking the dish towel from her hands, he dried his own—now wrinkled from the water.

Elizabeth smiled softly at his shriveled up fingers. "Your hands look like big ol' prunes," she teased.

He didn't say anything, well, obviously, but his eyes—the form of communication she had unwittingly started to rely on—remained impassive. He barely looked at her when he took her hand in his and gently began to un-wrap the bandage from her finger. He studied it between his own hands and seemed satisfied that she was okay. Leaving her there, propped up on the counter, he went to get the first aid kit again.

Elizabeth breathed deeply as if the contact had weakened her. She was a sitting duck being charmed by the un-charming Jason Morgan and he didn't even know he was doing it.

When Jason came back she had calmed herself down.

He took her hand again, dabbing it with hydrogen peroxide first and then spreading some ointment on the cut. After one last inspection, he proceeded to wrap it up again.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, quietly.

He backed away, replacing the tube of ointment and the unused gauze.

The room was steeped in yellow light from the living room and from where Elizabeth sat she could still see the lone candle she had put at the center of the table for dinner, flickering. She hadn't thought to blow it out earlier, but the wax was starting to spill over onto the tablecloth.

About to hop off the counter, she was surprised to find strong hands, Jason’s hands, gripping her waist, about to ease her to the ground. But he stopped. And he didn’t move his hands. He simply pushed her back further onto the granite countertop and wedged himself in the space between her legs.

Her heart leapt to her throat when she gazed up at Jason and his face was so close to hers that their noses bumped.

His eyes settled on her lips, took in every indent of her perfectly formed teeth and there was no other thought on his mind but kissing her. His hands moved of their own accord, skirting up and lifting the corners of her shirt so he revealed a small patch of milky-white skin. Touching her there, he felt the extreme softness of her right down to his bones.

His labored breathing fanned over her cheek and warmed her through, drawing a deep need to the surface. His fingers played a staccato rhythm against her skin, fighting with his brain on which direction to turn.

Her hand snaked out to touch his forearm, guiding his hand further up her torso and underneath her shirt. She watched his pupils dilate and knew she was being very bold. And then his fingers moved without her guidance, gently skirting her ribcage. His hands were shaking. Sweeping over her skin in practiced elegance and shaking! God, she wanted…

She inhaled sharply. “Jason.”

It came out as a breathy moan, snapping him out of his revelry.

Pressing his forehead to hers, she thought she heard him groan before he pulled away and left her alone, hot and frustrated.

She sat there for a moment, in silence, catching her breath, before she jumped down from the counter and tried to steady her shaking legs. How could it be that she felt so much for a man who had never spoken a word to her? She couldn't help but think how much really gets lost when words are the only means to communicate. Being around Jason, she was starting to learn that words weren't always so important.

But the one thing she still couldn't understand was why he kept pulling away.

____

At the church doors, Sonny caught sight of Max sitting in one of the pews.

"Max," he whispered, "get out here."

"Hey, boss," Max said, his breath misting in the cool night air.

"Max, you know I'm not... I'm not your boss anymore," Sonny regretfully told him.

He spoke so he wouldn't have to look Sonny in the eye. "I'm sorry. It's just a habit, I guess." Max reached into his pockets and pulled out his leather gloves, putting them on.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. Has anything new happened? Edward or his little spies been around?"

"No, everything's been pretty quiet. Johnny's been handling business and Frank's been tailing Edward, but so far nothing."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sonny steadied himself against a dizzy spell. "I'm not sure that's a good thing. He knows we'll be watching him. He's waiting for one of us to slip up."

Max's eyebrows fused together in confusion. "Pardon my ignorance, but what's the big deal? What's he after?"

"Jason. He's after his grandson and he'll use anyone to get to him and that means Elizabeth." Sonny took a deep breath and didn't like the sound of the wheeze that accompanied it.

"I don't think I understand."

"It's complicated," Sonny told him, his mind distant. Looking Max over, his brow creased. "What are you doing back in your normal clothes and why are you carrying your gun?"

Max padded himself down, scratching at his neck. "That damn collar itches! And, as for the gun…I can't protect her without it."

Sonny rolled his eyes. "The whole point was for you to blend in."

"I did blend in. I blended in so well she thinks I'm a real priest. She even confessed some things to me."

"What things?"

Max steeled his gaze. "I-I can't tell you that! It's priest/parishioner confidentiality or some shit like that. And, even if I could tell you, I wouldn't because...well, I just wouldn't feel right about it, that's all." Lowering his head, he hoped that was enough of an answer.

"Okay, be there for her if she needs you, wear the outfit when she's around, keep your gun hidden, but dammit, Max, don't go getting so attached that you can't do your job."

"I won't, Sonny, I promise you. After having met her, I can assure you that I don't want to see any harm come to her and I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe," Max said, determination etched on his face.

"That's good to hear," Sonny said, clearing his sore throat. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he blew his nose.

"You know, you should have some herbal tea."

"Herbal tea?" Sonny questioned, his brow raised.

"Yeah, maybe some chamomile with a little lemon and honey; it'll clear ya right up."

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

Sonny shook his head and suppressed the laugh that was bubbling inside. "Never mind."