7 comments/ 24567 views/ 7 favorites A Rose for Christmas By: YDB95 'I won't be bitter for Christmas.' Paul Curtis had said it again and again through those dreary weeks alone in his one-room flat, with the miserable Northern European winter just outside and his empty broken heart inside. Now, for the most part, he figured he'd succeeded: he wasn't bitter. Much. Alone, distrustful, and still plagued with memories of the recent hard times, but less bitter than he'd felt in weeks at least. Of course, he mused, he now had plenty of reasons not to be bitter -- thousands and thousands of reasons, most of them in the bank -- and only one reason to still feel down. And that one reason was hundreds of miles away now, messing with another woman's husband. Besides all that money, sipping on a hot apple cider in a cozy pub at an elite Swiss ski resort with revelers from all over the world was a very good reason to forgive and forget and enjoy the holiday season. And just because they called it a season of togetherness hardly made it a crime to be alone. It wasn't a crime, Paul knew that. But it still wasn't easy, especially at this time of year. Still and all, Paul had been telling himself for two months that he would never trust a woman with his heart again. If he could get through Christmas with that resolve holding, it ought to be easy from now on. Serène -- Paul's lost belle -- might well be shacking up with her professor right that minute, but she was back in the rainy, depressing town they'd been living in while he was here! Those many late, sleepless nights spent day trading online just to keep his mind off his miserable existence had paid handsomely indeed. His great escape from their town had come at long last that morning, with a first-class flight -- his only regret was that it was only two hours -- followed by a bus ride through the picturesque Alpine town that looked like a scene from a Christmas diorama, ending at the magnificent resort where he'd been lucky enough to score a last-minute reservation. He'd arrived early enough for an afternoon on the slopes, and that had more than lived up to his expectations. Easy to say for a boy from Nebraska when it came to skiing, Paul admitted to himself, but nevertheless. This was truly the life, and Paul Curtis had arrived! But nothing had filled his wounded soul with the joy of the season like his after-dinner visit to the hotel pub was doing now. Tasteful yet pervasive splashes of red and green, silver and gold all over the cozy room, a delightful essence of cinnamon and spice in the air from the snacks that were kept well-stocked on the tables, the classics from Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra on the radio (it was Paul's third Christmas in Europe, and he had long since discovered how pervasive the American songs were this time of year, even over here), a brightly lit spruce tree in the corner with an electric train wending its way through a maze of wrapped boxes below, a roaring fire in the fireplace across the way from the bar -- it looked for all the world like the cover of one of his mother's old Christmas record albums, which Paul had always wanted to crawl right into. Now he felt he had. This was what Paul had envisioned for himself as a kid in Omaha when he had promised himself he would one day spend the holidays in Europe. It was this moment that had driven him to practice his French in school while his friends were all falling asleep in class, and push for that scholarship that had brought him over here after college. It was what had kept him from turning tail and running back to America last fall when he'd suffered the double whammy of his internship not working out and his beloved Serène ditching him for her academic advisor. And it was what had sustained him through the prison-like experience he'd endured in the few months since then, too broke to go out much and too afraid to see Serène out and about with her new love in their small city, with the weather too nasty to spend much time outside anyway. Seated at his computer, hour after hour into the night and sometimes all night, studying trends and financial news and waiting for just the right time to buy and sell, his one solace was that a little luck might find him out of his personal hell in time for a proper holiday in the mountains. And it had. Oh, how it had! The one and only thing missing from his joyful triumph tonight was that, back home when he had daydreamed of a holiday like this, Paul had always imagined there would be a beautiful woman there beside him. And there almost had been. But then, Paul mused once again, would he have been able or willing to spend so many hours racking up the cash over the past couple of months had Serène been with him? Not likely! Besides, one couldn't have everything, so there was no need to think of romance or sex just now. "Another drink, sir?" came a voice in French. The barmaids' sexy plaid dresses would not make it easy to keep Serène off his mind, as she had worn a plaid skirt on their last date. He hated himself for remembering that, just as he hated remembering the adorable things they had said to one another in those precious two weeks or so that they dated. But she was back up in the rainy miserable north with her married professor and the chance his wife might turn up anytime, and he was free to admire the barmaids. No bitterness allowed, he reminded himself. "Yes please," Paul answered, also in French. "Oh, you are English!" "American. Pardon my accent." "No, you speak very good French!" "Thanks a lot!" And he meant it. The people here were much friendlier than he had been led to believe. "Is it your first time in Switzerland?" she asked as she poured his cider. "Yes, and I love it. Merry Christmas!" She replied in kind and set the refill before him. 'Okay, Paul admitted to himself as another swish of plaid skirts behind the counter piqued his attention once again, 'perhaps I am a little bitter. But bitterness can be fun. Maybe I'm alone, but that means I'm free to look at anyone I like and think anything I like. And looking is safer than feeling anything anyway!' With the pain of his loss still fresh in his mind, Paul did not find the idea of love any more appealing now than he had back in that jail cell he called his flat anyway. Nothing was worth risking that again! Whatever his interests, Paul liked to think he was a gentleman. Not wishing to make the barmaids uncomfortable with his prurient interests, he turned around to survey the other ladies of the barroom. Though he had been living in Europe for two years, Paul was still prone to the occasional bout of feeling like a hick simply because he was American. To avoid that feeling on this trip, he had gone on a shopping spree with his newfound wealth and purchased a new wardrobe of elegant looking sweaters and tailored pants. He was wearing one such ensemble tonight, and found himself in good company among similarly dressed gentlemen from all over the continent (judging from the many languages he overheard) and women in suitably warm winter dresses. Any fears of sticking out or of feeling overdressed were now forgotten. Indeed, among the crowd, he saw only one couple who were more casually dressed. He'd noticed them at dinner earlier: the parents, evidently, of two young girls who had been quite well-behaved at dinner, or so it had seemed from across the room. Americans, Paul feared from their jeans and plain shoes, though he'd been seated too far from them to hear for sure. The drink now taking a hold of his judgment, Paul absentmindedly found himself staring at the couple and wondering about them -- were they indeed the Americans he'd feared he would be? The girls were now off somewhere else while Mom and Dad were joining the better-dressed revelers. Paul realized a bit too late that he'd been absentmindedly checking out the woman in her tight jeans. She was built -- pleasantly plump with large breasts and round hips that filled out her jeans and white sweater quite stylishly, even if they were too casual for the setting. She sported brownish red curls and a pleasant everywoman's smile that Paul realized too late was directed at him. "Good evening," she said to Paul, sidling up to the bar beside him. British, Paul realized to his relief -- and his titillation as well. A delightfully strong working-class accent, refined just enough to hint at the tale of how she and her husband had done well enough for themselves to join the elite party here, and still deliciously exotic for a boy from Omaha. From up close, he saw that she also wore a touch of makeup, and fruity perfume. Plain clothes or not, this would be fun, he knew. "Hi there. Sorry I was staring there. Too many drinks, I guess. I'm Paul." "I'm Rose." She shook his hand, soft to the touch with a firm grip. Paul liked her very much already. "And this is my husband, Don." "Hullo Paul," Don said as they shook hands as well. "Admiring all the scenery are you?" "I guess so," Paul said sheepishly, relieved that Don didn't seem to mind the crass young American checking out his wife. "Just got in this afternoon and I haven't been out much lately before this trip. And it's kind of exotic for me, being surrounded by so many beautiful people, you know?" "Oh, we know!" Rose said. "Isn't that right?" "Yeah, we haven't been out much lately either, saving up for this bloody trip!" Don grumbled. "Worth it, though, to get out of the rain a week. You've come a long way, though, haven't you?" "Not as far as you think," Paul told them. Then, after another swig of his drink, he managed to name the city he was living in with just a bit of distaste. "Oh my, they have dreadful winters, don't they?" Rose asked. "We stopped there once for petrol, didn't we?" "Think so," Don agreed. "Can't remember much about it." "Wish I could say the same," Paul said, drawing a laugh from the both of them. "Bitter, are we?" Rose asked with a sympathetic grin. Though stung by her use of that word, Paul kept his cool. "Sorry. I guess I am a bit. I feel dirty just saying that with all this Christmas cheer around, but it has been a very difficult couple of months for me. Lost job, lost love, and here I was halfway around the world from home." "Oh my dear! You poor thing!" Rose's expression had changed completely. "But I guess that you're here now means things have turned around?" Don asked. Paul nodded and sipped his drink. "I can barely believe it myself. But hey, it's a time of year for miracles. I got everything back but the girl, and why let that bother me now?" "And that's how you ended up in this bloody playground for the holiday, is it?" Don grumbled. "Oh, stop that, you!" Rose chided him. "You'll have to pardon my husband, Paul. He doesn't handle anything festive any too well." "Paul knows what I mean, I'm sure," Don said. "It's all so girly here!" He looked up the bar to make sure the barmaids were all out of earshot. "Those plaid dresses, those are really the last straw. Don't you think, Paul?" "Actually," Paul admitted. "I really like them. Always thought it was terribly unfair how we associate plaid skirts with little girls. They look terrific on an adult if she wears the look right, I think." Rose looked delighted. Don didn't. "Oh, you're one of those touchy-feely yanks, are yeh?" Don smiled, but it looked forced to Paul. "Not me. I say the world is too feminized already. I don't need my nose rubbed in it on holiday." Paul could at least guess why Rose was wearing jeans now. "I mean, we came here to ski, and Rose here is wanting to get all dolled up, and I'm like what on earth for? We're just going in to drink and then it's back to our bloody room anyway." "Don," Rose said firmly. "If you're feeling cranky, maybe you should just go back upstairs. I'm sure the girls could use the company anyway." "Bloody overpriced holiday!" Don set his glass down firmly and stood up. "I'll leave the feelgood social hour to you ladies!" And he stormed out of the bar. Paul was embarrassed to look at Rose at first. When he did, she looked hurt but defiant. With a gentle smile, he asked her, "Shall we ladies enjoy a drink or two?" "I was hoping you would ask." Rose managed a smile. Then she noticed a table in a corner by the Christmas tree that was just opening up. "Let's go sit over there." "The holiday was really for him anyway," she explained to Paul once they were seated. "We've been on again off again for a few years now. He's got real problems with commitment, if you know what I mean. I've about had it with him, really, he's always making dumb comments like that one. But for the girls...you know. And one shouldn't be alone on Christmas." She realized her mistake an instant too late. "Oh, Paul, I'm sorry!" "It's fine," Paul assured her, though the comment did sting. "And yes, I think I know. I've had my own recent experiences with people making dumb choices in love." "Yes! The girl back home you mentioned. So things didn't work out?" "They didn't just not work out. She dumped me for her married professor, if you can believe that! That's why I'm here on my own, and honestly, I'm not sorry about that. I'm good at being alone and after what I went through this fall, I'm fine with staying that way." "No! Oh my, Paul. Well, obviously she's a bloody fool. No doubt she thinks he'll be true to her as soon as he leaves his wife." "Exactly what she said," Paul admitted. "'He's going to leave his wife any day now, and my future is with him,'" he mimicked. And he launched into the tale he'd been forced to replay in his head every night for all those weeks when trying and failing to sleep: how they'd met by chance at a favorite coffeehouse, and struck up a conversation about how cozy the place was and it would be perfect for snuggling with a willing partner all winter if only they weren't single. "That line worked?!" Rose asked. "If you're a touchy-feely type like me, it will always work," Paul said. "No, I know! I am one too, Paul. That's why I'm surprised it worked on her!" "Oh!" He laughed. "Well, yeah, it did." And he continued the tale. A week and a half of wonderful late dinners at nice dark restaurants, movies with lots of hand-holding and both of them bursting for more than just that, but nothing physical happened just yet...and then one night the story of her own past: an affair with her academic advisor, but she'd broken it off because he was married, only now he was talking of divorce. "The bloody fool," Rose said with a sympathetic nod. "Exactly." There'd been just one more date after that, at her favorite café deep in the Old City. "She wore plaid that day, too," Paul said with a sad smile. "I guess that's what the barmaids' uniforms made me think of." "But you seemed to like them!" Rose protested. "I do, I admit. Plaid skirts are my greatest weakness. It's none of my business, but I'm shocked your husband disliked them so much." "He doesn't like much of anything these days," Rose replied drily. "But anyway, this silly girl, Serène, she comes to your date in a plaid skirt?" "Yes, not a schoolgirl one or anything like that, a proper knee-length one, and after lunch she shows me her favorite view of the Old City, just across the way from the café, and it's a beautiful old European view and a chilly day, and we have our first kiss. Absolutely beautiful, like a storybook, you know? I'm thinking I'm in! I've made it! Happily ever after! Next day, though, she calls me to say she has decided to follow her heart and that means she's going back to her advisor." As recently as a week before, Paul knew he'd have been in tears by the last line. But he found it oddly comforting to share with Rose. He could see in her eyes that she understood all too well. "I'm so sorry, Paul." Rose did look a bit tearful herself, and Paul longed to take her in his arms. But she was married and the bar was crowded, and word would get around. "And you know, I know what that poor girl is in for. I don't expect you to feel sorry for her, but..." "In a way, I do," Paul agreed. "Of course, it's a lot easier for me to say that now that the healing has begun -- and I'm here!" "Yes! So just how did you get here? You mentioned you also lost a job?" "An internship, yes. Silly me, I went there to learn and they wanted someone who already had experience. Didn't find out until it was too damn late. And that happened just about a week before I met Serène, so I was already shaken before losing her." "I take it you've found a new one?" "Not exactly." In the first minutes, Paul had felt nothing but sympathy for poor Rose. But as she sat there before him, the twinkling lights dancing on her sweater and her lovely hair, a very different feeling indeed was emerging. "No, well...this is going to sound really depressing, but you can see it had a happy ending. After Serène dumped me, I ended up spending most of my time cooped up at home. I didn't want to go out much because I might run into her with her new man, you know, and besides I was out of a job and didn't have any money to spend anyway. On top of all that, the weather turned really nasty around then, cold and rainy and dark all the time. And I needed an escape, and more money." "So you turned to something diabolical?" Rose was grinning now, her own troubles forgotten. "You could say that. Day trading." "Day trading! Well that sounds positively wholesome compared to what I was thinking!" "Thanks, I think," Paul laughed. "It was perfect for me, though. I was cooped up in my flat with nowhere to go and nothing to do, and I could sit there at the computer and watch for hours at a time for the right trend and the right strike price. I was real conservative at first -- I just took a thousand dollars from my credit card and did ten bucks here, twenty there -- and the thing is, remember, I couldn't sleep so I was up real late most of the time -- I got to be pretty good at it. Practice makes perfect. "It must have!" Rose said. "So you'll be able to pay for this holiday easily enough, then." "Already have," Paul said. "I'm jealous!" Rose said, then quickly caught herself. "I'm sorry, your finances are none of my business." "It's fine with me," Paul said. "We're friends now, aren't we? Just us girls?" "Oh, heavens, I'm so sorry about that!" Rose said. "Like I said, always a comment like that with him. He's such a ladies' man, and yet anything feminine, especially if another man says he likes it, he gets all huffy. It was my choice to come here, but I thought he'd like it too. Some quality time for us and the girls together, to work things out. But he wouldn't even bother with nice clothes for dinner. I should have worn a sodding evening gown just to show him up." "Or a plaid skirt," Paul said with a chuckle. Rose laughed hard, and brushed Paul's hand on the table. "Thank you, I needed that! Heavens, how I needed that." A deep breath, she recrossed her legs, and another round of drinks was ordered. The room was spinning pleasantly now, but Rose in her sensible sweater and jeans was in perfect focus to Paul. "So you like Christmas kitsch like this too, do you?" she continued. "I always have." "I sure have," Paul said. "Back home sometimes we had snow on Christmas, sometimes we didn't, but I always used to imagine lots of it. I'd go to bed Christmas eve and stay up late listening to music on my earphones, imagining I'd wake up the next morning in a place that looked like...well, what it looks like here! Always." "And you probably imagined an elegant wife to share the holidays with, and lots of wine and proper parties," Rose said. "How'd you know?" Paul was intrigued -- that was exactly right. "Because I imagined the same for myself," Rose admitted sadly. "I'd see myself with a lovely little cottage in the mountains, wearing beautiful clothes and with a handsome gentleman by my side, and one Christmas party after another just like you saw on the telly every year..." Her voice trailed away, and Paul reached out and took her hand in both of his. He longed to do a great deal more than that, but this would just have to do, he told himself. A Rose for Christmas "This too shall pass," Paul whispered to her. "Things got better for me, they can get better for you too!" Rose sniffled and nodded. "You're right, they can. But every time Don pulls something like what he did tonight, it's clearer to me, they're not going to get better with him. I tell myself it's good for the girls if we stay together, but it isn't." She looked expectantly at Paul. "I don't know what to say," Paul said. "I don't know anything about raising children. But I do know you deserve better, Rose." His arms ached to hold her, but that was out of the question. "Do you want to go upstairs now? I didn't mean to depress you!" Rose nodded. "Don't feel bad. This helps, really." Then she looked him in the eye with a knowing gaze. "But it probably is best if I go upstairs. I should see how the girls are holding up anyway." Paul insisted on paying the tab, and Rose insisted on walking with him back to the elevators. Paul privately wished she wouldn't, as he wanted so to hold her that it almost hurt to keep his arms to himself. But he did. The cavernous lobby was drenched in Christmas cheer as well, culminating in a gigantic tree at the center just inside the main entrance, which was framed in twin stairwells with wrought-iron bannisters. The night outside was pitch black, of the type to which Paul had become all too accustomed, but it was oddly comforting now. Rose's hand brushed his a few times as they walked, and both of them laughed awkwardly but took no further action. A few other tired-but-happy travelers milled about, taking little notice of the pair. Rose was staying on the seventh floor, Paul on the tenth. Once the elevator door shut on them, he turned to her. "I really want to apologize again --" "Don't," Rose said gently, and she put her arms around him. Her whole body felt much like her hand had earlier: warm and soft and immensely inviting. Paul felt himself get hard, and he was almost certain Rose felt it too, for she laughed a bit nervously and gave him a final squeeze. "Talking to you tonight was just what I needed. Merry Christmas." As the door opened at the seventh floor, she kissed him -- closed-mouthed, but on the lips -- and was off. Paul had all night alone in his room to imagine Rose there in his arms. He tried not to at first, as he knew all too well how nasty those fantasies could get when he knew he'd never hold her again. He'd had the harsh reality of never knowing what sex with Serène might have been like to cope with for all those weeks now, and he hardly needed a second near-miss to torment him in the night. But the lilt of her accent and the curve of her hips were just too much, and he did have a beautiful hotel room with a huge bathtub to himself for a change instead of the increasingly depressing little flat he'd left behind. When he finally went to bed much later that night, he was sore down below, but happy. Since it was a holiday, Paul had not set the alarm. So he woke fairly late the next morning, pleasant memories of Rose's companionship still dancing in his head. No use in dwelling on that, he told himself -- if he wanted a fling on this trip, best to look for someone single at the bar tonight. With that settled, he was off to the slopes. He stayed all day this time, up and down as fast as his skis would allow, two minor wipe-outs but nothing serious, no thought of coming back in until the sun was sinking below the majestic mountains. A few times he was tempted to go back into the lodge to warm up, and maybe even visit the hot tub -- but the prospect of an idle mind meant he'd be pining for Rose once again, and that was to be avoided. Fortunately he never crossed paths with Rose or Don or their girls while skiing, and he did his best to put her from his mind just as he'd been doing with Serène. The sport did its job in keeping his mind elsewhere, and he was pleasantly exhausted and clear of mind when he arrived back in his room early that evening. Last night's fantasizing had not been forgotten, but Paul told himself a more promising encounter could just as easily happen tonight. Maybe a no-strings-attached fling that would cast Serène out of his heart once and for all and Rose as well for good measure, and then he could get back to being happy on his own. To that end, he put on his hippest black turtleneck, a sportcoat he had bought just for the trip with some of his day-trading loot, and his nicest pants and shoes. If he had to endure seeing lovely Rose with that bastard, at least she'd be eating her heart out too. Paul allowed himself that thought once, and then reminded himself once again -- "I will not be bitter for Christmas." Not for Serène, not for Rose. He did not need a woman to enjoy his holiday. For all that, Paul was afraid to look around the lobby much as he strode purposefully to the restaurant. The sounds and smells of holiday joy were everywhere once again, and Paul remembered to smile at the playful children and older folks he passed on his way to the restaurant. He was relieved to arrive there and find plenty of empty tables, and allowed a cursory look at all the young families he could detect -- they weren't there. "Table for one, please," he told the hostess. From behind came the beautiful voice he had resigned himself to never hearing again. "Care to make it two?" Paul turned around. There stood Rose, wearing a pleated red and green tartan skirt and a big smile. She was also wearing a red sweater, black tights and earrings shaped like miniature Christmas trees, but they both knew what caught Paul's attention and they both burst into knowing laughter when he looked back up into her eyes. His vow to keep his distance forgotten in an instant, he wrapped her in an unabashed embrace and then told the hostess that he did indeed want a table for two instead. Preferably a nice quiet booth for two in a corner somewhere. "Don didn't even know I packed it," Rose said as soon as they were alone, having correctly anticipated Paul's first question, about her skirt. "I thought it would be perfect to wear to dinner some evening, but then he made those silly comments last night and I thought, there goes my nice surprise for him." "It certainly is a nice surprise for me," Paul said. "But if you don't mind my asking, where is Don? And the girls?" "Don is off fucking the nanny, actually." "What?!" "Well, he doesn't know that I know, of course, but he is. He had some excuse about business at his company's office in Geneva that they shoved off on him because they knew we were here, and he asked the nanny to join him for some help with typing some reports or something." "I don't suppose she can even type, can she?" Paul asked. "I don't know," Rose admitted. "I do know his company doesn't have an office in Geneva!" She let out a long laugh, which died down just in time for the champagne she had requested to arrive. She and Paul clinked glasses and took a long drink each. "And the girls?" "The hotel has a babysitting service. I told the girls I had to meet up with a friend. They wanted to meet my friend too, actually. I said maybe next time!" "If I'm lucky," Paul said with a contented smile. "If they're lucky!" Rose retorted with a hungry smile. The champagne and appetizers were top-notch, and the conversation was long and easy. With last night's reticence out the window, Paul went on unabashedly and without shame about Serène and all the hopes she had inspired in him ever so briefly and the dark places he'd been to since then, and his fears of just what might await him when the holidays were over and he'd have to go home. With no further need to hide his attraction to Rose, he also told her very frankly how delightful it felt to be attracted to someone new. "I know it would be terrible for both of us to fall in love just now," he said cautiously. "Horrible indeed," said Rose, "but tempting all the same." "Then we agree," Paul sighed contentedly. "That's a relief." "So for the time being we can just focus on the fun part, can't we?" Rose asked. "I mean, it is a holiday after all." She gave him a shy smile. "And a time for giving." The waiter arrived just in time with the main courses. Paul was speechless, and relieved that he could leave her last comment hanging there in the air until he was sure he wasn't dreaming. Once they thanked the waiter and set about their dinner, he found himself so overcome with the thrill of the moment and the champagne buzz that he still didn't say anything. "Paul?" Rose asked after a few silent minutes had passed. "I'm sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?" "No!" He reassured her, reaching across the table to caress her hand. "Not at all! It was just such a wonderful thing for me to hear, I couldn't think of a good response. Anything would seem too mushy or insincere, I guess." "I get the sense with you it's okay to be mushy," Rose told him. "And it's certainly okay with me." She ran her foot up his leg under the table. "So if I told you I spent most of our conversation last night wishing I could hold you..." Paul could barely speak. "And I would have loved that," Rose assured him. "Let's face it, Paul, we've both given our hearts to people who don't deserve them, and this is the worst time of year to be living with that when you could be with someone who thinks you're wonderful. So why be lonely when we can be together instead? Even if it is just for these few days." "I guess I told you I never had sex with Serène," Paul mused. "Yes. And I haven't told you I haven't had sex with Don in months now. But I haven't. Some nights I even climb into bed beside him without a stitch on and he barely even notices." "Wow, I'm sorry!" "It's his loss, isn't it?" "Yes, absolutely," Paul laughed mildly. "What I was getting at, though, is I'm of two minds about having never slept with Serène. It means I'll never know what it would have been like, and that's a tough pill to swallow all right. But if we had done it once and it had been wonderful, knowing I'd never get to make love to her again would have been even worse. So sometimes I'm glad I don't know. For the same reason, I've been saying all these weeks I'm never even going to try for a relationship again. And I'm afraid now." "Afraid I'll be too good for you, are you?" Rose laughed, then stopped quickly when she realized she was right. "Well, Paul, look at it this way. Look around you. It's a winter wonderland, a fairytale, here, like you're living inside the Christmas spirit. I think you said that yourself last night. Of course it's not like real life." "That's what I love about it all right," Paul said. "So if on top of everything else you can also make love to a stunningly beautiful older woman with lots of experience, wouldn't that be right in keeping with your dream, then?" Now they laughed together, as loudly as they dared in the subdued restaurant. After dessert, a pregnant pause ensued as Paul and Rose admired one another in the mellow dim light. Though both would have gladly raced upstairs at that moment, Paul felt the need to play the perfect gentleman. It went with the territory, after all. Standing up, he took Rose's hand firmly but gently in his to help her up, and then didn't let go as they walked together from the restaurant. "Heavens, it was such a chore to keep my hands to myself last night in there," Rose said, squeezing his hand, as they waited for the elevator. "For you and me both," Paul said. "Can't believe that was only last night." "Don't I know it!" Rose agreed. The bell rang, the door opened. As soon as it shut behind them, Rose and Paul were drawn together like magnets. Neither tried to kiss the other just yet; instead they both exulted in the thrill of holding and being held. The ride up to Paul's floor was just long enough to drive them both even more wild with desire as they clung to one another. Paul's very feet seemed to spring up and down off the carpet as he guided Rose down the hall, and he felt pins and needles everywhere. To look at Rose, he could see the feeling was mutual. There were no words until they entered Paul's room, when Rose asked for a moment to "freshen up". "Of course." Paul turned on the bathroom light for her, and then made his way to his king-size bed. He'd ordered it because he'd already been going for first class on everything else about the trip and he liked being able to stretch out in every direction when he slept...and, he now admitted to himself, because he had hoped to meet someone like Rose. Or rather, he soon corrected himself, he had hoped to meet someone. He couldn't have dared hope for anyone so wonderful as Rose, not the way his luck had been the past few months. While Rose was busy in the bathroom, Paul began to worry that she might be undressing in there. He'd been looking forward to undressing her himself. The thought of asking her please not to crossed his mind, but then he got a better idea. While listening carefully for the bathroom doorknob, he quickly stripped down to his boxers and, after tossing his clothes discreetly on a chair, curled up on the bed so he would almost look naked from the right angle. Though slightly nervous over what she would think, he put on a sly smile and waited for the bathroom door. Rose was still fully clothed but for her shoes, and she was thrilled at the sight. "Oh my!" she squealed, and flung herself alongside him on the bed. "I am a lucky lady tonight, aren't I?" "Makes two of us," Paul managed to say just before Rose pinned him on the bed and stuck her tongue deep in his mouth. She rubbed his bare skin appreciatively up and down every inch of his body that she could reach from her perch on his belly, wasting no time in reaching into his boxers and flicking about at his penis, which snapped to attention. "Oh dear," she teased, "It's been far too long since I've caused one of those." Gripping harder on his erection, she leaned in and bobbed up and down just above him, and her generous breasts -- still wrapped in her sweater -- tickled his chest delightfully. Paul yelped at her touch down below, and shook with pleasure at the sensation of her body straddling his. He pushed up with his hips as best he could, which wasn't much, while she ran her fingers daintily up and down his torso. He wiggled, but Rose wasn't going anywhere. Two could play at that game. He found the hem of her skirt on each side with both hands, and lifted it. Rose leaned down again to kiss him, but not before he managed a glimpse of her red panties barely visible behind her tights. Though he closed his eyes for the kiss, he could feel as well as ever under her skirt, and hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her tights to pull down just a bit. Nothing was going to be removed just yet with her legs spread, but Paul was able to rub Rose's well-hidden flesh just above and around her pubic area without touching anything too intimate. She squealed in approval, and it gave him an idea. After a few more minutes of barely-interrupted kissing and Rose rubbing Paul's chest while he teased her hips and belly, he finally reached up rather than down, and pulled up her sweater. Rose had apparently been waiting for just such a move, for she quickly straightened up and raised her arms to help pull it off along with her undershirt. Her bra was the same shade of red as the sweater, and it was delightfully lacy and tight with strain against her heavy breasts. "Finally saw fit to unwrap your present, did you?" she asked. "I was beginning to worry you never would. Now don't be shy." Sliding off Paul at last, she reached under her skirt and pulled off her tights and panties quickly. Then she lay on her back beside him, her legs spread as wide as her half of the bed enabled. He could now reach under and touch anything he liked, Paul knew...but he didn't, yet. To Rose's surprise, he leaned over her and began kissing and rubbing her belly. He teased upward with his fingers, but stopped just short of touching her bra, much less trying to remove it. Nibbling a bit harder now, he reached down and ran his hand up her now-bare thigh until he could sense her moisture without quite getting his hand wet, and stopped there. He then ran his fingers back down her leg as far as he could reach, and back up the other leg to the same point. "You bloody tease," Rose sighed. But it sounded like she approved. Paul moved both hands back up to her belly, and rubbed harder now but still didn't make any move to further undress her. They had all night, after all. Once or twice he reached just inside the waistband of her skirt, causing a squeal of anticipation from Rose, but he never reached too far down. At long last, he straightened up beside her and kissed her again on the mouth. Eagerly Rose put her arms around him and rolled on her side. With his hands conveniently behind her back, Paul went to work on unfastening her bra. He was out of practice and it took longer than it should have, but Rose did not appear to mind. Once she could feel he had undone the clasp, she eagerly pulled back and wiggled out of the straps. Rose had full, plump nipples that fit well with her large breasts. She pushed Paul's head gently down towards them, but he carefully avoided contact with the nipples and instead kissed gently at the underside of her left breast. "Good heavens, you take your time!" Rose groaned with a throaty laugh and a deep breath. Paul found the sides of both breasts with his hands, and rubbed gently, at first only on the sides, while Rose moaned her approval. He slowly worked his circles outward, and kept his touch light -- just grazing her tender skin on both sides. "Oh god, Paul, nipples, please. They're itching for you!" "Mmm-hmm," Paul teased. He leaned down and kissed her between her breasts, and drew out the circles his fingers were making still more. Then he sat up and changed course with his hands, rubbing the sides of her breasts harder with his palms, and drawing two firmer circles around both nipples -- always stopping just short of crossing into the darker skin, where he knew he was creating an itch to be touched. Rose leaned her head back on her pillow and groaned in anticipation. He could see her nipples were now stiff, and he longed to play with them as much as she wanted him to. But not yet. Paul swung one leg over Rose and straddled her as she had done with him earlier. His hard cock, having long since bulged its way out of his shorts, poked Rose's belly warmly, and they both enjoyed the sensation. He applied more pressure now in caressing her breasts, and finally stopped the circles and rubbed more firmly all around the sides and edges. With Rose now breathing more heavily than ever and beginning to moan aloud, the time was right. Paul leaned down over her left breast and set his mouth over her nipple. Just breathing heavily upon it made her yelp with delight. He wet his lips and then pressed them down and licked her nipple firmly, and was rewarded with a squirm and the loudest moan yet. "Oh, Paul, about time. The other one!" Still kissing her left nipple, he caressed the right one firmly with his fingers, pulling harder as her voice rose in approval. While he was busy with her breasts, her own hands found his hard cock and gripped at it with a pleasant squeeze. Paul grunted his own approval while he continued, now alternating his mouth and hand on each of her breasts. "I want you now," Rose moaned. "But we're not even naked yet," Paul teased. "I can fix that," Rose said. She thrust up her hips and, with her free hand, reached back to unzip her skirt. It took both hands for her to push it down over her hips. While he was waiting, Paul followed suit and pulled his boxers off, enjoying his first look at Rose's pussy as he did. Since it was winter and she hadn't been intimate with her husband lately, Paul had suspected she would not have bothered with trimming or shaving, and he was not disappointed. The carpet matched the curtains, as she sported the same reddish shade below as above. A Rose for Christmas Paul did not have long to savor his first look at Rose's unadorned body before she pulled him into their first nude embrace. It was fierce and warm and accompanied by more kissing, after which she pulled back and whispered, "I want you now," again. She reached for his cock and tried to guide him in, but Paul had a few more ideas first. "Soon," he whispered. Before Rose could protest, he dove down between her thighs and began rubbing and kissing them. He could smell her feminine perfume and feel the dampness on her thighs, but as earlier he was careful to avoid going straight for the treasure. He did rub hard on her inner thighs, and Rose wiggled them and sighed approvingly, but she also let slip with another I-want-you-now between gasps. Figuring it would be mean to tease her quite so much this time, Paul reached into Rose's pubes and ran his fingers through them while working his lips further up her thighs. Rose spread her legs further in anticipation, and Paul slipped his thumb just inside. Rose barely had time for a yelp of joy before he pulled it back out, or a groan of pleasant frustration before he reached in again. Her vagina was wonderfully warm and inviting and he longed to reach in further, but that could wait. "Oh God, Paul, so help me, if you don't put something in there pretty soon..." Before she could finish, Paul dove in and reached his tongue as far inside as it could go, drawing shakes and a screech of elation from Rose. He then drew his tongue up further and flitted it over her hard clit, drawing even louder howls. Licking harder now, he reached one finger inside. Rose's moaning was reaching a fever pitch and Paul was almost afraid of how loud she would get with two fingers, but he resolved to find out anyway. Good thing we didn't wait until the neighbors were probably in bed, he thought as Rose responded to his second finger and his increased sucking. Remembering not to push too deep inside, he rubbed in tiny circles with both fingers just inside her while licking her clit as hard as he thought she could stand. The angle made his neck sore, but it would be well worth it for her reaction, he was sure. He could feel the sheets shift as Rose grabbed at them. She was close. If she took much longer to come, his neck would really be hurting...with that thought, he kissed and rubbed harder and faster than ever. Paul had been with a screamer or two in his time, but he'd never heard anyone screech quite as loud as Rose did. "Oh my God!! Gimme that, Paul, make me feel it!!" Still fingering her, he looked up to see her grabbing bunches of the sheets in both hands and grinding her head back into the pillow as she came. "Thank you!" she managed to say once she'd caught her breath. Her body went limp as the orgasm subsided and she pulled his shoulders upward, beckoning him upwards. Paul tried to get up to wash her juices off his face, but she pulled him down and kissed him on the mouth. "Mmm, I taste wonderful, don't I?" she snickered. "Yeah." It was all Paul had a chance to say before she rolled him over on his back and climbed atop him. Looking elated but not satiated, she grabbed at his cock firmly with both hands and, with all the delicious frustration his slow foreplay had built up for her, slid it effortlessly inside at last, as deep as she could reach it. "Whooooooaaaaaaaah," Paul exhaled loudly as he felt her soft pink vaginal walls envelop him fully for the first time. He had often wondered if sex felt different with a woman who'd had a baby; now he found it wasn't as different as he'd expected. If a bit less tight, she seemed more toned than what he was accustomed to, and he could feel her clamping down again and again on him as she rocked joyfully back and forth. Taking both his hands in hers, she rocked hard and ground into him again and again. For the first few minutes, Paul's eyes were closed for savoring the wonderful intense sensation, but he wanted another look at her body. He opened his eyes to see her beaming at him while her breasts jostled every which way. She was still grunting. "Gonna come for me, Paul? I'm gonna come again. Come with me!" Squeezing her hands tightly and looking into her eyes, he did. While they were both still in the throes of orgasm, she threw herself down at him and clung tightly, and he returned the embrace. The climax seemed to hang on for minutes, and judging from Rose's lusty yells, she was feeling the same. When at last the sensation died down, wordlessly she rolled over beside him and snuggled up to him, one arm thrown around his chest. Paul was deliriously happy, until he heard Rose crying beside him. He snapped out of his reverie and propped himself up on one elbow. "What's wrong?" "Absolutely nothing, that's just it," Rose sniffled. "I haven't really made love, for real, in so long. So beautiful." Paul wanted to say "I love you," but he feared that would make matters worse. Instead he said "Merry Christmas, darling," and kissed her chastely on the cheek. She returned the well-wishing and snuggled up closer by his side. Soon they were both fast asleep. Paul had been sleeping heavily lately, making up for the many sleepless nights he had endured in recent weeks. So he was disappointed, but not surprised, when he woke up late the next morning to find Rose had dressed and left. For a moment he struggled not to cry, reminding himself again and again that he'd known it would be fleeting as he sat up, disbelieving, alone in his bed -- their bed. 'I promised I would never love anyone again,' he reminded himself. 'Now we remember why.' Back to the slopes, he vowed, and then back to trading up a fortune -- somewhere. As he showered and dressed, Paul was already wondering what he might say to her if he saw her again. He found no good answer. No good could come of dwelling on that just then. Whatever happened next, he reminded himself, they both now had a wonderful memory. Recalling what he had said about being glad he hadn't slept with Serène, he was relieved to find he didn't regret having slept with Rose. He had touched her just as she had touched him, at least. It was three days yet to Christmas, and Paul was there to enjoy the whole week. And enjoy it he did. Contenting himself with the one wonderful memory and a vague hope for the future, he was at peace with it all as the big day approached. Paul had all the closure he needed. He told himself again and again that he needed no further closure; but on Christmas Eve he got it anyway. Arriving back from the slopes, he opened his room door to find a large manila envelope before him on the floor. He opened it to find a picture -- a full-color picture of Rose curled up on a hotel bed just like his. She was smiling straight into the camera, wearing a red Santa Claus cap and nothing else. Scrawled across the image of her lovely body in red pen was a message: "Dearest Paul, thank you for teaching me once again how real love feels. This need not be the end! Write me in January and let's talk of the future. Love always, Rose". Paul turned the photo over. To his relief and joy, Rose had written her e-mail address in the same red ink. Paul enjoyed his two more days at the resort more than ever, but it was no longer all fun and games. He was now busy making plans to move to England and look into working there, and thinking of just the right words to say in the first e-mail he would send to Rose, when he got home. Going home no longer scared him. On his last afternoon at the resort, he'd had enough of skiing and spent the afternoon at the hotel pool. While there, he met an American couple with a young daughter who was still quite high on the just-passed holiday. "I was so scared of coming here for Christmas!" she told Paul while they were playing in the pool along with her father. "I thought Santa Claus would never find us here. Then my cousin told me Santa Claus isn't even real! But now I know Santa Claus is real! Do you believe in Santa Claus, Paul?" "I sure do," Paul said. "This year she gave me back my love for life."