A/N: And the story continues...on a Sunday!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 15

Sara's attempt to stay busy until Sunday meant that she washed her car, cleaned her small apartment, and shopped for necessities; all of that took her less than a day. She let her answering machine screen all calls—and she got two.

And neither was from Gil Grissom. The jerk. No, she thought with a laugh, he wasn't a jerk. A jerk didn't kiss her like he did nor hug her for nearly an hour while standing in her apartment. She smiled as she remembered the way he had held her, his warm fingers on the back of her neck, the way he'd drawn her against him.

She walked for miles; she read—or attempted to read—a book. After ten pages, she had no recollection of what she had read. She watched two movies and then cleaned her apartment again.

Finally, on Saturday, he called, setting a time for her to be ready on Sunday.

"We'll spend the day outside," he said. "Prepare for a hike. I'll bring everything we'll need. I mean—like food and water."

The rest of the day she spent going through her clothes like a teenager dressing for a prom. It was silly, she told herself; she'd wear the same jeans and shirt he'd seen dozens of times but it gave her something to do. A hike wasn't a surprise. No, the surprise had already happened—and she had no idea what it meant. Or if it meant anything. He had kissed her before and then it had been as if nothing had happened.

Late Saturday night, she showered, dressed for bed, and curled under covers with another book. The next thing she heard was a steady rapping on her door.

Bleary-eyed, pulling a thin robe over the skimpy nightshirt she had worn to bed, she stumbled to the door, swearing about oversleeping. She managed to yank the door open, rake a hand through her hair, and plaster a smile on her face in the few seconds it took her to focus on Gil Grissom, recently from a shower, wearing a blue shirt, and holding a cardboard cup carrier. He smiled as the robe drooped off her shoulder.

He was early, he knew. They had made a good beginning, he thought, as he juggled coffee cups and bagels to knock on her door. And today, he had made plans, packed everything needed for a hike at Mt. Charleston, and—and then Sara had opened her door.

There was a great deal to be said for a sleepy woman in a rumpled white shirt falling off her shoulder to reveal—his eyes quickly moved to her face.

Smiling, he asked, "Did I get you up?"

Sara stepped back; he stepped inside.

She said, "I—I slept late."

"I'm early." He followed her progress to the kitchen and when she turned, he handed her a cup of coffee. "I brought bagels, too."

She took one sip of the hot brew, managed another smile—this one with obvious embarrassment—before saying, "I can't believe I overslept. I was supposed to be up and ready."

She smelled fresh, clean, and—God, he wanted to taste her, he thought. Without a word, he moved closer to her, took the cup from her hand, and locked his arms around her body. Before he could think—he did not want either of them to think—his lips met hers. The taste of her mouth, warm and soft, caused him to groan. He slipped his tongue between her lips; her body went stiff, then melted, softening against his like candle wax touched by a flame.

Sara's thoughts were about dreams—was she dreaming. She had always had vivid dreams but this—she didn't think it was possible to feel so much in a dream. And she could taste him—really taste him—a mingling of warm desire and blatant lust. Delicious. His mouth was hot; his hands were warm.

"I need to wake up," she managed to say as his mouth left hers to cruise over her throat.

"You are awake." He had to touch her, however unfair his advantage, so he cupped her breast in his hand, molding the firmness with his palm as he brushed a thumb, feather-light over its nipple.

Sara had never been the fainting type, but she was afraid this might be a first. As she made to take a step back, Grissom said, "Good morning, Sara. Have you missed me?" He did not let her go but kept holding her hands as their bodies parted.

She giggled, dropped her head quickly before she lifted her eyes to meet his. "I haven't given you a thought." He looked wonderful, she thought as her eyes flickered from his face to his shoes. His hair was still damp from a shower. The blue shirt matched his eyes, and he was wearing a pair of jeans—not tight fitting but close-fitting enough to show—her eyes went back to his, quickly.

He smiled.

She stepped back into his arms. "Good morning, Grissom."

"Gil—call me Gil." He skimmed a finger along her spine. He could tell she was sensitive there by the way her eyes darkened and the pulse quickened in her neck.

"Gil," she said, low, husky, in a manner that made him want to carry her to bed. Smiling, she added, "We have a lot to—to discuss." Twisting, she found her coffee cup where he had placed it. "We need to—to talk about us and work." She sighed, took a sip of coffee, and returned the cup to the counter. "I've decided I'll move to day—or swing. I know I'll have to apologize to Catherine."

Vigorously shaking his head, he said, "No—no, you are not doing that. You are staying with me!" His hands moved to her upper arms and then to her face, gently caressing her with his fingers. "I've been thinking—if it's okay with you—if you think we can work it out…"

She smiled, nodding her head, agreeing and interrupting before he finished. "We don't have to tell anyone—and keep working together?" Her smile broadened.

"We won't be able to go to the movies—or parties—together."

"I don't care!" Sara whispered. "Grissom—Gil—I don't care!" Her hands cupped his face. Her eyes were warm as she leaned to touch his lips with hers.

Grissom wasn't sure who moved first, but their mouths met in a crushing kiss that went on and on; persuasive, invasive, spreading an ache that felt oddly satisfying to both. Finally, he turned his face into her hair. What was she doing to him that tied him up in knots? Yet, for the first time in months—in years—he felt at ease. He pulled her tighter; dear God, he thought, she fit against him as well as a hand in an Aspinal glove. And why wouldn't she?

Quietly, he said, "We'll figure things out."

"Okay," softly, she laughed. "We'd better figure this out pretty fast."

His mouth came back to hers as they began a side-stepping turn. Her sigh became a low groan as his hands roamed across her back. He did not know how he could continue to draw breath when her body trembled against his. Not when he heard the small, needy sounds in her throat. Not while his body was reacting with a flame of fire.

Her hand trembled as fingers touched his shirt. Somehow, the white robe she wore was on the floor; for all intents, she was almost naked in a thin shirt and what appeared to be silky boxer shorts—very short.

With a muffled oath, he stepped away from her, saying, "I—I came prepared for a hike." His fingers raked through his hair.

Their eyes met and Sara managed to smile. "And I thought you were being romantic."

"Keep it up," he said in a strained voice, "and I'll do something—it won't be a hike."

Her eyes traveled to the front of his pants; one eyebrow lifted, the corners of her mouth turned up, teasing him with her eyes as their gaze met. Leaning to his face, she ran nibbling kisses from his chest to his ear. As she caught the lobe of his ear with her teeth, her hand touched his—his groin; specifically, his erection. Her palm, firmly against him, traced upward.

"I—I don't think a hike is what we need right now, Gil." Her voice was a seductive growl.

His blood roared in his ears. She was kissing his jaw as she unbuttoned his shirt, turning him in circles as they made their way to her rumpled bed—a colorful mess of reds and yellows and too many pillows and the scent of Sara.

With a mind that was suddenly numb and awkward, he managed to get her to the bed and, to steady himself, he kissed her hair, her forehead, her nose, but did not sit on her bed. Instead, he bent on one knee before her.

"I—how do I say this? I—I did not come prepared for this," he said as he nodded toward the bed. "As much as I—I—we…"

Sara's hands trembled so much she had trouble unbuttoning his shirt. "Take your shoes off, dear." Giving up on the shirt, trembling fingers touched his face, threaded through his hair. "I've had several days to get prepared—so I did." She pressed her lips together for a few seconds before saying, "I've waited a long time for you, Dr. Gilbert Grissom."

In a quick and agile move, she scooted across the small bed, opened a drawer, and pulled a small box from it. She held it out to him, saying, "I've been on birth control pills for years—it's just—it's easier to manage things that way. But I wanted you to—to be—to feel protected."

His hand closed over the package. "Sara," he whispered. Her hand was still trembling. His hand covered hers. "Are you okay with—with this?"

"Yes," she said.

His knuckle skimmed over her shoulder as he crawled on the bed; powerful desire curled a knot in his stomach. He traced a fingertip along the edge of her shirt; gently, he followed the swell of her breast.

"God, Griss—Gil."

"I've spent hours dreaming of you," he whispered. His shoes hit the floor one at a time. Stretching beside her, he ran his finger to the end of her thin shirt and then lifted it to touch the soft skin underneath. Rose petals, he thought, her skin felt like rose petals. "I want all of you, Sara. I want to spend hours," he chuckled. "Make that years—getting to know you." His hand flattened against her stomach before his fingers lifted the waistband of her shorts. "All of you."

Sara's eyes were wide and dark. She couldn't move. She felt as if her body had turned to water, rushing water in a churning whirlpool of emotions. Her voice was silenced by emotions as he touched her, looked at her with eyes that mesmerized and captivated her.

His fingers brushed, stroked, caressed, and explored. His lips followed his fingers up her arms, over her shoulders, across her flat belly, and, finally, to her breasts.

When her body could take no more, she grabbed his shirt, ripping buttons as she removed it. "Now!"

He grabbed her wrists and ran their entwined fingers over her body as he touched his mouth to hers. Patiently, erotically, he deepened the kiss until her hands went limp.

Whispering, "I want you under me," he unsnapped his jeans and with her help, fumbled out of them, his boxers, and his socks in seconds.

Exercising control he did not know he had, he managed to keep himself from plunging into her seeking quick release. Quickly, he found the small box, ripped it open, and retrieved one of the condoms. At that point, Sara took over, peeling the wrapper away.

When her hands touched him, he knew his heart lurched as her eager, nimble fingers wrapped around his erection before she slipped the close-fitting covering over his penis. An unexpected sound escaped his mouth as her warm fingers gently caressed him before returning to stroke his back.

The gentle, intimate caress helped him remember that passion could outstrip tenderness, so, while blood thundered in his veins, he loved her slowly.

Sara discovered that a woman could drown in sweetness as the hands of a gentle man moved over her body. His lips and tongue flicked over her skin creating paths of ecstasy that she had never known. Her back arched as his fingers and tongue found the swelled bud of her passion. Her fingers twisted into his hair, tugging, pulling, as he tasted her.

When she thought she could take no more, when words trembled from her mouth, when she cried out his name, he brought her to the edge of climax; her body convulsed and reached the crest of a wave. Then, watching her, kissing her, tasting her, feeling her muscles quiver, heat to heat, he slipped inside her hot, moist passage. Her groan of delight echoed his own.

She rose to meet him, arms wrapped around him, to take him deep. At first they moved gently, treasuring the long-awaited intimacy, both willing to prolong it, until desire overwhelmed. Sara's eyes closed as she tumbled into the culmination of passion and pleasure. As she swam back into awareness, she knew the moment had come.

"Yes," she whispered as her body responded, continuing its rippling waves of climax, pulling him into her body. She felt his orgasm, the intense tightening of muscles, before she heard his voice.

"Sara!" Her name exploded from his lips as that long held knot was finally released.

A/N: More to come...thank you for reading! And another chapter-soon! Your reviews are always appreciated.