"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.
Chapter Seven
John steered his horse, with a pack mule strung behind, into Isabel's yard. As the tall weeds cleared his view, he saw the cabin and Isabel. She stood on the porch with a small cup of white paint, brushing snowflake patterns on her windowpanes. Her back was to him, and his gaze roamed the length of her as she worked.
Rich black hair coiled in a bun at her nape. He relived the sensation of sifting through the silky strands with his fingers... touching her satiny skin... kissing her... holding her... making love to her.
They'd returned to town that afternoon with holly berries in the baskets on his horse--but not nearly as many as they could have collected if they hadn't spent the night in each other's arms. The hours on Ventura beach were the best in his memory. He'd wanted to tell her so, but he'd held back. Admitting the truth had never been easy for him.
She'd given herself to him freely and he could only hope she had no regrets. He didn't. Nor did he expect her to fall into a sexual relationship with him. That wouldn't be fair for either of them, and he surely didn't want Isabel to think that's all he cared about.
Although she'd once had house and hearth, she hadn't had it with a man who was right for her. John could be the one who showed her what marriage ought to be--if she let him.
But a single question continued to hammer in his mind, making him keep silent. Would she have him if he told her he loved her? Fearing she wouldn't caused him to be cautious.
When she heard his horse, Isabel turned and smiled. "Hello."
He gave her a smile back, stopped, and dismounted.
What he had tied on the pack mule was obvious, so he just came right out and said what had to be said about the fir tree that had taken him two hours to get and bring back. He felt a little self-conscious about it now, hoping the gift wasn't too presumptuous. "Isabel --" he shucked his Stetson and tucked it beneath his arm "--I noticed you didn't have a Christmas tree in your window. So I got you one."
"Oh..." She set the paintbrush aside and stepped down from the porch to look at her present. Walking to the mule, she lifted her hand and ran her fingers down the fir's blue-green needles. Her eyes shone with genuine gratitude when she turned toward him. "This is such a surprise. Thank you."
To his chagrin, his neck heated. Damn.
"You'll stay and help me decorate it?"
"Sure."
It didn't take John long to set the tree up in her front room--actually it was the great room. The cabin only had two: a large living area with a kitchen, and a bedroom off to the right. He could see the end of the plain poster bed with its quilt of colorful squares. He let himself wonder what it would be like to wake up in that bed with Isabel snuggled beside him. The front door had been left open and sunshine spilled through the doorway as he worked to secure the tree in a bucket of rocks. No problem getting the rocks. Her yard was full of them. He'd noticed she used them to decorate the pathway to her door and the edges of her flower beds.