“More, more!” came the pleasured groans.

 

Sara lightly scraped with her nails, laughing to herself.

 

“Any harder and you’ll have grooves in your scalp, Grissom. Relax—“ came her chide. The tone was in direct contradiction to her gentle massage, though, and under her careful ministrations he did. She let her fingers slide all around his wet soapy hair, caressing the thick foam saturating it.

 

“Natural curl, here. Do you have any idea how many women would kill to have this genetic advantage?”

 

“At this moment I don’t care. All I know is that I had no idea getting shampooed was a form of foreplay,” came the low response as he risked opening his eyes to look at her. Sara smiled broadly at the sight of him.

 

She was kneeling between his legs in the steaming fragrant tub, wet and tall. The water on his skin made his lashes long and dark, and dollops of foam slid down the sides of his face to catch in his dark beard. Lifting his chin, he rumbled again, an almost shy smile crossing his face.

 

“I love your freckles,” he blurted, his gaze traveling down her face and neck to the delicate curve of her chest, which was nearly in his face following the sweet scattershot of cinnamon on her pale skin. Sara glanced down, slightly confused, just as he leaned forward to kiss her collarbones, and she ended up with shampoo on her nose.

 

“Hold still—it’s like trying to scrub a terrier,” she complained half-heartedly as Grissom slid wet soapy arms around her narrow back and nuzzled his nose in the valley between her breasts.

 

“Arf,” came his somewhat muffled reply, earning him a light swat on his strong shoulder. Sara tried not to giggle, but the feel of him nestling into her was irresistibly arousing. His broad hands spanned her back, holding her against his face as his beard scraped her tender skin. She laughed.

 

“Hey, hey, you’ll get soap in your eyes—“ she warned, not struggling too hard to get away. Grissom lightened his hold, but the press of her wet slick torso against his made him moan.

 

“I think I’m addicted to you. Your very flesh . . .” He sighed as Sara reached for the showerhose and began to rinse his hair. The shampoo slid away in loose drifts under the onslaught of the warm water, and when he looked up into her face he was seal sleek, eyes big and blue. Sara dropped a kiss on either side of his nose.

 

“I thought addiction was defined as dependence on dangerous substances, Gris. Am I dangerous?”

 

He stared up at her. Sara knelt over him, wet and tousled, a wild woman with water droplets racing down her pearly body and suds clinging to her succulent breasts. He tipped his head, gaze never leaving hers.

 

“Sometimes. But it’s an addiction nonetheless, Sara. I’ve gone past the point of merely desiring you.”

 

Sara struggled to understand; she twisted her torso to reach the faucet and turned the water off in a graceful move that showed off the fine structure of her body. Grissom reached up and stroked her flank from shoulder to hip.

 

“This sinuous curve, this long line of power and passion. And under your skin, YOU, Sara. A woman I thought I knew until I fell in love and learned I only had the barest IDEA of you. At best, a mere shadow of the concept of Sara Raleigh Sidle.”

 

She flashed her teeth in a soft smile at him.

 

“I’m not a complicated subject, Gil.”

 

“I disagree. In the grand design of life, women in general are drawn from a completely different set of blueprints, and yours have an added depth and luster.”

 

“Any profundity on my part is a matter of perception,” she countered as she ran her fingers through his hair, squeezing water from it. Grissom tilted his head in pleasure. “I have a good mind and think a lot, but when it comes to my body I’m pretty basic. I like to eat and sleep and fuck, baby. Fill those needs and the body’s happy.”

 

“What about your mind, Sara? That restless never quiet questing aspect of you?” he demanded softly. She rubbed her palms along his beard before she spoke again.

 

“Ah, well that part is still trying to understand what we’ve become here, Grissom, and to be honest, it’s a little scared.” She came off of her knees and lowered herself into the water between his thighs. “I worry about being inexperienced and about you getting bored with me, passing me up for someone with more knowledge—“

 

But he reached over in his gentle familiar way, cupping her cheek and bringing her downcast gaze back to meet his as he dimpled a gentle smile at her.

 

“Amazing. Those are precisely the same things that I fear, but with myself in your place. I worry about being too old for you, about starting so late and seeming so desperate. I have no idea how to BE in love, Sara. None.”

 

For a second, they stared at each other, truly naked.

 

She smiled then, and slid herself into his wet embrace, her lips open against his.

 

“It goes like thissss—“ came her muffled words against his smiling mouth.

  

***   ***   ***

  
By the time they were both dressed and nearly ready to leave for the brunch she found him in the living room; he looked up guiltily from the Varrin book at her, his expression that of a kid caught peeking in an issue of Playboy. Grissom set it down trying to look nonchalant, but the gaudy red cover seemed to glow against the dark wood of the coffee table.

 

“Just . . .” his words trailed away. Sara demurely nodded.

 

An impulse nudged her and impishly she reached for his hand. Carefully, she brought it up to her pale rose mouth, kissing his knuckles tenderly.

 

“Mmmmmmm—Whatever you desire, Master.”

 

She’d intended her words to be funny, to make both of them laugh at the foolish absurdity of it all, but the minute they slipped out and she glanced up at his face, Sara felt a jolt of searing heat.

 

Everywhere.

 

Grissom’s lips opened slightly while his fingers tightened on hers. Suddenly he was looming over her, his eyes incandescently blue. Sara’s mouth dried out and her heart hammered in her chest as she watched his face as he struggled with his own wolfish desire, staring at her lipstick across his knuckles.

 

“Don’t.” he rasped, not letting go of her fingers. She swallowed.

 

“Want to.” Came her little defiant whisper. The black excitement flooding through Sara gave her chills, and the look on Grissom’s face, his barely controlled hunger made her shift her hips to fight her arousal.

 

“Sara, we’re not . . . ready for this. Not yet.”

 

She said nothing, keeping her gaze steady, feeling the crackle between the two of them as they circled that thinning line. Slowly Grissom used the thumb of his other hand to smudge away the lipstick, staring at the pink streak the entire time, his face tightly controlled.

 

“God it turns you ON, doesn’t it? You really DO want me to . . . submit,” Sara rasped, weak in the knees at the thought. She could see his big shoulders tighten under his jacket, the stiffness along his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

 

“This isn’t the time or place to get into this, Pet.” Came Grissom’s low tone, striving for reason and almost managing it, “Not now.”

 

Sara struggled with herself, with her impulse to push him at the moment and see where Grissom would take her, but instead she nodded tightly. It wasn’t in her nature to be patient, but oh the look in his eyes was worth it.

 

Grissom caught her chin, lifting it up to level her gaze. “And yes, it DOES,” he whispered, “—extremely.”

 

She quivered, hot-eyed and eager, flooded with a strange sense of power at his confession, but this concrete insight was too big to look at head on, too much to take in all at once. Gently Grissom let her go and made a show of checking his watch straining to regain a sense of normalcy.

 

“We’ll be lucky to find parking.” He griped. Sara shook herself lightly, giving him a slightly dazed smile.

 

“Even for brunch?”

 

“Especially for brunch.”

 

 

 

The Gilded Lily was a lovely atrium restaurant located within the Atlantis Casino, and Sara absently noted their specialty of the Buffet was spinach soufflé à la Antoine. Most of her thoughts were still grappling with Grissom’s living room confession, and it was only after he steered her by her shoulders in the right direction that she reacted.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Is for horses—suspiciously smiling mother at eleven o’clock . There are only two topics you’re not allowed to bring up, Sara.”

 

“Let me guess—our relationship and the future.”

 

He looked over her shoulder at her face, his expression comically bemused.

 

“Actually I was going to say baby photos of any kind and reality television.”

 

“Baby photos?”

 

Grissom scowled. “You’re not seeing mine until I see yours.”

 

Sara stifled a giggle as delicious possibilities flooded her mind. Gris watched her warily.

 

“Quid pro quo Ms. Sidle, and I suspect there are probably a great many more of YOU.”

 

“Spoken like a man with interesting things to hide,” came her absent reply. She was watching Olivia and Sir Alex at the table, their hands signing animatedly. As she and Grissom approached she could see a blush on the older woman’s cheeks.

 

“Mom, Alex —“

 

//You shouldn’t still be blushing after thirty three years with him, mom.// came Grissom’s quick finger comment.

 

Olivia smiled at them both, but her handsigns were quick as Gris politely pulled a chair out for Sara, then sat opposite her at the square table.

 

//Ha! Let’s see YOU get propositioned at seventy-four, Gil!//

 

//TMI. //

 

“I take it they argue a lot—“ Sara murmured to Sir Alex , who gave a wry nod and smile.

 

“Incessantly. They’re both Leos to the core, with a tendency to be a bit—forceful.”

 

Sara laughed at that, bringing everyone’s attention to her; she blushed a bit herself, but Sir Alex patted her hand.

 

“Just so. In fact as I recall, Olivia’s very first words to me were, ‘Stop looking at my ass and get out of my gallery’. Yes, she had a way about her even then—“

 

Grissom was smirking, and Olivia spluttered indignantly, shooting dark looks at both men while Sara tried hard not to grin again. The signs flew, fast and furious.

 

//How COULD you tell her that, Alex ! And YOU, Gil, stop grinning or I’ll, I’ll--//

 

“Blood pressure Mom--“ Grissom warned sweetly before looking at Sara. “ Alex was working to recover stolen art for the National Gallery. He was supposed to be looking for a Battaglia, not a backside.”

 

“It was summer. She wore shorts. I became—distracted,” Sir Alex murmured unapologetically, smiling at Olivia. Sara managed an innocent expression and played with her spoon.

 

“Better than Grissom’s first words to me—‘Listen, I’m really sorry about throwing maggots on you’ if I remember correctly.”

 

It was Grissom’s turn to pinken. Olivia hooted unsympathetically. Sir Alex chuckled.

 

“Did he really? What a unique courting ritual—“

 

”It wasn’t a courting ritual, it was an accident. I was lecturing with specimens and got a little—carried away,” he muttered defensively.

 

Wearing a familiar smirk, his mother arched an eyebrow at him and his fingers added,

 

//And I waited at LEAST half an hour before looking at her ass.//

 

Sir Alex chuckled and shook his head.

 

“Let’s not be rude and leave Sara out of the conversations, shall we? While I believe in the rights of the hearing impaired, I think it’s unkind to keep signing without including her.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Olivia turned to Sara.

 

“Sha we hit de buffet line?” she asked.

 

“Sure, I’m starving.”

 

Both men rose as the ladies departed, and when they settled down again, Alex shot Grissom a keen look.

 

“I take it Mr. Brown is no longer your favorite then?” It was said in jest, and Grissom rolled his eyes at the gentle tease.

 

“I am not now, nor have I ever been—“

 

“Yes, yes, I believe that’s rather evident at the moment. She’s quite charming, and your mother has expressed a tentative approval, so calm yourself, Gil.”

 

Grissom gave a quick nod, and rubbed the back of his neck as Sir Alex continued.

 

“After all, she won’t start hinting about the issue of grandchildren for at LEAST fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes.”

 

Slightly grim but still smiling, Gris managed a chuckle.

 

“From homosexuality to paternity—exactly how long is your tour of Europe for?”

 

“For a fee I can extend it—“ Sir Alex offered with a straight face; Gil made a show of reaching for his wallet.

 

“Enough of that—so what are your plans, if any?”

 

“For the moment, fluid. Neither Sara nor I want to give up our jobs or our shift. We’ve reached a workable compromise with our weekends together,” Grissom confided softly, not meeting the other man’s knowing gaze. For a long moment Sir Alex said nothing, but his mouth was pursed and his expression remained thoughtful.

 

“Gil, the oddest thing about love—real love—is that it expands beyond the borders we try to place on it. It cannot be contained or limited, at least not for very long.”

 

Grissom looked at his companion, who gave a slow knowing nod.

 

“There will come a time when either she’ll need you, or more likely you’ll need her, and the constraints of your arrangement will have to adapt. You DO understand this, don’t you?”

 

A bleak look crossed Grissom’s face. He said nothing. Sir Alex sighed again, more heavily and spoke again in a low voice.

 

“Believe me, I know what you’re feeling. I’m a veteran of the clandestine relationship, eh? I can only hope Pamela has the decency to croak before our fortieth wedding anniversary rolls around. It would gall me to no end to have to buy that cold-hearted bitch off with diamonds again this year.”

 

Gil managed a sad smile, but Sir Alex met his gaze with flint and a hint of humor.

 

“Never you mind—the price is worth it to me if it means I have Olivia for nine months out of the year. I made my choice and don’t regret a moment of it. Regret is a part of life, Gilbert—just make it the smallest and you’ll do all right.”

  

 

The wind had picked up by the time brunch was over; Sara felt it snapping at her shirt as Olivia hugged her goodbye outside the hotel. The soft press of a kiss to her forehead and a wink expressed volumes, as did the little note pressed into her hand.

 

http://www.OliviaWeb.com   "His first grade and altar boy photos are adorable, trust me. I’ll scan them for you once I get home. Take care of yourselves! O—"

 

Wisely Sara pocketed this saucy missive as Grissom scooped up his mother once more. She didn’t object this time, hugging him tightly with all the privilege of mothers everywhere. Grissom pulled back enough for her to see his face.

 

“Behave yourself in Europe , mom. Take care of Alex .”

 

She nodded tightly, blinking but smiling. Grissom kissed her cheek and set her down, signing swiftly.

 

//Love you.//

 

//Love you. And now that you’re not gay, DON’T behave--// came her final words. Grissom stiffened, but his mother turned away to link her arm in Sir Alex ’s, and waved over her shoulder as the wind whistled around them. Sara leaned her shoulder on Gil’s as the limo driver helped the older couple into their car. She felt his arm come up and around her waist, his nose nuzzling her hair.

 

“God they’re great, Grissom. Talk about. . .”

 

“ . . . Commitment? Yeah. Sometimes it’s amazing to think that love really does conquer all.”

 

Sara slipped her arm around his waist, hugging him as she pressed her face to his shoulder to hide the surge of joy spiking through her. He hugged back.

 

“So, what’s in the note?”

 

Damn his keen eyes! Sara frowned.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Pffft. Give.”

 

“No.”

 

“Sara—“

 

“Tell you what—let’s go home and I’ll arm wrestle you for it—“ she countered sweetly, “Naked.”

 

Slowly, naughtily, Grissom grinned at her.