Chapter Thirteen: Catching Feelings by Rosaline Saul
The stars had begun to scatter across the night sky by the
time Christopher glanced at his watch, his movements reluctant. The moment
between him and Isabel felt suspended, fragile and precious, like something he
was afraid to disturb but reality crept back, insistent and relentless.
“I should probably get going,” he said softly, his tone heavy with regret. “I need to get ready for my set tonight.”
Isabel’s expression faltered, but she nodded, her fingers
idly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course. Work comes first.”
Her voice was light, but there was an undertone of something she did not dare
say.
Christopher hesitated, not wanting to leave but knowing he
had to. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, and it made his chest
tighten. “It was good talking to you,” he offered, unsure of how to properly
say goodbye.
“I hope I see you again soon,” Isabel said, her words
tentative but laced with hope.
The statement caught him off guard. His lips parted as if to
respond, but no words came immediately. The idea that she wanted to see him
again stirred something warm and unexpected within him. “You will,” he finally
said, though even he wasn’t sure if it was a promise he should make.
“Not at the club,” Isabel added quickly, her voice dipping
into a nervous laugh. “I’m… not going out much. Just in case.”
He knew instantly what she meant, and his chest tightened at
the thought of Jason casting a shadow over her freedom. “I understand,”
Christopher said, his tone quiet but firm. “I’ll find you.”
They stood, brushing sand from their hands and clothes, and
for a moment, the air between them felt charged, electric. The waves lapped
softly in the background, and the world seemed to narrow to just the two of
them.
“Thank you,” Isabel said, her voice barely audible. She
looked up at him, her eyes glimmering with gratitude and something else. Something
deeper. Something…
Christopher stepped closer, drawn by a pull he could not
name and did not want to resist. His hand lifted almost instinctively, brushing
a stray strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered at her cheek, the
softness of her skin grounding him and unmooring him all at once.
“Isabel,” he began, but whatever he had meant to say
dissolved as her gaze locked with his.
The distance between them disappeared, their breaths
mingling in the cool night air. His lips brushed hers tentatively, testing the
boundary between them. The moment their mouths met the hesitation melted away.
The kiss deepened, slow and intense, a wave of heat that neither of them could
resist.
Her hands moved to his chest, resting there for a moment
before sliding up to his shoulders. Christopher’s arm circled her waist,
pulling her closer as his other hand cradled her face. The world around them
faded. The rhythmic crash of the waves, the salty breeze, the stars overhead.
All that remained was the fire ignited between them.
Isabel tilted her head, her fingers curling into his shirt
as his lips moved against hers, exploring, consuming. There was nothing rushed
about it, only a simmering intensity that grew with every passing second. His
thumb brushed along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine. She felt the
strength in his touch, steady yet gentle, as if he was both holding her close
and letting her set the pace.
Christopher pulled back slightly, their foreheads resting
together as they caught their breath. “I…” he started, but the words eluded
him.
“Don’t,” Isabel whispered, her voice shaky but certain.
“Just… don’t.”
He nodded, understanding the weight of her words. No
explanations, no apologies. Just this moment, unspoken but undeniably real. He
kissed her again, slower this time, savouring the taste of her lips and the way
her body moulded against his.
When they finally parted, her fingers lingered on his chest,
and he reluctantly let his hand fall from her face. The air between them
crackled with something that could not be undone, a line crossed that neither
of them could ignore.
“Goodnight, Christopher,” Isabel said softly, her voice
carrying a warmth that left him rooted to the spot.
“Goodnight, Isabel,” he replied, his voice low and rough
with emotion. He stepped back, forcing himself to turn away and walk down the
beach. Each step felt heavier than the last, the memory of her touch imprinted
on his skin.
As he disappeared into the night, Isabel stood motionless,
the cool breeze brushing her cheeks as she brought her fingers to her lips. The
ache in her chest was different now, no longer a reminder of what she had lost
but a whisper of what she might have found.
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