A/N: This is a revision of the original story, Just one Kiss and it's sequel by this title first published in 2003. In preparation for a complete revamp of my Website, I will be uploading all my stories not already here. (At least those that are not too racy for this archive.) If you're on my alert list and have already read this story, I apologize for the inconvenience. However, the extensive revisions to these two stories (now one) significantly improved them, not to mention toned down the sex scenes. It's still rated "M" but a more tasteful "M" in my very subjective opinion.
A/N 2: For those of you wondering what's happening with Summerhouse, another chapter is only days away.
Summary: Grissom invites Sara to dinner to tell her how he feels about their relationship.
Disclaimer: The characters of CSI were created by A. Zuiker, and are the property of CBS and its affiliates.
First published July 2003. Revised September 2007.
Help Me Make it Through the Night
HE'D FINALLY MADE a decision. He didn't explore how his decision made him feel because he hadn't come to it with his heart. Frankly, he'd had enough of his heart confusing the issue, leading him on a destructive path of self-doubt and recriminations, not to mention the constant—and recently unwelcome—emotional struggle whenever he was near her. He said they needed to talk, took her up on her dinner invitation, and told her he'd pick her up at seven.
Squaring his shoulders he took a deep breath and knocked. He had never felt more determined about anything. He'd been standing on the edge of a precipice far too long, desperately trying not to fall. Tonight he would tell her and that would be that.
When she opened the door, the vision before him almost shattered his resolve. Her beauty had always been something wonderful, but tonight, she was dazzling. His eyes traveled the length of her, from her open-toe sandals and the soft pink shade on her nails, up her long creamy silk-clad legs and the matching form-fitting sleeveless top, to her face—and her smile. That smile. It, alone, had launched more nocturnal fantasies than he needed to remember at the moment.
"Hi," she said softly, her eyes glowing.
"Hi," he returned, surprised that his voice worked. "You look…" So many adjectives came to mind...beautiful, stunning, spectacular, sexy, but in the end he chose a safe one. "...nice."
"Thank you."
With effort he withdrew his gaze from her face. "Ready to go?"
She took a small handbag from the hall table and locked the door behind her.
THE THIRTY-MILE drive out to his favorite restaurant started out in silence. Only when it became evident that they were leaving the city did Sara ask where they were going.
"To the Lake," he said, glancing at her briefly, noting her surprise. "It's a little place not too far from Calville Bay; The Grill, have you ever been?"
"No."
"Well, it's nothing fancy, but it's quiet and they serve great calamari. You'll also find some vegetarian dishes on the menu."
Sara smiled. "Thanks for remembering."
"How can I forget?" he replied, recalling the incident with the ground beef. Ironically, that was when he first began assessing his feelings for her; she had forced his hand, of sorts, back then, and she had done it again more recently when she boldly asked him out. His refusal, if impulsive, had been the correct response. And after tonight, this uncertainty between them would be a thing of the past. Relief washed over him at the thought. He kept all other feelings safely at bay as he let out a long breath.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," he said glancing at her quickly, noting the concern in her eyes. "Why?"
"You look—" Sara frowned, "—sad."
"Do I? I'm fine," Gil responded, internally marveling at how easily she picked up on his mood.
"Grissom?"
"Mmm…"
"You said we needed to talk—"
"We're almost there." He picked up speed and fought the impulse to look at her until he no longer felt her gaze on him. After a beat, Sara focused on the passing scenery and the last few miles were traveled in silence.
"WOULD YOU LIKE some wine?" he asked once they were seated.
"I'd love some."
The waitress appeared as if on cue. "Hi, Mr. Grissom," she said pleasantly, her smile including Sara. "Have you decided on the wine?"
"Hello, Tammy." He looked over the wine list quickly, but the names just blurred in front of his eyes. "We'll have…uh…" he shook his head and snapped the thick vinyl cover shut. "Just bring my usual bottle, please."
"Fine, sir. I'll be right back."
"You come here often," Sara said. Her voice was so soft, and she smiled again, drawing his eyes to her lips. Gil deliberately looked away.
"I do. Nothing fancy, as you can see, but the food's fabulous and, well, few tourists."
They both took in the cabin feel of the restaurant with its heavy wooden furniture that looked hand-carved, almost primitive, giving it a rustic air. The tables were set with dainty tablecloths and little oil lamps that shed a soft glow over the room. The place reminded Gil of a typical log house out of an old Western. The place was always quiet on week nights, something Gil normally enjoyed, but tonight, he wished it were busier. Why had he thought he'd feel more comfortable here, on his turf? Belatedly, he realized his blunder. If the evening ended on a sour note, the forty-minute drive back to Sara's apartment would be very awkward.
"Do you come here alone?"
"Sara…" Gil started, shifting in his seat.
"I get it. Too personal. That's okay; you don't have to answer that." Sara averted her eyes then, a small frown creasing her brow.
Gil sighed, and their waitress chose that moment to bring their wine, her timing rather perfect. Tammy made a production of removing the cork, setting it down on the table in front of Gil. He picked it up and smelled it as she poured a small amount of wine in his glass. He rotated the glass, swirling the amber liquid around its globe to release the aroma, then took a sip, completing the taste test. He nodded to Tammy, indicating that it was satisfactory. She filled their glasses and announced the chef's specials. Grissom ordered the Bass, and after much deliberation, Sara settled on a pasta dish.
As soon as Tammy left, an uncomfortable silence filled the space between them. He'd had it all figured out, exactly what he would say, how he would say it, but now, sitting across the table from her, he didn't quite know how to begin. He leaned back in his chair elbows on the armrests, fingers intertwined in front of him. He looked at her. Her eyes were darting restlessly around the room, everywhere, it seemed, except in his direction.
"Listen, Sara—" A small chuckle escaped her lips, making him pause. "What?"
Her grin didn't reach her eyes. "Anything that starts with 'Listen, Sara' can't be good.".
"I think you know what I need to say."
"That you don't want…'this'? Yeah, I kinda figured that out," she said, her dark eyes almost black now as they bore unwaveringly into his. "You know, you didn't have to take me out to dinner to tell me that."
"I want you to understand..." He took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes. Why was this so difficult? Why the burning sensation in his chest?
"Understand what, Grissom?"
"Listen, Sara…" he started again softly, and she didn't interrupt this time. "I'm pushing fifty, you're young; you have so many years ahead of you. I've lived alone my entire adult life; no complications. I'm very set in my ways. You need someone you can build a future with, someone—"
"My age," she finished for him and he gave her a hesitant nod. "Okay, well let's follow your logic. See that guy over there?" She drew his attention to the only other patron, an attractive thirty-something man. "He's around my age, wouldn't you say? And good looking. Great; bonus. I guess I should just go over there and say, 'Hey, looks like we're perfectly suited since we appear to have been born in the same decade...what do you say we blow this joint and put the theory to the test."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You're right. Hank Peddigrew is a better example anyway, since I actually knew him." Gil thought she was using that term loosely. He'd heard the rumors. "We're close in age. Should I have stayed with him, Grissom?"
The thought made the bile rise in his throat. Why did she have to bring up that guy anyway? Yet it made sense, didn't it? Hadn't he been the catalyst to him realizing that, if left unchecked, whatever feelings he had for her could eventually destroy him? She so easily turned her back on him when a younger, better looking man had come along. History would repeat itself, perhaps not tomorrow, but eventually. No, the safe and clever thing to do about Sara he was now finally doing.
"I think you're missing the point."
"Am I? Age is only one thing, Grissom. But I don't think it's about that, is it? At least not entirely about that, and if it is, it shouldn't be."
"Maybe it doesn't look like such a big deal today; but what about ten years from now, or fifteen? Would you still be able to say the same thing?"
"I can't predict the future, and neither can you. We could leave here tonight and get killed in a car accident."
Because he couldn't argue with her logic, and because she'd been chipping away at his resolve from the moment he picked her up at her apartment, whether with words or with the sheer intoxication of her presence, his next words were delivered much more bluntly than he would have liked. He immediately regretted them.
"It's not going to happen, Sara. So just give it up, will you?"
He didn't think she could have looked more stunned if he'd slapped her. A quick apology formed on his lips but she beat him with one of her own, making him feel like a jackass.
"You're right; I'm sorry," she said with a slight quiver in her voice. "I have no right to—"
"Here we are," Tammy said setting their plates down in front of them. Her bright smile faded when she looked at each of them in turn. "Uh… if you need anything else, just let me know," she said as she quickly left.
Gil grabbed his utensils and stared at his plate; food had never looked more unappetizing. He cut a piece of the fish with his fork, but doubted he could swallow it. He pushed at vegetables then scooped up some rice. It didn't make it to his mouth. He glanced at Sara who was also toying with her food, and gave up. He dropped the utensils and pushed his plate away. She did the same.
"I guess dinner was a bad idea," he said. "Come on. I'll take you home." He took some bills from his wallet and dropped them on the table before following her out of the restaurant.
DINNER HAD BEEN a bad idea, and so had the location. As Gil had feared, the drive home was unbearably silent. Neither had said a word since leaving the restaurant. He glanced at Sara every now and then, but she only stared out the passenger side window. The moon was full, sparkling off Lake Mead, illuminating the beach, the road, and the quiet night. Under different circumstances, with another woman—no not another woman, her, if only he were younger, or she, older—the drive could have been very romantic.
He wondered what she was thinking. Had he succeeded in making her hate him? Would they ever find the easy camaraderie they'd once shared? He looked for something to say, anything to break the deafening silence and let him know they'd be okay.
"Sara… I'm sorry."
"Stop the car," she said softly.
"What?"
"Stop the car…please." Something in her voice, the urgency of her request perhaps, convinced him he shouldn't argue. He did as she asked and pulled to the side of the road. She immediately jumped out, slamming the door behind her, and hastily made her way down the beach to the water, stopping briefly along the way to yank off her sandals and drop them in the sand.
He watched her go, confusion momentarily paralyzing him. Then, under his breath he muttered, "What the hell…?" before climbing out and following her down to the water.
He stopped a few feet behind her; she didn't move. He doubted she even knew he was there. A small gust of wind lifted off the lake and toyed with her hair. Sara wrapped her arms around her midriff. Realizing she must be cold in her sleeveless top he approached her, removed his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. She flinched at his touch.
"Sara," he said, turning her to face him. Her eyes were bright in the moonlight, and so sad they tore at his heart. "What's wrong?"
"We've never even kissed."
He sucked in a breath. Of all things, he didn't expect that. Yet he fully understood what she meant. They'd been riding an emotional roller coaster for so long that it was ironic, really, that they had never even kissed. One of life's little paradoxes, he thought, but one, in his weakened state, he knew was best left alone. Finding his voice he finally said, "Under the circumstances, I don't think kissing would be in our best interest, do you?"
"What circumstances? You've already made your feelings clear so what are you afraid of?"
"You're playing with fire, Sara."
"Seems to me I've already done that," she said, smiling seductively, although he was certain she was unaware of it. "Would a kiss make the burn more painful?"
He frowned. There were so many ways to answer that. In fact a simple 'yes' would have done. But he couldn't voice it. What if she was right? It wasn't as if he hadn't already kissed her a thousand times in his fantasies.
As if she sensed him wavering, she closed the distance between them. "Just one kiss—"
He'd intended it to be a quick, dispassionate kiss, but he hadn't been prepared for the jolt of electricity that coursed through him the moment his lips touched hers. His heart slammed in his chest, making two years of fantasies pale in comparison to the reality of her soft, yielding lips against his own. But it wasn't until she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his, that he realized he was in trouble. The edge of that precipice loomed closer and closer, and he was powerless to stop it. He was losing control over his body, his mind--and his heart.
He pulled her roughly against him, molding her body to his. His jacket fell to the soft sand as he ravaged her mouth with his lips, his tongue, wanting to sip every last ounce of sweetness from her so there wouldn't be any left for anyone else. He wanted to feel her soft skin against his, wanted to make love to her so badly his mind reeled at the thought, wanted to tell her—
He abruptly pushed her away.
"Wow," she said, all that he felt mirrored in her eyes.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to face the lake, fighting to regain control of his breathing at least, having lost it over everything else. In all the times he'd thought about her, dreamed about her, he never once put a label on his feelings. Until now. And having fallen off the edge of that precipice, he didn't know if he'd ever find the strength to climb up again.
It scared the hell out of him.
"Sara, you've got to get over this," he said unsteadily, as much for his benefit as hers.
"Then help me," she said, her frustration clear in her voice. She gently touched his arm, urging him to look at her. "You know, Grissom, while you were telling me why we can't do this, you never once said that you didn't want it. You want me to get over this, then look at me and tell me you don't feel anything."
"I can't."
"Why can't you? Be honest with me for a change."
He shook his head, his own frustration mounting. I shouldn't have kissed her. Grasping her upper arms in his hands, he looked at her and gruffly said, "You want honesty, Sara. Here's honesty. I'm in love with you. This is as difficult for me as it is for you, if not more. But it doesn't change anything. Can't you understand that? I'm sixteen years older than you… sixteen, Sara."
He watched in amazement as her expressive face went from shock, to joy—lifting her mouth in a wide smile—then to confusion. "You're in love with me?"
His frustration mounted into a groan. He let go of her arms and turned to the lake again. "You're not hearing me."
"I think I heard you loud and clear, Grissom. Are you really that worried about our age difference?"
"I will not screw up my life. How long before someone younger comes along and strikes your fancy again? How much time do you realistically think we have?"
"What do you mean 'again'?"
"Hank," he spat out.
"That is so unfair. You drove me to Hank. You say you love me, but you didn't trust me enough to believe me when I told you I wasn't involved with him. You chose to push me away."
He had. He'd chosen not to believe her. It had seemed simpler that way. And then pretending, even to himself, that it didn't matter that she'd become involved with someone else had also been easier than confronting it.
He couldn't deny what she was saying. He had always pushed her away and he was doing it again tonight, only this time, he'd complicated the situation first, just to make it a little bit more difficult for them to move on. He let out a breath, his ability to fight whatever it was he'd felt the need to fight spent.
"You know what, Grissom? I love you; I've always loved you, and you know it. But you're a coward. You'd rather hurt me, and if you love me as much as you say you do, hurt yourself, too, because you're too afraid to give us a chance. Fine. Suit yourself." With that, Sara abruptly turned her back on him and headed for the car.
"Sara!" Damn it. He took off after her and when he got within reach, he grabbed her arm to stop her, but she tripped and fell, taking her down with him. He fell half on top of her and caught his breath as he shifted to take his weight off her. "Are you okay?"
Her breath was coming in spurts, and suddenly, she laughed. He didn't know what had suddenly tickled her funny bone, but it was infectious; Gil smiled. Then her laugh died on her lips and she lifted her hand to caress his cheek. "I love you, Gris," she said, her eyes communicating better than her words ever could have the magnitude of what she felt, and suddenly nothing else mattered.
"You are the most infuriating, persistent…most irresistible woman I have ever met." His eyes raked over her face; her eyes were soft and glowing in the moonlight, her lips were curled up and inviting. "And you love me," he said on a long breath. He shook his head, still feeling a little disoriented by this sudden turn of events, and then he kissed her again, gently at first, but his need for her soon overtook him and he had to rein in his control or he'd be making love to her on the beach. When breathing became a necessity, he dragged his mouth from hers and was greeted by a beautiful smile. "Come on, I'll take you home."
"Will you stay? The night, I mean."
"Is that all you want, Sara? One night?"
"Well, no, but I don't want to push my luck."
He rose to his feet and took her delicate hand in his. "I'm the lucky one," he said as he helped her up and led her to his car, picking up her discarded shoes along the way.
THERE IT WAS, that energy that made being in the same room with him so exciting. It was like an electric current that connected him to her, so palpable at times that she could almost see it. It was what announced his presence before any other sense alerted her to it; what numbed her brain when he expected her to be sharp; what confused her heart into thinking it didn't need to beat; what compressed her lungs until she could scarcely breathe; and it was what had made her fight for him tonight.
But now, on the threshold of becoming one with him, that energy had taken on a new dimension. It was stronger, more encompassing in its scope, and like a current that had short-circuited, it sent little jolts of electricity to every part of her body. It had heated her skin, sent a nervous quiver to her lips, and a tremor to her hands that made the simple task of unlocking her damn door a struggle.
"Here, let me," he said softly.
A small grin played around his lips as if her condition amused him. Sara smiled timidly, feeling the heat rise in her face, and then shook her head appreciating the humor in the situation. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to the door, and as if issuing a challenge, she presented him with the key. "Be my guest."
Eyes gleaming, he took it from her and unlocked the door easily enough, but not before she noticed that his hand hadn't been all that steady either. It gave her a strange feeling of satisfaction. He opened the door, tilting his head in a silent invitation for her to enter. She didn't miss his broadened smile as she slid past him.
Once inside, she hesitated, suddenly uncertain how the evening should proceed. Her eyes darted furtively around the apartment as if looking for the next logical move. Should she invite him to sit down? Should she offer him a drink? Or should she… Her bedroom door beckoned. God knew that's where she wanted to be.
Grissom closed the door softly behind them and dropped the key on the small hall table. Uncharacteristically at a loss for something to say, Sara just looked at him, hoping he wouldn't notice her discomfort. He returned her gaze silently.
"Uh… would you like some coffee?"
He pursed his lips, the amusement in his eyes unmistakable. He took the handbag she was still clutching and set it down on the table next to the keys. Then, with slow, deliberate movements he wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him. She wound her arms around his waist, shyly holding his gaze. The corner of her mouth twitched again, that annoying little spasm that always appeared when she least wanted it to, usually when she was in close proximity to him. She watched, mesmerized, as his head dipped slowly toward her own, and her eyes closed automatically when his lips met hers.
For several, long, delicious moments she lost herself in his kiss, at first soft and gentle, then more insistent as he opened his mouth and slid his tongue past her lips. Under his sports jacket, she ran her hands up his back, circled around to his chest then up over his shoulders to wrap her arms tightly around his neck, molding her body to his. Grissom groaned. He increased the pressure of his hold on her as he gently sucked on her tongue, making a small whimper escape her throat. And when his warm hands burned a path down over her buttocks and pressed her firmly against him, her excitement reached new heights. She thrust her pelvis forward, marveling at the strength of his arousal.
An agonizing groan escaped Grissom's throat and he slowly withdrew his lips, rested his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. "Sara…sweetheart…" His gaze locked with hers for several excruciating seconds. Then he let out a shaky breath. "Coffee sounds good."
She grinned at him. "You wouldn't be changing your mind now, would you?"
"Nooo… Just pacing myself," he said with a wink. When she didn't move he added, "Go before I change my mind," and gave her a gentle nudge toward the kitchen.
As much as the part of her that ached for him wanted to lead him to her bedroom, she wasn't sorry he'd called a temporary halt to their passion. She had waited so long for this moment. That her innermost fantasies were about to become reality was a little overwhelming. She savored the anticipation, glancing frequently at him from the kitchen as he acquainted himself with her apartment.
He removed the tan sports jacket he'd worn over a dark blue shirt and faded jeans and draped it on the back of a chair. Blue was becoming her favorite color. On him it did wonderful things to his eyes—not that they needed enhancement. 'God, he's gorgeous,' she thought, wanting to pinch herself to make sure this was not one of life's cruel jokes and she'd wake up again to find it had all been a dream.
"Lionel Ritchie?" she heard him say from the living room.
She looked up. He was going through her stack of CDs. She shrugged and smiled. "Music to dream by."
"An eclectic personality," he reflected as he inserted the disk in the player and set the volume, not so low that they couldn't hear the lyrics but not so high that it would interfere with their conversation. "An eclectic taste in music, in furniture," his eyes scanned the room. "In men…"
"In men? No. There's only one type of man that interests me."
"Mmm. Tell me about him," he asked as he approached the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. He straddled a bar stool and rolled up his sleeves exposing what Sara had often thought were the sexiest forearms she'd ever seen. She watched in fascination as she seriously considered his question, Lionel Ritchie's romantic ballad drowning the drip, drip of the coffee maker.
"He has to be very intelligent…a little mysterious," she began slowly describing him. "Caring, sexy, not just in the physical sense but sexy in his aura, good looking of course, expressive blue eyes, heart stopping smile, seductive voice…" She paused. Holding his gaze, she skirted the island to join him on the other side. He swiveled in his seat to face her. Sara took his hands in hers and caressed his arms up to his elbows. "He has to have beautiful hands and forearms," she continued softly. "You know this is my fetish."
"What is?"
"This," she said, taking possession of his hands again. "You have no idea how hard it is for me to concentrate on anything else when you roll up your sleeves."
"Really?" He looked surprised.
"It's incredibly sexy," she smiled.
His arms circled her waist and he drew her to him. He kissed her softly before brushing his lips over her jaw and down her neck. When the pressure of his lips intensified in the crease between her neck and shoulder, Sara let out an unsteady breath. "God that feels good," she said tilting her head to give him more access.
He sucked gently on the sensitive skin, teasing her with his tongue, tasting her. Then his lips moved up to softly bite at her earlobe. "This is my fetish," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Your beautiful, long neck... Sometimes I come into the lab and you're there looking into a microscope and I fantasize about coming up behind you and pulling your hair back and biting you here…" his teeth demonstrated with a gentle nibble at the angle of her neck and shoulder, "...and I've dreamed of tasting you here…" his tongue flickered at the hollow of her throat, "…and of doing this…" his lips burned a trail of soft, barely there kisses down over her breast bone as far as the vee of her blouse would allow.
Sara's heart beat a staccato against her ribs. She tangled her fingers into his curly hair and pulled his head closer, her breathing laborious. Through her blouse, he raked his teeth over a hardened nipple, then slipped his hands under the fabric, circling her small waist and moving up to caress her other nipple with his thumb. She gasped. A consuming heat spread through her sending a torrent of moisture between her thighs, readying her body for him.
"Sara?" he whispered, his breath ragged.
"Mm…"
"Let's skip the coffee?"
She smiled widely, then took his hand in hers and led him to her bedroom.
WHILE HIS LOVEMAKING had been gentle and unhurried in the living room, Grissom's ardor had increased ten-fold by the time they made it to her bedroom. He stripped her down to her underwear and lowered her to the bed, then stood and kicked off his shoes. He kept his eyes focused on her as he unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off his shoulders and carelessly tossed it on a nearby chair.
Sara gazed at him admiringly as he stood over her, stripped to his jeans. The evidence of his arousal strained against the faded blue denim sending another rush of heat to her core. She wanted him so badly that she half hoped he wouldn't delay consummating their relationship a second longer than necessary. That, for her, was about two seconds from now.
He removed his belt and snapped open the top button of his jeans, but then he hesitated. He lay down between her legs, supporting his weight on his forearms on either side of her. His fingers brushed her hair back against the pillow.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered with such tenderness, Sara thought her heart would explode.
She caressed his arms, his shoulders and his back, feeling his muscles contract everywhere she touched. Her body ached for more of him, and she was only too aware of how much more there was to discover. She thrust her hips upward and closed her eyes, delighting in the feel of him against her.
When his hands cupped her face, she opened her eyes and was startled by the dark desire in his. He kissed her. And kissed her again, deeply, with such passion it shook her entire being.
"Gil, please…" she whispered against his lips. "I want you--now…"
"Honey," he cleared his throat. "I've wanted to make love to you for such a long time I don't want to rush it. We have all the time in the world."
He slid down her body slightly and unfastened the front clasp of her bra. He slipped it off to reveal her small breasts. His head dipped to one then the other to kiss and taste the soft flesh around her nipples, treating them like a delicacy to be savored. When his mouth closed over a hardened, sensitive nipple, Sara bucked beneath him. He looked at her at her then, his breathing as ragged and shallow as her own.
"God, Sara…" He stretched out next to her and reclaimed her mouth.
His right hand trembled against her skin on its journey down to the most private part of her body. The back of his fingers lightly grazed her sensitive nub through her drenched panties. His lips followed, teasing her through the silky fabric before pulling it to one side to capture her wet and tender flesh in his mouth.
Sara cried out, reached down and cradled his head between her hands, tugging gently, trying desperately to make him stop. He had expertly aroused her, thrown her into an abyss of sensations, and now she fought the climax that threatened to rip through her. Her desire to experience her first orgasm with him inside her was still strong, but her body was dangerously close to not being her own anymore.
"Gris…please…"
He didn't resist her.
He took her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss, her taste and her scent on his lips at first disconcerting, but then joy such as she'd never known filled her heart at the intimacy of what he was sharing with her. He dragged his lips from hers, his eyes burning with unbidden passion and a depth of feeling she'd only guessed him capable of, and she knew it was time.
She heard it then, the rasp of his zipper, and something else that in its diminished capacity her brain could not identify. It sounded like…
"No!" Grissom cried, burying his face in her neck. "Please, God, no."
"It could be important," she said soothingly, denying her own frustration.
"No," he said on a strangled breath, as if saying it would make it so.
It came again, that annoying sound only this time it was an echo of the first, filling in the dead air between the beeps. Her beeper. Before either of them had time to react, his cellular phone rang.
"What the hell…" he said.
"You'd better go check that out."
She might have found the four-letter expletive that came out of his mouth amusing if the situation had not been so maddening. She'd never heard him swear before.
He dragged himself from bed with a scowl on his face, and left the room. A few seconds later, she heard him bark into the phone, "This better be important, Jim!" A brief pause, then, "Yes! I'm on a date."
She smiled.
When he spoke again his voice had dropped a few decibels. "Are the others there yet?"
Sara knew it was time to get dressed. She changed her underwear and donned a pair of jeans.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to the door, pulling on socks when she heard him say from the doorway, "I'll find Sara." He snapped the phone shut and threw it on the bed.
"I guess you found me," she turned and smiled, trying to lighten the moment.
"We have to go," he said dejectedly.
"I figured that."
"Sara…" He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's not your fault." She went to him and took his hands in hers. "It's our job."
He pulled her into the circle of his arms and kissed her. "I don't know how I'm going to make it through the night."
"The way I know you, the minute you get to the scene, there will be no distracting you."
"That's what you think?" He frowned.
"Yep."
"Sara… I love you. You've been distracting me for a while now."
"Really? Is that why we rarely work together anymore?"
"Yes."
"Oh." She didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed, but didn't have time to ponder the question. "Then I'll help you get through the night. I think you should start by getting dressed," she teased as she handed him his shirt.
MASS MURDER at a wedding reception was not exactly how Sara would have capped the evening. She mentally prepared herself for the scene they were about to face. Regardless of how often she'd witnessed human tragedy, she still wasn't immune to the awful things people did to each other, but she'd learned in time to detach herself from it.
Grissom was driving the Tahoe she'd taken home earlier. He had transferred his field kit from his car to the Tahoe, saying there was no point taking both vehicles. It suited Sara fine. It meant he'd have to come back for his car later. Not that she doubted he'd want to.
"Won't people wonder why we're arriving together on our day off?"
He shrugged and smiled. "Do you care what people think?"
"No, but I'd rather keep this private."
"Eventually, they'll have to know," he said, glancing at her.
Sara grinned at him. Eventually! There was so much promise in that one word.
"Maybe," she finally said. "But it doesn't have to be right away, does it?"
"No. It doesn't." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "If anyone asks, and I doubt anyone will, we can just say I picked you up on the way over here."
Her smile widened and something flickered in his eyes.
"You know," he continued, "that smile of yours does funny things to me."
"Oh. How so?" Her grin broadened alluringly.
"You're a seductress, Sara Sidle," he said, chuckling as they pulled up to the small hotel off the strip where chaos reigned.
There were several ambulances at the scene, their flashing lights and those of police cruisers lighting up the scene; sirens could be heard in the distance; medics and police officers were everywhere, either providing first aid care or interviewing witnesses; someone was being carried out on a stretcher, and on the other side of the yellow police tape, there was a television crew, and of course, a crowd of curious onlookers, some of them taking photos.
Tourists.
"Welcome to Las Vegas," Sara said, frowning in disgust.
Grissom lifted the police tape for her and they entered the lobby of the small hotel where Brass greeted them.
"Gil, Sara," he said by way of acknowledgement. "Sorry about pulling you away from your date, Gil, but as you can see, it couldn't be helped."
Brass didn't know how sorry he and Sara were.
"What can you tell me?" Grissom asked as Brass fell into step with them on their way up to the second floor ballroom.
"According to eyewitnesses, two people dressed in black and wearing masks—believed to be a man and a woman because of their size—and carrying automatic weapons, entered the ballroom during a wedding reception and started shooting. The bride, the groom and five other guests were killed, the maid of honor and best man were taken to the hospital with serious injuries, and another thirteen people suffered minor injuries," he delivered in a monotone. "They were in, they were out, and no one outside the ballroom saw them."
A bell announced the elevator, and all three stepped in.
"Is there a direct entrance to the second floor from outside?" Sara asked Brass.
"No."
"How can two people wearing masks and carrying automatic weapons come into the hotel and make it up to the second floor unnoticed?" Grissom asked, picking up on her line of questioning.
"Good question. We figured they came in their street clothes, got a room maybe. So we got the register and I have some guys checking out rooms. Fortunately it's not a big hotel."
The elevator doors opened and Brass led them through the conference center to the Grand Ballroom. They stopped at the flower-filled archway. The scene inside the room was sobering.
The room had been decorated with white stephanotis—often called the wedding flower—candles, white tablecloths, crystal tableware that captured the light from the chandelier dropping like a centerpiece from the ceiling, and what appeared to have been an ice sculpture. A very romantic setting for what had been meant to be a very romantic day in the lives of two people in love.
But it now looked like a storm had hit part of the room. Tables were turned over, broken plates and food littered the floor, the ice sculpture had been shattered to pieces, and there was blood, a lot of blood, splattered against the wall behind where Sara guessed had been the head table.
The guests had all been evacuated, but there were several people, 'officials', in the room. She recognized several of them, mostly police officers, and David, the assistant coroner, overseeing the removal of the bodies; Warrick, Nick and Catherine were already there collecting evidence and preparing for crime scene reconstruction.
"Gives meaning to the phrase, 'till death do us part'," Grissom quipped, which made Sara wonder not for the first time if this was his way of distancing himself from the horrors of their job.
Before she could stop it, she delivered her own poignant retort. "Yeah, and I bet they thought they had all the time in the world."
Grissom shot her a burning glance, and she met it, mischief in her eyes. A small smile played on his lips as he looked away. The humor in her comment was, of course, lost on Brass.
Having spotted them, Catherine abandoned what she'd been doing and joined them. "Gil, I hear you got called away from a date again," she opened, throwing Sara in a momentary stupor.
Again?
Grissom's eyes darted to her as if to gauge her reaction, then he turned to Brass, mouth agape, silently chastising him for his lack of discretion. Brass shrugged and excused himself. A junior officer had caught his attention.
"So, Cath, what do you think?"
"We've collected some of the shell casings," she said. "The wall behind the head table is full of bullet holes. Looks like the bride and groom were the target."
"Or someone else in the wedding party," Sara said.
"Unlikely." Catherine sighed. "Based on where the bullets hit, the bride and groom took the brunt of it. It's safe to say they were the target."
"Who would do such a thing," Sara said to no one in particular.
"Someone who didn't like them very much," came Grissom's response to her rhetorical question.
"Or someone opposed to the wedding," Brass added, rejoining them. "I'm told we have another crime scene. Room 606. Woman, dead in the bathroom apparently from a blow to the head. She's dressed in a black jumpsuit. We also found the hood, but no gun. And, get this…her name is Sharon Curtis. Same last name as the groom's."
"Related?" Grissom said.
Catherine let out a sarcastic snort. "Probably the ex-wife."
Brass seemed to think that was very likely as well. "I'll see you upstairs," he said, taking his leave.
"Okay. Sara, take the room with Catherine," Grissom directed softly. "I'll send David up and join you later."
"Sure," Sara smiled. He only held her gaze briefly, but there was so much intimacy in his eyes, she wondered if she was imagining it. Did anyone else see it? The thought was disturbing. She quickly looked at Catherine and followed her down the corridor.
Once in the elevator, Catherine glanced pointedly at her and said, "I don't think Grissom was the only one on a date tonight."
Sara froze. Catherine was observant, but… Trying to compose herself she sent her a confused glance. "Excuse me?"
Catherine pointed in the general direction of her neck. "You might want to hide that."
Sara pulled the collar of her blouse aside and turned to one of the mirrored walls of the elevator. She gasped when she noticed the small purplish bruise.
"Shit!" she said forcefully enough, but the smile that formed on her lips was difficult to suppress. She felt like she'd been branded. Not a feeling she would have normally welcomed, but… That it was Grissom who had left his mark on her… She still wanted to pinch herself.
She buttoned the blouse she'd loosely worn over a tee shirt almost all the way up--enough to hide the small bruise.
"Sara, please tell me you're not back with Hank."
She looked at Catherine, allowing the smile she could no longer contain to break through. "I'm not back with Hank."
"Right. You never looked this happy when you were with him--" Then, as if she'd just discovered the meaning of life, Catherine's mouth dropped open.
Sara looked away and the elevator doors opened.
THERE HADN'T BEEN any time for further discussion, for which Sara was grateful. The elevator doors opened on a cacophony of activity; two police officers were guarding the door to room 606 and a few others were perusing the room, Brass was in the bathroom looking down on the young woman lying in a pool of blood. Her skin was already discolored, her eyes were staring and her mouth was opened. There was a moment of silence as Catherine and Sara took in the scene.
"I'll take the bathroom," Catherine finally said to Sara. "Brass, would you get these guys out of here so we can get to work?"
Brass quickly cleared the room. Sara pulled on a pair of gloves and started her investigation, looking for any evidence that might shed light on this crime and its link to the massacre in the Grand Ballroom.
It was a good hour later when her little Grissom radar announced his arrival. She was crouched by the bed with her back to the door, but she sensed him the moment he entered the room.
"Hi," he said softly, crouching down beside her. "Where's Catherine?"
"She's gone back to the lab," she answered without looking at him. "Judging from those sheets, Sharon Curtis had male company. I also found a dark hair on the bed and a few in the cap. Sharon is blonde. Whoever was with her must have taken the wrong one on his way out."
"How're you doing?" he asked barely above a whisper. They were alone in the room, but they were both aware of the officer in the hallway guarding the door.
She looked at him then, and was warmed by the look in his eyes. She shrugged and smiled. She didn't need words to explain how much she wanted to be back in her bed, with him. Just being this close to him, hearing his voice, each word a caress, was enough to send little tingles along every nerve's end and a rush of heat to her groin.
"How 'bout you? Making it through the night okay?"
He chuckled. "Hardly."
She gave him a lopsided grin and averted her eyes. "Sooo…this is not the first time you get called away from a date, eh?" It had sounded casual enough to her ears.
His smile faltered, but only briefly. "No. But it's the first time that it matters to me." Sara rewarded his answer with a wide grin. His eyes flashed. "Are you almost done here?"
"Almost. I'll take these sheets in to Greg. Hopefully CODIS will tell us who else was in this room tonight."
Grissom nodded. "I'm going to head back with Nick. See you at the lab?"
"I won't be far behind you."
He hesitated as though reluctant to leave. Then, he touched his lips to his index and middle fingers and lightly brushed them against her mouth. "See you soon." He rose and left.
SHE'D LOGGED THE evidence, dropped it off at the DNA lab, and taken a much needed shower. She had the locker room to herself, so took her time as she examined the small bruise on her neck.
Memories came flooding back.
Was it only a few hours ago that she'd lain in his arms, wrapped in his love? She'd often wondered what kind of lover he would be, and now she knew. Flames of desire flared through her again as she remembered his unhurried and gentle foreplay, passionate kisses, expert seduction… It didn't surprise her, really, that he was a good lover. He was nothing if not thorough in his work, it only made sense that this perfectionism would extend to other areas of his life.
She glanced at the big round clock above the door. It was almost three in the morning. Sara had done all she could for tonight and wanted nothing more than to go home and pick up where they'd left off.
Fortunately among the change of clothes she kept in her locker, there was a sleeveless turtle-neck which would do a better job of hiding the small hickey on her neck than her blouse had. She dressed quickly and went to find the others.
Catherine, Warrick, and Nick were in the break room.
"Hey, guys," she said heading for the coffee pot.
"Hey kiddo. Just made a new pot," Nick said. "Not ready yet."
Sara crunched up her face and took a seat around the table with the rest of them. They brought her up to speed on what they had found; Nick and Warrick were working on the projectile trajectory analysis; Catherine confirmed that Sharon Curtis had been killed by an object blow to the head, but they hadn't identified the murder weapon yet.
"There was definitely a man with her in that room," Sara said. "Found some semen on the sheets, and some hairs that don't belong to the victim. I also found black hairs in the cap. The one left behind wasn't hers."
"Has sex with her then kills her." Catherine shook her head. "Well, we'd better get back to work. Sara, why don't you go home? It's still your night off and there's nothing more you can do on this case tonight."
"Catherine's right. You should go home," Grissom said as he came into the room and headed for the coffee pot which was still dripping. He looked refreshed, Sara noticed. He'd changed his blue shirt for a black one and he sent her a playful glance as he leaned back against the counter and casually rolled up his sleeves.
Sara sent him a look that said, 'You're not playing fair,' then pursed her lips to contain a smile. She couldn't control the heat that rose to her cheeks however, or the nervous twitch that pulled at a corner of her mouth. Looking sharply away, she caught Catherine's watchful gaze. With her back to Grissom, Catherine had missed their interplay, and the guys were too engrossed in some magazine to have paid much notice to it. But by all indication, Catherine was suspicious.
Deliberately eyeing Sara, she said, "The same goes for you, Gil. It's also your night off. And don't you have a date to get back to?"
Before he could say anything his cell phone rang. After a brief conversation with Brass, he snapped the phone shut. His gaze focused on Sara for a moment, then swung to Catherine who'd turned in her chair and was now facing him.
"You were right again, Cath. Sharon Curtis is the groom's ex-wife. And Brass just picked up a suspect… The bride's ex-husband."
"The ex-husband and ex-wife join forces to kill their former spouses on their wedding day." Nick's voice dripped with disgust. "Well, looks like an easy one to close, at least."
"Let's not jump to conclusions, Nicky. Brass wants me in interrogation. Sara," his tone softened, "you really should go home."
Her heart sank. She tried to hide her disappointment as she took a Styrofoam cup from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of coffee to go.
"Let's get back to work guys," Catherine said more forcefully this time.
The boys filed out behind her.
Sara suspected Catherine had engineered their quick departure to give her and Grissom a few minutes alone. She was grateful, but never entirely trusting of Catherine's motivations, she casually glanced at the hallway outside the breakroom before looking at Grissom.
"Will I see you later?" he asked.
"Your car is at my place," she reminded him.
"You have your car here, don't you?" She nodded. "I'll take the Tahoe back."
"Okay." She smiled and started to leave. "Oh, by the way," she said with a sideways glance, "don't be too long. You have no idea what those forearms do to me."
The look he gave her then literally made her heart lurch.
WHEN SHE GOT home, her apartment felt strangely empty. Grissom had been there less than an hour, yet his aura still lingered, making his absence even more palpable, but nowhere more so than in the bedroom. The crumpled bed made Sara's body ache with desires yet to be spent. She wondered if he felt it too. Would he hurry back?
God I hope so.
She stripped and rummaged through her closet for the short satin gown and matching robe she'd purchased only a month before. It was white, a little virginal perhaps, but the cut and the way it hugged her body made her feel extremely sexy.
She brushed her hair, applied a light lipstick and some perfume, and slipped a home-made disk of love songs in the CD player. She turned down the bed, smoothed the sheets and lit a few candles to complete the romantic mood.
There was only one thing missing to make the room perfect. She removed the sheer robe and lay down on the bed to wait for him.
Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight
Till tomorrow, I'll be holding you tight
And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be
Than here in my room, dreaming about
You and me
The lyrics penetrated the fog in Sara's brain. A light flickered behind her eyelids—the candles, she thought absently. It took a few seconds for the fog to clear sufficiently to realize she'd fallen asleep, and another moment to sense that she wasn't alone.
Her eyes flew open. "Grissom!"
"Hey," he said softly. He was standing beside the bed, a strange expression on his face.
Sara sat up. "I fell asleep."
He smiled. "I see that."
"How'd you get in?"
"Your door was unlocked. You should be more careful, Sara."
"I didn't expect to fall asleep. Have you been here long?"
"About five minutes."
"So what are you still doing with your clothes on?" she teased.
The contemplative look on his face confused her. When he didn't immediately respond, she became alarmed. "Gil…what's wrong?"
He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Sara?"
Second thoughts? What was going on? What happened between the time she left him at work and now?
She frowned and took his hand in hers. "Of course I'm sure. Gil, what's wrong?"
"I think--I just realized how much I really do love you." He let out a ragged breath. "Sara," he continued carefully, "I can't take this lightly. I'm well aware of your capacity for hurting me…it was difficult enough the first time. If I lost you after… Look, I know there are no guarantees in life, and I wouldn't expect you to make promises you have no way of knowing that you can keep, but…if this is not as serious for you, I'd prefer to find out now rather than later."
Sara was temporarily speechless. Her capacity for hurting him! The first time? He can't mean Hank.
Sara decided to let it go for now.
"Look, I told you earlier that there's only one type of man that interests me. What I didn't say is that there's only one man who does interest me…the only one who's really interested me since the day I met you. I tried to get over it, believe me. But I couldn't. I love you. There's nothing I can do about that, and frankly I don't want to try anymore…not if you want me, too."
He brushed a gentle kiss on her lips. "I want you."
"Then let me love you," she said softly.
She knelt in front of him and started working on his shirt, undoing each button slowly. The palms of her hands caressed his warm skin as she slipped the shirt off his shoulders. He closed his eyes and shuddered when she gently kissed a shoulder blade, then ran a series of light kisses along the column of his throat.
"Lie down," she urged softly. He kicked off his shoes and did as she asked, lying on his back in the middle of the bed, cradling his head in his hands. When she straddled his thighs and reached for his belt buckle, his eyes darkened and burned into hers. She undid the belt and released the snap at the waistband of his jeans. She smiled seductively as she eased his zipper down, the back of her fingers grazing the arousing bulge behind the fabric. He sucked in a breath, and Sara slowly pulled down his jeans to discard them along with his socks at the foot of the bed. His black boxer briefs followed.
And then she sat back on her calves and boldly gazed at the sheer magnificence of him. She smiled wickedly.
"Come here," he growled, reaching for her.
She crawled up his body and stretched out on top of him, the flimsy nightgown the only thing separating them. Grissom immediately cradled her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. When he released her to run his hands down her back, she nuzzled his neck.
"Honey, as sexy as you look in this thing, I'd prefer it off," he murmured. His left hand glided past the short hem of her gown and up slowly, caressing the back of her thigh, and higher... He made a small sound of approval when his hand encountered nothing but bare skin. He slid his hand between her thighs; his fingers teased. With the other he cupped a breast, his thumb roughly stroking the hardened nipple, his hands quickly arousing her until the ache became almost unbearable.
A small whimper escaped Sara's throat; she wound her fingers in his hair and dropped heated, quick kisses along his jaw and his cheek as his fingers continued to probe and arouse. She moved her hips against him, her body screaming for his possession. She wanted him everywhere at once: on top of her, under her, behind her, lapping at her breasts, tasting her, kissing her, filling her…
"God, honey, you're so wet…"
"Gris," she said, her breath coming in spurts, "I've been…aah…ready for you all night."
Quickly, he stripped off her short gown and rolled her on her back. He opened his mouth to hers, his tongue gently stroking, as Sara spread her thighs, allowing him entry into her body. Without breaking his kiss, he positioned himself above her, and without hesitation, answered the invitation with one long, slow stroke that made her gasp and made him shudder.
He remained very still for a moment. "I knew you'd feel this good," he said huskily, but Sara barely heard him. The world had dimmed around her, leaving only the dizzying sensations of their bodies intimately connected with the dual purpose of giving and receiving pleasure. The harmonious mating of two souls so destined to be together, it was surely a gaffe of nature that they'd been born almost two decades apart.
Their breathing became erratic as Grissom picked up the pace, faster and deeper, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, and as much as Sara tried to hold on, the lure of the ecstasy within her grasp sent her tumbling, with Grissom immediately following, riding their passion to its peak, through waves of pleasure, until they were both spent and he collapsed on top of her.
He buried his face in her neck; breathed heavily. Sara closed her arms around his shoulders and held him close as silent tears of happiness stung her eyes. He eventually rolled off her and pulled her back against him, his warm body spooning hers as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For making me look at you--at us, at what I was passing up--for making me realize how perfect we really are together before it was too late."
Sara smiled. "My pleasure."
And it was. As she'd always known it would be.
The End