He caught her before she left the department store and had fumbled his way through asking her to his company's annual holiday ball being held the following weekend. She agreed and he spent the following days with a churning, butterfly-filled stomach. There was a hope in the interim that kept him walking on air, the chance that she might be a truly unique person in his life. He didn't hold much stock in the intangibles, but there was something about her, the way he couldn't stop thinking of her, the undeniable chemistry he felt in her presence, and how he was looking forward to the following weekend more than anything he could remember in years. There was something there. She was beautiful, yes, but perhaps she would be so much more. He spent the entire week with an indelible smile, allowing himself little moments of bliss as he recalled her features, her smile, her lips. Those incredible, full lips.
        It wasn't until she opened the door on that first date that he realized the brief memory of her had already faded. He remembered the broad strokes, but the details had been lost. Seeing her again brought the same rush as the first time, the fresh shock of attraction that he had never before experienced. The details filled in again as if he were rediscovering her. He couldn't have been aware at the time how long that feeling would last; it was still true to this day. Each time she was revealed to him it stole his breath, an experience he adored. As love took hold it only served to reinforce the sensation.
        The party was held, as always, at the Old Man's beach house in Santa Monica. The majority of the firm's three hundred employees gathered in formal attire, spread throughout the luxurious spaces, onto the manicured back lawn and down to the stretch of private beach. It was the third annual event he had attended, always making it a point to connect on a personal level as best he could with as many of his peers as possible. This year didn't quite go according to plan.
        He found it impossible to shake that gravitational attraction when she was near (not that he wanted to). It was their first chance to actually explore one another, the intricacies of their lives, thoughts, dreams and ideas. The more they spoke, the more enamored he became, the more the desire grew. She was incredible in his eyes, with an outlook and ideology that fascinated and intrigued him. Many times during the evening he chastised himself internally at his unintentional shunning of practically everyone surrounding them. Friends would approach and he would make a point to engage them but within minutes he found his attention squarely back to her, his body language clear that she was his focus. He was falling and he had absolutely no desire to slow his descent. He scarcely spent ten minutes away from her side the entire evening and at one point he began to worry how it might be making her feel. After she intertwined her fingers with his, pulling him closer, any concerns immediately dissipated.
        Arm in arm, he led her out to the grounds on what was supposed to be a quick tour. This steered them down to the Pacific waterfront where all hope of rejoining the party was lost. At the shore break they sat on the sand and passed almost three hours alone, involved in their own conversational world. She was witty and genuine, with a true sense of herself. Strong and yet soft, with a confidence in search of support. Her views were not identical to his own, but they were well-thought-out and parallel enough that he could respect them, and respect her for having them. And at no point could he remove from his mind that she was also the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon.
        At some point he managed to break his trance long enough to realize how thinned-out the party had become. From their distant view the house had become an empty shell, devoid of all but a handful of guests. He decided that they should probably make their exit and hoped that the Old Man was still available for the requisite appreciations and good night.
        He stood and helped her to her feet, smiling at the fact that she sat happily on the sand for hours in what was obviously an expensive dress. Once up, she stepped passed him, still holding his aiding hand while he stood motionless. When she reached arm's length she found herself tethered by his stance. She turned and looked back at him. He gave a gentle tug that brought her back to him. He wrapped around her, focused acutely on her eyes. He felt the surge building in him, driving his heart like a spurred thoroughbred. His eyes drifted to her mouth, drinking in the sharp bow of the top lip and the sensuous curve of the lower one. Again the paradox filled him, time moving achingly slowly as the moment raced by like water between his fingers, impossible to contain. She was so close now that he could smell her, differentiate the scent of her perfume from her lipstick from her powder makeup from the essence of her flesh itself. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, the look in her eyes serious, the mutuality was unmistakable. He could feel her tremble slightly in his arms, or was that him?
        He could have stayed in that moment for all eternity, poised on the precipice of fulfilled desire, his heels barely fixed on the lip of the abyss. He leaned slightly forward, and into the dark chasm of wonder he fell. The first kiss was slow, soft, deep and vaguely anodyne. The sensation simultaneously calmed and kindled him. The drag of her lips became opiate; the more he took, the more he desired. One kiss flowed into another, short, soft touches connecting to hungry, rising unions that seemed to come in waves like the saltwater ebbing near their feet. In the swirl of emotions and sensations he abandoned any attempt at coherent thought. He was aware of only one absolute: that she would have to stop him, because he didn't believe he could stop himself.
        After a few seconds, or perhaps it was a few years (he had completely lost his bearing in time), he became aware of his hands on her. He moved his palms down the slow curve of her back, his fingertips sending signals that increased his arousal exponentially. First it was the softness of her skin as he moved down the open back of her dress, then it was firm muscles beneath the fabric as he reached her waist. He pressed her firmly to him and he could feel the taught sinews of her stomach against his own. The impetus cracked like a whip in his psyche, the uncontainable desire to drag his mouth down her chin, along her neck, between her breasts to her stomach. To run his hands up her calves, along the back of her thighs, over her hips, up her waist to her breasts, to her neck, to her lips. It was instantly much too much.
        He broke the kiss and leaned back, looking up at the darkened, moonless sky. He breathed out heavily then covered his mouth with one hand as his eyes met hers once more. Her breath was heaving, her hands still holding the back of his neck, fingertips mingling in the back of his hair.
        "If we don't go right now-", he languished.
        "Yeah.", she completed the thought, words unnecessary.
        He continued to look at her, trying to break free of the moment. It was completely counter-intuitive, willingly ending the experience, forcibly stepping back into the real world. Again her gravity held him, increased his inertia. His body at rest against hers preferred to remain at rest.
        She brought her hands down and took both of his, leaning into him with a smile until he started to fall backward. He shuffled his feet, took a step and they were on their way, back to life, back to reality.
        They stepped back into the house and were one of the last guests to depart. The Old Man had already retired for the evening and his wife was left to give the final farewells. It occurred to him that he should feel bad, that he had been remiss in not handling an important detail of the night, but he simply couldn't muster the emotion. He didn't worry that the Old Man would have issue with him, he knew that would not be the case. It was just very unlike him to abandon formalities in this way. Though try as he might, he just couldn't berate himself over it, not during the afterglow of one of the best nights of his life. His footfalls were on the silver linings of clouds.
        A short while later, at her doorstep, he wrestled with the memory and emotion of the night's events. He fixated on the point where he felt control dissipating, his almost-savage instincts taking over. There was a glaze of shame covering his thoughts. He worried how she might perceive his intentions, that she might misinterpret the role he hoped she would play. He wished to paint nothing askew and contained his goodnight kiss to short, sweet and firm. He pulled himself from her quickly, before the embers could be fanned. It was in this exchange that he would never doubt her, never question her feelings, never second-guess the mirroring of his affections. Before he could fully escape her she rushed forward, hungrily plundering him for a handful of passionate kisses. As the flames were verging on flash over she pushed herself back, leering at him seductively. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
        "Night." she said, stepping backward through the door, never releasing his eyes. Then, as swiftly as she had appeared, she was gone.
        His steps back to the car were filled with an acute self awareness, a strong exposition of reality. It was happening. Memories were being created, lived in. Memories that would last a lifetime. This was a person who was going to have a lasting impact on his life, no matter the outcome. A week earlier the two of them didn't even know they shared the same planet. After tonight she was no longer a stranger, she was a part of his life that could never be erased. Tonight could never be undone, unlived. It was real. It was actually happening. The fearful lurch of the stomach into the throat as the tilt becomes the fall.