AH, THAT MOUTH

CHAPTER FOUR

Grissom tried to sleep late Sunday but he was too restless. He paced his hotel room, not knowing what to do. Go over his notes? He had them memorized. Watch TV? Read a journal? Grissom's thoughts kept wandering to Sara and what she might be doing. Sleeping? Her brown hair splayed across the pillow, a skimpy tank top riding up, her lips...ah those lips...slightly parted. He took his cell phone and called everyone in turn back at the lab. Only Catherine and Brass were awake, and neither were doing much, just going over case files. He asked about their cases but when Catherine began to ask personal questions, hearing a different tone in his voice, he begged off and hung up. Then he apologized to Nick and Warrick for waking them up.

Rats! That only took an hour! Now what? I could go to...or maybe...but I'd rather do that with...Sara. Sara. I just met her, what, 2 days ago? And I...and I...I miss her.

He went out on the tiny balcony and looked at the view, idly watching the pedestrians and traffic.

Is that? That looks like Sara! Grissom dashed inside, grabbed his shoes, put them on in the elevator, and ran out the lobby to the street wildly. His hair was ruffled, shirttails flapping, but he didn't care. He whipped his head around trying to catch sight of that brown-haired girl, but couldn't find anyone who looked remotely like her. Sighing, he returned to his room, showered, dressed more properly, and went for a walk. Idly, he gazed at store windows as he strode by, cell phone secured in his jacket pocket. Hmm. Maybe I'll buy her a little present. Grissom brightened at the thought, finally having a purpose. What, though? Way too soon for jewelry. Clothes? What, lingerie? Please. You're a dirty old man. Am I? Is she too young? He glowered, thinking hard. Never mind that now. She seems interested. Back to a little gift. Flowers? A book? Music? Art? I don't know what her apartment is like...what she would need. What would Sara like?

What would Sara like?

Sara, meanwhile, was having almost as much trouble concentrating as Gris. She had fixed herself a pot of coffee and was lounging at her desk in pajamas with a stack of notes. The file with her term paper was open on the word processor before her, but could she string an intelligent sentence together? No. Her thoughts wandered. Would it be that wrong to date a professor? I'm over 18. What's the worst that could happen? I'll have to ask...ask Grissom. What's he doing now? Could I call? He did say I could anytime...but everyone says that...don't want to sound desperate. But I am desperate! She scrolled to the end of the file and worked on the bibliography, as that at least was fairly mindless.

As the hours passed both became more fixated on the thought of the other, and struggled to resist or give in to the impulse to make that phone call. Grissom finally decided on what to give Sara, and with that as an excuse, set down his packages and dialed her number.

"Hi, Sara."

"Grissom!" She sounded so delighted that his heart filled with gladness.

"What are you doing?"

"Staring at a computer screen. Trying to get up the nerve to call you." Sara made a throaty chuckle, and Grissom was charmed.

Just like I was! "Want to take a break?"

"Love to. What do you have in mind?" Have in mind? Taking you to bed...

"A picnic."

"Great idea. Where?"

"Well, I was hoping you could suggest a park or..."

"I know just the place," Sara said brightly, and rattled off directions. Before long, Grissom's taxi pulled up and Sara grinned at him and grabbed a bag. He gave her a dopey smile in return and let her lead them to a picnic bench. Sara had already spread a plastic tablecloth and anchored it with a handful of utensils, glasses, and condiments.

"I didn't know what you were bringing..."

"You did well," Grissom told her. He dug out the food–a bag full of fresh fruit, an assortment of cheeses, a hard sausage, a loaf of French bread, and with a flourish, a bottle of white wine. He even remembered a bottle opener. Sara watched him pull out the cork. Their eyes smiled at each other as they clinked glasses.

"A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou," Grissom quoted.

"Beside me singing in the Wilderness/ Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! Omar Khayyam," Sara supplied.

Grissom's eyebrow went up and he looked impressed. "You know poetry, too?"

"Some," she answered. "I read when I can't sleep."

"Oh." Grissom thought of her in bed again, and became tongue-tied and felt tingly inside.

"This is...really nice," she murmured, and they sipped.

Sara took a large peach, sniffed it appreciatively, and bit into it. "Umm," she moaned in pleasure at the taste. Grissom moaned inwardly at the sound and watched her bite into it, entranced. Watched her wide pink lips part, pearly teeth bite, and tongue emerge. Then she would kiss the flesh, sucking at the juice...Who knew eating could be so erotic? Even with the peach juice dripping down her chin, she managed to eat delicately and with grace.

"What?" Sara said, wiping off her fingers in a napkin.

"Huh? Nothing."

Her eyebrows knit briefly, but she decided it wasn't worth pursuing. "Hey, um," she began, snagging a piece of Edam with long elegant fingers "Yesterday?"

"Yes?"

"When that professor saw us..."

"Oh." Grissom looked away, feeling ashamed. "That."

"Yeah. Is it...a problem, being seen together?"

"Yes...no, uh, I don't really know. I'm sorry–about my reaction." He thought for a moment, acknowledging her forgiving nod. "I don't see why it would be, really. You're over 18...right?" he asked suddenly, looking at her.

Sara laughed. "Yes! I'm 25. Thank you."

"Twenty-five, right," he mused. "And I'm not on the faculty. I'll have to...inquire...about the policy. Discreetly. I hope it wouldn't affect these seminars. I enjoy them so...Of course, that depends on if you want to keep seeing me?" he said in a rush, suddenly feeling insecure.

Sara smiled at him warmly. "I do."

TBC