A/N: Thank you for continuing with us on this story!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 20

"You know, you don't have to sleep in the same bed together to have sex or…have romance."

Gil Grissom surfaced from a deep sleep, aware that he felt refreshed, invigorated. Sara had been right; he needed rest.

He opened his eyes and looked left to see Sara sitting in bed reading a book. Her hair, damp and curled from a shower, was pushed behind her ears so her silhouette was framed by lamp light. How was it possible, he thought, for a woman to appear delicate and simultaneously infused with spirit and energy? The combination was enchanting and arousing.

Finally—she had moved in, given up her small apartment; changed her mailing address to the lab. And most of the time, she went to sleep in the new king size bed they had purchased; occasionally, she moved to the other bedroom after a couple of hours—and sometimes, he'd follow.

He had teased her about it—did he snore, did he take all the bedcovers—and she had laughed saying she needed time to herself. "We've been living alone for so long," she shrugged, "I don't want to suffocate you."

There was a truth in what she said.

And today, in a house where a woman lay dead on a staircase, Sara had paid him back for his tease. They did not have to sleep together to have sex or to be romantic. Moving his arm, he reached across the bed.

"Did you sleep?"

She was already turning to him and whatever she saw must have satisfied her because she smiled. "You look rested." The book dropped as they scooted together.

"And you stayed."

Her fingers swept across his forehead and threaded into his hair. "The light didn't bother you." Her voiced uplifted and he wasn't sure if she had made a statement or if she had asked a question.

"You were right—I needed to sleep." Bending his arm to support his head, he touched her face and leaned over to kiss her. "I think we need a romantic date."

A quick look of puzzlement crossed her face before she smiled again. "We are romantic. Right here." She kissed him. "We don't need a date."

"Yes, we do—I know just the place."

He insisted and she complied with his request to dress while he made a phone call which lasted much longer than a call for a reservation should take. She got the impression he was doing more than calling about dinner.

She did not ask where they were going—probably the place he called "the club". He had talked about it before—a place where he played poker with a bunch of older men. Most people did not know the place existed, hidden away from all the glitz and neon lights of the Strip. And the place served food—she wasn't sure how this 'date' would work in a private gambling club, but she was willing because he wanted romance.

As she came out of the bedroom, Grissom turned to her with an approving grin. "Clyde always has something good to eat—even this early in the day. But looking at you—maybe I'd rather stay here."

He had dressed casually in a silk blue shirt and for a few seconds, she thought her black slacks and black shirt looked dated and worn. But his sweet compliment gave her a surge of confidence. "Is this okay? I can change."

"You are beautiful, Sara."

The drive did not take long and, instead of parking in a lot, Grissom pulled into an alley where a young man appeared when he sounded the horn.

"A romantic date doesn't happen if one has to step around trash," he said with a smile as the young man opened Sara's door.

Sara nodded, choosing to remain silent as they exited the car. On the sidewalk, she felt his fingertips touch her back.

He said, "We shouldn't run into anyone we know—but just in case—do we have a story?"

Shrugging slightly, Sara said, "We came to play poker?" A quiet laugh rippled from her throat.

Grissom chuckled, "Sounds good—women do come in to play."

"Invited?"

Another chuckle, "Yes, invited—and invited to dine." He could feel tension along her back where his fingers made contact. He added, "Enjoy it—for me. I pay monthly dues to belong and never get my money's worth. The food is good."

The place was old school, Sara thought, as a doorman opened the door and ushered them to a dimly lit dining room after greeting both of them. A hand signal from Grissom got them a small booth with high partitions separating each table and a fast waiter—or, perhaps, Sara thought, they were the only two eating at this time of day. She could not hear any other sounds indicating others shared the dining room.

And there were no menus—the waiter asked if "dinner was appropriate" and when Grissom nodded, the man described several entrees before taking a breath. Sara bit her lip to hide her smile as she realized everything he had mentioned were vegetarian dishes.

Sara knew why the phone call had taken so long. "I'll have the lasagna," Sara said.

"The same," Grissom said, adding, "What about stuffed mushrooms? We'll have those. And salads," he glanced at Sara, adding, "fruit salads—I know those are good."

The waiter left and Grissom lifted his eyes to meet hers. Reaching across the table, she took his hand. "You arranged this in a few minutes?"

Grissom nodded. "I knew steak and fried chicken wouldn't work."

Sara smiled her appreciation, keeping her hand closed over his as she looked around the dining room. Candlelight speared from the table; soft lights were tucked among plants. A beautiful arrangement of fresh flowers sat on a round table in the center of the room. Heavy drapery, embroidered with decorative designs, covered the walls.

"Does it always look this way?" She whispered.

Nodding, he said, "As long as I've been paying dues."

Sara pursed her lips before asking him, "So, you've brought other dates here?"

The waiter arrived at the table with wine; the ritual tasting and pouring took several minutes which gave Grissom time to compose an answer.

"I've brought two dates here over the years," he held up two fingers as he spoke. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not—not much on dating."

Sara squeezed his hand before lifting her wine glass, tapping his with a quiet "Salute."

For several minutes, they were silent until Sara asked about the tapestries hanging on the walls. "Is there a story—or just decorative?"

"Oh, there's a story—not sure how much of it is true or legend." He related the history as he had been told—a founding member of the club had purchased the tapestries in Europe, brought them to Vegas only to have his wife hate them at first sight.

"So, that's how the club got started—or maybe a few men were already playing poker some place—but the tapestries needed a home, so—this place provided a home."

After that, conversation, mostly about work, came easily until their food arrived at the table.

Their dinner was artfully arranged on gold rimmed china plates and as Sara studied the decorative gold, she realized it was etched with elaborate script spelling "The Club" around the plate. She tasted her food, nodding her head when Grissom asked if she liked it.

A few bites later, she said, "This is delicious—is it always this good?"

"Most of the time I eat at the bar—and the food is always good." Chuckling, he added, "Even the steak is good." His fingers grazed her arm as she ate. "Thank you for coming."

They managed to eat most of their food before the waiter placed a tray of desserts on the table. Grissom waved him away after he saw the gleam in Sara's eyes.

"We'll eat all four," he explained to the waiter. A few seconds later, he lifted the first spoonful from the lemon tart to Sara's mouth. "No one else is here," he said with a grin. "I'm going to feed all four to you."

When she began to protest, his mouth crushed against hers.

He had to admit that nothing had put this giddiness in his belly in years—maybe decades, he thought. He had forgotten what it was like to sit across a candlelit table with a woman and talk—enjoy a good meal. To watch her lips curve at something he said.

As he fed her another dessert, a chocolate layer cake, the atmosphere in the small space seemed to change. Her tongue touched the corner of her mouth and the deep, breathtakingly intimate awareness he got was a product of his overheated imagination, he knew, but it felt very good.

A/N: Thanks for reading and for reviewing-more coming!