"Yeah?" His eyes were still on her lips.
Rachel stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the linoleum. Mac looked startled, starting to rise too, but Rachel crossed to his side of the table in two quick steps and slid between him and the table.
"Rachel, what—"
"Shut up for a second," Rachel breathed, and kissed him.
Mac made a surprised sound against her mouth, his hands hovering uncertainly for half a heartbeat before they landed on her waist, fingers spreading wide, pulling her closer. Rachel's hands fisted in his hoodie as she pressed against him, and Mac groaned low in his throat.
The kiss was different from before. Not tentative or careful. This was…heated.
Mac's hand slid up her spine, into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Rachel gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage, kissing her harder, more thoroughly. His other hand tightened on her waist, thumb stroking the strip of skin where her shirt had ridden up.
Rachel's knees went weak.
Mac must have felt it because he shifted, bracing her against the table, his body a solid wall of heat pressed against hers. She could feel his heart hammering against her chest.
When they finally broke apart, only because breathing became necessary, Mac rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting.
"Holy shit," Mac whispered.
Rachel's hands were still fisted in his hoodie, unwilling to let go. "Yeah."
Mac pulled back just enough to look at her. His pupils wereblown wide, his lips swollen, his sandy hair completely disheveled where her fingers had tangled in it. He looked wrecked in the best possible way.
"What was that for?" His voice was rough.
"For bringing me lunch." Rachel's own voice was unsteady. "For remembering about the pickles. For caring."
She was acutely aware of everywhere they were touching; his hands on her waist, her hips pressed against the table, his chest rising and falling against hers. The way he was looking at her mouth again, like he wanted to kiss her until neither of them could think straight.
"I can bring you lunch every day if this is the reaction I get." Mac's thumb traced slow circles on her hip, and Rachel shivered.
"Mac—"
"Yeah?" He leaned in, his lips brushing her jaw, just below her ear.
Rachel's fingers tightened in his hoodie. "We should probably get back to work before Mrs. Henderson sends a search party."
"Right." But Mac didn't move. Neither did she.
"Mac."
"You keep saying my name like that, and I'm going to kiss you again."
"That's not the threat you think it is."
Mac groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. "You're killing me, Morrison."
Rachel laughed, but it came out breathy and shaken. She finally released his hoodie, smoothing the wrinkled fabric even though her hands were trembling. "Come on. Break's over."
Mac stepped back reluctantly, and the sudden distance felt like a physical loss. His hand caught hers before she could move away completely.
"Rachel?"
"Yeah?"
"I really, really like you."
