Here's a second one for today! It's Saturday, cold wind blowing here, football on television--so here's another one--get a cold drink and enjoy!!

A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 8

"Me? You—you love me?" It was not disbelief but astonishment in her voice.

"Have I ever said anything I did not mean?"

She was too stunned to say anything that resembled a coherent response. She touched fingertips to his jaw and moved her hands around his neck moving one hand into his hair. As he pulled her against his body, she kissed him with an urgency that made him groan, a low, husky sound from deep within his chest. She could feel him pressed against her thigh, rigid with desire.

One of his hands moved from her back to hip and dipped lower, finding evidence of her own desire, damp and aching for him. She kissed his neck, moving slowly along his chest until she found his nipple. He sucked in his breath and his fingers clenched her hair.

"Wait," he whispered. He stroked her and watched her face. She smiled and, as he continued, her body tightened at his touch. When she thought she could no long wait for him, her back arched against his hand, he swiftly moved hands to her hips and plunged deep inside her.

She knew she gasped; she heard him do the same as a soft cry came from her own mouth as waves of pleasure rippled through her body. She belonged to him. At this moment she knew, she would know this if she were never with him again. There would never be another man who held this power over her; she would do what he asked, wanted or demanded—but he would not have to ask of her. She knew his will, she knew his mind, she knew his passion. In a brief moment, she was frightened beyond words, afraid of what this power could do to her. It passed and she held him until he slept against her.

Grissom had promised himself to say words to Sara to show her what she meant to him. He could talk to her for hours or they could sit or walk without saying anything. He had found a companion, a lover, one who understood him, made no demands, who was loving in ways that men searched years to find. Yet, he found it difficult to tell her how he felt. With her sudden absence, he became obsessed with telling her—as soon as she returned. With his decision, he had been able to sleep. And she appeared, opening the door to their room, coming to him with needs that met his own.

He watched her as excitement and passion mounted and heard her cry as they had tumbled into a sparkling whirlpool. He knew why she loved the water. It was the rushing feeling of passion, the rising and swirling of waves, and the crash of opposing forces of water against the shore. He was lost. How could he ever live without this woman? He closed his eyes and slept with his head against her chest, his arms wrapped heavily around her, and, before passing into the realm of sweet dreams, he felt her lips against his hair.

They woke much later when the lodge maid knocked on their door. She delivered a message; they could enjoy the day and catch a ride on the last helicopter out today—the local council wanted to thank Sara for going with the little girl and offered an invitation to lunch. They would not have to hike out of the canyon.

Grissom fell back in bed. "I think I might stay here until noon."

Sara nudged him with an elbow. "I want to swim one more time. So I remember the fun part."

"Bed with me isn't the fun part?" He asked. He heard a whisper of a sigh. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She was unsure what "it" meant—what he said to her in bed, the overnight trip to Flagstaff, the little girl taken into foster care for strangers to decide her fate, or whatever physical actions had occurred with this child to cause two adults to abandon her in a remote canyon.

She said, "I'm fine." She gave a smile, almost the same confidant smile she always presented as a public face. "I'm fine, I really am."

Grissom knew better but let it go. "Breakfast, then back to the old swimming hole. I want to see you dive again."

Sara dived, again and again. Grissom realized she was trying to work out her frustrations with the physical act of climbing to the ledge and taking a running leap into the air. She came out of the water with a smile on her face. And ten minutes later, she did it again. He had never seen the daredevil side of her, the relentless drive as she tried to forget whatever had happened overnight, or perhaps, it was to forget some event in her own young life.

Oh, god, he thought. Of course, that was it. She had delivered a child into the same system she had been in—another state, but it made no difference. A child had lost her parents without as much as a goodbye. Terrible, probably abusive parents, but parents, all the same. To be left alone, no history, no future, nothing to bind a child to family. He cursed again. And they still had lunch with the tribal council—to thank her for her help.