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Christmas Day
A Partridge in a Pear Tree
She awoke the next day feeling literally like a kid on Christmas morning.
Sunshine poured in her open balcony doors and the ocean gleamed that perfect Caribbean blue outside. A gecko basked on the white railing and the scarlet ruffled blooms of some flowering vine spilled over it in perfect contrast.
Tilda pulled on her short silk robe and strolled out to lean on the rail. People were already finding their way to the beach below, while cabana boys set up umbrellas in Oro’s trademark gold.
Christmas morning, indeed!
A discreet knock on her door followed by a soft “Room service?” brought her back inside. A cute young man politely averted his eyes and wheeled in a silver cart.
“Breakfast, Señora Campbell. Where shall I set it up?”
“Can I have it out on the balcony?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“Then I wish!”
After a few efficient moments, he’d set up breakfast and disappeared. Tilda poured herself coffee from the pitcher—with real cream and extra sugar—and chose a chocolate croissant from the pastry plate. A square vanilla envelope sat on the tray and she propped it up against the little vase holding a spray of jasmine, enjoying the anticipation.
Today would be a partridge in a pear tree—even she remembered enough of the song to know that much. How that could possibly be made sexy, she didn’t know. But Miguel seemed like a creative guy, in a lawyerly, controlling way. He’d no doubt thought of something interesting.
Another knock at her door, with a young woman outside this time. She simply smiled, showing perfect pearly teeth, and held out her hands while she bowed. Tilda took the gold-foil-wrapped box with a giant ribbon from the woman’s upturned palms and fumbled in her robe pocket for a tip. She hadn’t been ready for the room service kid and there hadn’t been a ticket with the tray.
But the young woman waved her hands, smiled, bowed, smiled again and trotted off, softly singing “Angels We Have Heard on High.”
Tilda took the box back to her sunny balcony and set it next to the note. The gold wrapping sparkled, the glittery bow scattering prism shards. There was something about a beautifully wrapped gift that added a special glow. It didn’t matter what was inside—just this much pleased her. She still had the present she’d brought for Greg buried in her suitcase. All the time she’d spent selecting it, imagining them drinking midnight champagne on the balcony of their suite, seeing in Christmas Day with a romantic exchange of gifts. She should have spent more care selecting the guy.
“This is better,” she told herself out loud. And opened the envelope.
Merry Christmas, Roo,
I have sent you a little partridge for your pear tree. You are to wear it all day. I shall visit you as I can and we’ll see if we can’t shiver your leaves.
Miguel
> Okay then. She opened the box, taking all the time she liked to make sure the paper didn’t tear, savoring her one Christmas present. Maybe she’d make a little scrapbook when she got back home, of the notes and hints of what went with them. A private souvenir album.
The box itself was embossed with the logo of the hotel gift shop. Handy. The resort might be bustling, but she doubted the shops in town would be. Inside, on a bed of pale blue sat a gleaming silver bullet-shaped vibrator.
For her pear tree indeed.
She finished her coffee, reading the instructions that came with the vibrator. Not that it was all that involved—insert vaginally and off you go. The remote control that came with it was conspicuously missing. The thought of it in Miguel’s pocket, out there somewhere, sent a thrill through her. So much so that, when she went into the bathroom to insert it, she was plenty wet enough for it to slide right in.
It rested inside her, the size and weight stimulating all on their own. She smiled at herself in the mirror and tousled her brownish-blond curls. For once she looked kind of sexy and mysterious, with that pleased little smile. Fa la la la LA.
She dressed in her new one-piece bathing suit with the matching cover-up, loaded up her tote bag and headed down to the beach. As she walked, the heavy bullet rocked inside her, a gentle heat under her simmering excitement. She kept her eyes peeled for Miguel, but saw him nowhere.
A cabana boy happily set her up in a prime spot, with an unobstructed view of the ocean. She sank into the lounge chair, feeling sensual with the sun’s heat and her secret. The young man offered to bring her a drink and she decided what the hell. She might as well plan to spend the day in this chair, reading and napping.
Waiting for her new lover.
From time to time she forgot about her invisible companion, until she shifted position and sensations swamped her anew, just from the weight inside her. The mild buzz from the piña coladas and the sexy beach-read on her reader only added to her heightened state, until she started seriously contemplating returning to her room to get herself off.
Of course, she hadn’t brought any of her own vibrators, since Greg wasn’t into that, but the old-fashioned method worked fine.
