A/N: Sorry for the delay-real life keeps happening!

Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2

Chapter 15

He was late. And hot. And dusty. More than a little sweaty.

Traffic moved at a snail's pace around the city's market; when an opening appeared between a local bus and a battered red Volkswagen, he slammed his foot on the gas pedal angling to get the spot before it closed.

The truck just stalled and grinded its gears getting him exactly twelve inches before the space closed. His fingers tapped against the wheel as his foot worked the clutch. Traffic inched forward.

Ten minutes later, he bumped against the curb, opened the door, and tossed the keys to the attendant. The young man laughed as he caught the keys and said something.

Grissom quickly translated his words, waved, and hurried into the building.

Most days he would enjoy the moment of cooler air as he entered the historic building after leaving the sun baked street. He'd greet the men and women at the front desk, respond to the offer of a cool drink, and check his email at the hotel's business center. But today, he hurried by with a wave, noticing the grins on the faces of the men and the watchful eyes of the women.

He did not even respond; Sara had arrived.

Passing into the building's courtyard, he walked across well-tended grass and took the stairs two-at-a-time. The former convent-turned-hotel was built around several courtyards; his room overlooked a16th century stone water well where nuns had laundered clothes. Water continued to flow into hand-carved troughs long after the nuns disappeared. It was also the most private area in the place.

He rushed past several open arches to the corner door, a heavy, old-world crafted solid wood entrance that's only indication of the current century was a small card-reader attached to the wall. He already had the keycard in his hand…

~Sara had arrived several hours earlier, gotten a taxi at the airport, and arrived at the hotel to find she was expected and promptly shown to Grissom's room.

Located at the far end of an open hallway, overlooking a quiet courtyard, it was scrupulously clean and cool. A king sized bed was covered in white, a sitting alcove opened to a private balcony.

Sara's first thought was the original use of the room must have been for one of the high-ranking nuns but then decided it would have been a bedroom for a dozen novices after she read the historical card posted on the wall.

Glancing at her watch, she knew it would be hours before her husband arrived, so she unpacked and took a shower in a gleaming blue-tiled bathroom. As the water sluiced over her, she luxuriated for a moment or two with thoughts of Gil Grissom. He was here for five weeks, studying the mighty cochineal, the bug used for red dye, in one of its natural habitats.

In six months, he would go to Peru with the same research group. He was as excited as a small boy on Christmas day when the invitation had been extended; she dared not express disappointment that the call had not included her. But she wasn't really interested in insects of any kind. Quickly dismissing those thoughts, she rinsed and stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She carefully dried off, padding the large bruise on her hip—the bruise a remnant of a wrongly placed recent injection. A by-product for one of the reasons she'd flown in for a short-three-day visit.

She dressed in a thin white shirt and jeans and took a better look at the room. The furniture was old, showing an aged patina that mellowed the white walls and bed coverings. A window silhouetted a church bell tower. Pushing open the double windows, she placed her hand on the old stone ledge, surprised to find the surface was cool to her palms, and then she remembered thermal mass.

Standing at the window, she found the landmarks she'd heard about from Grissom as he had described the city. The cultural museum was next to the church she could see. Botanical gardens were behind the museum. Several blocks away the city center and a massive marketplace sprawled along several streets.

She had three days to explore before flying home; turning around, she put away her suitcase and pulled a book from her backpack. Opening a bottle of water, she settled into one of the chairs near the balcony…

The door whispered an airy breeze as it opened and by the time Grissom entered the room, Sara was standing with her back to the sunlight. He was smiling, arms outstretched, pulling her into his arms.

"So sorry, honey," he said as he inhaled her sweet smelling hair. "Traffic…"

"It's all right," she whispered right before kissing him on his moving lips.

And then he was kissing her, pressing their bodies together, and, very quickly, becoming aroused by holding her, by the sensation of her touch, her smell.

Pulling away, he smiled. "I've missed you every minute."

Sara giggled softly, leaning her forehead against his as her long fingers threaded his hair. "Don't lie. I know you don't think about me when you're elbow deep in bugs."

Chuckling, he knew he'd been caught in a small lie. "I've missed having you next to me. I've missed your body and your voice." Like a love-sick teenager, he wiggled his pelvis against hers.

It's beautiful here." She kissed him again, quickly, sweetly.

"And I'm dirty and sweaty and getting you that way." He pushed away, holding her at arm's length, adding, "Quick shower and I'm back—right here." He grinned, "Well, maybe not right here." His head tilted toward the bed. "Is it the right time?"

Sara kissed him a third time. "Perfect timing according to the experts." Her eyes widened; she said, "I'm primed and ready—shot full of hormones."

Keeping his word, Grissom was out of the shower in less than ten minutes, returning to the bedroom, a towel around his waist, as Sara was closing the billowy white curtains.

Taking her hand, he led her to the bed where she had folded bed coverings back and rearranged pillows.

"Supposed to be the quietest room." His hands were all over her body, lifting her shirt and pulling it over her head. They fell onto the bed; hands touched, stroked, and explored.

Grissom quickly lost the towel and reached for the snap on Sara's jeans.

"I have a bruise," she said quietly.

His hands slowed. "Work related?"

She shook her head. "I hit a blood vessel with an injection." She slipped her pants down to reveal a blue-black area the size of his palm on her backside.

Gently, Grissom touched the bruise. "This doesn't look good."

"Its fine," Sara assured him. "The nurse looked at it and decided to give me the rest of them."

"I should have been there."

Sara shook her head. "It happens. I'm here. We have three days. If this works, I should go home with a little bean."

His fingertips lightly traced the bruised area. "A bean?" He chuckled, saying, "Not sure that's a good analogy with all the beans we eat." His fingers moved to the lacy pink edge of her panties. "These are new."

Laughing quietly as his hands continued moving, Sara said, "Not new but saved for a special occasion. You bought them in Paris."

He rolled over, keeping a protective hand on her bruise, snuggling his very hard penis against her. His erection was obvious, hot against her skin. "I'm ready, dear. And believe me, all I've thought about for two weeks."

She kissed him with an intense passion that nearly took his breath. When she released him, she said, "We'll talk later. I've missed you more than I have words to explain." She kissed him again. "Love me."

He did. Slowly, tenderly, his lips moved over her body, from her left ear lobe to the inside of her left thigh, crossing to her right thigh, moving upward to nuzzle the soft pink folds at the junction of her long smooth legs. At some point, the pink silk panties were removed and lost in a fold of soft cotton sheets at the foot of the bed.

A slight movement from Sara's knee moved him upwards, kissing her belly as he slipped hands underneath her butt. He could feel her hands in his hair, soothing, stroking, caressing; her body moved in ways that stimulated him even more.

She wanted, needed him; he knew he could give and never leave her wanting. There was more than heat to his lips; the greed in his hands was a search for more than satisfaction. She rose to him, found his face with her hands, with her lips. He moved over her, lighting fires of arousal.

Their emotions and passions heightened until neither could delay; she arched to receive him. He lifted her, fitting her body to his. He slid inside her easily as she welcomed him with her warm, erotic kisses. Her legs went around him as he sank into her core. Her body was hot and damp with pleasure, her system screaming for release as a desperate moan met his ears.

He gave her all she wanted. Fighting for breath, his forehead dropped to hers as he waited for his head to clear so he would know every second, every movement.

She came on a gallop, arching her back, pulling him deeply within her body, held him as bodies merged. As minds blurred. He whispered her name over and over as he emptied. All other thoughts were forgotten as passion exploded, driven by desire and longing.

Afterwards, exhausted, Sara lay quietly in his arms.

The late afternoon sunshine cast a golden glow around the fluttering curtains. There was a faint distant sound of laughter but otherwise the room was quiet.

"I'm not sure I can move," Grissom said.

"Room service?"

He chuckled, saying, "They do have a good restaurant. Do you need to rest? Or—or anything else?"

She snuggled her head against his chin. "I think I could use a nap—just for a while." Her leg crossed over his.

And with that small move, he could feel her, damp and hot against his thigh. She wanted—needed to sleep, and he wanted her. Less than fifteen minutes after he had blown an orgasm the size of—of a fast baseball, he felt a flame of heat flash up his spine and set fire to desire—lust. He wanted to feel her, smell her; have the taste of her fill his senses.

His hand moved between her legs, gently his fingers rubbed against the dampness, circled the swollen center of passion. Watching her face, her eyes were closed and the corners of her mouth inched up in a smile. His fingertips moved again.

A dark eye opened. "What's going on?" A husky whisper.

He kissed her before saying, "I'm horny."

She shifted, opening herself up to him.

His lips touched her breast, gently licking around her nipple before taking it in his mouth. His hand cupped her.

Then a thought struck him. He pulled away. Sara opened her eyes.

"Is this okay? I mean—I can stop—wait."

A soft giggle came from Sara. She rolled to her back and said, "If you don't continue, I might have to do something dangerous!"

"What about your nap?"

She pulled her knee up, reached for his hand, and placed it between her legs. "Continue," she said with a smile, stretching her arms over her head.

Then his teeth nibbled along her inner thigh. She shuddered. His mouth worked up and down her body, over her, around her while his fingers did the same with the soft, very wet, and very warm core between her legs. When he slid down the bed and brought his mouth to this intimate, sensitive area, she responded with a sudden spasm, grasped his shoulders, gasping as she did.

He had not expected her quick reaction; nor did he expect his. He was astride her, lying on top of her. He was hard, not as hard as earlier, but enough to slide into her. Her hands grabbed his butt, pushing them together. Her eyes were dark except for the tiny flames sparkling around her pupils; her mouth opened in a surprised circle as they found a rhythm and moved together.

His erection grew harder inside of her. "Sara," he gasped, "Sara." She was lush, he thought; then it hit him—a difference in how she felt was due to the hormones.

He brought his mouth to hers, and holding her tightly, she climaxed. It was a shared ecstasy, not an intense orgasm for him, but a gentle assurance of his capacity to make love.

For the next two days, Grissom was her guide as they explored museums, churches, art galleries, and markets. They drank hot chocolate made with a seriousness usually afforded to wine and tasted ice cream made from cactus, ate warm pastries and sweet tamales, and wandered through the city's market—Sara was amazed at the brightly woven fabrics and imaginary painted figures.

A stall selling delicate sewn sweaters and caps caused Grissom to stop. He lifted one small white cap in his hand. Sara quickly shook her head.

"It would be bad luck."

"No," he said, shaking his head and turning the infant sized hat with his fingers. "Its good luck—good planning. And look what's on it."

Small stitches in white thread had outlined a pattern of tiny butterflies around the brim.

Sara whispered, "But what if—if I'm not…if we don't."

He smiled. "We will. If not now, next time." He pulled out several bills and passed them to the woman behind the table.

The woman, experienced in marketing her merchandise, picked up an infant's sweater and held it out. A blanket was next. Sara shook her head; Grissom took both items.

More money exchanged hands; Grissom talked to the woman as she wrapped each piece in tissue paper and placed them in a bag. His pleased grin caused Sara to smile. If he was happy, she would be happy.

As they passed stalls of brightly colored dresses, woven rugs, pottery, and carved wooden furniture, Grissom was animated about everything causing Sara to laugh about his enthusiasm. Leisurely, they wandered, lingering, exploring, and discovering tree-shaded streets and plazas finding everyone hospitable to visitors.

Sara insisted on visiting the cochineal research facility so on the third day, she climbed into the beat-up truck with its grinding gears with her husband. And she found an amazing place, slightly ramshackled, but fascinating with its rows of cactus covered with small scale insects.

The lead researcher explained the growth cycle, the specific cactus for differing insects, and, inside a small, modern lab, she learned the goal of their research.

"Food dye—not just lipstick and—and that stuff women fluff on their faces," Grissom explained. "Few people are allergic, it holds up well."

"A squashed bug makes things red?"

He laughed. "It really isn't a smashed bug—more like honey from bees—extracted from the mashed insect." Holding up a piece of cactus covered with scale insects, he added, "The process is thousands of years old—carmine has been a huge export for this area since the Spanish arrived."

By mid-afternoon, they were back in the truck and heading to the city for her flight back to Vegas.

Grissom reached for Sara's hand. "Thanks for coming, dear." When she squeezed his hand, he added, "and for all the other—stuff."

She said nothing, but twined her fingers with his where it stayed until he had to use the gear stick on the truck's steering column to manually shift. As the wind rushed in the truck windows, he thought about their infertility issues—never referred to as 'infertility', not even by the physician, but after months of—of nothing, of eliminating one potential reason after another, he knew—it wasn't Sara.

Glancing at her, he realized she was radiant—more than usual. With one hand, she held her hair as she watched the passing landscape.

"Sara." He whispered her name least he break the spell that seemed to be surrounding her. Of course, she heard her name and turned to face him, a smile formed on her face.

Pointing to the west, he said, "There's a big archeology site up there."

"Have you been?"

"No, not yet."

"You should go," she insisted. "It would be interesting."

He smiled. "I'll go. Some of the archeologists are at the hotel."

Later, as Sara packed for her return to Vegas, she discovered a small tissue-paper wrapped package on the bedside table.

"What's this?" She asked.

His puzzled stare made it obvious that he did not know. She picked it up, her fingers pressing on something soft. Shrugging her shoulders, she pulled the paper away and immediately began to laugh.

"My panties," she chortled. "I thought they were long gone!" She held the pink fabric between her hands. "And they are clean!"

Grissom moved toward her, taking them from her hands. "We need to look after these." He folded his hand around the fabric and held it to his chest. "I'm keeping these until I return—remind me of whom I have at home."

Seeing him holding her underwear against his heart caused Sara to laugh so hard tears formed in her eyes. When she hiccupped, he wrapped his arms around her, saying, "I love you, Sara."

Two weeks later, he returned to Vegas. The small cap, sweater, and blanket he had purchased in the market were placed in a drawer, away from view for a while longer.

A/N: Thank you in advance for staying with us! We appreciate hearing from you...more soon!