They say that your first love never dies. You can put out the flames, but not the fire. — Bonnie Tyler
Mark removes his hand from her elbow. He reaches up with both hands and removes Mary Ann’s sunglasses. “My God! You are still so beautiful.” Mark uses one hand to caress her cheek.
“Mark, please,” Mary Ann whispers. Her heart silently begging him not to touch her anymore.
“Kitten, please look at me,” Mark whispers, standing so close Mary Ann can smell his cologne. The cologne is her favorite—the one she always gave him for special occasions. Mark doesn’t move his hand. Instead, his fingers linger on her cheek.
Mary Ann drifts her eyes up to his. Those beautiful green eyes that suck her in and drown her. She flashes back to her seventeenth birthday when Mark first made love to her. His eyes and hands on her body. Each look and each touch created a fire inside her that not even time has diminished. She looks down quickly, hoping Mark doesn’t see her fire for him in her eyes.
