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A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 7
The bathroom door opened and he watched from the shower as she sat hot tea next to the sink. She wore his shirt. Grissom was always surprised with how neat and tidy Sara was with her things. The bathroom showed only her small travel bag with her personal things in it. She always hung up her clothing; unlike his that were strewn around the room and draped over chairs and left on the floor.
"Come in with me," he said as she leaned against the sink. She smiled as she hung his shirt on a hook.
Warm water running off a body caused giggles and slippery touching and desire. When he held her against his hips, her hands around his neck, he did not notice the tremor in her body or the tears in her eyes as he kissed her. She would not agree to marry him, but she knew without doubt she had found the only person she would ever love this way.
By the time Grissom wrapped her in one of the robes and laughed when she said "Who knows how many people have worn this before me," she was smiling. He put his head against her neck.
"It smells clean to me." Neither wore a robe long enough for it to matter as he pushed it from her shoulders. For a while the two wrapped together in a lovers tangle of sheets and warmth as the city lights came on, workers left jobs for homes, and restaurants opened for dinner.
Sara no longer refused to think of the four letter word; she kept it as a constant thought as he moved his hands and lips around her body. This was making love, she thought. This was being in love, she knew.
"How can we do this, Grissom?"
He had reached that point of complete, total contentment that men often brag about when describing sex. Sara was limp and relaxed against his chest when she said her words.
"Stamina."
She pushed her face against his neck. "I mean, how can we do this—continue to meet then part for weeks? Come to San Francisco. You can work there."
It was an idea he had already played with in his mind—and dismissed. He loved his work and his co-workers and Las Vegas and the lab. The Las Vegas Crime Lab was spending a tremendous amount of money on its way to becoming one of the top accredited labs in the country. He wanted to be there, to put his mark on the process. He would get Sara to Las Vegas. He had waited this long, he had lots of leave, and San Francisco was a short flight. He would get her to move.
"We have time, Sara. This is only the beginning."
Later, after another shower, when she walked out in her red dress, he had serious doubts about taking her into a dinner with his colleagues from the seminar. There was no way to hide her legs, her long, elegant neck adorned with a simple chain, or that smile that spread across her face when she looked at him. She was, he decided, simply stunning.
"I think you need a coat," he said.
"I thought we were going upstairs."
"We are, but I need to cover you up!"
When they entered the restaurant at the top of the hotel, every eye converged on the couple. Several, who had realized Grissom and Sara were together, grinned and dropped their face or shifted their gaze. Gil Grissom had found a woman, obviously, a smart woman because most of those at the meeting had not suspected a romantic attachment between the two. Going into the dining room, not one person doubted the sexual attraction between the two.
The men saw a beautiful young woman in a red dress, her dark hair pulled up with a few long curls failing around her face. Those who managed to look past her face fell in love with the rest of her body and they all knew Grissom was the luckiest man in the room tonight.
The few women in the room, including Margaret Walker dressed in a designer black gown, recognized beauty and style when it appeared. Sara Sidle, the young woman who listened more than she talked, who wore hiking boots to the museum, who quietly watched as the group had partied the night before, even lending a hand to several as they stumbled and slid to the hotel, had metamorphosed into a butterfly. For female entomologists that was their ultimate compliment. Grissom, whom they had known for years, had found his Queen Alexandra's Birdwing. A couple of the women hoped he was smart enough to realize what he held in his hand.
The dinner was one for remembering previous meetings, for planning future ones, for discussions of trips and research in an informal setting. It was easy, Sara thought, to see why they met every year and by now, even the first-time attendees were networking. She watched and listened. Occasionally, Grissom's hand would find hers, or she would feel his hand on her back or his fingers sought to lace with hers.
When they heard music from another part of the restaurant, Grissom rose, taking her hand, making polite excuses for leaving the party, and hearing chuckles and comments from others, replied with laughter. "I'm going to dance." He knew he was the luckiest man in the room.
Sara had danced with Grissom before—in a vineyard, at the wedding. Each time, she had been surprised at how graceful he moved, how easy it was to follow his lead, and, most of all, how it felt for his arm to circle her waist and his hand to cover hers as he held it against his chest. They managed three songs before eyes met and an empty room meant more to them than the dance floor.
"You are beautiful, Sara." She stood at the window with a glass of water in her hand. She did not drink much alcohol, he noticed. Even last night, when bottles of wine were passed, she rarely filled her glass. Yet, she told him alcohol kept her awake. "Can you sleep tonight?"
She smiled as he wrapped an arm around her. "I can." She kissed him. "Thank you, Grissom." He looked perplexed. "For this. For getting me here. I know you talked to my boss."
"It was his decision. I just provided the invitation." His hand caressed her face. "Sara, come to Las Vegas. Live with me."
She turned her face to the window, blinking rapidly several times. He noticed the downturn of her mouth before she bit her lip trying to keep her chin from quivering.
"What's wrong, Honey?" Her sophisticated look tonight belied her age but in an instant he saw the youth and uncertainty in her face.
