A Dad Of His Own. Diana Whitney

A midnight bluff overlooking a sleeping town blurred by fogged windows and the heady scent of love. The car shuddered. Soft moans, sweet breath, shudders of ecstasy.

      His body sighed; his mind swirled. A whisper of silken hair, the embrace of soft arms, fragrant with perfume. A veiled face, nebulous and obscure, clouded by passion and the misty muddle of an intoxicated mind.

      From somewhere beyond conscious thought, a melody beckoned. A voice, fresh and lyrical, summoned him, rousting his mind from pleasures of the flesh to something deeper, more poignant. Sweet arms held him, a gentle whisper begged him not to look. He had to look, had to lay eyes upon the vision from which such mellifluous beauty could emerge.

      Condensation mysteriously evaporated, revealing a circle of clarity on the cloudy glass. A face floated in the darkness, a face of such stunning beauty that he was paralyzed by its intensity. Sable hair, ruffled by an invisible breeze. Eyes blue enough to blind a man with radiance. Dewy lips, lush and alluring, set in a regal face of such dignity that he was humbled in its presence.

      It was her, he realized. It had always been her.