Chapter 18

While Sara showered, Grissom picked up the journal she had been reading earlier in the day and flipped through it. He's already read this issue. He wondered how else he could occupy himself until Sara got out of the shower . . . wet . . . and slippery. He tried to shake the lascivious thoughts out of his head, but they had dug their claws in deep and weren't going anywhere. With a sigh, Grissom began to putter around the kitchen, wiping here, dusting there.

He heard the shower turn off. Good, now he could stop thinking about her in there and worry about getting himself clean.

The phone rang. Automatically, Grissom reached to answer it, then froze with his hand a foot from the receiver. This wasn't his phone – he couldn't answer Sara's phone! What if it were someone from work? His heart was pounding and the phone was still ringing. After 3 rings, he heard the bathroom door bang open.

"Don't hang up! I'm coming!" she shouted, apparently to the phone. Sara skidded to a stop in front of Grissom, apparently unaware that she was dressed in only a towel and her hair was dripping water onto the floor. Snatching the receiver, she tried to slow her breathing before she spoke.

Grissom leaned against the wall, clandestinely enjoying the view Sara presented as she spoke to whoever was on the phone. "Hello?" A pause. "Oh . . . hi Nicky."

When he realized who it was, Grissom's eyebrows drew together and he shook his head at Sara. "Don't tell him I'm here," he mouthed. She responded with a punch on his arm and a scowl.

"I know," she mouthed back, then turned her attention back to the phone. "Yeah I'm here. What? . . . No, I, uh, don't. Yeah, I'm going to catch a ride with Grissom." Even from a few feet away Grissom could hear Nick's surprised exclamation. "Oh come on, Nick," Sara continued. "You know I wouldn't tell you even if we did have some sort of Grissom-Sara conspiracy going on, so you can just stop asking." As she mentioned a conspiracy, Sara wiggled her eyebrows at Grissom, smiling slightly.

"Nick . . . hey, shut up for a minute, motor-mouth. I've gotta go. I've got, something cooking that I need to watch . . . yeah. Okay, see you later. Bye." As Sara hung up the phone, she harrumphed at Grissom. "Like I didn't know not to tell him you were standing in my kitchen with me?" she asked sarcastically.

He shrugged. "You never know." He paused, trying to keep his eyes on Sara's face. "Um . . . did you realize you were, uh, not dressed?"

Sara looked down. "Oh. Oh no! Uh, excuse me while I go put on some clothes."

Grissom smirked. "Have I ever told you how lovely you look in a towel, Miss Sidle?"

"No, I don't believe so."

"Well, you do. Of course," he added, "you'd look even lovelier out of that towel."  Sara's jaw dropped. Before she could say anything, he gripped her shoulders lightly. "Or out of anything else," Grissom whispered, and kissed her.

It hadn't been a demanding kiss, Sara decided a few minutes later as she dressed, listening to Grissom whistle in the shower. By most people's standards, it was probably even a child's chaste kiss. But between her and Grissom? Anything but childish. Anything but chaste. It had been an exploration and an acknowledgement. And it had been the most perfect kiss of her life, because it was a quintessentially-Grissom kiss.