..“she rolled over”... Her actual movements distracted me from her words. She had gotten up and was reaching for her robe.“Where are you going?”“I can’t sleep. I have this idea bouncing around in my head. I want to go and get it down on paper. I’ll be a while. Don’t wait up.” I wanted to stop her, to ask her about the manuscript, but she was already moving towards the door. She paused and looked back at me, then returned to give me a kiss. It was a good kiss. Full lips with just a little tongue. It was tantalizing. I started to reach for her, to tell her to stay and kiss me some more, but my hands grabbed air. She was out of reach, then gone. As she sat clicking away on the keyboard on the other side of the wall, I sat thinking and, little by little the connection came clear. After that first conversation she had started writing. That same evening, in fact. And, I remembered waking up several nights in a row to find that she wasn’t in bed with me. I would get up to go to the bathroom. She had arranged the sunbed with her toes towards the sea and head towards the other rows of beds. She was laying on her front, face turned to the left and the men were to her right. She relaxed and the noises blended together in her head. She felt herself dozing. She awoke with a start when cold water cascaded on her back. Turning quickly to dry it on the towel under her she struggled to open her eyes against the bright sun but it was only when her face became shaded that she could focus properly. As she did so she realised that she was looking right into the eyes of a dark haired, dark eyed young man who had stopped drying himself to apologise for disturbing her. As he started to talk her first reaction was an involuntary smile because he was talking English with an appealing accent and looked genuinely concerned about disturbing her rest. Her second reaction was one of acute embarrassment when she realised that his eyes kept glancing lower on her body. That was when she felt the.
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