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"Yes," she returned, gazing into his face. "I'll walk with you."
He rose from his chair and tucked her shawl about her shoulders. Before she stood, she reached down and grabbed his hat and put it on her own head. John put his arm through hers and they walked down the boardwalk and onto the soft sand.
The musicians stayed behind, but their melodic notes followed. Soon, the sandy beach sunk beneath the couple's feet, and the mellow night enveloped them as they strolled… hand-in-hand.
The hotel's outdoor cookfire had turned the moon into an orange wedge that resembled half a face. Wispy thin clouds slowly drifted across its mouth, then the light streaks of gray were carried on the breeze toward the water.
Isabel and John sat on the blanket listening to the surf as it washed up the sand and went back down again. The rhythm was gentle and soothing, a sound Isabel enjoyed but seldom heard.
"Did you get to the beach much when you lived in Los Angeles?" John asked, as if reading her thoughts while tucking her closer within the crook of his arm.
"Not as often as I would have liked. I never seemed to have the extra time." She rested her head on his shoulder. 'Time is something I'm always chasing. Even now… we don't have much time left."
As she said it, she was referring to the contest, but in a way, the statement was more of a reflection on them—of how their relationship was drifting closer to being defined one way or another. After the contest, what would happen?
She didn't want to think about Christmas Day.
All that mattered was tonight and how wonderful John had made everything for her, the dinner, the dancing, and now the ocean and moon.
He'd made a cozy place for them in a secluded area where ice plant grew in the dunes that kept them hidden. A natural hedge of tree mallow acted as a wind break, its rosy lavender hollyhock flowers in bloom and fragrantly mingling on the sea air.
John's strength beside her comforted her. His arm felt right around her. This was the best time she'd ever had. She didn't want tonight to end. She wanted to take the moment farther… to have a memory above all else that she could treasure.
With her fingers meshed through John's, Isabel ran her thumb over his thick-skinned knuckle. It was the smallest of pleasures, one to be savored. With his free hand, he tilted her face to his.
"Isabel…" He breathed her name on the lightest of kisses.
Their lips brushed and danced, much as the two of them had to the music—a courtship of kissing. She needed this. She didn't know how badly until now.
Their fingers unlinked to give the hands freedom to explore.
Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him with everything in her heart, all she felt, but couldn't say. He lifted her legs so that they rested over his knees and he could hold her close.
The kiss held a lifetime of romance, for in this one fragment of time, she was loved as she never had been. She understood his desire, for she felt the same. In intensity, they were equaled.
Isabel wanted to give herself to him; vows between them weren't necessary. In this, their own special place, nobody judged.
John trailed his fingers down her shoulder and over the curve of her breast, erupting sparks of desire through her. As he traced her taut nipple through the thin blouse that hung loosely around her, the kiss changed. It was dizzying, electrifying, deeper, with an intimacy she'd never dared before—all those passionate things she'd heard the girls in the Blossom talking about wanting—all those things she'd never experienced.
They lay back on the blanket without breaking the kiss, John on his side next to her. They lingered and pleased each other, until Isabel grew weak with need.
Then John lifted his head. Moonlight bathed him. "Isabel… do you-—"
She brought her forefinger to his lips to silence him. "I do. Now, let's not talk anymore."
The surf crashed into the night, but Isabel barely heard it above the thunder of her heartbeat. Clothes were shed and naked skin kindled with caresses and kisses. Hands meshed. Mouths met. Touching became a sensory delight.
John aroused her senses to a fevered pitch that made her toes curl and had her wrapping her legs around his. Their legs intertwined, they joined and became one. She gasped in sweet agony. The pleasure was pure and explosive, new and different. It made her feel so very much alive… and cherished.
She clung to him as he made her his. He moved in strong and smooth strokes that sent her toward the edge, that made her lift to him and meet him. She gazed into his face, sweeping across his features: the tight control he exuded by the set of his mouth; the flare of his nostrils; the hooded slant of his eyes as he read into her soul.
He continued the rocking movements until she couldn't stop the shattering. Surrender came and riveted her, exploding and filling her with splendor. At that moment when everything inside her skittered and became charged, he met her with his own release and held her close, his mouth next to her ear… kissing… breathing.
Her own breathing labored and spent, Isabel embraced him.
The fire of completion spread to her heart. How easy it would be to say the words: I love you. But in the moment of passion… they might sound trite and expected. So she kept her silence and let her love for him fill the tears of joy that spilled out from the corners of her eyes.
* * *
