Disclaimer: These characters like to be played with… no wait… that sounded bad… let me rephrase that… please… what do you mean NO!
Author Notes: I GOT MY COMPUTER BACK!! Anyway, of course as I was away from it I suddenly had the desperate urge to write! Yes, I was that child who always wanted the toy her parents had just put away. It's driving been me crazy!!
I want to say a HUGE THANK YOU to all the reviewers and readers of Stars In Motion and Holding Patterns. As an 'I'm sorry' about having to wait to read more of those, I have managed to write up one of the small story ideas I have been throwing around for a little while. It's a lot lighter, just a little bit of fun! I'm afraid the longer chapters of Holding Patterns and Stars in Motion need more time and work. I'm Sorry… I'll get to work on them next I promise!!
Anyway, this story is set early season 6, welcome to UST City! (My favourite just before relationship moment) and it has no ties to anything else I have written!
Forgive me! ;) and Thank You all for your patience!
Adorable.
By Rianne.
The unbelievable had officially happened.
The completely unbelievable.
They.
The Team.
The Graveyard Shift in its entirety.
Had been praised.
By Conrad Ecklie no less.
And the sky hadn't fallen.
The day hadn't turned to night.
And amazingly no one had passed out from the shock of it all!
In fact it was quiet the opposite.
Things were as they as they normally were.
Except buoyed by a nice feeling of elevation, a warming of the communal mood from barely existing to somewhere just south of happy.
But even nice words from Ecklie couldn't shake the heavy lacing of tired which draped them.
They were all lounged around the break room table, nursing cups of acrid coffee, toying with the edges of newspapers and crossword puzzles.
All a little too dazed just yet to find their feet and their showers and their welcoming beds.
Through the partly shaded windows they could just see the sun coming up.
Over the last few hours energy levels had plummeted to depths that even such staggering praise couldn't really revive.
Well, couldn't invigorate anyone but Greg.
Ah, Greg, with his seemingly boundless energy, who had insisted that this was a moment worthy of celebration.
A commemorative breakfast.
The others had shared looks.
Had inwardly groaned as they suddenly felt close to a hundred years older.
They had even taken a moment to fondly remember the days when they had shared Greggo's enthusiasm for the world.
Yet Greg hadn't taken the hint.
He had kept right on smiling.
Kept suggesting restaurants and diners and eateries.
Offerings of toasted bagels, and breakfast meats, and fruits and coffee temptations.
Attempting to make mouths water.
To taunt the caffeine addicted brain cells.
And for some the enticement had simply been too much.
Nick had surrendered first, too nice a guy to hurt Greg's feelings and say no, oh and yeah, he was mainly giving in to the temptation of food to placate his stomach.
Nick had been closely followed by Cath and Warrick.
Cath quite happy not to have to go home and back to the black cloud, which she knew still hung over her house in the aftermath of her last argument with Lindsay.
Warrick too had somewhat ulterior motives, secretly still nervous about being on unsteady terms after his elopement he agreed to go too, not wanting to be ostracised from the group for being the 'married one'. Knowing full well that if you stopped saying yes to invitations you quickly stopped being invited.
And after all that made four of them going, it wouldn't be that bad.
Brass had been the next in.
Happened to be passing in the hallway and was easily shouted over and coerced in by the possibilities on offer of food and drink.
Pleading eyes had got to Grissom.
Brown damn near puppy dog eyes, but not the ones that belonged to the person you might have thought.
He had pretended to be harder to win over of course than he actually had been.
He had held out, but if he had been honest with himself he hadn't even needed to be asked, he was already there!
Greg's pestering them all to socialise had somehow recently become far less annoying than it used to be.
Had become something of an opportunistic excuse of late.
At least today there was a nice reason for them to celebrate.
Greg.
The young CSI was the reason for them garnering such praise.
His quick thinking under pressure had saved a lot of lives.
He deserved to be celebrated.
He had been unable to stop his lips from twitching up earlier as after Ecklie had walked away he had been witness to the way the young man had modestly deflected all the hugs and congratulatory backslaps from his friends and colleagues.
Yet despite all the humility he had just glowed.
No longer the skinny kid in the scruffy t-shirt with the sticky-out hair.
He would probably not be able to tell him to his face, but he was proud of Greg.
So Greg.
That was today's excuse, today's reason not to feel guilty.
To not feel like he was manipulating events.
Or using his friends.
These happenings, these invites, just happened to be good for him and the great thing about them was that they were all someone else's idea, someone else's fault!
They were experiences he could pass off as teambuilding.
Encouraging teamwork and interaction was the way to a better team.
Apparently!
Another great valid excuse for him to hide behind.
Especially as his team was already good.
Already a cut above.
Already always striving to stay one step ahead.
And getting his team back, reunited and even more confident after their separate learning experiences during Ecklie's enforced reassignments, was only a part of the growing sense of satisfaction that was slowly wafting over his life.
But there was more.
There were other good reasons for why he was far more relaxed.
Why he had recently become far more interested in spending time out of his cocooning office and apartment shell.
Why he was taking advantage of every opportunity to socialise.
Why he was reaching out and finding the experience rewarding and much more comfortable than he had ever imagined.
Well, okay…
There was just one.
One reason in particular.
One reason.
One very beautiful reason.
Striking at 5'9.
With dark soft curls.
Her very own irresistible pair of pleading dark chocolate eyes.
And as of right now a yawn that looked like it could swallow Vegas whole, casinos and all.
Sara Sidle.
Looking radiant to him even after a double shift.
Even dressed simply in jeans and a now crumpled black shirt.
She currently reclined in what was surely an uncomfortable sprawl in a chair around the break room table with the rest of the team.
Her was chin resting on one palm, her elbow on the arm of the chair.
As if she couldn't keep her head up unsupported.
And she was avidly trying to ignore all the attention directed at her.
For she was the last about the table to either confirm her attendance or decline.
For a moment he wondered if the odds of pleading blue were as potent as pleading brown.
He wanted her to go too.
Even if she was tired.
It was wrong, but lately his ease at finding pleasure in social events was simply because he was able to share the experience with her.
If she wasn't there it wouldn't be the same.
They had been dancing around one another's feelings for what felt to him like forever.
But they had been tentatively inching closer for a month now.
Their actions slowly becoming more purposeful and acquiring some sweeter intentions.
Easing themselves into situations where they could spend time together without the pressure of any kind of label.
Without any promises.
Just feeling out their feelings.
Sharing laughter and enjoying the glittering shyness in one another's eyes.
But being surrounded by their friends made it easier.
Took some of the fear away.
And for now he wasn't sure he wanted to let go of the safety net of having the others there to fill the lulls in conversation, to bring the humour, to ease him through the social minefield which he was so unaccustomed to.
Sure he had dated before, but this was so different.
This was a woman who mattered.
Who was his friend.
Who he knew and would have to see almost every day, even if this all crashed and burned.
And God he hoped it wouldn't crash and burn.
But that was why he was cautious.
Why he needed the buffer of friends as he felt this out.
Whilst he arranged his thoughts.
It was cowardly.
It was embarrassing.
It betrayed a depth of social awkwardness even he had never envisioned.
But it was working.
It was calming him and he was getting better.
Getting more familiar.
Taking his first tentative steps into a whole new world.
Into the world she offered him.
Just last week he had stood on his own two feet, had invited her to attend a lecture with him which was coming up in a few days and she had said yes.
It wasn't your typical first date activity, but in his head that was how it was playing out.
How he was imagining it…
Educational entertainment and Sara.
Personally he couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening.
Lectures could be romantic… right?!
Sitting there in the dark.
It was a little like going to the movies…
He might even get to hold her hand!
Or not!
But he was hoping she might get the hint about the parallels between the lecture where they first met and them going together to one now.
A new beginning.
A second chance for him to get it right this time.
And so far she hadn't put in a claim for overtime, or training expenses for the lecture, so that looked hopeful.
Yet he had a lot resting on her interpretation of his invite to go there.
Maybe if he turned up to collect her in a suit with a bunch of flowers she might get it.
But he would never be brave enough to do that, or corny enough.
With him she already knew to expect the unexpected.
He couldn't disappoint her now!
But as for right now she still had yet to say 'Yay' or 'Nay' to their little breakfast.
Greg was now leaning across the table from where he sat opposite Sara.
He had lowered his face to her level and was using the same persuasive eyes that he 'thought' had worked so well on Grissom.
Sara was looking everywhere and anywhere else to avoid Greg.
Yet one of the places her eyes flitted to was to his.
For a moment the connection flared.
He felt his chest rise, as he had to forcibly remember to breathe.
He felt his lips curve gently in unspoken invitation.
Then her gaze was gone.
"Okay."
She said the words on a sigh but it didn't matter.
Greg's grin was so broad and childlike that even Sara managed to summon up the effort to offer him a small smile in return.
And he, well he had to hide his smile, but if he'd let it out it would have beaten Greg's by miles.
They'd settled on Frank's diner without much more discussion and that suited Grissom.
Calm surroundings.
Simple food.
The familiar, which he always found comforting.
So that was how they all found themselves crammed around a small table by the window.
Laughing over coffee and cold beers and a breakfast of champions.
He had managed to snag the seat beside Sara with little difficulty.
It had meant that he, she and Brass shared the vinyl couch seat with Greg and Nick, whilst Catherine and Warrick pulled chairs up to the table to change the lucky horseshoe into a circle of friends.
A little cramped, but when the soft thigh pressed against his belonged to Sara suddenly the close contact was a million miles from too close for comfort.
She was quiet.
Not really joining in with the conversation much.
Tearing little pieces off her order of toast and fruit and washing them down with short sips from her beer bottle.
But it seemed a content kind of quiet.
She radiated an aura of someone comfortable, sleepy and relaxed.
And her leg remained pressed to his.
Hip to knee.
She was sat between him and Brass, yet there was a gap left between her and Jim.
A lonely, unused strip of red vinyl.
She could have moved over and given herself more space.
She didn't have to be in contact with him.
She chose to be.
It was subtle.
It was stupid.
But it meant something to him.
He could feel just how warm her skin was beneath the dark soft of her jeans.
And she was sat still.
No nervous movements.
Maybe his relaxed mood of late was contagious, rubbing off on her.
Well, as this was their first real physical contact, maybe there hadn't been any actual 'rubbing' yet, but there was a lovely warm feeling of acceptance between them.
And he could have sworn that the storm he'd glimpsed brewing behind her eyes wasn't just a reflection of his own feelings.
He smiled into his coffee at the possibilities that suddenly lay before them.
They were all finishing up their food now, but by a mostly unspoken consensus another round of beers were ordered.
Grissom settled for a refill to his coffee along with Brass and Catherine.
All suitably on their way to re-hydration, Warrick lifted his bottle and proposed a toast to Greg, bringing on more laughter at the mention that Greggo had clearly worked his butt off and done some seriously good detective work.
And how did they know that?
From the lovely shading of never seen before, five o'clock shadow which dusted Greg's chin, cheeks and upper lip, of course!
"Damn Man, I think its time for someone to have a celebratory shave!" Warrick jibed.
"I didn't think you could grow more than a little fluff on that baby face of yours." Nick teased, trying to capture his chin and tweak his cheeks. Laughing at Greg's snort of disgust and his lame attempts at ducking to get away.
"I could grow some scruff if I wanted to." He retorted sounding every bit like an offended child.
"Yeah, give it a good couple of years and you might rival Grissom's beard there." Warrick threw out patting Greg's shoulder.
Catherine laughed, shaking her head, her lips pursed, "Can't see you with a Grissom beard."
"Grissom beard?" the man himself mouthed! Looking around the assembled group before he reached, embarrassed and self-conscious to touch said hair on his chin.
"Grissom, he suits the beard, its… dignified." Catherine continued ignoring Grissom's twitch of irritation at the word 'dignified'. "I think you've a few years and a lot more miles before you can pull off a beard, Greggo."
"Aww, there goes my manhood!" Greg grunted. "Let it be known that Cath pays for her own breakfast. It was going to be my treat," he shrugged his shoulders dismissively, "but now…"
Everyone laughed half-heartedly, knowing full well that Greg was still paying everyone's bill.
All except Sara.
She was quietly focused.
Her attention riveted to the jaw line of the man beside her and the beard of such attention.
She didn't even think about it.
She opened her mouth and the words just fell from her lips.
The alcohol and lack of sleep lowering her.
"I bet it tickles."
The conversation around her died on the spot and her rising sound replaced it.
She was trying to cover her mouth, but failing miserably.
She was laughing.
Her eyes wild and surprised.
Her riotous delightfully throaty sound that they heard so infrequently, which deepened towards the end into something far more dirtily edged.
And after a moment the shock broke and the others laughed too, looking at one another in surprise, mainly at Sara's complete lack of real embarrassment.
It took them a moment, before they all managed to shake it off, deciding that she must be joking, even if they didn't quite get the joke.
Even if they were awed that she was being so open about her 'interest' in Grissom.
Knowing that her humour was always quirky.
And she was just laughing right along with them.
Smiling.
Looking like a woman who had forgotten how to laugh.
A woman who had lived without the sensation for far too long only to accidentally stumble upon it once again.
Looking like a woman who had just remembered the elation of it all.
The freedom and the release.
And was delighting in it.
Enchanting all those around her with her contagious amusement.
All except Grissom, who sat very still.
A little stunned.
Who could not believe she had just said that!
Grissom, whose mind was overwhelmed with alarming rapidity.
Never mind being surprised that she had been so distractedly open.
That she had given voice to what everyone knew she thought, but she usually managed to keep to herself.
But no, his mind was filled in other ways.
Filled with achingly sweet images of all the ways that those bristles could actually tickle her.
He couldn't help it.
He couldn't control it.
The images rolled over him like a tidal wave.
Just the thought of his lips breezing over her delicate skin.
Trailing his beard, feeling her squirm.
He tried to simply breathe.
God never mind how many beers she'd drunk, how much caffeine was he riding on?
But come to think of that…how many bottle of beer had she sipped her way thorough?
He could definitely remember at least two.
Maybe that was why she had figured it might be a fun idea to announce 'that' to the entire Graveyard shift.
She had certainly been tired enough to start with.
Maybe that was why.
But the major part of his brain was still writhing through his previously undiscovered desires.
A little staggered at the depth of his sudden surge of sensual fantasy, at the details his mind conjured. Not that he doubted his ability to concentrate on the little things.
But damn!
And he had already forgiven her.
How could he not?
Just seeing her laugh like that was gorgeous, captivating, sweet.
She was falling quiet again.
Her laughter having ebbed.
And without care to the others who were all watching her with wary amusement she had just returned to taking sips from her bottle of beer.
Around them the conversation slowly resumed, Sara's blooper having been forgotten for the moment it seemed.
Thank god!
And all somehow managed to continue on as it had before, almost as if it hadn't happened.
Brass and Nick captured his conversational attention again.
Tearing his thoughts from the down right lustful and hauled him back into the normal, boring, world around the breakfast table.
It was only a little while longer before Warrick carefully pushed back his chair and announced that he had better get going.
"Aww, what's the hurry?" Nick eyed his friend. "I thought Tina was on the late shift today?"
Warrick dipped his head in response, "Yeah, she is, but I was hoping to head to the gym before I crash, gotta get the work out in there somewhere!"
The snort that escaped Brass brought another round of laughter.
"You're married now!" He told his friend redundantly, "you're supposed to let the physique go!" He continued with a quirk of his brows as he raised his own arm in a super strong man pose.
Catherine reached out and squeezed Brass's bicep, nodding seriously before her grin broke through.
"Loosing a physique like Jim's… now that would be a damn shame!" She laughed gleefully, throwing him a sly wink.
Nick patted his stomach with a groan, "Yeah, too many breakfasts like this one, too many snacks from the vending machine. Such a healthy lifestyle!"
"I know!"
Oh dear. Sara was talking again.
Everyone turned to her, unsure what to expect, it could be something completely mundane, or today… maybe not.
"I know!" She announced again! "I run, and I run and I run and I run and I run…"
She was gently spinning the edge of the glass bottle on a kilter round and round on an imaginary axis. Not really looking up, but studying the bottle and the label she had been worrying away with the edge of her nail, frowning in concentration.
"And I still have this belly!" She pulled a strange screwed up expression of distaste as she looked down at her stomach, and then sighed and continued wistfully, "but I do like my beer." She grinned goofily, humming happily to herself.
Warrick smiled at Sara, like she was a sweet five year old.
"Okay, on that note," he smiled at the assembled, "Thanks for breakfast," he directed at Greg, slapping the younger man's shoulder and then with a sharp salute he was gone.
Leaning across the table Greg gave Sara a wink, "Ah Sara, I don't think you need to worry. As long as you stay away from decomp you always look and smell 'fine' to me!" Adding the unavoidable leer which filled out the word and that Sara somehow always managed to ignore.
The others laughed, mainly at Greg's perpetual inability to give up on his schoolboy crush on Sara.
But Sara was still shaking her head, even as her cheeks pinked up with her flush at Greg's direct compliment.
"No, no… I'm all skinny arms and skinny legs and this damn stomach."
When no one seemed to respond she frowned.
"No, Seriously!"
And then she was grabbing the hand of a very surprised Grissom.
Clasping it in her own and trying to slide it under the shirt she was wearing, muttering about how he should feel how 'squishy' it was!
And for the life of him he just let her!
What the hell else could he do?
Around him he could hear the others snorts of surprise and amusement and he could feel his own eyes crinkling as he bit his lip and tried not to laugh at her too.
She wasn't really doing this right?
She couldn't be that drunk, that quickly?
It was surprisingly surreal.
Yet, her hand over his was beer bottle cool and yet gentle, tugging him towards her.
It was only when his little finger brushed against the soft cotton of her button down shirt that he came to his senses!
Oh God! As much as he wanted to do this, and loved this playful, even if she was slightly drunk, Sara, it was the wrong time and most definitely the wrong company.
But as he tried to pull his hand away she just pulled a face at him and turned it into some kind of game!
Wriggling to evade him and his attempts to break free, determined to keep his palm clasped in hers.
Laughing, her eyes taunting him, glittering and naughty.
"Don't you want to see?" she asked her eyes darkening.
He opened his mouth to placate her, but before he could get his brain back into gear she was releasing his fingers and reaching over to try and touch his stomach.
Whispering, "I bet you're squishy too."
Her voice soft and teasing and sweet.
Catherine's splutter of disgusted disbelief sliced through the air.
"Okay," announced Brass as he watched the interaction between his friends push the boundaries and realised that his friend Gil might need a little help over there. "I think that's enough beer for Sara."
She pulled a silly face, but she accepted.
Nodding.
The room starting to spin at the motion.
She calmly let Brass take the bottle away.
Whilst Brass's attention swayed between his two friends, noticing the comfortable way in which Grissom was laughing. He looked like a different man.
"Do you want some coffee?" Nick suggested, trying to tempt Sara by waving Grissom's cup under her nose, but she shook her head, scrunching her nose up at him.
Then dissolved into a yawn that rivalled her earlier ones.
"Damn, I wish Warrick had stayed for this," Catherine murmured to no one but herself.
For some reason everyone else was amused by this.
She couldn't believe just how well Grissom was taking it.
Sara was drunk and damn near coming on to him and he was just laughing.
For a moment she really hoped that he wasn't just playing along.
Messing with Sara's mind again.
I mean she did care about her colleague, but really she was looking out for herself more.
The icy chill which always froze the air in the Lab after Grissom encouraged Sara and then dropped her like a stone again always caused more tension that any work related argument.
Conrad Ecklie himself couldn't clear a room as quickly as Sara and Grissom when they froze one another out.
She really hoped that wasn't too be on the horizon again.
That really wouldn't be funny at all.
She eyed up her friend.
Until now she had never really questioned whether or not his affection for Sara was more than just friendly flirting and fantasy.
What guy in his forties wouldn't enjoy the interest of a much younger woman, but she had thought he was smarter than that.
Or at least smarter about keeping extra curricular activities private.
But maybe, just maybe there was something more in his eyes when he looked at her lately.
Maybe.
Or maybe she'd need her winter coat for work tomorrow night.
Or maybe she was just crabby and tired and needed to get herself home and to bed.
She thanked Greg for breakfast with a quick kiss to his cheek.
His blush actually made her smile again.
Then she excused herself, but not before she had put in her two cents.
She leant across the table to warn Grissom.
"Be careful."
He just blinked.
Refused to take her on.
Wished her a nice and polite, "pleasant dreams."
He watched his friend swish away, her golden hair swaying.
He wasn't sure what had got her so irritated.
It was only a bit of fun.
He was having fun!
So what if Sara was being flirty and playful.
Since when had that stopped them?
They all enjoyed a little teasing and playing and laughing with one another every once in a while?
Cath and Warrick, Sara and Greg, Nick and Mandy, there was always something buffering there.
Even if it was widely known that nothing was ever going to happen between any of those couples.
But he and Sara.
He hoped so.
But that was always one of the many things he usually could count on from his team.
Their sense of humour.
Their camaraderie and fun.
Maybe Cath just needed to get some sleep.
And he did too, maybe that was why he was finding himself so preoccupied.
Why somewhere under all his wandering thoughts he was still captivated by the idea of someday taking up the proffered opportunity to press his palm to the warm vulnerable convex of Sara's stomach.
It amused him to learn that it was a part of herself she was unhappy with.
He couldn't for the life of him understand why she would dislike such a lovely curve.
It was just one of the lovely taunting ways the universe had of reminding him of her femininity, her sensuality, her sexuality.
And right now he had to remind himself to keep his attention either to eye level, or at least above table height.
But he caught himself straying from his own rules on more than one occasion as he tried to settle himself back into the surrounding exchanges.
It wasn't much longer, a few more random cyclical conversations between he, Brass, Nick and Greg before he felt a gentle weight against his shoulder.
Sara had drooped.
Was curling warmly against him.
Her eyes were closed.
And as he watched she snuffled into him.
She was searching out his warmth.
Instinctive and affectionate.
Curling her open palms around his upper arm.
He could feel her breasts rise and fall against his polo shirt sleeve.
Sara Sidle was essentially asleep on his arm.
He sighed softly looking down at her unsure how untangle himself without disturbing her too much.
And in all honest not really wanting too.
He looked up surprised to see that all three men, Greg, Nick and Brass were looking at him from across the table.
Well, they were looking.
Looking more at the sweet picture the pair of them made together.
All three men wondering why the hell their two friends had never seemed to quite get it together enough to… get together.
Or maybe they had, judging from the level of comfort exuding from Sara as she curled happily into him.
Her slight smile might as well have been a beam of contentment.
And as for their friend Gil Grissom.
He didn't look any of the things they would have expected him too.
There was no panic, no awkwardness, no fear.
His eyes were glittering with cheeky amusement.
Looking back at them pulling a face of hilarity, which clearly was underscored with the affection he felt for the woman by his side.
"I think I might need to take someone home!" He admitted.
He received three nods of approval.
Greg settled the tab, and brushed away their thanks.
The three men eventually shuffled away together.
Nick offering Greg a ride home.
Brass was the last to leave of the three, nodding towards Sara he offered his help in escorting her home.
Gris declined, with thanks.
"Good luck," his friend had muttered before he had headed back to his car.
Yet Brass had turned back in the doorway remembering that he wanted to remind Gil of the boxing match they were due to watch on TV later in the week, but one glimpse behind him and he knew the reminder could wait.
Grissom and Sara were still sat in their recently vacated booth.
Even the grumpy detective couldn't fight the smile.
Just the way his friend was looking down at the woman curled beside him.
So much unadulterated adoration and affection in his gaze.
Jim didn't think he had ever looked at a woman like that.
It was almost too intimate to observe.
He felt like an intruder witnessing the real man, the man that lurked beneath the sometimes distant shell of his friend.
He watched as Grissom stroked her hair, his fingers gently caressing her cheek in an attempt to carefully wake her.
And in that one glimpse he suddenly understood just how much Sara Sidle meant to his friend.
And he couldn't help but wonder just how Sara would feel if she could see just how Grissom was looking at her right now.
Did she have any idea just how much power she held over him?
It saddened him that Grissom was only being this open with her when he knew she wasn't awake.
Maybe one day Grissom would finally figure this out.
Shaking his head he left them to it.
As inside Grissom had finally roused Sara enough to get her to open her eyes.
She blinked up at him, slightly delirious and more than a little confused.
But it only took a few calming words to ease her to her feet and an arm tightly around her waist, and then he was able to guide her on unsteady legs out of the diner and across to his car.
He got her into the seat, but her eyes were already closing again.
He waited a moment, waited for her to fasten her seat belt.
She just sighed.
He took a breath himself and grasping the belt in one hand he then leant over her body drawing the belt with him, attempting to holster it.
He had just managed to get the belt into place, hearing it click when she stirred beneath him.
A soft giggle rippling breathlessly from her as she nuzzled her nose into his neck.
And then she sighed again.
And he felt his own breath catch at the sound.
A sigh as damn near to contentment as he had ever heard.
She was so close.
He could have leant down and kissed her right there, tempted by her warmth and her softness and her scent.
He took a moment just to watch her slightly parted lips, as they sucked in a breath, releasing it in a gentle breeze.
But somehow he managed to stand again.
To pull himself away.
To move around the car and climb into his own seat and drive.
Her apartment was dark, shady and cool.
And it didn't take as long to rouse her from her dozing and help her inside.
She seemed much sleepier now than drunk, and more than a little confused.
He steadied her on her feet and watched as she tottered away from him, her loosed limbed demeanour adorable.
She looked like a newborn animal, a deer, or a giraffe, all quivering legs and innocence.
She headed for what he assumed was her bedroom and she didn't look back.
He found himself alone in her main room.
Where he hovered.
Did he go check on her?
Did he take her a bottle of water and some painkillers in case she needed them when she woke up?
Or did he simply just sneak away?
After all he knew she was okay.
She was home…
Safe.
Yet as he thought the word 'safe' a sudden crash resounded from beyond the door that Sara had just gone through.
The sound caused him to jerk and he instinctively headed in the direction of the noise.
Rushing over he timidly creaked open the door.
He didn't want to pry, but he really should check that she was all right.
And she was of course.
But that wasn't the first thing to register with his brain.
Shame on him.
What did immediately register through the very dim light of the bedroom was one simple thing.
That the female heap at the bottom of her bed was exposing a mind-freezing expanse of bare glowing skin that contrasted sharply against the only other items she now wore. Leaving her in the black button down shirt, which was barely skimming her upper thighs, scarcely covering her panties, which he was trying desperately not to look at.
But he couldn't help it.
He could blame it on his CSI training, but he would have definitely been lying.
They were lace.
God help him.
And damn those legs of hers really did go on forever.
Wonderfully illuminated as they were by the little beams of sunlight that were creeping around the edges of her blackout blinds and dancing little darts of gold across her skin.
The next thing he noticed was that she was laughing.
Laughing softly again.
She'd fallen over the boots she had kicked off as she had been trying to remove her jeans.
Landed in a clumsy heap at her own feet, but it seemed she wasn't worried by the turn of events.
She had somehow managed to right herself and was now fiddling with the buttons on her shirt; frown creasing her forehead, muttering to herself as the tiny fastenings eluded her.
When she finally noticed him in the doorway watching she smiled.
Before her look turned beseeching.
No way.
He was already trying to back away, head nervously starting to shake from side to side.
He already knew what she was going to ask and he really didn't think he could handle it.
His heart was suddenly very, very loud.
"Grisssss."
She sounded like a very small irritated child.
"Can't sleep in the buttons."
She announced, pulling a face very similar to the one she had directed at her beer bottle earlier.
He had never been more tempted.
He took a step closer before he had even registered that he was moving.
And he had sunk to his knees beside her before he had even thought about the consequences.
She was gazing up at him, her eyes huge in the near darkness.
He reached out.
His fingers illuminated by a stray beam of sunlight as with the utmost awareness he took hold of the collar of her shirt.
Willing his breathing to slow.
Hoping she couldn't hear his heart beating as loudly as it echoed in his ears.
He moved slowly, releasing each little button, trying to control his breathing.
Not sure where it was safer for his gaze to rest, where his hands were working, or looking into her eyes.
God help him neither was any less intimate right now.
Then the edge of his little finger brushed the inside of her breast.
His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation.
But her gasp was far more honest and instinctive.
And when his eyes dared open again she was still gazing up at him.
Eyes stormy and deep.
Heart achingly vulnerable.
Beneath the shirt she was bare.
And each new revealed millimetre was softer and softer.
And he was trying so desperately not to think about that.
Trying to keep the two separating halves of the material as closely together as possible.
Fighting his own responsive gasp when his fingers also accidentally brushed against the earlier mentioned curve of her belly.
And she squirmed with a smile.
Ticklish.
Interesting.
Another nuance to catalogue.
His blood was rushing in his ears.
So much so that he almost missed her whispered, "see you really did want to put your hand up my shirt!"
And he huffed to try and stop the laughter that surged.
Surprised and yet not so too.
She knew him better than anyone.
Why couldn't this work?
Why couldn't they be together?
The interest was there, the desire, the friendship, the affection, the laughter.
Why did he always have to make it so complicated?
He finished the last button, letting the material fall from his fingers.
He hovered.
Unable to look away from her.
And she hovered too.
Both sat back on their heels.
But nothing happened.
Just more gazing.
Attention caught on all the little things.
The creases around his eyes.
The sweet smattering of her freckles.
The dark flecks in his eyes.
The way her tongue fluttered over her lower lip to moisten it under his gaze.
The silver edges to his beard.
The sheer depth of emotion in her eyes.
But he had to resist.
He couldn't do this.
Not right now.
Not even if it was to be his last chance, and he knew right then that it wouldn't be.
He would never take advantage of her.
Even if it was offered.
So the moment stretched.
Then eventually he reached out and stroked a lock of her hair back, tucking the coil around the shell of her ear.
His fingers luxuriating in the rush of stroking her hair and soft skin once more.
As she yawned again.
"Do you think you can make it to bed without anymore falling?" he asked her softly, teasingly.
She nodded, and he saw in her eyes a new light and a vast chasm of understanding.
Then he was moving back, easing away, his face contorting slightly at the crack and protest of his knees, glad that the darkness was shadowing him, hiding his bodies more natural reaction to the last few minutes.
She too carefully stood, using the bed for support, peripherally aware of the hand he put out behind her, the hand that was purposely coming just short of actually touching her.
He didn't want to tempt the fates any more tonight.
Then once she was steady he was stepping away.
He was turning away.
She let the shirt fall from her shoulders.
The material rippling through the air to pool at her feet.
"Goodnight," he whispered, taking one last backward glance at her.
His breath caught once again, this time by the expanse of her bare back.
And he just had to go.
He literally fled.
The urge to turn back and caress his palms down her back, over the soft heated skin was just unbearable.
He couldn't do that.
He wouldn't.
Not right now.
He'd be taking advantage and he would never be able to forgive himself.
His fingers were still tingling from where they had brushed her skin, her breast, her stomach.
Intimate places where the sun didn't touch, softer than anything he could have imagined.
And the look in her eyes when they had accidentally touched had been amazing.
It had clenched his heart.
He loved her.
There was no getting away from that.
He loved her.
And as he headed home to his own bed, his thoughts never left her.
He loved her.
He was happy.
It was exhilarating, arousing, frightening, exciting and a million other things he wasn't even sure of.
Yet for once.
Just once in his life he wasn't sure he needed all the answers.