Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Kerry Weaver and Sandy Lopez; NBC, Constant C Productions, and Warner Brothers have full ownership. They are not being used for any profit on my part, and no attempt to steal them from the powers that be is intended on my part.
Spoilers: Only for the existence of Sandy Lopez. Possibly, but I don’t know if TPTB will allow this much “vanilla”
Rating: PG-13. Nothing major – some making out

I glance at her, stealing the quickest eyeful imaginable before dropping my gaze to the menu.

“You eat here a lot?” she asks me in that Chicago Latino-edged accent and I shake my head before meeting her eyes.

“No, actually, its my first time.” Sipping at the red wine, I allow its bitter sweetness to quench the dryness brought on by anxiety. Her raised eyebrow tells me she’s noticed the slight tremble of my fingers.

“Relax, Dr. Weaver,” she says, half-smiling. “I don’t bite.”

Folding my arms, I return the smile. “Call me Kerry, and I am relaxed.”

She’s stirring the ice in her Daiquiri. “You always act like that when you’re relaxed? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Deciding that I really, really like her accent, I reply, “I never understood that saying – do leaves actually shake? And if so, I honestly never noticed.”

She smiles again, and I decide that I really, really like her smile. “So, what made you invite me to dinner?”

I am momentarily taken aback by the question, but I recover quickly. “Perhaps, I was intimidated.” She laughs softly at this; then I give her the real answer. “Actually, I was feeling adventurous.”

“Adventurous?” she repeats as I toy with the cherry tomato in my salad. “I’m an adventure?”

I nod. “To me, you are.”

Regarding me, her statement becomes unreadable. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Kerry,” she finally says, and it sounds as if she is thinking out loud.

My throat tightens as I am still unaccustomed to hearing such things. “Thanks,” I say simply.

She cocks her head. “You have this statement on your face like you don’t believe me.”

Drumming my fingers on the table, I shake my head in defense. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just … I don’t know …”

“What?” she probes.

I shrug. “Nothing, I guess.”

She sips at her drink, lacing her fingers around the tiny glass stem before bringing it to her lips. I watch her eyes, deep pools of dark chocolate. I decide I don’t want dinner.

“Are you terribly hungry?” I ask lightly.

She shrugs. “Not really. The salad did me fine.”

I smile, grateful for this. “Do you wanna get outta here – it’s up to you if – ”

She interrupts with a grin. “Let’s get the check.”

* * *

An hour later, we are standing in her apartment overlooking downtown Chicago. She hands me a beer and cocks another grin.

“It ain’t Merlot, but it can be just as potent.”

I smile before sipping at the frothy beverage.

She is standing right next to me, elbow to elbow, and I can smell her cologne, a sweet musky aroma. I turn to her and see that she is already looking at me. I blush in spite of myself.

“So,” I say, grateful for the dim lighting. “Tell me about firefighting.”

She snorts a brief laugh before glancing out the window at the vast expanse of skyline. “It’s a true test of wills …” her voice trails off before she adds, “… I love it.”

Now I go lean against the windowpane and watch her. She is staring back at me, a smile threatening the corner of her lips, eyes dark, shadows making her features very prominent.

She’s nothing like Kim Legaspi. This woman is not tall – but short, not blond – but dark. Not Kim – but Sandy.

* * *

I have become melancholy at the thought of Kim Legaspi, but this fluttery tension in my stomach brings me back to reality. I am attracted to Sandy Lopez, the way she looks, the way she talks, the fact that she isn’t my first and there is no pressure to do or be anything.

This is our third meeting (not date, mind you, but meeting), and I am aching to kiss her. I am in no way the aggressor when it comes to romantic relationships, but I can’t stop myself from going to her and taking the bottle from her hands, gently, very slowly.

She watches me from beneath hooded eyes, not protesting as I sit her bottle next to mine in the windowsill and approach her again.

We are mere inches apart and I can feel her breath, warm and steady; her hands remain at her sides as, reaching up slowly, I caress the sides of her face.

Searching her eyes for approval and finding genuine affirmation, I pull her to me and claim her lips with my own in a soft tentative kiss. Her mouth is warm and inviting, the lips full, and I nibble at the bottom lip before pulling away.

She is smiling, eyebrow raised playfully when I let my hands fall.

“Sorry,” I say, dumbly.

“Don’t apologize for that, Kerry,” she says and her hand is at my face, stroking my cheek, “I should be thanking you.”

With that, she pulls me to her and kisses me deeply, her tongue teasing mine, and I am breathless. Sometime during that kiss, I become insatiable. Holding onto her incredibly strong forearms for leverage, I find myself kissing all over her face, lips, cheeks, chin, jaw line. One of her hands is in my hair, and the other is at the small of my back beneath my shirt. I tremble. God, it’s been so long.

“Sandy,” I whisper against her earlobe as I contemplate taking it between my teeth.

“Hmmm?” she answers, tracing slow patterns against my naked back.

“I should probably …” I can’t stop kissing her long enough to complete a sentence. “… I should … probably go soon …”

She meets my disoriented gaze and pulls me to her, and the feel of her tight body against me is almost my undoing.

“Dr. Kerry Weaver,” she says, still stroking my back, driving me insane with arousal. “You’re a tease.”

I hear myself chuckle, a deep throaty sound. “On the contrary, Ms. Lopez,” I flirt, holding onto the collar of her blouse. “I am the anti-tease.”

Now, her mouth is on me again, this time at the tender juncture where neck meets shoulder and I am grateful for her strong embrace because my knees are betraying me. The sound I make is somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

She groans in response before meeting my eyes again. “Any more noises like that, Kerry, and you won’t be getting out of here tonight.”

My stomach flutters at the implications. “No really, I should go. I have an early shift.”

Reluctantly, she loosens her embrace, and I disentangle myself from her, instantly missing her touch.

Quickly, I shrug into the Paddington coat and find my discarded crutch before I have second thoughts about leaving.

“So,” she says quietly from where we stood making out, “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

I nod. “Yes, please do.”

She gets the door for me. “Maybe we could have lunch or something?”

I gaze into those eyes again before planting one last kiss on her luscious lips. “I’d like that,” I say before going out the door, and as I start down the hallway towards the elevator, I know she is still watching me. I can’t wait for our next meeting.