The kiss, which had started as a gentle seal of their love, quickly changed. It grew deeper, hungrier. The taste of peaches and wine was forgotten, replaced by the intoxicating taste of each other.
Carcel groaned low in his throat. He shifted his weight, pressing Ines back against the soft, thick blanket. The book of poetry slid from the blanket and landed silently in the sand, its verses about the sea forgotten in favor of the real passion unfolding on the shore.
His hands, which had been gently cupping her face, moved down. They swept over her neck, her shoulders, and down the curve of her spine. He found the back of her white muslin dress.
His fingers fumbled with the fastenings. He was eager, his touch urgent.
Ines felt the cool air hit the skin of her back as the dress began to loosen. The sensation snapped her back to reality for a fleeting second.
