“Would you dance with me?” she asked.

“If the margaritas don’t get in the way of my feet,” I said.

“It’s a slow one.”

I rose and took her hand. She allowed it to go limp within mine as we walked to the dance floor. I put my arm around her waist, and without hesitation, she laid her head against my shoulder. The scent of perfume seemed to exude from her. Her hair smelled wonderful. She had worn it up for the evening, making her seem older and emphasizing her refinement. My body responded to the supple tenderness of her breasts as she pressed against my chest, enjoying the reassurance of my arm around her waist, as though she felt safe. Our relationship, what would it be after this evening? What was it to become? She was like a peach bursting with the juice of life, ready to be plucked from the tree, and I wanted to partake. Since Christof introduced her to my life, circumstances had dangled her in front of me like an exotic maiden dancing before an ancient king until, in his lust, he took her to wife. She had played the part without realizing it until tonight, she was a protagonist in a romance cast in a shifting setting, first in the states, then in Havana, then in Adan, and now in Aruba, my arm about her waist, her cheek against my shoulder.

After dancing, we returned to the table and enjoyed the remainder of our meal. Ricardo wasn’t fooling about Argentine beef. I gained great respect for Argentina after the prime rib that night and promised myself I would enjoy it again. We talked and laughed during dinner, treasuring the music and the mood. Afterward, we danced again for what seemed an hour until, at length, we took a car to the hotel and I accompanied her back to our rooms. I searched her face. Anticipation was in her eyes. She wanted to lie with me in erotic bliss, free her passion within my embrace.

There was a moment, ever so brief, in which I almost withdrew, uncertain about what tomorrow might bring. Then it was gone. She opened her door and pulled me by the hand as she backed into the room. When I turned to close it she disappeared into the bathroom. When she came out, she walked over and turned her back to me.

“Would you unbutton my dress?”

Her skin felt almost hot to the touch. I couldn’t resist kissing her neck as I unbuttoned the dress down her back and unclasped her bra. She turned and faced me, shaking with desire. She pulled the dress and bra from her and tossed them aside. Tiffany Cronin’s breasts stood in full view. I think I lost all recourse to reason at that moment. I remembered Sagan’s book again. He and his wife had men pegged correctly. I could feel my forgotten ancestors about to break lose and take control of me. I set about undressing. Shirt unbuttoned, thrown into the chair, sandals unbuckled and stepped out of, belt loosened, pull off the slacks without tripping.

There!

We were now dressed exactly the same, panties and briefs all that separated us from primate history.

“This is going to be so good.” she said in a half-breath.

That made me hard as a Cave man.

I won’t corrupt you with details of what followed. I’m fairly confident you can imagine for yourself what it’s like to devour a Georgia peach. Even one raised in Oregon.