A gentle wave swept across the wet sand and another shell tumbled over Nicole's foot. She stepped on it to catch it then she picked it up and washed it in the warm water before adding it to the collection in her sunhat.
It was mid-December and she and her husband had traveled to Australia's Gold Coast for their vacation. She lazily looked back up at her hotel, wondering if her husband was awake yet, and she thought about going back for breakfast. She caught the smiles of two men and felt herself blush a little.
Miles was in his forties and worked in room service and Barry was a doorman in his late fifties. They were sitting on the wooden steps leading to the hotel grounds, enjoying their morning break, and enjoying the way little gusts of wind were toying with Nicole's sundress.
"She's on the forth floor isn't she?" Barry asked casually.
Her hem had folded up again, not so far but enough to reveal the soft white triangle between her legs and above it, just a hint of lace. She brushed at it with her free hand but the breeze had steadied and her little dress billowed out again as she started sorting the shells in her hat.
"Yeah, room thirty-seven... on the forth floor, and I'm serving five to eight this week. But I'm going to ask Alan if I can switch," Miles replied absently.
Barry rested back on his elbows and tilted his head. He thought he could see the shape of a tiny little patch of hair beneath the lace. "She's with a guy," he said.
"Yeah... she is married..." Miles conceded. "But Ted can speak a bit of German and he said at dinner last night her husband was talking about going on a fishing trip for a few days." He stood and brushed sand from his shorts.
Barry checked his watch. "What? We've still got five minutes..."
"I know, but I've got to make a phone call," Miles explained.
Barry checked his watch again to be sure and he lit a smoke. He then settled back and watched Nicole step on another shell before a little wave swept right up close to the steps and bubbled above her knees. She waited for the water to recede then she collected the shell and as another wave rolled in she bent down to wash it. She was facing old Barry when she did that though, and he strained to distinguish a nipple down the front of her dress. He could clearly see the white roundness of her left breast, which was obviously bare, and he thought he made out the darkened little form of a nipple.
Nicole felt his eyes upon her. When she'd dressed that morning she had thought about wearing a bikini beneath her sundress. She'd only bought it the day before and knew it offered a view of her chest when she bent forward. The fabric was very light cotton and the fit was loose. She checked and saw just then how it was gaping well clear of her nipples and she felt the color rising in her face as she dug at another shell buried in the sand. She couldn't explain to herself why she was showing the man her breasts but it's what she was thinking of when she bought the dress and she'd dared herself that morning.
She stood and turned away quickly, before he saw how red her face was, but she noticed that he was getting ready to go back into the hotel. In the state she was in though, she fumbled with the button between her breasts and released it.
She walked across the hot sand and stopped at the gate to the hotel and steadied herself for what she'd been planning to do that morning. There were two paths - one to the pool enclosure and the entrance to the foyer, and the other through the garden and down into the basement car park where there was a small office where the gardener could usually be found. He was a warm eyed man of fifty-five named Harry, who Nicole had met a few times. He made ornaments out of seashells.
She knocked on the open door and Harry smiled up from the invoices he was checking off. "Come in..." he said to her happily.
"I've collected some shells," Nicole declared, feeling his eyes lower to her chest then flash back up again.
She stepped into the small room and Harry stood and shuffled from behind the desk. He edged in behind her with his hands touching her waist and sending a warm tingle up her spine, and he leant in over her shoulder.
"Are these okay?" Nicole asked without turning her head, and she started laying the shells out on the desk.
She could feel his breath against her neck, and while he began poking at the shells his other hand remained upon her waist. His fingers were thick and course but they only lightly touched her.
"They'll be fine..." Harry smiled. He turned a few of the shells and inspected them but he'd inched his hand upward a little until he could feel the heat from the underside of her breast. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked her.
"I'd better not stay... my husband may be waiting," Nicole answered. She could feel his shirt touching her back and the idea of being bent over the desk flashed through her mind. "My god, what am I doing here!" she thought to herself. It was the third occasion she'd found an excuse to visit the old gardener. She could feel his thumb pressing into the side of her breast.
"That's a nice one... lovely colors," Harry suggested, indicating the last of the shells Nicole had laid out on the desk. He felt her body move away but he pressed his fingers into her side with enough force to challenge, and his gaze settled upon her cleavage. He relented though when she touched his arm.
"I really should go," Nicole said and she broke away and left the old gardener and hurried along to the basement elevator, frantically fumbling the button back through its hole.
Her husband was still sleeping and she was thankful somehow. She went straight into the bathroom and locked the door then shed her clothes and stepped under the cool water. Her hand slipped over her belly and sought her little patch of hair. She felt lower as if to check that her suspicion was correct and her fingers melted into her warm folds.
Her body shuddered as a tingle centered in her belly and swept over her. But was it her body? She recognized her own skin but it was if someone else had stepped into it. It was a strange new feeling that had captivated her, perhaps a sense of freedom. Her husband had yet to adjust to the new time zone and he was sleeping until nearly mid-day each morning, leaving Nicole with a few hours to herself, and in a strange country, half a world away from home.
Alan had become room service manager at forty-six. He was a heavily built man with a hearty laugh and an easy nature. He studied the face of his colleague without any agitation, even though he knew he was being lied to. Miles shifted uneasily.
"Tell me the real reason you want to change floors and I might consider it," Alan declared. "It's a woman, right?"
"The German girl..." Miles confessed.
