Grapes Upside Down

64. Cena despedida

~Madisen~

The following day is spent at the beach, tripping into gentle, pale teal waves, constructing elaborate sand castles and basking under the sun. We relish the feeling of being warm enough for the first time in about five months.

Noah takes every opportunity to get his hands on me--massaging my back with sunscreen, taming my sandy, windswept hair, shoving me into the water and conveniently landing on top.

At one point, as Clara and I carve random Chilean slang expressions into the wet sand with sticks, I catch Noah staring from where he's sprawled on his towel across the way. Propped up on his elbow, the expression of pure admiration causes my stomach to twirl into an exhilarating triple axel. I blow him a kiss, then join my hands in the shape of a heart. Noah breaks into a wide-open grin.

After cozying up against each other under the afternoon sun rays, drowsiness overtakes me while Noah, to the contrary, grows restless.

"¿Vamos al hotel?" he whispers into my ear, and I can tell he has something besides napping in mind.

"Pero estoy cómoda." I complain that I'm comfortable snuggled with him here in the sun.

"Te estás quemando." Noah asserts that I'm getting burned, which, despite being a (cute) manipulation tactic, certainly isn't a lie.

Just to mess with him a minute, I reach for the bottle of sunscreen in my bag and drop it onto Noah's chest. He squirts a blob into his palm with a melodramatic sigh.

"I've resisted you in that bikini for many hours, but my resolve is crumbling."

His tone is sultry yet innocently, genuinely Noah at the same time. Desire zings through my body from head to toe as he applies the coconut-scented lotion to my shoulders, spreading the oily substance across my chest, greedy hands dipping low. In a state of dizzy, sunbaked contentment, I thrum my fingers around the base of his neck, sliding them down his sweaty, salty, sunscreen-saturated chest until I reach his stomach. Noah's breath catches, growing shallow as I trace figure-eights along his torso.

"Madilita..." he warns.

I sit up, making sure to unnecessarily touch him in as many places as possible while I adjust position on our shared beach towel. "Vamos," I consent.

He flashes me the sexiest smirk, holding eye contact while tugging to adjust his swim trunks.

"¿Pa' dónde vai, weón?" Armani asks in fluent young male Chilean, intercepting us as we leave the beach.

"A dormir una siesta antes de la cena." Noah is a smooth liar, though not in a way that might be concerning. He knows very well the lie is obvious, which is what makes his matter-of-fact delivery slightly amusing.

"Una siesta," Armani echoes, winking. "Disfruten."

*

We do end up napping afterwards, and by the time we rise from our stupor it's time to head to our Cena Despedida (farewell dinner) with Aventuras Chile. I shower, slip on a long, elegant olive gown with a slit up the left leg and work my hair into an up-do.

Noah's jaw drops when he sees me emerge from the bathroom. He, too, is all dressed up in black slacks and a button-down shirt tucked in, his dark waves a bit jelled up.

"Te ves súper guapo," I whisper next to his ear before placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Te ves absolutamente hermosa," he replies, voice holding an almost trembly energy. "You don't know how many times over the past months I saw you emerge from a room looking mind-blowingly stunning, and I had to extinguish my reaction."