Sara was the first to arrive.

The Maître d’ promptly informed her that their table was ready, but Sara preferred to wait for her date before taking a seat. ‘Her date.’ Her first in over a year and, she thought with a derisive curl of her lips, a date for which she sometimes felt she’d been preparing for over a year.

But she was ready, and she felt good, in fact much better than she’d expected to feel. It might have something to do with the little silk number she’d treated herself to for this momentous occasion, the one the sales clerk had told her 'screamed sexy', the same one that as she paid the hefty price tag Sara had thought screamed 'overpriced', leaving little doubt that she was being cleverly hustled. But looking at her appearance in the mirror before leaving her apartment, she’d sent the sales clerk a silent apology.

The ivory silk pant suit was indeed flattering. The color complemented her pale complexion, the deep vee in the tank top dipped low enough to tease without exposing too much, and the matching slacks hugged her hips before gently flaring down to her ankles so that when she walked, the fabric caressed her skin. A silk jacket completed the elegant outfit. Sara had also taken extra care with her make-up, and had swept her long dark hair up leaving a few becoming tendrils to fall against her face. Jade stud earrings and a matching chocker necklace she’d picked up in Chinatown not long after moving to San Francisco were a nice final touch.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken such care with her appearance, but taking in the opulence and sophistication of the Top of the Mark, the Mark Hopkins Inter-Continental hotel’s famous 19^th floor lounge, she was glad that she had.

As she lingered by the easel that announced that evening’s entertainment—Tom Shaw at the piano until nine and then the Black Market Jazz Orchestra, a six-piece jazz band that played music from the 40’s to today’s hits—she scanned the room. The large windows that provided the sky-lounge’s famous 360 degree panoramic views of San Francisco were very prominent, and evidently the seating location of choice. Sara made a mental note to saunter over to one of the windows at sunset to take a closer look. She’d read somewhere that catching a sunset at the top could well be the most romantic experience of a lifetime.

Which is why she’d felt a little perturbed when Martin Hunt, SFPD graveyard shift Criminalist, had announced he’d made a reservation there for their first date. The Top of the Mark was said to have attracted generations of lovers over the years for cocktails and a romantic view of the city. She only hoped that his choice had been more random than deliberate, because as much as she felt ready to actually go out on a date, she was far from ready for any romantic entanglements.

To be sure, she’d suggested they meet there. Since Martin had to work later anyway she’d explained, he could leave directly from the Inter-Continental. That way, they wouldn’t have to rush dinner. It had been a believable enough explanation and he’d agreed. It had also been a sure-fire way to avoid that awkward first date will-he-or-won’t-he-kiss-her moment at the front door later, but he didn’t have to know that.

When the elevator doors opened she turned, a smile ready for Martin, but a young couple emerged instead, hugging and laughing. She glanced at her watch. Surely he’d be here soon she thought as she returned her attention to the lounge and its patrons.

It was early by San Francisco dining-out standards, only seven o’clock, but the lounge was almost full with the cocktails crowd. At the piano, Tom Shaw was playing a piece by Enya she recognized as Watermark. She liked Enya, an unusual choice for her, but she found her just original enough to be interesting. And her music had certainly fitted her mood in the past months.

As much as Sara didn’t want to dwell on the past tonight, it was difficult not to associate the agony of the past year with the inaugural quality of the evening. Leaving Las Vegas had not been easy, but the months that had followed had been the most miserable of her existence. She’d had no idea how difficult it would be to put that period of her life behind her. Still, leaving had been the wisest move for her peace of mind. She’d never doubted that.

She didn’t know exactly when her relationship with Grissom had regressed from warm friendship to mere civility, no more than she knew precisely when she’d fallen in love with him. What she did know was that the notion of a romantic relationship with him had not seemed so implausible in the beginning. In fact she’d often suspected that he returned her feelings, or at the very least, had not been indifferent to her. But he hadn’t been forthcoming either. Their mild flirtations might have come across as sweet and innocent to curious bystanders, but to her hopeful heart, they had over time become entirely too meaningful.

Her harsh dose of reality had been unexpected; the venue even more so.

The evidence on trial that day had not had anything to do with the guilt or innocence of the defendant. It had everything to do with the guilt or innocence of the CSI who had collected the evidence. Not that she would compromise evidence to please her boss, Gil Grissom, as the defense attorney had implied, but had a simple touch of his cheek to remove plaster dust on an unrelated case months before been as innocent as Sara wanted everyone to believe?

No. Not if she were honest with herself.

To her dismay, her feelings for Grissom had been revealed in that courtroom that day ‘whether or not he returned her attentions’ as Tom Havilland’s attorney had so gallantly suggested, and allegations of her romantic interest in Gil Grissom had become public record. The only silver lining on that dark cloud was that he hadn’t been there to witness her humiliation—that snippet in time that Sara had come to recognize as a turning point in her life. She’d made a pact with herself that day—she would never again put herself in such a situation. It had been time to move on.

At first, Hank Peddigrew had been a nice diversion from work. She’d needed a friend and he was more than willing to fill that role. Sara had always preferred the company of men, even in high school her best friend had been a guy. It wasn't something she could explain—where it counted she was all girl—but intellectually and to a certain extent emotionally, she’d always related better to men than she had to women. It wasn’t about who she was, but rather about what felt comfortable to her. If she were occasionally given to flights of fancy the last thing she wanted to do was share it with anyone. In her experience, most girls had this inane need to confide their every thought and emotion in each other.

But as rare as those occasions were for her, there had been times when she wished she had developed closer relationships with women. She could have used a girlfriend to talk to after her fateful courtroom humiliation. There were just some things that a woman knew a man would not understand, or if he did, would not be able to offer the kind of comfort she needed.

By default, Hank had been the one she’d turned to for comfort, but it hadn’t been for a friendly ear or for words of understanding or wisdom. Her reasons for encouraging a more intimate relationship with him at that particular time had been much more philosophical and difficult for her to understand. And while that part of their relationship had never been particularly satisfying for her, she had grown to care a great deal for Hank as a friend and a lover. So when she learned he’d been involved with another woman all along, it smarted.

But despite what many people thought, her decision to leave Las Vegas a month later had had nothing to do with Hank's deception.

Months went by before she could think about Grissom without feeling her heart tear to shreds. It had happened gradually. One morning he hadn’t been the first thing she’d thought about as she woke, then one night his face had not been the last thing she’d seen before drifting off to sleep. Little by little she began to forget him, the exact color of his eyes, his voice, his scent… until one day, she stopped feeling that a piece of her was missing.

When the elevator doors opened again, Sara whipped around. Still no Martin. She glanced at her watch one more time. He’d said seven, and it was going on ten past. She regretted not having gone immediately to their table as the Maître d’ had suggested. She was beginning to feel conspicuous lurking around the Maître d’s podium, and as two more couples waltzed in behind her, Sara stepped aside to let them pass and almost collided with one of the tall plants that provided a little bit of vegetation in the place.

And that’s when she saw him.

Heat rushed through her body and the air left her lungs. A steady hum settled into her brain, blocking all awareness of her surroundings—the other patrons, the music, everything slowed and muted, until there was only one other person in the room.

Grissom.

What on earth is he doing here?

He was sitting back in a reddish-brown leather armchair, his legs crossed at the ankles, his arm extended along the padded arm of the chair, in his right hand, a glass containing a finger of amber liquid swirled with each rotation of his wrist. There was a certain wistfulness in his expression, a touch of sadness she’d rarely seen. But a casual onlooker might have mistaken him for a preoccupied businessman instead of the introverted scientist Sara knew him to be, and the picture he made would not have looked out of place on the cover of Aficionado or in the pages of GQ. Sara could not remember a time when he'd looked quite so stylish.

She observed him at length. He was different yet unchanged somehow. She took in the boyish features she’d never been able to forget, his well-shaped mouth, a mouth that had often turned her inside out wondering what it would feel like against her skin, and he’d lost weight she noticed, which made him look younger despite the full head of short curly hair that had gone completely grey now.

From this distance, she couldn’t see his eyes, his most captivating feature she’d often thought. But he was as handsome as ever in a black shirt opened at the throat and charcoal grey sports jacket and pants. She’d never seen him dressed up except for court appearances when he’d worn a suit complete with dress shirt and tie. She preferred this more casual and elegant style. It suited him.

But as attractive as the package was, and it was damn attractive, it was the Grissom mystique that she’d always found irresistible. Keenly intelligent, witty, guarded, mysterious, off-beat… there was something predictably unpredictable about him. He was an enigma… a puzzle she would have gladly spent a lifetime solving.

Given the chance.

Then there was his other side, the one that could be unbelievably insensitive, even cruel, although everything she knew about him contradicted that he could be deliberately cruel to anyone.

Her emotional withdrawal from Grissom had begun immediately after the Tom Havilland trial, but in every other way, her behavior toward him had not changed all that much. His withdrawal had manifested itself much differently. She might not remember the exact color of his eyes anymore, but she’d never forget how cold they could be, and as much as she’d tried to reinstate the old camaraderie they’d shared in the beginning, it hadn’t worked. She had a permanent lump in her throat whenever he'd been in her vicinity back then, which fortunately hadn’t been all that often since near the end, he seemed to be avoiding her as much as she wished to avoid him.

After a while, the thought of having to interact with him, if however briefly, had become more than she could bear. So one day, she’d simply decided she’d had enough and contacted an old friend at the San Francisco PD Crime Lab, who it so happened, had just heard of a job opening. Within the week she had the job, and two weeks after that she was on her way to San Francisco and the beginning of a year long struggle to forget him.

And that’s when her most painful memory assaulted her. Without warning, the giant fist that had squeezed her heart so hard at times she’d hardly been able to breathe was back, making a mockery of the months it had taken her to eradicate Gil Grissom from her mind and her heart.

IT WAS TEN-THIRTY in the evening on Sara’s last day in Las Vegas. Her going away party was dwindling down since the others had to be at work by eleven. There had been speeches and parting gifts, a palm pilot from everyone in the department already programmed with their contact information, and a few joke gifts the likes of Nick and Greg had not been able to resist...from Nick, a wooden plant ‘that travels well’, and from Greg, her DNA profile. Everyone had shown up, everyone that is except for Grissom.

Sara glanced toward the door frequently during the party, telling herself he’d be walking in at any moment, but by ten she’d given up, and so had everyone else. She noticed the glances Warrick, Nick and Catherine exchanged. She noticed the pity in their eyes. Even Brass looked at her with something akin to sympathy, so she tried even harder to pretend she hadn’t a care in the world. But the later it got the more difficult it was for Sara to keep a smile on her face. Everybody looked uncomfortable, but most of all, she felt uncomfortable. She just wanted to go home.

“I’m sorry, Sara,” Catherine said as she prepared to leave.

“Sorry for what?”

“Grissom. He can be a real asshole sometimes.”

“You don’t have to apologize for him, Cath. Thanks for the party, by the way. It was a really nice thing for you guys to do,” she said, her smile challenging the tears that threatened to spill. They had hugged then, and it struck Sara at that moment that it was the first time in three years that the older woman had shown any real affection toward her. Catherine had been there to offer a friendly ear when she ended her relationship with Hank, but tonight she was different.

“You know Sara,” she said, “his absence says a lot more about how he feels than he could have by being here.”

Sara tried, but failed, to find comfort in her words. Had she come to mean so little to him that he couldn’t even bother saying goodbye? After being friends for so long, even if the past months had been strained? She knew he’d been angry when she told him she wanted to return to San Francisco, but she owed him nothing. They both knew that. No, this felt more like indifference than anything else.

When she’d approached him with her letter of resignation, he’d read it quickly then gave her a ‘here-we-go-again’ glare.

“Why do you want to leave this time, Sara?” He hadn’t bothered hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

Sara ignored it.

“It’s time. There’s nothing keeping me here now, and I have an opportunity to move up in San Francisco.”

“Really? What are they offering you that you can’t have here?” More cool sarcasm. He was beginning to annoy her.

“Nothing, Grissom, nothing at all,” she smiled falsely. A heartbeat later, by way of explanation, she said, “I'm not happy here anymore and I need a change of scenery; it’s that simple.”

“Is it something I did again?”

Now she was really pissed. Relax honey, you won’t need to send me another plant to keep me here. “No Grissom. Everything is not about you,” she said instead, if a little harshly. “I’m not changing my mind this time, so just give me your blessing and let me go. Either way, I’m leaving.”

“Is this about this Hank guy?”

Sara glared at him then. He either got it, or decided that he’d crossed a line. He took her letter of resignation and slipped it into his desk drawer. “Fine, good luck.” He stood and left his office before she could say thank you.

During the following two weeks the most he managed around her was a cold shoulder. She hadn’t seen him on her last day at work, and he hadn’t bothered showing up for her party.

Catherine had been on her way out the door when Sara called out to her. Approaching her, Sara made a final request. "Cath," she'd said, struggling for composure, "do me a favor and tell Grissom I said goodbye."

That night she had cried herself to sleep, and the next morning, she'd been on a plane to San Francisco. She hadn't heard from or seen Grissom again.

Until tonight.

Sara was surprised at how deeply that memory still cut through her and left her feeling raw. She swallowed hard and continued to study him as he lifted his glass to take a swig of his drink. Looking straight up as he did so, his gaze collided with hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Her pulse quickened and Grissom froze, glass suspended in mid air as he stared at her, mouth agape. Then, his gaze never leaving hers, he placed his drink carefully on the low table, stood and strode slowly in her direction.

As he made his way toward her, Sara cleared her throat and gave him a wobbly smile.

“Sara,” he said, wonderment in his voice, then frowned, seemingly at a loss for words.

Her smile grew. “It’s me,” she said, unknowingly repeating the words she’d said a long time ago when she first joined his team in Las Vegas.

He caught her smile with his eyes, and then, with a deliberate glance, took in her appearance before settling on her face again. “You look—" he stopped as if searching for the right adjective, “—stunning.”

“Thanks.” Giving him a cursory glance, she added, “You look pretty good yourself.”

Seconds ticked by as they stared silently at each other, and when they spoke it was at the same time.

“What’re you doing—”

“What are—“

“You first,” she said.

“Well, Burns brought me in to consult on the Stanton murder case.” At her blank stare, he said, ‘Oh right, you probably haven’t heard about that yet.”

“I’ve been on vacation, visiting my parents.”

“So I heard. Talk about bad timing huh?”

Sara shook her head in confusion.

“I was hoping we’d get to work together again, but I’m done here now. I leave in the morning.”

“Oh,” Sara said. “If I’d known you were coming—“

“Hey, Sara… Sorry I’m late,” Martin said as he approached her, and a wave of disappointment washed through her.

“Martin, hi—“

“Dr. Grissom,” he said, surprising her. “I never expected to see you here.”

The men shook hands. Then, glancing at Sara, Martin continued. “You two know each other?”

He hadn’t yet connected the two, and without thinking, maybe because she felt so nervous and unconsciously wanted to lighten the mood, Sara responded teasingly. “Yes, Martin. Dr. Grissom and I spent most of our nights together for the better part of three years.”

It had the effect of confusing him for a moment, but understanding soon flashed in Martin's eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Sara, you used to work in Vegas. You two worked together,” he said, seemingly pleased he’d solved the puzzle.

Grissom didn’t look amused.

The Maître d’ chose that moment to remind them their table was waiting.

“Would you like to join us, Dr. Grissom?”

Sara caught Grissom’s gaze. She didn’t know if she wanted him to say yes or no, so she said nothing and let the events unfold without her interference.

“Thank you,” he finally addressed Martin, shaking his head. Then, he looked directly at Sara. “I’ll pass, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Martin didn’t insist and Sara couldn’t make up her mind whether she was relieved or disappointed. When Martin started walking away with the Maître d’, she held back. She didn’t really know what to say, but she couldn’t just end their encounter without saying something.

“It was really nice seeing you again, Grissom. Will you say hello to the gang for me.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She gave him a weak smile and turned to walk away.

“Sara…” She stopped and turned to face him. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He shook his head. “Enjoy your evening,” was all he said.

UNDER DIFFERENT circumstances, Sara was certain she would have enjoyed Martin’s company. But Grissom’s unexpected appearance had pretty much made that impossible. Fortunately, from where they were sitting she couldn’t see him, otherwise it would have been difficult to pay attention to her date.

Martin ordered each of them of glass of wine as soon as they were seated, and then commented on the unlikelihood of running into Grissom here. He told her a bit about the case he’d been called to work on, but only the bits he’d heard through the grapevine since the day shift, her team, had been primary on the case. So had she been in town, she mused, she could have been assigned to the case. An unexpected pang of disappointment hit her, and of their own accord, her eyes scanned the room on the off chance that they’d spot him again.

“He’s a bit of a legend in our circle, isn’t he?” Martin said, jolting Sara out of her reverie.

“I guess you could say that. He does know his bugs,” she said, smiling.

“What was he like to work for?”

She shrugged. “He’s one of the best, so that made it interesting. I learned a lot from him.” What more could she say? Can we please stop talking about him because I’m trying really hard to forget he’s sitting across the room?

Their wine came then, and when the waiter left, Martin asked about her week off.

“It was okay. I got to spend a couple of days with my mom and dad, so that was great. I don’t get to see them much.”

“Where do they live?”

“Tamales Bay .”

“Well, at least you’re closer to them now,” he said. “Mind you, my parents are right here in town and I rarely see them. They work days, I work nights.” He shrugged.

Sara nodded her understanding and fell silent.

“By the way, you look fabulous tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said pleased with the compliment, but Grissom’s ‘stunning’ had set her heart racing. Martin had never seen her in anything but her trademark black jeans and a lab coat. Come to think of it, this was the first time she was seeing him outside of work too, and as she took in his appearance for the first time that evening, she had to agree with the girls at the lab. There was no denying that Martin Hunt, or Martin Hunk as they’d baptized him, all six feet two inches of hunk, Sara added silently, was one hell of a good looking man. Tonight he wore a dark blue suit, dark blue tie with a small turquoise-diamond print, and a white shirt. His fair hair and intense brown eyes—

Sara gasped. Oh my God! How could she have missed the resemblance?

Hank. She hadn’t thought about him in months. And when she had, it had been with a little sadness. She’d realized during her year of soul searching that her involvement with Hank had been nothing more than a mean to deny to herself, and to those around her, her feelings for Grissom. Hank had not been the only duplicitous one in their relationship. She might not have been actively involved with anyone else, but her heart had been and her motives for taking their relationship to the next level had been less than honest.

And now, here she was sitting with a man whose physical similarities to Hank were almost uncanny. There was no doubt Martin was an attractive man. In fact Sara had to admit that she’d been flattered by his attentions. So why was it that her pulse didn’t even flutter when one look at Grissom always had her heart going from zero to sixty in a second?

When would she stop asking herself that question?

It had been the same with Hank, good looking guy, good company, but otherwise his attentions had moved her about as much as a trip to the supermarket. What was wrong with her? She didn’t even want another man who could mess with her heartbeat—

“Earth to Sara.”

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking, um…“ Short of an outright lie, what could she say? As it turned out, she didn’t have to say anything. At that very moment, Martin’s pager went off.

“Damn! Would you excuse me for a minute?” he said, and pulling a cell phone from his pocket he made a call. Based on his side of the conversation Sara knew their evening was about to come to an end. Under the circumstances she wasn’t sorry. What’s the point of being out with a man if you have to force yourself to pay attention to him?

He slipped the phone in his jacket pocket and looked at her, an apology in his eyes. “I have to go in. Multiple… everybody’s been called in early.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said a little too brightly. “I’m used to this remember?”

He frowned. “Yeah… But I’m really sorry, Sara. I’ve been looking forward to this evening for a week. Rain check?”

“Of course.” With any luck Grissom wouldn’t show up on their second date.

He stood then and dropped some money on the table. “C’mon, the least I can do is walk you to your car.”

Sara retrieved her jacket from the back of her chair and led the way to the exit, trying not to glance at Grissom's table, but she couldn't help herself. She was surprised to see that he was still there, scowling in his drink. She stopped walking so abruptly that Martin collided with her.

“Oh sorry,” she said absently. He followed her gaze, and looked at her again a sudden jolt of understanding crossing his features. “Listen, Martin, you go ahead, okay? I'm going to stick around for a while.”

“Suit yourself,” he answered, an edge in his voice. Then, he pointed with his chin in Grissom’s direction. “You care about him?”

Sara stared at him. She started to deny it, but realized that would be an exercise in futility. She’d never been particularly good at hiding her feelings, and as much as she’d convinced herself that her feelings for Grissom were something of the past, her heart had vehemently disagreed the moment she’d set eyes on him tonight.

“Well, he’s a lucky guy.”

“Thanks... for everything.” She stood on tip toes then and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek. “Have a good night, Martin.”

She watched him leave. He really was a good sport, she thought, and she was certain he would make some woman very happy some day. But it wouldn’t be her.

“YOU SHOULD BE careful, too many of those will give you a sore head in the morning.”

Grissom's head snapped up, but he quickly refocused on the glass in his hand. “They also dull the senses.”

Sara smiled. “Bad day?”

He looked up at her, and held her gaze for a moment, then said, “Isn’t your boyfriend going to wonder where you are?”

“No. And, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Ah, the famous last words. I heard them before. What was his name? Hank, wasn’t it?"

Well so much for civility between old friends. Sara chose to ignore his barb. “Martin got called away. The job,” she shrugged, “you know how it is.”

“Well, who should I thank for this sudden stroke of luck?”

“Excuse me?”

“His loss. My gain. Have a drink with me,” he stood and pulled a chair for her.

Sara didn’t move. “I’d better not, I’m driving—“

“Sara, I’m leaving in the morning, and I haven’t seen you in over a year. The least you can do is have a drink with me,” he said impatiently, as if he were talking to an ungrateful child.

It infuriated her.

“The least I can do!” She tried to hold her voice down. “I don’t believe you! This from the guy who didn’t even bother showing up for my going-away party!” There. She’d said it. She’d forgiven him just about everything over time, but not that.

“Oh, right,” he said broodingly, the way he did when someone reminded him of something he should have remembered. “I owe you an apology for that. I was a jerk. It was a confusing… no, no,” he shook his head. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I’m really sorry, Sara.”

And because he did seem genuinely remorseful, and he really looked distraught, and, she had to admit, she couldn’t help herself, she didn’t argue when he motioned for her to sit down again. She focused on the couples on the dance floor though, not really seeing them, but needing the diversion to steady her nerves. She took a deep breath and looked at him. He was sitting across the table from her, forearms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on her face.

“You didn’t even say goodbye to me. Why, Grissom?”

A slight flush colored his cheekbones, and he looked at his feet as if he could find the answer he needed there. She’d seen that face before. Confused, strained, he was struggling to put thoughts into words that would be truthful without offending or revealing too much.

But she was wrong. When he finally looked up she saw a new resolve in his eyes and then heard it in his voice.

“I was losing you, I wasn’t happy about it, and I wasn’t about to go there and try to pretend that I was,” he delivered bluntly.

I was losing you, I wasn’t happy about it… Words she would have once blown all out of proportion. She wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

“The way you talk, you’d think I was irreplaceable,” she said calmly. “But you’d already hired my replacement by the time I left.”

Grissom sighed and looked away briefly, then glanced back, a strange light in his eyes. “How I felt about you leaving had nothing to do with the job, Sara,” he admitted softly.

This silenced her. Her brow creased, but he didn’t give her time to process what he’d said.

“Tell me about you, what you’ve been up to this past year,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. He settled back into his chair and waited for her answer.

Other than trying to forget you, you mean? But of course, she didn’t say that.

“Well… I settled into the job easily enough. Same work, different shift, different city. I work with a good team of people.”

Grissom nodded. “Yeah, I met some of them this week.”

“And, I found a terrific apartment in Pacific Heights. I spent a lot of time going around garage sales and flea markets to find the perfect pieces to furnish it. It was fun.”

He raised a brow in mock disbelief. “Sara Sidle, are you saying you don’t work 24/7 anymore?”

She smiled. “No. I guess something you said finally sank in.” Her smile faded and she looked at him thoughtfully. “Warrick told me about your… surgery.” She hesitated, not sure if she should mention it.

She had kept in touch with Warrick and Nick for a while, at first by telephone, then by e-mail. Eventually their contacts had dwindled to nothing, as she’d fully expected. People always made promises to keep in touch when someone was leaving, but no one ever did, at least not long term. With time, everybody moved on. New life, new friends, new problems… whatever it was, after a while you became a distant memory and eventually you struggled to remember their names.

Sara hadn’t been gone long enough to have forgotten anyone, but she also hadn’t been in contact with any of them in months. In her early conversations with Warrick he’d told her about the genetic disorder that could cause Grissom to go completely deaf, and had kept her informed of his subsequent surgeries. Apparently he hadn’t told anyone about this problem until it was time for him to have the surgery.

“Can I ask why you didn’t say anything?”

He shrugged. “I needed to figure out how to deal with it first. My entire life depended on the success of this surgery… at least that’s how I saw it at the time… and there were no guarantees.” He became pensive and his voice softened. “I was lucky, Sara. It could have gone the other way.”

They both fell silent.

“What do you say we change the subject? Are you going to have a drink?”

“All right, I guess one can’t hurt.” Grissom waved to a waiter. “Make mine a martini.”

He chuckled. “They have a hundred different variations here, from the 007 to the Red Passion.”

“Oh. Well, as intriguing as the Red Passion sounds, I think I’ll stick to something more run-of-the-mill… vodka, dry, shaken not stirred, but unlike Bond, with an olive.”

Grissom smiled and when the waiter appeared he ordered a scotch on the rocks for himself and a martini for her.

“Funny… I never pictured you a martini drinker.”

“Someone introduced me to them a while back and I found I quite liked them...in moderation of course,” she added, smiling.

His eyes caught her smile, and a shadow crossed his face.

“Would that ‘someone’ be one Martin Hunt by any chance?”

“No… he’s… he hasn’t um…” She shook her head, and on a sigh said, “Tell me about the gang… I’ve missed them so much.”

“Now you’re changing the subject.” He didn’t seem pleased. He pursed his lips, and took his time before responding. “I think they’ve missed you too… especially your Greggo,” he grimaced.

“Ah, you mean Nick’s Greggo, don’t you?”

Grissom chuckled at this. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the boys have finally grown up. I’ve been bringing Greg out in the field with us more.” He gave her sketchy details of some of the cases in which he’d involved Greg, and how well he’d performed. “Come to think of it, he impresses me lately.”

“Well that’s an accomplishment. You’re not easy to impress.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re not.”

Their drinks came, and the mood was broken. They both fell silent, content to stare into their drink and listen to the music for a while.

There was one question nagging at the back of Sara’s mind, one she wasn’t sure she should ask, or feared would reveal too much. Yet, something inside her wanted to know the answer. She took two long sips of her martini looking for courage in the clear liquid. “What about you?”

Grissom looked up, confusion creasing his brow. He set his glass down on the table. “What about me?”

“Did you miss me?” He stared at her silently just long enough to make her regret the question and let him off the hook. “Never mind, you don’t—”

“Do you like to dance?” he asked quizzically.

“Sure.” She blinked. How he got from ‘did you miss me’ to ‘do you like to dance’, she wouldn’t even attempt to guess. But, knowing him, the two thoughts were probably linked in some obscure way, and he would in his own good time lead her to connect the right dots. His mind did work in mysterious ways, she mused.

He reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket for a pen and scribbled something on his cocktail napkin. He handed it to a passing waiter, who glanced at the note and nodded.

“I’ll take care of this right away, sir.”

Grissom thanked him and turned back to Sara.

“What was that all about?” she asked curiously.

“A special request,” he smiled. “A song I heard some time ago that reminded me of you.”

“Really?” she said intrigued, and pursed her lips to stop the smile from forming on them in an effort to hide the pleasure his words had evoked.

“Really.”

“So what is it?”

“Ah… you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Sara’s gaze automatically went to the dance floor again, envying the couples who danced to a very nice melody compliments of Tom Shaw at the piano. He was quite good, Sara noted as the song ended on a soft and faraway note. Almost immediately, he announced the next number. A special request he said. “A beautiful song for a beautiful lady from Jim Brickman’s Love Songs and Lullabies album.”

Grissom stood and extended his hand to her.

“This is our song,” he said softly.

She took his hand hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in hers, and followed him to the dance floor. She pulled in a ragged breath as he circled her waist with his right arm, drawing her close to him. She laid her left hand on his chest near his shoulder, and let him lead her to the slow melody. Sara didn’t know the song, so when the lyrics started she couldn’t hide her surprise from him.

From the moment I saw you

From the moment I looked into your eyes

There was something about you

I knew, I knew

That you were once in a lifetime

A treasure near impossible to find

And I know how lucky I am to have you

She pulled back and looked at him curiously, but he just shrugged and with a half smile drew her back to him. What was he saying, without saying it? It was difficult to miss the meaning behind this… this… love song he said had reminded him of her. Still Sara had learned the hard way not to jump to conclusions where he was concerned. And, if she had half a brain in her head, she thought, she would stop trying to figure out the meaning behind this gesture, and enjoy the moment. She closed her eyes.

Cause I’ve seen rainbows that

could take your breath away

The beauty of the setting sun on

any given day

And when it comes to shooting stars

I have seen a few, but I’ve never seen

anything as beautiful as you

In all the years she’d known him, he’d rarely touched her, and when he had it had mostly been by accident, and now, in the space of one chance encounter, she was in his arms, dancing with him to a love song he’d requested, their song he’d said... and his body was so warm, his hand burning through the thin silk fabric on her back… and he smelled so fabulous, of expensive soap and scotch and… him, and he felt better than he had in her most erotic dreams. She let her hand fall slowly from his chest down to his waist, and he responded by letting go of her other hand and enveloping her in his strong and warm embrace…

I can’t believe that I have you

I can’t believe that you’re here in my arms

I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you, for you

And I’ve dreamed about you

Pictured in my mind what I would see

But I never imagined just how beautiful

You’d be

By the time the song reached its crescendo, they were so close it was difficult to tell where her body ended and his began. Her heart swelled, and she caught her breath. How many ways were there to interpret this?

From the moment I saw you

From the moment I looked into your eyes

The song ended but he didn’t immediately release her. “If I didn’t know better,” she breathed into his neck, “I’d swear you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Is it working?” His warm breath, a little ragged, tickled her ear. Sara pulled back slightly to look at him.

His face was so close to hers, she found it difficult to breathe. His eyes moved from her lips to her eyes and back again and Sara wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Instinctively, the tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips. His eyes followed the movement and she saw something flicker in them. She didn’t need to give voice to her feelings for she was certain they were obvious for anyone to see. But when she saw her own desire darkly reflected in the deep blue depths of his eyes, she knew that she was lost.

“Stay with me tonight.” His voice, deep, soft and full of a man’s need, rippled through her, burning her from the inside. There was only one way she could answer him.

“Yes.”

FIFTEEN MINUTES later they were in his room and despite all that had transpired between them on the dance floor, the moment felt awkward. Sara dropped her jacket and her bag on an overstuffed armchair elegantly upholstered in a wide black and ivory stripe. Grissom hung his jacket in the closet by the door.

He crouched down and opened the mini-bar. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Just water, if you have it.”

He removed two small plastic bottles from the bar and handed her one, then casually resting his shoulder against the wall, left hand buried in his pocket, he watched her as she continued her visual exploration of the room.

Everything from the Queen-size bed to the windows to the chairs and pillows was draped, upholstered or covered in expensive fabrics and trimmed in black. In contrast, the walls were painted a light caramel color which took on a deep golden hue in the warm evening light. The artwork adorning the walls was simple black and white photography edged with large white mats and thin wooden frames. Three of them hung in a row, like soldiers above the mahogany headboard.

Sara was aware that the Mark Hopkins Inter-Continental was one of the more expensive hotels in San Francisco, and it suddenly struck her as odd that Grissom would be staying here.

“The department splurged?”

He pushed himself away from the wall and set his bottle down on the desk next to his laptop computer. He leaned back against the desk. “No,” he said. “This was a little over budget. I made up the difference.”

She sent him a surprised glance but didn’t say anything.

“What’re you reading?” She bent to pick up a book he’d discarded on the ottoman.

He didn’t answer. She studied the inside of the book jacket, reading the author’s biography without really seeing the words. If he’d asked, she knew she couldn’t have recalled the author’s name or the title of the book. She dropped it back onto the ottoman.

Then, realizing that she’d forgotten all about the view from the 19^th floor, she wandered over to one of the wide windows and, pulling a sheer curtain aside, peered outside. From its vantage-point at the top of Nob Hill, the Mark Hopkins offered fabulous views of San Francisco, and this one was breathtaking. It wasn’t yet dark; the sun was just setting on the horizon spreading a golden glow over the city and the bay.

“What an amazing view,” Sara exclaimed.

“Yes.”

She looked at him then. He hadn’t moved from the desk, his eyes still focused on her, and the warmth she saw in them affected her more deeply than the most beautiful sunset in the world ever could have.

“Sara… Come here,” he pleaded softly.

The heat in his eyes drew her to him as if she had no will of her own. She started toward him, slowly, hesitantly, wanting to be near him, yet almost afraid to reach her destination.

When she stood in front of him, she felt surprisingly shy, like a girl about to be kissed for the first time by the boy of her dreams. Grissom... The man of my dreams… Could those dreams be finally coming true? The fleeting thought and the anticipation of it all gave her the wings of courage, or was it boldness, she needed. She set her bottle next to his on the desk and circled his wrists with her hands, then let them run freely up to his shoulders, the soft cotton of his shirt sliding easily beneath her palms, tickling them. When she reached his shoulders, she started a journey back down over his chest, feeling the strong steady beat of his heart under a surprisingly muscular chest, and she continued down to his waist where she stopped, not daring to go lower.

He stood strangely still, his eyes never leaving her face.

Then, in one swift movement, his mouth landed on hers. His lips were warm and sexy and full of passion, and unrelenting. When he pulled her into his arms, she parted her lips, kissing him back with the fervor of a woman who had suppressed her desire for a man, this man, for way too long.

He maneuvered them both towards the bed, and when the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed he broke the kiss and, lifting a knee to it for support, eased her back onto the mattress. Kneeling over her, he braced himself on his arms above her and dipped his head to capture her lips again. His kiss was softer this time, almost reverent, but no less purposeful. When she felt the tip of his tongue against her lips, her breath caught in her throat and she parted them again inviting him back for more. His tongue teased hers gently at first, but soon its pace quickened and its pressure intensified. Sara heard him groan, a deep guttural sound that seemed to emanate from far at the back of his throat. She responded with a soft moan.

She’d longed for his touch, his kiss and his caress for such a long time there was no denying herself now. She wanted to possess him and she wanted him to possess her. They might only have tonight, but she was determined to take away enough memories to last her a life time. She wrapped her arms around his neck and plunged her fingers into his short curls, her body arching of its own volition upward towards his own.

He abruptly broke the kiss and sat back on his heels. Sara’s eyes flew open.

She was taken aback by how solemn he looked. His brooding gaze locked with hers, dark blue and wild now, eyes she wanted to lose herself in. When he reached and brushed a wayward strand of hair from her cheek with the back of his hand, she could have sworn it was trembling. He sighed deeply and drew back his hand to rest it against his thigh. Confused and worried that he was having second thoughts, Sara sat up against the headboard and wrapped her arms around her midriff in an unconscious gesture of self-protection.

“Gris, what’s wrong?” she asked hesitantly. Just as suddenly his features softened into a smile, her question having evidently broken his mood. He hopped out of bed and grasping her hand in his, he led her up with him.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong, Sara,” he finally said, wrapping his arms around her and planting a quick, hard kiss on her lips. “This is a little… overwhelming, that’s all.”

Sara hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d been holding her breath. Relieved, she exhaled in a soft gasp. With his left arm still circling her waist, Grissom grabbed a corner of the duvet in the other, and with one fluid movement sent the gold and coffee colored paisley-print cover flying to the foot of the bed where it landed in a heap on the floor.

She smiled then, her full flirtatious 200 watts smile. He caught it first with his eyes and then, as if he also wanted to taste it, he dipped his head quickly and captured it with his mouth. He continued to linger there even after the smile had faded, softly tasting her lips, and pulling them gently between his teeth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her body closer to his.

He deepened the kiss, and his hands began their exploration of her body, inching their way down from her shoulder blades to her lower back, past her waist to the top of her buttocks, then sliding them underneath her thin silk top, they retraced their path upward, grazing her skin along the way and taking her top up with them. She gasped at the first contact of his warm hands against her bare skin. For so long she’d craved his touch, a simple loving touch from him that would make her feel wanted, needed. Loved.

When he pulled back to slip the ivory silk over her head to toss it on a nearby chair, she opened her eyes, her gaze colliding with his blue one. She only hoped that the strength of her emotions would not frighten him away. She was tired of trying to hide how she felt about him. She didn’t want any barriers between them tonight. She only wanted to feel, to lose herself in him and let him lose himself in her.

Eyes locked with hers, he studied her face as he sprawled his hands over her ribs, his thumbs caressing the skin just beneath her breasts. Her nipples strained and ached against the lacy constraints of her bra until they screamed for release. Sara found it difficult to breathe.

She threw her head back, closing her eyes briefly to steady her senses. When she opened them again, she found him studying her torso with the same fascination he had her face. Had he been anyone else, she might have felt uncomfortable under such scrutiny. But it was different with Grissom. She stood mesmerized, unable to move. There was almost an air of reverence about him as he gazed at her that made her feel very special. No man had ever looked at her quite like this, as if he wanted to burn every detail of her to memory.

Her heart swelled not for the first time that evening.

He moved his thumbs up to caress her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. She gasped, and dug her fingertips into his shoulders holding on as a drowning woman would to a life preserver. They were solid shoulders, strong and muscular, and the heat that permeated his shirt was almost her undoing. She wanted… wanted so much so fast. Too fast, she realized. Her breath came in fits and spurts as he undid the front clasp of her bra and pushed it gently off her shoulders, catching her breasts in his hands, kneading them with his thumbs.

With much less consideration for its expensive tailoring, she tugged his shirt out of his pants, and somehow finding each button, she unfastened them and placed her hands on his chest. Her lips followed. She started at the base of his throat and made her way down to his nipples, catching one between her lips, sucking gently, teasing the tip with her tongue until it was as erect as her own.