Leah woke to silence, and it was almost eerie. He was not beside her in the bed. All that was left of him was the obvious indentation where his long, strong body had lain and a white square envelope with her name written across the front in unsurprisingly fine penmanship.
“Ah, no,” she sighed out weakly, her heart falling, tears springing to her eyes. With shaking hands, she reached for the envelope and lifted the flap, certain of what was inside—an explanation of why he had to go, an apology, and a fumbling attempt at gratitude.
But what she pulled from the envelope was a thin piece of paper with the resort’s letterhead that said only, “Merry Christmas. Be right back. Love, Dominic.”
She sighed and reread the paper, then closed her eyes again and yawned. She must have dozed, because she woke to his lips brushing hers, hands on her ribcage, leaning over her. She brought her hands up to rest on his head and kissed him back, strong, fierce, on his beautiful mouth. When the kiss ended and he straightened, she opened her eyes and saw that he was fully dressed, shaven and showered, wearing a white polo and crisp black dress pants and shiny patent leather shoes.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, grinning. “I feel a bit under dressed.” He returned her smile and laughed aloud.
“Nah, you look great. Merry Christmas.”
She rose and slipped into the giant white terry robe, tying it loosely around her middle.
“Have you been to church?”
“Not yet. Going.” He wandered out of the room and she followed him, through the sitting room and into the kitchen, and there sat a Christmas bouquet, roses and evergreen boughs and baby’s breath, so big she couldn’t have gotten her arms around it, a plate of breakfast with a single red rose along one side and a black velvet box on the other. He pulled out her chair and she sat, and he rested his hands on her shoulder and bent to kiss her throat, all innocence, nervousness, as if asking her approval.“Dominic, this is so lovely. But I haven’t given y-“
“Don’t even say it,” he said softly. “Don’t you even say it.” He took her hand and placed it over the box. “It’s not much, not rare or expensive, or…I mean, they had them sitting in these little boxes on the counter near the checkout…But I didn’t know what you liked in jewelry or clothes, and I know you’ve got money or you wouldn’t be here. Stood around in the damn gift shop for an hour and this is what I found.” She took the box in both hands and cradled it a moment, then flipped the lid with her thumbs.
Nestled in the white tissue paper was a small crystal bottle, no more than four inches high, with a little round stopper, and a square silver plaque affixed to the front that was engraved in two lines. “Costa Azul, Christmas 2001.” It was filled with fine white sand, had a small red satin ribbon tied around its neck, and she smiled softly, a lump rising in her throat. She set it back down on the table and stood, turned, and wrapped her arms around his middle. He embraced her, one hand on her back and one in her hair, and kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you, Leah.” He cleared his throat. “Is it a stupid gift?”
“It’s perfect. I’ll always have something now, a part of this place. You know me so well.”
“Well, you can see right through me,” he chuckled. “So we’re even there.”
He sat on the closed toilet while she showered, and pulled her towel off of her and kissed her belly when she stepped out, watched her dress, and she loved his eyes on her. He was gorgeous, utterly, devastatingly, and if someone so heart stopping thought she was beautiful, she felt it must be true. She felt attractive, and smart, and functional again, in a way she hadn’t for years and years. And she never wanted it to end.
They uncovered the Viper, and Dom ran his hand over the hood, grinning lasciviously. She laughed aloud.
“Is that any way to behave before Christmas mass?”
“I’ll worry about my behavior. You get in the car.”
It was strange, being dressed for Christmas, seeing wreaths and red bows all through the streets of Costa Azul as they left, in the 90-degree heat.
“So where are we headed?” Leah asked, truly noticing, for the first time, the large silver cross on a hefty chain around his neck. She wondered why her eyes hadn’t caught on it before.
“Headed to Santa Cecilia,” he said. “They’ve got a church there, supposedly.”
“Santa Cecilia?”
“Population ten,” he said, and chuckled. “They have a huge cathedral in Puerto Vallarta, but it’ll be all production and tourism, like a Broadway play instead of a Catholic service.”
“You attend each Sunday?” Leah asked, trying not to show her surprise at his Christianity. The man had more layers than an onion.
“Only on Christmas,” he said. “Every year since I was born. First time I’ll go to mass without my sister in my life.”
“Older sister?”
“Nah, younger. Baby sister. She’s twenty.”
“I’ve got a baby sister, as well,” Leah said softly, and he looked at her.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Her name is Emily. I’ve never been apart from her at Christmas, either.”
He nodded, and there was a silence. Only the contented purr of the Viper was audible.
“Going to celebrate Christmas with Benjamin Bradley Hastings when you get back, then?” he finally asked, and she smiled.
“We’ll have our own little party. His father was always glitz and glamour and one party after another for days. Everything in excess. I’m actually looking forward to sitting with Ben near the tree, just the two of us, with a couple of gifts and maybe a movie. A quiet Christmas. Sing carols.”
“Sing?”
“Of course. He loves me to sing for him.”
“Going to sing for me?” he asked, with half a cocky grin.
“Sure, I’ll sing for you. Sometime before I leave, remind me.” She paused a moment after the words had left her mouth and wondered who had said them. Leah St. Laurent did not give private shows. Ever. But this Leah, this new woman she was becoming, was completely undaunted by the prospect of singing for him, privately or otherwise. This new person knew her voice was beautiful and wanted to use it, to bring him joy, and to bring herself joy by making him happy, rather than stuffing her talent aside, pinned under the heel of a man who was hateful and jealous of any flair or ability in her that was absent from himself.
“What will you sing?” Dominic reached over and wrapped a flaxen curl around his finger, tugging gently.
“What would you like me to sing?”
“Hard one,” he said, then laughed wickedly, low in his throat. “How about ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President?’”
“Oh, Lord,” Leah cracked up. “You’re insatiable.”
“You could, you know…Those blonde curls.”
“My blonde does not come from a bottle,” Leah pointed out. “And the curls are natural. Thank you very much.”
She stood beside him in the church, listened to the foreign words wash over her, watched him as he listened and wondered how much he understood. The ceilings were thirty feet high, painted ornately with angels and saints, and a giant crucifix was mounted on the front wall behind the small, old priest. Some ancient nuns lined the very front pews, and all the children were impeccably pressed and dressed, small dark-skinned, black-haired creatures with giant, expressive eyes, little boys in garb identical to Dominic’s, little girls in frilly white and shoes with heels wearing tiny gold hoops in their ears. The church was not air-conditioned, only fan-cooled by three or four small ceiling fans, and Leah began to feel faint before half the service was over.
Dominic met her gaze, concerned, and put one arm around her, meeting her gaze.
“Going to be all right?”
“I’d better get some air,” she said, dizzied. “I really need to get some air.”
“Let me go with you,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”
He glanced back at the church door, shoving his hands down into his pockets, moistening his lips, then looked over at her.
“Wanna get out of here? I think half a mass is good enough.”
Leah smiled. She nodded.
There was a cluster of black rocks at the end of a tiny peninsula of beach, and Dominic parked the Viper, and they walked out onto it, about a quarter of a mile, all the way to the end, to where the surf was beating itself against the rocks and tossing thirty feet of spray into the air. Leah’s legs were loose and shaky from near-heatstroke in the church, but the wind, although hot, blew all the sticky body heat away from her skin and it felt absolutely glorious. Dom unbuttoned his shirt and it flapped behind him, blinding white in the sunlight like a flag of surrender. He held his arms open to her and she came into them, roping her own around the hard, sweat slick wall of his waist and planting a kiss between his pecs.
“How do you find all these places?” she murmured, eyes closed, and he planted his hands on her hips and lifted her almost effortlessly so she was face to face with him.
“I’ve had a lot of time alone,” he said, grinning, pressing his forehead to hers, then leaning in and kissing her before letting her down. She hooked her fingertips under the waistline of his pants and raked the spanse of caramel chest and abdomen with lazy blue eyes. He responded, visibly, to her touch, purring a little deep in his throat. She slid one hand down over his trousers and pressed her palm to his erection through the fabric, staring at the cream of her skin against the clean, crisp black of his pants. She lifted her chin and peered down the shitty road at all the nothingness, the rise and fall of boulders along the beach. Then she allowed herself to be drawn down into the sand on top of him, straddling his hips and he pulled her face down to his, capturing her mouth and not letting go while his hands worked at the buttons down her back. He dragged the tank straps of the dress down off her shoulders and freed her breasts from the restraint of the white stretch satin of her bra. She watched his full, dark mouth approach her skin and let her lids drop weakly over eyes that could do nothing but roll back, and she let her head droop forward, losing him in the curtain of her curls. He made the tip of his tongue sharp and firm and traced slow circles around her nipples, his hands kneading the aching tension in her lower back. She felt it fade, all the ache and tension, under the practiced nursing of his fingers and the heated flicker and tug of his mouth. It was as if he knew she was sore, because he waited until she was practically dripping before he freed himself from his pants and pulled her skirt up around her waist. She nodded; the only ache she felt now was one of desire and longing, a hard pulse of blood between her boneless legs. They did away with the obstacles of their underclothes, and she took him in her hand. He was shockingly hard, to the point where she wondered if it was painful. He twitched at her touch, and she smiled softly. They locked eyes and came together in a collective, shaky sigh.
She was still atop him for a moment, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders. He had her hips in a desperate grip and was not trying to move, either. It seemed that, for both of them, any motion at this point would bring this particular chapter of lovemaking to a sudden end. The breeze was something close to a wind, stirring at her hair, tickling her shoulder blades with the ends of her curls, and she felt every nerve in her body standing at attention. Her skin was afire, every sense heightened, her heartbeat thudding in her chest as well as between her legs, around his cock, and she placed one hand between his pecs to feel the battering whir of his heartbeat.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, the words broken by a hitch in his throat, and she nodded. “Don’t move,” he said again, and closed his eyes, brow furrowed.
“It’s all right.” She leaned forward, kissed his furrows, and he gasped. “It’s all right, Dominic. Go ahead.” She rocked her hips back off a few inches and sank down again, and he bit down hard on his lower lip. She kissed his mouth, and he buried the fingers of one hand in her hair, kissing back with a startling hunger, and he guided her hips back and forth on him. It had been years since she’d ridden a man, and yet here he was, sheathed to the hilt in her body, and no pain…Only this quicksilver fire tearing through her veins. He yanked his mouth away from hers and bit her earlobe gently, and then she felt his whole being go loose and powerless, and his weak, raspy growl of a curse burned the skin of her ear, hot and desperate and drawn out as he came.
“Shhiiit.”
She watched him with quiet awe and adoration and when he was still, wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed his still mouth softly. She lay beside him and dragged her fingertips in wanton designs over his belly, his hips, his ribs and his nipples, his collarbone and his throat, exploring him until he shifted and sat up, peeling off the shirt and the pants and socks and shoes, and the sand clung to his body everywhere, his ass and the backs of his thighs, and it fell off in gentle sheets as his muscles flexed when he stood. She followed suit and stripped down, naked. He dove with the same unpracticed grace he’d ridden the horse the day before, down into the deeps of the water, until she lost sight of him, and she was beginning to get concerned when she saw his wavy, distorted form drifting back toward the surface. He gasped as he broke into the air and treaded water, grinning brilliantly up at her.
“Come in.”
She shook her head.“It’s too deep. I don’t swim well.”
“Here,” he said, and stroked easily about thirty feet, then planted his feet in the worn-smooth little rocks that made up the bottom. “It’s not deep here. Come on.” She nodded and walked hesitantly out to him. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her mouth, long and slow, leisurely, lazily, for what seemed like hours. Then he pulled away. “You feeling better now?”
“Oh, yes. It was only the heat.”
“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked, sliding his hands down to encircle her wrists. “You want to go home and sleep and then go into the city tonight? Crash a party or something?” She laughed.
“I don’t know. Where would we go? What would we do?”
“Go dancing? Get a groove on?” He put his hands on her hips and shook them.
“I don’t know…”
“Don’t even tell me you can’t shake your ass,” he said, with a wicked grin, and she laughed aloud.
“I can shake my ass. Yes, let’s do that.” He nodded and headed up and out of the water, body slick and shining in the sun. She felt an irrepressible urge to sink her teeth into him, taste him and bite him. He was utterly delicious. She stood in the shallow water and watched him force sticky legs into his slacks, button and zip them over that impressive manhood of his. He balled up the rest of his clothes and tucked them under his arm, and she yawned as she struggled into her dress.
They rode back with the windows fully down and air-dried. They were weary, but not tired, and when they climbed into the bed, they didn’t sleep, but just laid and held one another and talked. They avoided the topic of her departure, but their conversation spanned almost everything else, from past lovers to the institution of marriage to elementary school experiences and high school humiliations. From comfort food to favorite drinks to cars to weather, from sexual fantasies to dreams as children to what his hair would be if he grew it. They talked easily, and for hours, and she was sure she’d never been more one with anyone save her son, who had grown in her womb.
