by LSI

Chapters:

Prologue  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

Chapter Nine

He was the last person she’d expected to see at the Mayor’s mansion.  She didn’t think Grissom did parties, much less high-society political ones, which he’d be more likely to scoff at.  It was just her luck that he’d picked this time to embrace the non-case-related duties of his job.  Well, embrace was too strong a word to describe his pained countenance.  She wondered how much pressure had been put on him to attend.

She’d spotted him at the bar with Doc and Brass just as the Mayor had started his speech.  Warmth had coursed through her veins and a spine-tingling awareness of him had stayed with her throughout the speeches.  When Blake had excused himself for a brief meeting with the Mayor and the Sheriff, she’d welcomed the opportunity to spend a little time alone with him.  She hadn’t cared to examine her reasons too closely.  Where Gil Grissom was concerned, it seemed she would eternally vacillate between needing to distance herself from him and wanting to be with him.

As she approached the bar, she plastered on a brilliant smile and quieted her racing heart.  “I’d be willing to bet my next paycheck that this is the last place you want to be,” she said amicably as she leaned against the bar on his left.

He smiled briefly but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “Make it the last place I’d have expected to see you and you’d win that bet.  You weren’t kidding about moving on, were you?” he asked sourly.

Her temper rose.  “It was your choice, remember?”  She watched him for a few seconds while the air crackled with tension and something else, something much more volatile.  “This was a mistake.” She turned and took a step away.  “Goodnight, Grissom.” 

“Sara, wait.”  He grasped her arm, but released her just as quickly when she looked down at his hand pointedly.  “I apologize,” he said contritely.  “Please.  Sit down and talk to me for a while.”

She sucked in a frustrated breath and sat next to him.  “Grissom, I don’t want to talk about this tonight.”

He gave her a tentative smile.  “I’ll drink to that,” he said lifting his glass.  “What will you have?”

Deciding to let the brief moment of friction slide, Sara said, “ Champagne, of course.”

“Someone once wrote that if you are seeking the truth, Champagne is better than a lie detector,” Grissom pointed out as the bartender poured her drink.  

“Luckily, I don’t have anything to hide,” she tossed back recklessly, and immediately regretted it.

“You don’t?”  He looked at her curiously.  “Everyone has something to hide, Sara, but let’s put that to the test, shall we?”  He paused briefly, but long enough to alarm her.  “What happened at the hospital?”

A nervous laugh escaped her throat.  “You won’t drop this, will you?” 

“Not if I can help it.”

This was another discussion she would rather not have with him tonight—well, ever, really.  But could she tell him that now?  She’d practically thrown him a challenge with her hasty remark, and he’d called her on it.  Short of admitting he’d been right, and that she did have something to hide, she had little choice but to tell him what he wanted to know. 

Would it be so bad to clear the air? she wondered.  It’s not as if it was too sore a topic to mention anymore.  She’d gotten past that last night…she’d even teased him about it.  But she did want to know why he hadn’t wanted her at the hospital and this was her opportunity to find out.  She’d tell him what he wanted to know, but it would cost him.  If he went along with it, she’d have the answers she needed.  If not, she wouldn’t have to divulge anything. 

Deciding it was a fair trade, she sent him a deliberately playful glance.  “Fine,” she said, “I’ll tell you what happened if you tell me something in return.”

The look of pure, unadulterated fear that crossed his face melted the last bit of nervous tension in her body.  She felt like a cat, playing with a mouse.  It was nice to have the upper-hand for a change.  Oh, I can have fun with this, she thought, and tonight, she very much wanted to have fun.  How ironic that she’d feared she didn’t have enough confidence to wear that dress, when the dress, it seemed, had given her all kinds of confidence.  Her muscles relaxed, one by one, and her nerves, which had been strung tight for weeks, smoothed out.

He looked away and drew a finger across his lips.  She recognized the mannerism, and smiled.  “I’m not the one who said I didn’t have anything to hide,” he finally said, staring into his drink.

“That’s the deal.  Take it or leave it.”

He looked at her then, and his expression cleared when he realized she was toying with him.  “Okay, Ms. Sidle.  Have it your way,” he threw back.  “Start talking.”

For all her bravado, her smile faltered.  The ball was now in her court, so to speak, but as she thought about how she would retell what had happened that day at the hospital, a remnant of grief swept through her, sending an unexpected sting of tears to her eyes.  She looked away.

“Sara?”

I will not cry!  Not here.  Not in front of him.

“Sara? Are you okay?” he asked, so gently and tenderly her heart melted.

The pressure on her chest was near unbearable.  So much for wanting to have a little fun, she thought sadly.  But I’ve done this before, I’ve felt this and grieved it; you’re over it girl, don’t you remember that?  She inhaled deeply and forced a smile to her lips before looking at him.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I hurt you.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.  It’s silly, really.  I’m fine.”

His eyes sought hers, but it pained her to see the pity in them.  She couldn’t hold his gaze.

“Dance with me.”

“What?”  If he’d intended to snap her out of her misery, he’d succeeded.

He shrugged.  “Looks like Garrison abandoned you.  It would be a shame if the most beautiful woman at the party didn’t get to dance at least once.”

If his compliment had been delivered for the sole purpose of making her feel better, she was past caring.  Uncontrolled, his tender words seeped into her heart, and warmed her.  And she looked at him…really looked at him, at the man he really was.  Conflicted, yes; an introvert, no doubt; but also strong and intelligent, a little arrogant at times, charming when he wanted to be.  He didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, but every once in a while, they would peek through his stern exterior and reveal themselves in his eyes.

Those were only some of the qualities that had made her love him.  In her eyes, he’d always stood head and shoulders above any other man, and he still did.  She knew only too well that she could not will those feelings away.  

Oh, what she would give to be the woman to ignite his passion.  To be the woman he loves beyond anything else.  He’d offered a dance; an opportunity to experience what it feels like to be held by him, not out of fear or anger or exasperation as had happened at the ranch two days ago, but just being held gently, close to him—

“Sara, it’s only a dance.  A jury doesn’t deliberate this long.”

Color warmed her cheeks as she realized she’d been staring at him all this time.  She dipped her head and cleared her mind.  “So you want to be the knight in shining armor that saves the damsel in distress, huh?”

He shook his head.  “Nothing so noble, I’m afraid.  Believe me, my intentions are quite selfish.”

“Oh?”  She smiled.  “For the record, Blake didn’t abandon me.  He was called into a strategy meeting with the Mayor and Mobley.  He knows exactly where I am.”

“Then he’s a bigger fool than I thought he was.”  At her puzzled look, he stated flatly, “I’m the one who gets to dance with the pretty girl.”  He stood.  “Come on,” he said, cocking his head toward the dance floor, “humor me.” 

THE MUSIC WAS slow and bluesy.  With a light touch on the small of her back, he led her to the other side of the makeshift dance floor, near the band.  Though the floor wasn’t crowded, the other couples provided a welcomed shield of semi-privacy from prying eyes.  It wouldn’t do for the Sheriff or for that matter, Cavallo whom Sara had spotted earlier, to see them dancing together. 

He took her hand gently and slipped his arm around her waist, bringing her body closer to his while maintaining a distance of decorum.  In response, she placed her hand lightly on his arm, near his shoulder.  He tilted his head back to look at her, and smiled as they began slowly swaying to the music under the moonlit sky.  “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” 

“No,” she said, a little too breathlessly, she thought, but his warm hand spread firmly against her bare skin was already playing havoc with her nerve endings.  Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she dropped her eyes to the knot of his tie.  It was a nice tie, black silk with tiny white dots, a perfect choice for the white button-down shirt and dark suit.  She concentrated on the shirt next; the fiber, fine cotton she deduced, looked expensive and it would be soft to the touch.  His suit—

“Sara,” Grissom said, interrupting her mental dissection of his attire, “does dancing with me make you uncomfortable?”

She looked at him and gave her head a small shake.  “No,” she puffed out sheepishly. 

“Then relax,” he said gently, pulling her a little closer.  “You’re stiff as a board.”

Easy for you to say, she thought, as their bodies lightly touched now, sending a quick surge of desire through her.  His thumb started a gentle caress on her back, pitching her already erratic pulse into overdrive.  Of its own volition, her hand crept up his shoulder and rested along the back of his neck.  She leaned closer into him.   

“Do you think you can tell me now?” he asked, his voice an unsteady rumble against her ear.

She pulled back abruptly.  Regret crossed his face, but disappeared so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.  She smiled coyly.  “Only if you stop whatever it is you’re doing to my back.  I’m not made of stone, you know.” 

She enjoyed the look he gave her, the glint in his eyes, the tight tilt of a smile on his mouth.  “I know.  You’re much softer,” he teased, first with his words, then with his fingers as they traced a path down her spine as far as the vee of her dress would allow.  Sara sucked in a breath, and watched in fascination as his smile faded and his eyes darkened, raked her face, and then settled on her lips.  “And much more dangerous,” he said, an edge of frustration in his voice.  He studied her face a moment longer then sighed.  “No more conditions, Sara.”

Just then, the music came to an end.  With a mixture of relief and disappointment Sara began disentangling herself from him.  Grissom swore under his breath, but instead of releasing her, he strengthened his hold on her. 

“Grissom…do you think this is a good idea?  I mean, one dance between colleagues might not register on the radar screen, but two, and people start talking.”

“Let them,” he stated baldly as the music started, and they began moving again.  “We have unfinished business.”

Let them?  She gave her head a quick shake.  “Okay, but couldn’t we finish this at the bar?”

“No.” 

She frowned.  “Why not?”

He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled loudly.  “Sara, quit stalling.”

“Fine.  You want to know why I was upset?  How long have we known each other, Grissom?”

“Seven years, eleven months and…” his eyes narrowed, “four days.” 

Her jaw dropped at his precision.  He was probably making it up, but it sounded about right and she couldn’t hide her pleasure from him.  Her eyes smiled into his.  “I won’t even ask,” she said, but just as quickly dismissed his charming reply.  “The point is, in all that time, did you ever consider me a friend?”

“Of course.”

“So why did that change?”

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.  “Who said it did?”

She gave him an incredulous look.  “Come—on, Grissom.  If I charted our relationship since I came to Vegas, you’d see a series of peaks and valleys, then a sharp dip off the chart in the last few months.”  Sara swallowed the growing lump in her throat.  “You stopped being a friend to me almost from the time I moved here.  We barely have a civilized working relationship anymore.  And you’re saying nothing’s changed?”

She shifted in his arms, unconsciously putting more distance between them.  Grissom inhaled and exhaled audibly.  “Okay—what does that have to do with your visit to the hospital?” he asked, a trace of irritation in his voice.

Sara held on to her patience with difficulty.  “You didn’t want me there, you told me so.  I don’t think you want me here at all anymore.”  She paused long enough to regain control of her emotions, and then braved her next question, her eyes dark and steady on his.  “Tell me, Grissom…do you regret hiring me?”

The question seemed to startle him.  A mask of confusion descended on his face; he opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it.  His eyes shifted, and his lids fell, shutting her out. 

What a strange man, Sara thought, as brilliant and loquacious as they come about most things, but paralyzed into silence when confronted with a personal issue.  She almost felt sorry for him.  On occasion, however, he communicated quite effectively without words.  A wave of sadness washed over her.  Though the orchestra continued to play, she stilled and stepped back.  Her eyes fell to their joined hands, their only remaining connection.  “I think this dance is over,” she said despondently as she broke free of him and walked off the dance floor.

SARA HEAVED A SIGH of relief when she saw Blake waiting for her at the bar.  She hoped he was ready to leave.  The evening, which she’d looked forward to, had taken an unexpected and painful turn.  It was odd that in the last couple of days, she and Grissom had had more intimate encounters and conversations than ever before, yet they’d grown further apart—if that were possible.  She felt as though they were doomed to be perpetually locked in a two-step dance of one step forward and two steps back.  She hoped the metaphor hadn’t been lost on him.  This dance had to stop.

Blake welcomed her with a warm smile.  “Hi, Princess.  Having a good time without me?”

The glare Sara sent him erased some of the smile from his lips, but his greeting to Grissom was pleasant enough.  She’d been vaguely aware of Grissom following her off the dance floor, but was surprised that he hadn’t made a beeline for the exit.  As he came to stand by her side, Sara stole a glance at him, noting the scowl on his face and the determination in his stance, his hands firmly buried in his pockets.

“Garrison,” he acknowledged coldly.

“Been taking good care of my girl for me?”  

Please, Blake, Sara implored with her eyes, don’t make things worse.

Grissom didn’t answer.  “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said to her and, with a brief nod to Blake, he left them staring after him.      

“Everything okay between you two?” Blake asked as soon as Grissom was out of earshot.

Sara managed a small smile.  “Don’t ask.”  Then, “Would you mind very much if we left?  I’m a little tired.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t leave yet.  That’s what I came out to tell you.  Looks like the meeting is going to drag on for a while.  Would you mind waiting a little longer?  I don’t know how long though.”

“That’s okay.  I can take a cab home.”

Regret crossed his face.  “I’m really sorry about this, Sara.  I didn’t expect them to want to talk business tonight.”  Then he smiled suggestively.  “I can make it up to you…in any number of ways.”

Sara laughed.  “I’m sure you could.  But don’t worry about it.  I know this is important to your future.  I’ll be fine.”  She turned to retrieve the small purse she’d left on the bar stool.

“I’d like to think you’ll be important to my future as well,” she heard him say softly.

Sara’s eyes flew to his and she was a taken aback when she saw the sincerity in his gaze.  “Blake—“

“I know.  Bad timing, huh?  We can talk later.  Wait here; I’ll go get someone to call you a cab.”

Damn!  Damn!  What the hell is happening?  Blake had never once expressed a desire for their relationship to be anything other than what it had been.  Not seriously, anyway.  He’d joked around with her a few times, had pretended to be upset when she told him she was leaving San Francisco, but had just as quickly made light of it. 

Had she misread his intentions three years ago?  That would hardly be surprising given her track record for misreading men.  But this was not a complication she needed at this time.  Scanning the room, she noticed the party was winding down.  Grissom, obviously, had left; so had Brass.  The Sheriff and the Mayor were nowhere to be seen—they were probably still strategizing behind closed doors, she mused.  Sara didn’t know anyone else at the party. 

Under the circumstances she was glad she’d opted to take a cab home, but it wasn’t without a little sadness that she said goodnight to Blake a few minutes later.  She needed a friend right now much more than she needed a suitor, and she felt that had been taken away from her as well.

He walked her to the door.  “Apparently, they called a number of cabs a few minutes ago.  One should be by soon,” he said as he leaned to kiss her cheek.  “Sara, I’m really sorry about this.  It’s not the way I’d hoped the evening would end.  Can I call you later…if it’s not too late?”

“If it’s not too late,” she agreed.  They had to clear the air about their relationship.  The last thing she wanted was to lead him on.  “Goodnight, Blake.”

Still a little shaken by his comment at the bar, Sara watched him leave in the direction of a set of heavy wooden doors she guessed led to the Mayor’s study.  In a way, his admission that he hoped their relationship would become more serious had forced her to think of the possibility.  Could something develop between them?  He was a very nice man, very attractive, and she remembered, very skilled in the bedroom; much better than Hank; much more interesting as well.  She could do worse, she thought, for the first time entertaining the idea of a more serious relationship with Blake.  Why couldn’t she fall for him?

As she stepped out on the front steps of the mansion, her heart thudded the answer.  She thought he would have left by now.  As if sensing she was there, Grissom turned and looked at her.

“Alone again, Princess?”

Whatever emotions crossed his face when he saw her, had vanished quickly under a mask of indifference, which only his sarcasm belied.  Ignoring it, she took the few steps down and joined him on the curb.  “I thought you’d left.”

“It’s not for lack of trying.  The valet has to move a few cars to get to mine.  Did you lose your date again?”

Sara smiled and glanced up the drive, willing a cab to appear.  As if on cue, one did.  “I guess so.  Here’s my ride.  Goodnight, Grissom,” she said, as the cab came to a stop a couple of car lengths down the semi-circular drive.  She only had time to take a couple of steps toward it before a couple climbed into the back seat and it took off.  Her shoulders fell in a slump.     

“You’re taking a cab home?” he asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“Yes.  Blake had to get back to the meeting and I didn’t feel like waiting.  It was my idea,” she said defensively, expecting another disparaging remark about Blake.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No,” she said quickly.  “Thank you.  Another cab will come soon.”

“I’ll take you home,” he said again, in a voice which would brook no argument. 

She sighed and glanced up the drive.  She didn’t really want to spend another minute alone with him, but unless another cab showed up immediately, it would appear she had little choice.  Having a childish argument about it was even more unappealing than accepting his offer of a lift.  Just then, the valet delivered his car and handed him the keys. 

Grissom opened the passenger door and stood formally by, a playful gleam in his eyes.  “Your carriage awaits, my princess.”

A quick smile came to her lips before she could stop it.  “If you insist,” she said sweetly as she slid past him and climbed in.

“I do,” he said, and closed the door.

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