"That was a little…cruel," Grissom whispered in Sara's ear, his hand instinctively moving to the small of her back as they followed the maître d' to their table.
"And the snowball down my back wasn't? Or the cold shower?"
He pulled a face. "I told you. Those were accidents. And I made it up to you – both times as I recall."
"Then consider what just happened a lapse." Her lips twitched with mischief as looking over her shoulder she caught his eye and, her voice lowering to a husky whisper, added,"I look forward to making it up to you."
Grissom felt the heat rise inside him, and it wasn't because they were getting closer to the roaring wood fire. The maître d' stopped, set the two menus down on a table draped in white linen and set for two and, after lighting the tall, white candle in the centre, pulled the chair back for Sara. He took their coats, and finally they sat down.
Their eyes met, and they shared a complicit smile. Sara slipped off the tan oversized winter cardigan she'd put on over the bow blouse, draped it over the back of the chair, and picked up her menu. Grissom briefly wondered whether she'd specifically booked a table near the fireplace, hence her choice of outfit.
"Are we even now?" he asked, watching the firelight dance in her eyes as she perused her menu. "Or do I still need to watch my back?"
Sara looked up, the naughty twinkle in her eyes answer enough.
A happy smile spreading over his features, Grissom reached for his glasses and after slipping them on studied his own menu.
He couldn't wait.
