Horatio stood poised over the doorbell, a bottle of wine in his left hand and a million thoughts racing through his head. What on earth had made him agree to a dinner date with a woman 18 years his junior whom he had helped escape a drug felony charge? Not to mention that said woman was the older sister of one of his CSIs, one that he looked out for as a father would his son. Despite Marisol's protestations that it was "just dinner", Horatio knew what usually followed after a meal at someone's private dwelling; he'd been around that block a few times before. Nevertheless, when he wasn't waving a gun in some criminal's face, Horatio could be the perfect gentleman.
"As the lady said," Horatio murmured to himself, "it's just dinner."
He took a moment to compose himself and pressed the doorbell. He could hear Marisol approaching and when she opened the door, Horatio's heart skipped a beat. For a woman who had been battling leukemia for eight months, Marisol looked positively radiant. She had on a simple dress appropriate for the Miami heat, cut above the knee and showing off her lovely figure. She had put her long, black hair up, revealing her delicate neck, with wisps framing her beautiful face.
Despite being a man who usually kept his feelings in check, Horatio was still a man and at the sight of the gorgeous young woman in front of him, felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach. His face reddened slightly; one of the curses of being a redhead.
Easy, tiger, he thought to himself, the lady is just thanking you for your assistance.
Marisol smiled coyly at him.
"Lieutenant," she said, lowering her gaze modestly. "Won't you come in?"
"Thank you, ma'am," Horatio smiled back and stepped over the threshold. He offered her the bottle of wine. "For you."
"Thank you!" said Marisol. "I'll just go and put it in the fridge."
She almost skipped to the kitchen. Horatio was torn between not wanting to lead her on and glad that, after all the pain and suffering she had been through, she was able to feel some joy. He still hadn't decided whether accepting the offer of dinner had been the right decision, but it was starting to feel less like a bad idea. He followed her into the kitchen.
"Mmm, something smells wonderful!" he exclaimed.
Marisol blushed. "My mother taught me how to cook," she said. "I love food but over the last eight months, I haven't had much of an appetite."
"I can understand that," said Horatio. "However, I hope that you have some appetite tonight, it would be a shame to waste something that smells so good."
Marisol's responding smile was dazzling and Horatio felt himself go weak at the knees.
Calm down, idiot! He thought to himself. Your teenage years are long gone!
"Dinner will only be a few more minutes," said Marisol, busy checking her pots. "Would you like to pour some wine? There's a bottle already cold in the fridge."
Horatio retrieved the bottle and fumbled with the cork. An attack of nerves made his usually steady hands tremble and he considered pouring himself a generous helping and downing it whilst Marisol's back was turned. But that would artificially lower his inhibitions, which may in turn cause him to behave in a less-than-gentlemanly fashion and that would never do. He settled for half a glass, poured some for both of them and took a sip.
Over a long, leisurely dinner, Horatio discovered that Marisol was warm, witty and extremely intelligent. Despite the age gap between them, they shared a common knowledge in all manner of things and he found himself confiding in her more than he'd ever shared with anyone before, including Yelina. Not even his lawyer lovers had extracted so much information from him; pillow-talk after a passionate encounter between the sheets had never been this personal. Horatio worried that he was leaving himself far too open, but he couldn't stop. When Marisol talked about herself, her family, her illness, he drank in every word. Despite keeping his alcohol consumption firmly in check – he had every intention of driving home that night – Horatio felt himself losing control. Hours passed and he could feel himself falling deeply and irrevocably in love with this gorgeous, marijuana-imbibing, leukemia-ridden woman-child and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Suddenly Marisol started.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping up. "This is my favourite song! Let's dance!"
Horatio was startled. He hadn't even noticed the music that had been playing in the background all evening; his normally razor-sharp senses were all focused in one direction. Marisol grabbed his hand and pulled him through to the living room. It was a Latin number and she started dancing energetically. Horatio didn't consider himself to have two left feet, but dancing wasn't something he did often. However, he got caught up in the moment and soon the pair were twirling, gyrating; hands joined and feet expertly moving in time to the music, both firmly entrenched in each other's personal space. After several fast-paced numbers, the CD player randomly chose a quieter song and Marisol snuggled up to Horatio for a slow-dance. Horatio felt like he was on fire; he was sure that heat must be radiating off him in waves, but Marisol showed no signs of wilting. Arms encircled around each other, the pair gently swayed from side to side and slowly rotated on the spot. Marisol tilted her face upwards.
"Thank you for having dinner with me tonight, Lieutenant," she breathed into his ear.
"My pleasure, ma'am," Horatio murmured against her cheek. He tightened his arms around her, never wanting to let go.
Marisol gazed up at him and looked into his eyes, their faces inches apart. Impulsively, Horatio lowered his face towards hers and brushed his lips against Marisol's, her mouth tasted sweet from the wine and dessert. She returned the kiss hungrily, her lips parting and her tongue eagerly seeking his. Horatio moaned and crushed Marisol against his chest, kissing her fiercely, although somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that she was fragile. He then gently pulled away, regretting what he was going to say next. But he knew that if he didn't leave now, he wouldn't leave at all.
"Marisol," he whispered. "I think I should probably go home now."
A look of shock flitted across Marisol's face.
"I thought you wanted me!" she whispered back, looking dismayed. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No no no, sweetheart, not at all!" Horatio hastened to assure her, distraught at the look on her face.
"Did I misread the signals?" Marisol was barely audible and Horatio thought he saw a glimmer of tears in those beautiful brown eyes. Inwardly, he cursed himself for being such a fool.
"Sweetheart, no. Listen to me. You did not misread the signals. Can you not feel what you are doing to me?" Horatio gently hugged her hips to his, so that she could feel him hard against her. Marisol's eyes widened and a small gasp escaped her parted lips. Horatio could feel his resolve beginning to weaken.
"Marisol," he said huskily, "there is nothing more that I want to do right now other than carry you to your bedroom and make love to you for the rest of the night."
Marisol flushed pink but didn't look away.
"I want you to," she whispered.
"Marisol," Horatio tried again. "When two people realise how they feel about each other, there is a kind of magic, an electric charge between them that usually disappears once they go to bed together because there are no secrets left. I'd just like to feel that magic a little longer."
"But what if we don't have time?" Marisol whispered urgently. "This leukemia is aggressive and your job is dangerous. What if we miss our chance?"
As she said this, Marisol slipped two fingers in between the buttons of Horatio's shirt and gently caressed his bare skin. Horatio closed his eyes for fear of them falling out of his head and he felt his resolve slip even further. He opened his eyes and cupped her face in his hands.
"Sweetheart," he began, "sweetheart, you are strong and you will beat this. And I will be right there beside you. We will have time, I promise." He leaned down and gently kissed her lips, before reluctantly letting go.
"Ok," Marisol agreed. They stepped apart, still facing each other, holding hands. "When can I see you again?"
"Whenever you want, sweetheart," Horatio responded, "so long as I'm not in the field."
"Ok," Marisol whispered again. She led him by the hand to the front door and opened it. "I'll see you later then."
"Until next time," Horatio responded.
After one last lingering kiss on the doorstep, Marisol reluctantly closed the door behind him. Horatio walked back to the Hummer and climbed in.
He sat there for a few moments before switching on the ignition, taking deep breaths to stop his head spinning and his heart pounding. Never had he fallen in love with a woman so hard and so fast. His love for Yelina had been unrequited, but it had been gradual and only after both of them had believed Raymond to be dead. This felt like an atomic bomb had gone off in his face. He didn't know whether it was because she was forbidden fruit; she was young, she was Eric's sister, she was ill. Did he just want what he couldn't have? Was it because she was vulnerable and fragile and he wanted to protect her? Was it simply chemistry? Or was it a mixture of all three? Whatever it was, Horatio knew that he had never felt this way about any woman before and knowing that time could indeed be very short, resolved to give her his whole heart, no matter how much it hurt when he finally did lose her.
He turned the key in the ignition and the Hummer roared to life. Horatio had come to Marisol's tonight with the steely resolution that he would not bed the young woman. Having successfully achieved this, he cursed himself inwardly, not for the first time that night, backed out of the driveway and disappeared into the night.