A/N: What can I say to make up for months of pretending this story doesn't exist? Nothing…except, I hope you enjoy this next installment. And also many, many thanks for your continued interest and feedback. I'd also like to thank my beta, Kim, although I suspect she's too easy on me. Danie
Chapter Eight
The North Truro public library was a newly constructed, pale gray, clapboard Craftsman Bungalow. When Gil and Dan arrived at precisely three o'clock, the parking lot was almost full.
"This library is either unusually popular for a Saturday afternoon or Sara's collection is a hit," Gil remarked as he squeezed into one of the few remaining parking spaces.
"Actually the library closed at noon today. This is all for Sara."
"I'm impressed." Getting out of the car, they started across the parking lot to the library's main entrance. "She told me this was her first exhibit, so I assumed she'd be an unknown. How did her work get discovered?"
"Armstrong." Gil looked at Dan. "He hosted the annual Cape Cod art council meeting at her B&B a couple of months ago."
"I see." Gil's gaze was hugging the ground as they approached the front porch. "So… they haven't known each other very long?"
Dan jogged up the steps ahead of him. His fist closed around the door handle but he didn't immediately open it. "He spent a long weekend at the B&B with his kids last summer. If he's stayed there at other times, I'm not aware of it. I'm not there all the time, so... But they met last summer; that's when he first noticed her pictures. It took him a year to talk her into the exhibit."
"What was stopping her?"
Dan shrugged. "At first I thought she lacked confidence, but that wasn't it. She took these photos for her own pleasure and she wasn't ready to share them."
"Mmm… she's always valued her privacy," Gil returned absently, his attention drawn to the poster inside a glass display case mounted on the left side of the door. It was of a lighthouse sitting high on a bluff. The photo had been taken at dusk on an overcast day, the swirls of dark clouds and the shadows falling on the lone structure giving it a haunting quality. Underneath the photo, in a subtle cursive, were the words, Forgotten, Black and White Photography by Sara Sidle.
"Ready to go in?"
Intrigued, Gil nodded absently, giving the poster a final look before stepping inside the library proper.
Dan led the way past rows of books and a study area to a large and expertly illuminated room at the back. It was quite impressive for a small town library; the town of Truro was obviously serious about its art and its artists. Gil walked in, his gaze immediately searching the crowd for Sara. He spotted her across the room in conversation with a talkative elderly woman who held her captive with a hand on her forearm, and for a moment Gil watched, mesmerized. Sara's dark eyes were animated and her smile brilliant as she gave the woman and her story her undivided attention. She looked so happy now, radiant, Gil thought, as though having been freed of all the ghosts from her past. He jealously looked on, filled with regrets, wishing that he'd been at least partly responsible for her happiness. It wasn't as though she never given him the opportunity...
Dan shifted at his side and Gil welcomed the distraction. He'd been living with regret for the better part of six years, and while he couldn't undo the past, he could try to do better in the future.
"I hear the refreshments table calling me," Dan said. "I've seen all her work, but you go ahead. It's really quite good."
With that, Dan was cutting through the crowd toward the back where Sara was now joined by the ever present Patrick Armstrong. Every muscle in Gil stomach twisted as he watched Armstrong slip a possessive hand around her waist as he handed her a glass of wine. He murmured something close to her ear and Sara looked up, giving him a dazzling smile. Gil winced and sharply looked away, his gaze falling on the photographs mounted on the walls of the gallery. Falling in line behind other visitors, he slowly moved from one to the next, each photograph depicting an abandoned house or building or other structure, and even without the eye of an expert, he could appreciate their quiet beauty and the mood that had been so skillfully captured.
He was examining a photo of an old cemetery when he felt a tingle at the back of his neck. Looking back, his breath hitched a little as his gaze caught Sara's over his left shoulder.
"Hi," he said softly and she gave a small, affected smile before shifting her gaze to the photograph of the graveyard. "You're very good."
"Thanks," she murmured, the heat of a flush coloring her cheeks. "I'm glad you could come."
Sara fell into step with him as he moved to the next photo. It was a close-up of an old door. There was nothing particularly ornate about the door; the paint had flaked in several areas revealing the wood grain and some cracks where the wood had split over time. "It's an interesting subject," Gil remarked. "The whole collection is," he added, looking at her.
Sara kept her gaze firmly fixed on the picture as she made a small sound of agreement, but didn't offer more insight into her choice of subject. Her flush deepened, however, making Gil frown. She seemed uncomfortable and he wondered whether she really was glad that he was there or only being polite.
"Dan told me that you needed a lot of convincing to exhibit your work."
Her features contorted around a wry smile. "Yeah. I expected it to be embarrassing."
"And… Is it?"
"A little." She gave him an apologetic look. "Now that you're here."
"Mmm… Well, it's easier to reveal ourselves to strangers." They moved as one to the next picture, another old house, but this one much smaller than the others, no more than a shack even in its glory days. "An expert would look at this and judge the composition, the sharpness of the lines, the definition of shapes," Gil said, keeping his voice low against the backdrop of quiet murmurs surrounding them. "Others might only appreciate the mood you captured. An acquaintance might speculate about what it says about your personality or character that a run down shack would inspire you to immortalize it."
"Is that what you're wondering?"
Gil looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head. "I wonder what emotion these abandoned places touched in you. They're all broken, yet there's something hopeful in the mood you captured, as though in a moment someone will come along and bring them back to life. Did you identify with them? Is that how you felt, Sara? Forgotten?"
Sara smiled at his side, but he could tell it was forced. "That's very…intellectual," she murmured, "but way too deep."
The swell of emotions Gil witnessed in her eyes a moment before she looked away betrayed the lie. "Is it?" he persisted, but before she could answer, they were interrupted.
"Sara! There you are." Armstrong insinuated himself between them, invading the fragile cocoon of intimacy Gil thought they'd created. "I'm sorry, Gil, but I can't let you monopolize our guest of honor." To Sara, he said, "Several people want to meet you."
Gil wasn't fooled. If anyone wanted to monopolize Sara, it was Armstrong and it annoyed him almost as much as the possessive arm he slipped around her waist. Stuffing his fists inside his pockets, he looked up and caught the hint of apology in Sara's eyes, all other trace of emotion, gone. If anything, she looked relieved.
"I'll uh…see you later."
He nodded, forcing himself to smile pleasantly. "Duty calls."
With a quick smile in return, she excused herself and let Armstrong lead her away.
Gil watched them go, Armstrong's hand low on Sara's waist, and then abruptly turned to the wall, moving to the next photograph, then the next, not really seeing them anymore.
"Careful. You're looking a little green around the gills, Gil."
Gil grunted as he glanced at Dan. "Did they run out of booze at the refreshments table?"
"Ouch." Dan winced mockingly, evidently not overly chagrined at Gil's pointed remark. "So what do you think of the collection?"
"It's very good…excellent, actually."
"Mm," Dan agreed. "Armstrong is a leech, but he recognizes talent when he sees it."
"He's getting a cut of her sales?"
Dan chuckled, shaking his head. "That's not what I meant by leech." He pointedly turned his gaze to the back of the room, but then frowned. Gil heard the commotion and his gaze followed Dan's.
"Someone call an ambulance!" someone shouted from the back.
Dan took off and Gil followed in his wake albeit at a slower pace. Pushing through the tight circle of onlookers, his eyes fell on Sara first, then to the floor where Dan was crouched next to an elderly man who had collapsed. An elderly woman was kneeling on the floor, sobbing."
"Did someone call the paramedics?" Dan asked calmly as he pounded on the man's chest.
"I did," said a plump, flustered looking woman standing next to Sara. "They're on their way."
Dan stopped pounding and took the man's pulse. He then lowered his ear to the man's mouth. Satisfied he looked up at the woman. "Go wait for them out front, please," he directed, and then looked back at the crowd. "I need aspirin and a blanket."
Someone came forward with a Bayer's pill box. Dan took one out and slipped it under the man's tongue. His skin looked clammy and his breath was labored, Gil noticed, but at least he was breathing. A few minutes later, a young woman ran in with a blanket. "I always keep one in the car," she explained unnecessarily; everyone in the room was on edge.
The paramedics eventually arrived and the crowd split to make room for them. Dan spoke with one of them then came to find Gil. Sara was two steps behind him. "Heart attack," Dan said. "I'll ride in the ambulance with them."
"I'll follow in my car," Gil said but Dan shook his head.
"If the hospital doesn't have a cardiologist on staff, this may take a while. You two go on ahead to the restaurant. If everything goes well, I'll join you there later."
"How will you get back?" Sara asked.
He shrugged. "I'll get a lift or a cab. The hospital is not that far from here."
"Call me when you're ready," Gil said. "I'll come get you."
"Okay." Dan smiled. "And if I don't make it back in time, enjoy your dinner."
And with that, he left them to assist the paramedics and within minutes they were wheeling him out on a gurney. Sara visibly shuddered and folded her arms across her chest.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded. "A little shaken. I hope he makes it."
"Well, he has one of the best heart surgeons in the country with him. If it had to happen, he's lucky it happened here today."
Armstrong and the woman who had called the paramedics approached them. Sara introduced her as Darella Carter, the librarian.
"You just never know do you?" she said by way of greeting as she fanned herself.
"No. We never do," Gil returned politely, but his attention was no longer on Ms. Carter. Armstrong was running his hands up and down Sara's arms.
"You're cold." Armstrong removed his jacket to wrap it around her shoulders.
Sara smiled her thanks.
Gil could have kicked himself for not thinking of it first. A small consolation was that Armstrong's hands were finally off her.
"People are leaving," Ms. Carter remarked then, her disappointment evident. Conversely, Sara looked at the departing crowd with envy.
"Do you have to stay," Gil asked her and she turned a questioning gaze at Patrick.
"We can't close until six," he said glancing at his watch. "It's going on five now. I doubt anyone else will show up, but you should stay…just in case."
Gil bristled. Of course Armstrong wanted her to stay, and he strongly suspected it had little to do with the exhibit. However, he didn't think it was his place to interfere and he tried to mask his disappointment when Sara agreed with the man.
"Why don't you go ahead to the restaurant," she suggested. "I should help Ms. Carter and Patrick pack up anyway."
"I'll stay and help."
"No. That's okay—"
"Actually, Ms. Sidle, that won't be necessary," the librarian said. The buyer won't be picking up the collection until Tuesday, so I have plenty of time to get it ready for shipping."
Gil blinked. "You sold the entire collection?"
"Yeah." Sara smiled, pleased. "I lucked out. The owner of a Boston construction company stopped by and bought the whole thing."
"Congratulations."
"Luck had nothing to do with it," Armstrong added warmly. "I keep telling her how talented she is, but I don't think she believes me yet."
"Well then, I have my work cut out at dinner," Gil returned smoothly. "And you," he continued eyeing Sara, "must be in the mood to celebrate. Since you won't be needed here, why don't we get an early start on it?"
Gil could tell she was tempted.
Sara looked at Patrick again. "Gil's right, Patrick. I doubt anyone else will drop in. You should probably get going as well. Your kids are waiting for you."
"I'll stay until six," Ms. Carter offered, sealing the deal for all of them.
Armstrong had no choice but to let Sara go. Gil thought that he hid his displeasure remarkably well as he accepted the return of his jacket from her, but Gil wasn't fooled. Having felt very much the same way earlier, he recognized the tension in the other man. Sara didn't seem to notice however. She excused herself and left with Ms. Carter in the direction of what Gil guessed to be a small office at the back of her room, leaving him alone with a scowling Armstrong.
"Sara tells me you were her boss."
"Yes," Gil answered, not particularly interested in making small talk with the man, but his ingrained good manners and respect for Sara wouldn't allow him to dismiss him like the annoyance that he was. And thinking back on his conversation with Dan, it occurred to him that this could be a golden opportunity to do something about this…this guy who was a little too possessive of Sara for his liking.
"So what's a former boss of hers doing all the way out here?"
Gil smiled. He hadn't expected Armstrong to give him the perfect opening. "Strange isn't it? Especially if you believe that all I am to her is a former boss."
Armstrong's scowl deepened. "I'm very perceptive, Grissom. And I suspect so are you. You may have her to yourself this evening, but I'll be spending a few days at Summerhouse in a couple of weeks and I fully intend to make my intentions known then."
"Really?" Gil did his best to hide his growing frustration. "Well I look forward to seeing you then," and at Armstrong's suspicious look, he added, "Oh, didn't Sara tell you? I'm spending the summer with her."
Technically he wasn't spending the summer with Sara, but rather as a paying guest in her establishment—a situation he hoped to change soon, but the small lie was worth the effect it had on Armstrong. His face darkened with such animosity that had Sara not returned at that moment, Gil suspected he might have been on the receiving end of a fist.
"Patrick," she said, touching his arm, "thank you for everything. This was an interesting experience."
Armstrong swiftly masked his anger with a smile for her. "The first of many, honey." Sara blinked, evidently surprised by the endearment. Gil held back a smirk; judging from Armstrong's expression, he hadn't counted on Sara's reaction. Frowning, Armstrong looked at Gil, politely extending his hand for Sara's benefit, no doubt. Gil shook his hand for her benefit as well. "I know you're in a hurry to get out of here, but I need to discuss some things with Sara before she leaves, so if you'll excuse us…"
"Of course." Ignoring the challenge in Armstrong's gaze, he looked at Sara, angling his head toward the exit. "I'll wait for you outside."
"I'll be right there."
Gil reluctantly left. In retrospect, he regretted goading Armstrong. It probably gave the man an incentive to make his intentions known earlier than intended. Stepping out of the building, he glanced at his watch and waited. She joined him less than two minutes later—not that he'd been counting the seconds.
THEY WERE OVER an hour early for their reservation; the restaurant had just opened and the place was deserted. The maitre d' showed them to the bar while he prepared their table.
"Would you like a drink," Gil asked as they settled into two comfortable bar stools.
"I'd love one."
"Well, this is a celebration drink, so we need something special. Champagne? Or even better… a Kir Royale?"
"Mmm… I haven't had one of those in—" She shook her head. "—a very long time."
They watched in silence as the bartender prepared their drinks in tall champagne flutes and when he set them on the gleaming wooden bar top in front of them, Gil lifted his to Sara's. He searched his mind and its considerable repertoire of famous quotes for something appropriate to say, but finally settled on, "To you, and the first of many successful exhibits."
"Thanks." She smiled as she touched her glass to his then lifted it to her lips.
Gil looked at her, so completely captivating in the gypsy dress. He'd never seen her in a dress before, a fact which reminded him how much she'd changed. She wasn't looking at him, wasn't saying anything, her attention on the bartender who was slicing lemons and preparing other fruity decorations as she quietly sipped her Kir Royale.
"You're quiet," he said when the silence was beginning to crowd them.
She finally looked at him and smiled. "Sorry. I'm not…" She looked away, taking another sip of her champagne cocktail.
"Not what?" She didn't answer, only shook her head, dismissing the question. "Sara, does being here with me make you uncomfortable?"
Her eyes darted to his and this time he noticed the flash of surprise in them. "No." And then with a wry smile added, "Well maybe a little."
"Why?"
She sighed. "Uncharted territory."
"True," he said. "But isn't that more interesting?"
She tipped her head, staring at him in bemusement. "You've changed."
"In what way?"
"Mr. Don't-upset-my-predictable-little-world? You were never the adventurous type, Grissom."
He playfully laid a palm over his heart. "You wound me." But he smiled because this was the Sara he was familiar with—the one who didn't mince words. And she had spoken the truth. He had changed—or was changing—which he readily admitted now. "But you're right. I learned not to waste time and energy trying to control that which is beyond my control."
"God-granted serenity, courage, and wisdom?"
"Or the school of hard-knocks."
"People who put their faith in God would say they come from the same place."
Gil sighed. "Well, if they're right, God sent me you—a beautiful gift. His mistake was to omit the operating instructions."
A shadow crossed Sara's gaze but just as quickly it was gone and her brown eyes sparkled as she laughed, making his stomach tighten. "And you're funny now, too."
For a moment Gil didn't respond, only looked at her, enjoying her wide grin after being deprived of it for so many years. As it began to fade to a small smile, he said, "I've always been funny, my dear…on the inside. But I wasn't being facetious just now; for a while, I honestly didn't know what to do about you."
Sara abruptly looked away, her lips suddenly closing in a tight downward arc as a slight flush colored her cheeks. Gil sensed her withdrawal and he felt a flash of impatience. But he couldn't say her reaction surprised him. It was the same one he'd been getting all week whenever he tried bringing up their past. She was friendly, had welcomed him like an old friend, but one mention of their past relationship and a wall went up with a big, bold keep-out sign. The problem was that he didn't know how to move on without dealing with their past relationship.
The maitre d' saved him from pushing the issue when he returned telling them their table was ready.
Sara said nothing, but gathered her handbag and her drink and slid off the barstool. "Will it only be the two of you," the maitre d' asked as he led them to the back of the restaurant to a cozy table set for three with white linens, silver cutlery, and fresh flowers arranged in a low centerpiece. As he pulled Sara's chair, Gil slid into his own across the table from her.
"Probably, but leave the third place setting just in case our friend makes it." As if on cue, his cell phone rang. "Excuse me." Glancing at the display, he looked at Sara. "It's Dan." Into the phone, he said, "How's your patient?"
"Not well. He'll need emergency heart surgery so we're flying him to MassGeneral. Listen, I'm going along for the ride and won't be back until tomorrow sometime. I already talked to Stephanie; she'll keep Billy for the night, but I need someone to keep an eye on him until I get home tomorrow."
"No problem. How will you get back?"
"Probably drive, unless I can get a lift back with the helicopter pilot. I won't be performing the surgery; I'm just going along in case he relapses before they get him to the hospital."
"Well, don't worry about Billy. I'll keep an eye on him for you."
"Appreciate it. Oh, and tell Sara I'm very sorry about missing her celebration dinner."
Gil looked up at Sara who was listening to his end of the conversation with a small frown on her face. "She's right here if you want to tell her yourself."
"Wish I could, but I've got to run. Give her a big kiss for me, will you?"
"Right."
Dan chuckled. "See you tomorrow."
Gil slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. "They're flying the guy to Boston for emergency surgery. Dan's going along and won't be back until tomorrow."
"I hope he'll be okay."
The maitre d' who'd been keeping busy nearby while Gil was on the phone came back with their menus and a wine list.
"It will be only the two of us after all," Gil told him.
"Very well, sir. Would you like another cocktail before dinner?"
Sara finished the last of her cocktail and shook her head.
Gil looked up at the maitre d'. "Just wine with our dinner."
The maitre d' explained the table d'hôte and suggested a wine to go with each choice. "Pasquale will be your waiter this evening," he added as he cleared the third place setting. "He'll be with you in a few minutes to take your order."
Alone again, Sara sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. She gave him a quizzical look. "What did Dan want you to tell me?"
"Only that he was sorry he had to miss out on your celebration dinner. He also asked me to give you a big kiss from him, but I'm sure you'd rather he deliver that message personally."
"What makes you so sure?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise and she chuckled. "What? It's a fair question."
"Yes, and one that's likely to lead to a conversation you've been trying to avoid."
"You're right." Sara sighed. "Look, I know you have a lot of questions about the past and I won't deny that I'd rather we didn't rehash it, but if we're going to spend the next couple of months under the same roof we probably should so…" she unfolded her arms and sat forward, "…fire away."
His eyes narrowed on her face. "I have no intentions of interrogating you, Sara. I only wish you'd let me… reach you. You never used to run away from confrontation."
She smiled. "And you used to run away from it all the time."
He nodded, incapable of denying it. "Well, as you pointed out, I've changed."
"We both have."
Pasquale, their waiter, came then and Sara ordered the mushroom salad and linguine with Crab and Vodka. Gil didn't really care what he ate, but that sounded as good as anything else on the menu so he ordered the same thing and a bottle of Chardonnay. Meanwhile, a middle age couple being shown to a table nearby had captured Sara's attention and Gil let himself be distracted by them as well. They were both elegantly dressed, the woman wearing an ivory sequined dress that caught the light as she moved. Her husband, or at least Gil assumed he was since they were both wearing wedding bands, held her hand as he pulled her chair with his other, not releasing her hand until she was seated as the maitre d' hovered nearby. They, too, were celebrating something, he mused. Perhaps a birthday or a wedding anniversary…
Others were beginning to arrive as well, and a three-man band was setting up in a corner of the vast room. He wondered if Sara would want to dance. He wasn't much of a dancer, had never particularly enjoyed it, but the thought of holding her in his arms was an interesting incentive.
Their silence was companionable and Gil found himself relaxing in her presence for the first time all week. Although she'd invited his questions, he decided not to risk their fragile relationship with an interrogation. If the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity arose naturally, he would take it, but for now, he satisfied himself with the knowledge that she was open to dealing with their past.
The waiter returned with their wine and after completing the uncorking and tasting ritual and taking his leave, Sara swallowed almost half of her glass in one gulp then set it on the table.
Slowly, she looked up at him. "I got your emails."
Okay. He'd suspected as much, but to hear her confirm it now made him wince with embarrassment. While he didn't recall precisely what he'd written in them, he remembered enough to suddenly feel very exposed. He couldn't hold her gaze as he searched for an adequate response, but before he'd formulated one, Sara dropped another zinger.
"I didn't read them." His eyes shot up to hers. "Sorry."
He sighed. Disappointment? Relief? "Why?"
She fidgeted with the stem of her wine glass. "I…uh, wasn't in the right frame of mind I guess. It took me days to work up the courage to open your first one, but eventually I did." She gave him a crooked smile. "I was a bit of a masochist back then." A deep flush colored her cheeks. "I promised myself that I would never regret, uh…going to bed with you—no matter what. And then I started reading your email and couldn't bear your apologies—"
"I never apologized for sleeping with you."
She frowned. "Yes you did. It was humiliating. Anyway, I stopped reading and deleted it." Her lips quirked up. "And then I regretted it, so when the others came I filed them away in case I'd want to read them someday. But then my computer crashed and I lost everything." She took another sip of wine. "So that's the story with the emails."
Eyes downcast, she returned her glass of wine to the table. Her long lashes hid her eyes, but they couldn't hide the grief etched around her beautiful lips, or the slight twist of anguish in her pale features. Gil's chest tightened in memory of his own sorrow. He had never apologized or expressed any regret for sleeping with her. He was certain of that. But it pained him that he had destroyed her trust so completely that she would think he'd written to her to apologize for what he'd often thought of as the most memorable night of his life.
A cloud of sadness settled between them, then, and didn't lift until the band started playing. Sara inhaled sharply and looked up, her gaze on the many couples leaving their tables for the dance floor.
"Would you like to dance?"
Her eyes widened. "I didn't think you liked dancing."
"Not to most things. But this," he said of the slow ballad, "I think I can manage without embarrassing either of us." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "Shall we?"
"Our food will be here any second."
"They won't bring it until we get back. C'mon, humor me."
She pursed her lips and rose from her seat and he held her hand all the way to the dance floor. Gently, he pulled her towards him as his other hand came to rest on the small of her back. She was right. He'd never been much of a dancer, but as her body flirted with his, he could finally appreciate the usefulness of the activity.
Gil started moving, slowly, and she followed, so lithe, her step falling in with his as though they'd been doing this for years. She felt delicate in his arms, not small, but fragile, and he applied more pressure on her back to draw her closer, molding her warm body to his. This close, her scent awaked memories of smooth skin, the glide of it against his, the taste of it on his tongue. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, his fingers moving gently over the soft fabric of her dress, itching to follow the curve of her spine—
"You're a good dancer," Sara suddenly said, drawing back to look at him.
"Shh…You're interfering with my concentration." She chuckled and let him draw her back into his arms. Smiling, he rocked playfully from side to side in tempo with the music. He appreciated her timing. His erotic memories coupled with the soft heat of her body pressed so close to his were much too arousing for Alfonso's on a Saturday night.
GIL COULDN'T HAVE BEEN more pleased with their evening. They had returned to their table in time for their meal. Pasquale was a little nervous, telling them that the warm mushroom salad had been ready for a while, but it tasted just fine. When the main course came, Gil asked Sara to tell him about Nicaragua and she immediately launched into a very interesting, at times entertaining, account of her experiences.
She told him about the people from Care Canada she hung around with for a while, visiting the poor and bringing aid to them. Her memories of Nicaragua were fond and sad, and cherished. She told him about the people she met and a trek in the jungle that lasted several days and got her to eat meat again.
"It was either that or starve," she said, smiling. "I used to like meat; I just got turned off it when I watched that pig decompose. Their beef didn't taste at all like our American beef though and maybe that helped. I also ate a lot of fish."
He kept her talking and then dessert came as she told him about leaving Nicaragua. "My mom died. I had to come back, and then I found out that I inherited this place in Provincetown, and I thought why not? Running a B&B was something I knew how to do, and fixing up that old place was a challenge and I needed one at that point." She took a sip of her coffee and laid the cup down in its saucer and then asked about him. But there wasn't much he could tell her.
Murder and mayhem didn't stop when she left and he didn't want to ruin what was turning into a very pleasant evening with confessions of six months of inebriety and near burn out because he couldn't deal with the pain of losing her.
He followed her home, whistling to an upbeat number that was playing when they left the restaurant. Sara pulled into her driveway. At this hour, the few parking spaces on the other side of the gate would probably be taken, so Gil parked on the street. She waited for him and they walked up to the front door together.
"I came to talk to your grandmother that day because I was intrigued. She was pruning a rose bush…that one," he said pointing to the large shrub fronting the house on the left, "but she'd let the rest of the yard grow to weeds. I wondered why."
"Yeah, well, there was probably a reason, but all I remember about her was that she was an ornery old woman." Sara punched in the code on the front lock. "Did Stephanie remember to give you the code?"
"No."
She gave it to him and they stepped inside. Gil could have said goodnight then, but he was reluctant to end the evening. The foyer was lit and Sara touched a switch that turned on some lamps in the great room.
"Would you like a coffee or a liqueur?" They had refused a liqueur at the restaurant because they both had to drive.
He almost said yes, only to keep her up a little longer. But it was almost eleven and he knew she had to be up early the next morning. "No, thank you. I'll sit out back for a while, if that's okay."
Sara smiled. "Would you like some company?"
"Of course. I thought you'd want to get to bed."
"Still early for me. Are you sure you wouldn't like a liqueur. I've got some good Cognac, or a Grand Marnier, if you'd prefer that?"
"Well, if you join me, then I'll have whatever you're having."
"Go ahead," she said, "I'll be right back."
Gil stepped out onto the back patio and removed his jacket, draping it on the back of a chair. It was a warm night, dark, moonless, but the sky was peppered with bright stars and he could hear the sounds of the harbor. Halogen lights twinkled in the garden shedding light onto the various paths. Gil walked to the edge of the patio and rolled up his sleeves then shoved his hands deeply into his pockets as he waited for Sara.
He heard the slide of the patio door, but didn't turn although he felt every step that brought her closer to him. His stomach clenched and unclenched and he pulled a breath just as she came up to him, handing him a snifter of Grand Marnier.
"Thank you." She smiled and, God help him but his head crowded with more erotic fantasies, which he quickly dismissed. Rome was not built in one day. "How did you know it was me all these years ago?"
"You mean with my grandmother?"
"Yes. And on the beach."
"I didn't know at first, but after I found out about you and Melanie the other night, I went out to the garage and pulled out an old box of pictures. I remembered taking a picture of you from that back gate—" She put her glass down on the patio table and hopped on one foot then the next as she removed her shoes. "I'll be right back." With her shoes dangling from her fingers by the straps, Sara went inside and within minutes returned with a Polaroid picture of a young man in tight shorts and a muscle shirt reaching for a Frisbee.
It was him.
Gil shook his head and looked at her as he returned the picture. "This is…weird."
"I know."
"The first time I met you at that seminar in San Francisco, I felt…" He sighed. "It was strange, but I felt a connection… as if I knew you'd become someone to be reckoned with."
Sara chuckled. "What would you have done, I wonder, if you'd known then how much of a pain in the ass I'd be?"
"Never that." Setting his glass down on the table next to hers, Gil reached for her hand. She stiffened and her gaze darted to their linked fingers then up again, her eyes widening. "Sara, I never apologized for sleeping with you. I know that because I never regretted it." He stepped closer until her breasts were almost brushing against his shirt and he heard her sharp intake of breath. But she remained very still. "In fact, I've dreamed of little else since then."
It started with a slow shake of her head and then her fingers slipped out of his and she took a small step back. "N-no, Gris. Don't. It took me a long time to get over you and I intend to keep it that way. We can be fr—"
Gil wasn't normally given to impulse. But before she could utter the dreaded, "let's be friends", he caught her face between his hands and kissed her. His mouth molded to hers in a fast, hot meeting and clinging of lips flavored with Grand Marnier and for a heady moment, Sara responded. And then a small whimper escaped her throat and she tore her mouth from his, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes. An apology instinctively rose to Gil's lips but he couldn't catch his breath long enough to make his voice work. Her breasts were heaving against him, her breathing as erratic as his own, and her dark pupils expanded until her eyes looked black in the soft light of the patio.
His hands still cupping her face, Gil touched his forehead to hers. When she didn't resist, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, sucking in deep breaths until the sensual haze clouding his brain began to subside. He probably owed her an apology but why bother if he couldn't make it sound genuine? And he wasn't sorry. For the first time in six years, he felt alive. His heart was pounding, his blood was rushing hot and fast through his veins, and his body was rigid and shaking with need.
Slowly, his hands moved down from her face to her shoulders and her waist and he wrapped his arms around her, trapping her hands against his chest.
"I've missed you," he whispered as he gently kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger on her soft skin for a moment before drawing back to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, and the temptation to kiss her again was almost too strong to resist except that common sense was finally beginning to prevail. As much as he wanted to break through her resistance and seduce her up the stairs to the Eagle's Nest, Gil was aware of what he'd be risking if she wasn't ready to acknowledge that there was still something simmering between them.
"Sara…"
She opened her eyes and blinked as though coming out of a trance; suddenly, she stiffened in his arms and pushed at his chest. Gil released her.
"You shouldn't have done that." Her voice was low and raspy, and he could see her throat working as though she was having difficulty swallowing.
He smiled. "Perhaps. But I can't resist an experiment."
"This proves nothing, Grissom." Sara stepped around him and picked up her drink from the table. "Don't forget to lock up when you go in." And with that, she turned and started walking across the yard to the smaller patio off her bedroom.
"Sara," he called out just as she was about to disappear behind the fishpond. She stopped and turned, but even from the short distance he could clearly see the turbulence in her eyes. Gil suspected that she was much angrier with herself than she was with him.
"What?"
"You're wrong, you know. It did prove something. It proved that you're not over me."
TBC