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by LSI |
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Chapters: Prologue 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18
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Chapter Eight Sara writhed beneath him. His flesh was warm and moist and his mouth on her breasts elicited a guttural groan from her throat. His piercing blue eyes met hers, a small smile of satisfaction lighting his face. He pushed into her, his smile growing arrogantly at her response. She was aroused, tremendously aroused, but it was as if she were outside her body, like a voyeur, feeling the sensations, yet not really participating. “Come on, Princess. Tell your Blake how much you’re enjoying this.” “Mmm…” But the words wouldn’t come. She shook her head. She didn’t want words to distract her from the pleasure of his ministrations. She closed her eyes tightly. Somehow she knew that if she looked at him, the pleasure would stop. And then, her other senses shut down…she could no longer feel his skin against hers, nor hear his voice, nor smell his tangy cologne. The only sensation left was the agonizing ache between her thighs. She craved the release that wouldn’t come, and cried out her frustration. Suddenly, as if by magic, everything changed. One by one, her senses reengaged in the moment. She opened her eyes and met dark blue ones. His tender smile was like a warm cloak around her heart. His soft lips grazed the palm of her hand, burning her skin where they touched. And the throbbing between her legs ebbed pleasurably into nothingness. Sara salt bolt upright in bed, her breathing labored and her heart beating wildly. “Grissom?” she whispered in the dark, empty room. CONCRETE VISUALS HAD quickly faded to vague images and feelings, but the erotic nature of the dream stayed with Sara through the morning as she shopped for a suitable gown for that evening’s function at the Mayor’s mansion. She’d left the house early, wanting to be at the shopping emporium at open of business. She was a procrastinator of the worst kind when it came to shopping—especially for clothes—so even if she’d had weeks of notice for this event, she doubted she would have made it to a store until the last minute. Resisting the pull of the pleasantly sweet aroma emanating from her favorite breakfast place—she wasn’t really hungry, just looking for another excuse to delay the inevitable—Sara walked past the International House of Pancakes, and past her favorite book store, but then a mango-colored lace baby-doll displayed in the window of Las Vegas Lingerie a few stores down caught her eye and she stopped. She didn’t own any fine lingerie, at least nothing this sexy, and a sudden, inexplicable desire to feel the delicate fabric against her skin propelled her into the store before she could change her mind. When she saw the price-tag, she gasped. “It’s for both pieces,” the sales woman said defensively, as if the scrap of fabric it had taken to fashion the matching G-string justified the hefty price. “I don’t know,” Sara said, crinkling her brow. “It’s a little extravagant.” Standing in front of the mirror, she held the garment in front of her. The woman joined her at the mirror. She smiled. “I doubt your boyfriend will think so.” “That’s just it,” she sighed. “For the price of this thing I could buy three of those,” she said, pointing at cotton night-shirts hanging on a rack nearby, “and I’d actually wear those.” “Ah. No boyfriend, huh? Well look at it this way, with your looks one’s bound to come along soon. You’ll be ready.” There was only one man she would want to wear this baby-doll for and it didn’t look as if he found her all that irresistible. In fact, he seemed to be able to resist her quite easily as long as there were strings attached. Oh, he had the ability to make her legs turn to jelly and her heart vibrate with just one glance or a few well-chosen words, and he didn’t have any hang-ups coming on to her—only with his follow-through. It was frustrating, but she’d resigned herself to it. If Gil Grissom wanted to keep their relationship professional, then she’d show him just how professional she could be. Sara ignored the easy compliment—the woman very likely worked on commission—and told her she’d take the baby-doll. It would probably gather dust at the back of her closet like all her other whimsical purchases, but it wasn't as though she indulged herself frequently. And who knew…perhaps last night’s dream was a premonition of things to come. Blake might not make her heart flutter, but darn it, she had needs. If nothing else, the dream was proof of that. One thing was certain: she would not continue to pin her hopes on a man whose walls were so thick it would take a stick of dynamite to break through them. Fueled by her renewed determination, Sara paused by a display of panties on her way to the cash register and picked up a black, lace G-string. “I’ll take this as well,” she told the sales lady who gave her a nod of approval. SARA WISHED SHE had Catherine’s flair when it came to clothes. She was drowning in a sea of evening gowns, and there wasn’t a life preserver in sight. She gingerly made her way down a rack of dresses on the left wall of the small, quiet store, fingering each one in turn. By the time she reached the rear of the store, her anxiety had mounted to near panic. I can’t do this! She teetered between calling Catherine for advice and calling Blake to bow out of the date. Just then, a woman Sara would have guessed to be around her age, emerged from a door marked ‘Employees only.’ “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in the store. Can I help you with anything?” “Yes… I, uh, need a fancy dress for a big do tonight.” “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the woman said with a warm smile, putting Sara immediately at ease. “I’m Emma, by the way. What sort of event is it?” “It’s at the Mayor’s mansion.” The woman looked suitably impressed. “Probably formal,” she said, her eyes traveling the length of her. “I have just the thing for you,” she said decisively, turning to another rack of dresses on the back wall. Sara breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. Her breath caught when she saw the long black dress Emma had chosen for her. “Are…are you sure?” “This will look fabulous on you.” She hung the gown in the dressing room and urged Sara in. “Here, let me take your things while you try it on. You’ll see,” she said confidently. A few minutes later, Sara emerged from the dressing room and looked at herself in the floor-length mirror. She was speechless. She met Emma’s eyes in the mirror and grinned. “I told you it would look great on you. Here, put these on,” she said as she handed her a pair of well-worn, high heel sandals. “The high collar is perfect for your long neck, and very elegant, but look…turn around…the back is what makes this dress sexy.” The back was completely bare, except for three thin straps that somehow held the fabric together just below her arms to then plunge in a wide vee to her waist. A thigh-high center slit bared her legs as she moved. “I’ve never worn anything like this,” Sara said, a little self-conscious. Blake will have a coronary, she thought, and then worried that the dress might send the wrong message. “Isn’t it a little too…” she searched for the right word, “…provocative…for a formal event?” “Nonsense. It’s perfect.” She took a handful of Sara’s hair and swept it up. “It’s very elegant and sexy at the same time. Do you have jewelry to go with it?” When she shook her head, Emma said, “Be right back.” Sara continued to stare at herself in the mirror. She loved the dress, but had never imagined wearing anything like it, and wasn’t sure she had the confidence to pull it off. She had started rummaging through the rack of gowns again, looking for something equally elegant but more demure, when she heard a low wolf-whistle behind her. She whipped around and came face to face with Nick and Greg. She felt the heat rush to her face. “Wow! Sar...it is really you,” Nick said openly admiring. “Who’d a thought?” Greg stood silently by, mouth slightly agape, with a stunned look on his face. Sara groaned. “What are you guys doing here?” “We were on our way to IHOP for breakfast when we saw this vision through the window. You’re gonna knock him dead, sweetheart,” Nick teased in an exaggerated Texas drawl. “Him?” “C’mon, Sara. We’ve all heard about your ex being in town. When’s the big date?” “None of your business. And, I’m not buying this dress…I was just trying it on,” she said, catching Emma’s eyes, who was watching the scene with amusement. “And, Greg, you’re going to catch flies if you don’t close your mouth.” He cleared his throat and said, “Uh, sorry. You look very nice, Sara.” “And what have we here?” Before she could stop him, Nick grabbed the pink Las Vegas Lingerie bag Emma had placed on the chair next to the dressing room. He opened it. “Give me that, Stokes, or you’re dead,” Sara warned trying not to fall off her heels as she lunged for the bag. But Nick was quicker. He turned his back to her and pulled out the baby-doll. He held it up to Greg. “Wow! Look at this, Greggo. Serious stuff. And here I thought you were a pajama girl, Sara. Warrick will never believe this, man.” Sara snatched the garment and the bag from his hands, and glared at them. “You breathe a word of this at work, either of you, and you’ll regret the day you met me.” Nick laughed, but Greg seemed to cower under the force of her warning. “I’m shaking in ‘me boots, Sidle.” “I mean it, Nick. Now why don’t you two do me a favor and get the hell out of here?” Nick put up his hands, palms facing out, and said, “Okay, okay… Hungry, Greg?” He winked at her suggestively. “This little episode has certainly sharpened my appetite.” And then, leaning closer, he whispered in her ear, “Seriously, Sara, go for the dress. You look stunning!” Sara was certain she’d turned every shade of red under their scrutiny. After they left, Emma who’d been keeping a discreet distance, rejoined her. “Nice guys,” she said. “Friends of yours?” Sara rolled her eyes. “Time will tell." SHE ENDED UP getting the dress, and the short dangling earrings—not diamonds, but the same effect—and a glittering ankle bracelet. She’d then picked up the mandatory stiletto heel sandals at the shoe store, and got her hair done in an upsweep style at one of the beauty salons at the shopping mall. While there, she decided to go the whole nine yards and got a manicure. Judging from the grunts the manicurist threw her way when she looked at her hands, Sara figured she was in dire need of one. Not surprising since it was her first. By two o’clock, she was home…a little tired, very hungry and more than a little excited in anticipation of the evening ahead. Food came first, and then a long, luxurious bath—with the hairdo, a shower was out of the question—then a couple of hours of rest. She propped a pillow under her neck, again to preserve the hairdo, and lay down on her back. Knowing that all she had left to do was apply some makeup and get dressed, she relaxed for the first time that day. She’d had every intention of getting some work done, but now the idea held absolutely no appeal. Grissom would be pleased she thought fleetingly as she drifted off to sleep. * * * * * If Gil had a list of things he hated most about his job, attending a function at the Mayor’s mansion would have topped it. But it was also an invitation he couldn’t refuse. Catherine’s "you’ve gotta be more politic" resounded still. How often had she told him that? She delivered that line as casually as a dentist would tell his patients they needed a check-up every six months. It amazed him that she still didn’t understand why he abhorred ass-kissing. But in her defense, he had to admit that she was only looking out for him. It was admirable really, considering how much she wanted his job. Tonight he would have happily traded places with her. Being at the lab, solving cases, that was what it was all about for him. Not playing some silly political game that, in the end, did nothing to advance their true purpose of solving crime. Ecklie was there, of course, his equally proud wife decked out in her finest, hanging on his arm. But ass-kissing was very much Ecklie’s style. To Ecklie, the truth was secondary to how it would be received or perceived by the very people they were supposed to protect. He was the Sheriff’s lap dog, giving him the answers he wanted, when he wanted them. He was also a thorn in Gil’s side. He'd found a stool at the bar out by the pool and was nursing a Scotch. The house and the yard were quickly filling up with the ‘who’s who’ of Las Vegas society. A jazz band was playing in the background. Waiters dressed in black and white were passing out hors-d’oeuvres. Gil scanned the crowd, looking for a friendly face. He knew Al was coming—in fact, Doc had also urged him to attend—and also Brass, but they hadn’t arrived yet. “Gil. Nice of you to come.” Gil hadn’t noticed the Sheriff's approach. He half-turned in his seat and greeted him with a nod. "Brian. How could I miss the society party of the year? And, one in your honor. Word has it you’re going to announce your political aspirations tonight?” Gil strongly suspected Mobley would be running in the next mayoral election. The Mayor was retiring, and he’d made it quite clear to the media that he would support their Sheriff as his successor. Mobley smiled wryly. “Not that I want to prolong your agony, Gil, but you’ll just have to stick around if you want to find out.” To Gil’s relief, Mobley walked away before he could reply. Any politically-correct response would have been a lie. And Gil didn’t lie easily, not even to please the Sheriff or the Mayor. It was what almost assured him he would never achieve a higher status at CSI. Not that he wanted it; his current status had already caused him enough grief. He quickly suppressed thoughts of Sara. He couldn’t blame that sacrifice completely on his job. It was only part of it. There was a much more compelling reason why a relationship with her was not advisable. Just as Gil threw the last of his Scotch down his throat, Doc arrived, providing a welcome intrusion on his thoughts. The last person he wanted to think about tonight was Sara. “Sorry I’m late, Gil. How’re you surviving?” “Great Scotch. Can I buy you a drink?” Of course, the buying was gratuitous since this was an open bar, but Doc played along, stating his preference for Bourbon as he straddled the stool on Gil’s right. “So, where’s Mrs. Doc, tonight?” Gil asked once their drinks had been served. “Would you believe home with a nasty cold? She’s been looking forward to this event since we got the invitation. She even bought a dress.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” “To be honest with you,” Doc said conspiratorially, “I don’t really mind—not about her being sick—I mean I’m happy to have an excuse for leaving early.” Gil chuckled and lifted his glass in a salute. “I hear you.” “Hi-dee-ho, neighbors,” Brass piped in dropping his heavy frame on the stool on Gil’s left, but not before shaking his butt playfully to the music’s tempo, which earned him wry glances from Gil and Al. “What? This is a great party.” Gil smirked. “If you say so.” “Hey, I’ve got it on good authority that Mobley’s going to announce his imminent resignation as Sheriff tonight. Why wouldn’t I feel like celebrating?” “Good point,” Al said. “Are you in the running for the job, Jim?” “No way. Politics is not my thing. And even if it was, the Mayor has hand-picked the next Sheriff. Gil, you’ve met him. Blake Garrison. He’s the mayor’s golden boy, his rising star. Here he is now.” When Gil’s gaze followed Brass’s, it wasn't Garrison he saw, but the woman he held close to his side. He flinched as a slow, steady burn started at the pit of his stomach and worked itself up to his throat. Swallowing convulsively, he downed his second drink. “Hey, isn’t that…Sara?” Brass said, astonished. “Wow, Gil, your CSI cleans up nice.” Doc also commented on how ‘nice’ Sara looked, the understatement of the century, Gil thought as he stole another glance at her. She looked stunning, absolutely beautiful--and she was laughing at something Garrison was saying. The bastard put his hand on her bare back and led her away to a small gathering around the Mayor. He kept his hand on her skin, as if he had every right to touch her, and for one fleeting, inexplicable moment, Gil wanted to go over there and tear her away from him. “Gil, you with us?” Brass asked, jolting him out of his nightmarish thoughts. He’d had trouble concentrating on the conversation between his colleagues, in fact he didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. Struggling to regain his composure, he muttered, “Of course,” and hoped there hadn’t been a question directed at him. Then, much to his relief, the speeches started and conversation was no longer necessary. First, the Mayor, then the Sheriff, and finally Garrison—who only said a few words—took the podium and addressed the crowd. Sara stood by like the doting wife, beaming up at him. Gil knew he had no right to feel possessive of her—she wasn’t his, dammit!…and she never would be—but for all his rational admonitions, he couldn’t quell the violent rush of jealousy that tore at him. “Well, looks like the show’s over,” Brass said as soon as the speeches ended and the applause died down. “I’d better go do my civic duty and shake hands with the Mayor. I don’t have any political aspirations, but it never hurts to stay on the right side of the power if you know what I mean.” He slid off the bar stool and slapped Gil on the back. “Catch you later, my friend.” After a bout of silence, Doc turned to Gil. “Do you want to talk about it.” Gil caught the bartender’s attention and lifted his empty glass which was promptly refilled. “Talk about what?” he asked steadily, meeting Al’s piercing blue eyes. Al tilted his head in Sara’s direction. “That girl you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of.” Practiced in his denial of everything to do with Sara, Gil asked wryly, “What are you talking about, Doc?” “Look, Gil, I understand your dilemma,” he returned softly. “The same thing happened to me. She was a student nurse in my clinic in Baltimore. My assistant had hired her for the summer. I didn’t know what it was about her, but the first time I saw her, I swear she stirred something in me. She was nineteen years old. I was thirty-two. Ethically and morally, I knew it was wrong to feel the way I did, so I tried to ignore it. I suspect that’s what you’ve been doing with Sara.” Gil cupped his hands around his glass. He was no longer looking at Doc; instead, he stared into the amber liquid in front of him, reflecting on the parallels between Doc’s reaction to his young nurse and his to Sara. Gil could feel his eyes on him. Doc, evidently, was very perceptive and there was something in his confession that soothed Gil’s tumultuous emotions. He’d known just what to say to make opening up about his own predicament easier. A problem shared is a problem halved, he thought, but more than that, he realized he wanted to talk about it. “The first time I saw her,” Gil started slowly, “was at an entomology seminar I gave at Berkeley. She was sitting in the middle of the third row in an auditorium of at least two hundred students. There was something so unassuming about her, yet she wore this colorful T- shirt, you know, the tie-dye kind, in blues, greens and pinks. It was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.” Gil smiled at the memory. “But that’s not why she stood out. Her enthusiasm with my lecture though, her intelligence, and the fact that her dark eyes never left me for two days, made me want to be a better teacher. “She approached me after the seminar. She had so many questions. She was like a sponge, absorbing everything I said. I must admit I was flattered. She told me I had inspired her to become a CSI and asked if I would help her get a job at the crime lab in San Francisco. Of course, I had no qualms recommending her.” “You kept in touch?” “Not right away. About a year later Burns called me in on a case. She was one of the investigators. I enjoyed working with her. After that, we kept in touch. She’d often email me for my advice on a case. When we lost Holly, she’s the first person I thought of hiring. She came immediately.” “What happened after that?” “After that?” Confusion filled his mind. He didn’t know how to explain what had happened after that. Awareness had turned into a deep attraction, then…what? He hadn’t been able to fully explain it to himself. All he knew was that she could drive him to distraction at times. Bring all his protective instincts to the surface. Ignite his jealousy like no other woman ever had. Made him wish she’d never met Blake Garrison. “Gil, no offense, but I know you tend to deny things you’re afraid to deal with. You did that with your otosclerosis. I hope you’ve learned that some things don’t go away just because you want them to.” Al stood and grabbed his cane. “And on that note, I bid you goodnight, my friend. It’s time I go shake hands with the Mayor and go home to my wife. Think about what I said.” Gil nodded and his gaze wandered to Sara again. He instinctively knew exactly where she’d be. It was as if he had some sixth sense where she was concerned. This time, she looked directly at him. She must have known he was there because she didn’t seem surprised at all to see him. She gave him a faint smile from across the room, said something to Garrison, and made her way through the crowd to the bar. “Looks like you’re about to have company,” Doc said as he started walking away. Gil stopped him. “Hey, Doc, how did you solve your dilemma with the student nurse?” Al smiled. A twinkle lit his eyes. “I married her.”
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