Sands' hand was on Grace's bare back as they waited to be seated in one of the hotel's restaurants. He moved his fingers just enough to send a tingling sensation down her spine and throughout her body.
Once seated, Grace felt slightly more at ease, but not enough to ask Sands the question that was burning in her mind.
"So, I can't have my favorite dish, hm?"
"I'd rather you avoid any urges to shoot the cook, all right? Expand your pallet a little."
"Will dessert be worth missing my meal of choice?"
Grace smiled. "Maybe."
"I'm glad that you finally seem to be accepting the inevitable, Gracie."
Grace reached across the table and took his hand. "What if I told you that I'm not so sure about what you really could go through with?"
"Excuse me?" he asked, slightly confused.
"Well," she said, tracing her finger along his wrist, "what if I think that you're all talk and a few scant actions?"
He quickly reversed roles, taking her hand almost forcefully. He brought her wrist to his lips and, at the most tantalizingly slow rate, let his tongue caress her flesh. Grace all but gasped at the contact. Sands lowered her hand and smiled. "First of all, I can assure you that I don't say anything that I can't follow through with…and secondly, I think I just found one of your pleasure zones, Gracie."
"Are you ready to spill your soul?" Grace watched as one of Sands' eyebrows rose over the brim of his dark glasses.
"Uh, why?"
"Well, you said yourself that there's an insane amount of sexual, um, well, everything really, between us, and I'm certainly not going to say, 'Sorry, not gonna happen,' because to be perfectly honest with you I really wan…"
"Have you looked over your menus?" a waiter interrupted in his thick accent.
Sands turned his head. "I'm blind, gimme a few more minutes," he said impatiently; he needed to know what Grace wanted to say. "Continue?"
She bit her lower lip. He doesn't care about more than what he's imagining. God knows I shouldn't care or… Thank God waiters always come to the table at the worst times – it worked out for once. This would just get far too messy for me… "I really want the Pollo Tropícal."
"No, no, Gracie. What were you going to say?"
"It's really not important…and far better left unsaid."
Sands frowned. "Thought I really had you."
So did I… "One step ahead, remember?"
"Sure. So, um, I can't see the menu. Order for me?"
"I can read what they…"
He smiled, feeling oddly…rejected. "I trust you."
When the waiter came back, Grace ordered Enchiladas Especiales for Sands and Pollo Tropícal for herself. She also ordered Tequila Sunrise for herself, causing Sands to whine like a child. The twosome tried to make small talk throughout the evening, but it failed. Sands knew that something was "off." This afternoon he and Grace seemed to be enjoying themselves thoroughly, but now…things were strained and terribly uncomfortable.
"Gracie, what's wrong?" Grace ignored his question. "I didn't think I pissed you off today. Am I wrong?"
"Sands," she said, her voice low, "there's some guy in a suit that's been staring a hole into the back of your head for the past twenty minutes."
"Sure he's not looking at you?" he smiled.
She nodded. "Positive. He looks kind of like – well, how I would typically think of some government agent like person…or a member of the mafia, kind of hard to tell the difference, you know?"
Sands swallowed. "Upstairs," he mouthed. Grace immediately stood and took his hand. Not having to pay a bill, they were able to leave when a large party passed their table. It wasn't until they reached the elevator that another word was spoken.
"Why did we leave?"
"Aside from the fact that our date was a bust?"
"Date?"
"You, me, dinner, no conversation, no chemistry…no banter. Remember that?"
"Aside from that," Grace said, sounding wounded.
"Well, I'm really not all that comfortable with suited men I can't see staring at me. I'm not in the best graces down here…" He chuckled at his word choice. "I'm not in any graces…" Silence. "Worth a try." The elevator doors opened and Grace led him down the hall at a quick pace. Once in their suite, Sands continued. "Government, cartel…either way, I just can't deal with it at the moment."
"You can't?" she asked, almost laughing. "You seem to damn confidant about everything else."
"You're screwing with me, Grace!" he yelled. "You've got my mind more fucked up than…" He heard her footsteps leave the room. The door to the balcony opened, then shut. Sands made his way to the door, hitting his leg on the coffee table on the way there. He opened the door and waited a minute before speaking.
"Go," Grace said, her voice trembling.
"Gracie," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, "I didn't mean to yell."
"Please…"
"What's bothering you? What changed since this afternoon, hm?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does. I like trading the innuendos and…brief physical contact…" His lips grazed her skin.
"Stop!" She pulled away from him, refusing to let a few threatening tears fall. "Who am I to you, Sands?"
"What?"
"You have never once asked me what I look like, you know that? You ask what I'm wearing and you flirt and you…you kiss…but, for all I know, you could be picturing…"
"That's what this is about?" he interrupted.
Grace turned to face him. "Yes. And don't say it doesn't matter because…"
Sands smiled and his voice softened. "Of course it matters."
***
Author's Note: Evil cliffy, I know, but I had to run and wanted to post at least this much. Next chapter is the chapter!