A Stranger on the Beach

“The other side—?”

“Irish.”

“Ah, that explains the freckles,” he said, and traced a finger gently across the bridge of my nose.

Wow. His touch was so unexpected, so forward, it made me squirm on my barstool.

“Drat, thought I covered those with makeup,” I said, and my voice came out several octaves lower than normal. My breathing was quicker. I flashed on this movie I’d seen years ago. A woman picks up a guy in a bar and within minutes they’re screwing like animals up against the fence in the alley. I told myself, That’s crazy, stop this, calm down, act your age. I picked up my glass and downed the rest of it in one gulp. Then I held it against my cheek, and my neck, hoping the icy coldness of the glass would still the throbbing in my blood and make me behave. But no.

“Never cover those freckles. They’re perfect. Irish and Italian together is the most beautiful combination. But I bet you’ve heard that all your life.”

I was not entirely certain whether he was flirting with me for real, like he truly found me attractive. Or whether he was joke-flirting with an older woman, to get a tip or something. Not that I cared. But I was conscious of the gap between us—age-wise, class-wise, whatever-you-want-to-call-it-wise. I wasn’t taking myself too seriously, and I wasn’t sure yet that I’d be taking Aidan home. In fact, I was still telling myself not to go there. But I hadn’t thought about Jason and the crash-and-burn disaster of my marriage in at least three minutes, which had to be some kind of miracle.

“Your glass is empty. Hold on, let me get you another.”

He went away and came right back with a fresh vodka. If nothing else, I’d be giving him one helluva tip for the drinks. But thinking about cash reminded me about the missing money, and I got upset all over again.

Then he started asking me about myself, and that distracted me.

“So, do you live here full-time, or are you a weekender, like everybody else in town these days?”

“It was supposed to be just weekends. But … I don’t know. My life is up in the air right now. I’m taking things one day at a time.”

“Yeah? That doesn’t sound good. Anything you want to talk about?”

He sounded so sincere that it’s possible I teared up. I was very vulnerable right then.

“No. Thank you. My life is a mess, but I shouldn’t impose. We barely know each other.”

“It’s fine, really. Listen, I’ve been there. I’ve had troubles of my own. The temptation is to keep everything in and go through it alone. But it can help to talk. It can especially help to talk to the bartender.”

That got a laugh out of me.

“No joke,” Aidan said. “We’re like priests. We hear confessions, and we give our own special absolution. It comes in a bottle, though.”

“I like that. Sounds like more fun than the kind the church doles out.”

“For sure. Freshen your drink?”

My glass was empty already. I handed it to him, and he walked away. I started wondering how much he knew about me. He claimed he’d tended bar at my party. I didn’t recall seeing him that night, but the party had been crowded, and the catering staff large. If he was there, did he hear about Jason and the Russian woman? Were the other guests gossiping about me, about the epic fail of my marriage, in front of him? Did he think that’s why I was here, flirting him up? I thought I was being all sexy and mysterious, but instead I was a pathetic old cougar, dumped by her husband for another woman, hitting on a guy young enough to be my son. No, wait—I wasn’t that old. My much younger brother.

He came back with fresh drinks for both of us.

“So,” I said. “Are you from around here?”

That line was corny as hell. I started thinking maybe I was a pathetic drunken cougar coming on to a hot young guy after all. But the nice thing about Aidan was, he didn’t seem to mind. He took a swig of his drink and gave me that slow, sexy grin.

“Born and raised, never made it out. Prob’ly gonna die here.”

“You could do a lot worse than this place. It’s beautiful. The water, the sky. The town is adorable.”

“The part you go to, maybe. Guys like me, we’re on the outside looking in. I meet a woman like you. Beautiful, sophisticated. I can imagine what your life is like, but I can never really touch it, you know.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. Here we are right now, having a conversation.”

He shrugged. “I think you do know what I mean. We could have this conversation. We could even have chemistry. But you’re out of my league. And I know that, so I would never take it further.”

I was thinking about telling him to give it a try and see what happened. But before I could decide to, somebody called his name, and he stood up. The rush of disappointment I felt was intense, and I was drunk enough to give it voice.

“Don’t go,” I said.

Aidan’s eyes widened.

“Hey, hold your horses. I’m busy here,” he said, over his shoulder, to whoever’d called him.

He leaned back down to me, his face inches from mine. I was looking at his mouth, and then he smiled again. His smile was killer.

“Hey, see those guys at the other end of the bar?”

“The cops?”

“Yeah. The chief there, sitting near the door—he’s my brother. He’s gonna order another round and expect me to put it on the house. Then he’s gonna want me to stand there and entertain him, even though I’d rather stay here talking to you.”

“That bum.”

“I know, family’s a bitch, right? Would you consider doing me a favor?”

“Anything. Name it.”

Yes, all right, I was down to do whatever he asked. Already.

“Let’s make Chief Callahan wait for his next round. I’m gonna go over there, and you call me right back.”

“You mean, like, order another drink?”

“No, it should be more than that, or I’ll have to top them up first. Pretend like you and me are close, and you don’t want to let me out of your sight. Can you do that?”

“Aidan, get your ass over here,” the big cop called out.

The summons was almost nasty, and I felt for Aidan, the kid brother to this jerk of a cop who obviously ruled the roost. I didn’t stop to think. I took Aidan’s side.

“Go. I’ve got your back,” I said.

He winked at me as he retreated. I waited until Aidan was right in front of his brother, then raised my hand and waved.

“Aidan? Aidan!”

My voice vanished into the din, and Aidan didn’t turn around. Why not? He’d asked me to call him. Did he want a bigger show? I hesitated, but what the hell, I’d agreed to play the game. He was taking my mind off my pain, anyway.

I walked over to where the brother sat and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, Chief, but I need Aidan to come back and talk to me. I need him, badly.”

I leaned on the word “need,” so it sounded sexy as hell, and got a kick out of the shocked look on the brother’s face. This was so much fun that I decided to run with it.

“Aidan, please, come back. I have to talk to you, baby. It’s so important.”

The brother looked so flummoxed that I started to think I’d gone too far. But, c’mon. He couldn’t possibly believe there was something between us. Right? That was so implausible.

“I’m coming, baby,” Aidan said, and turned to his brother. “Tommy, give me a minute here. Caroline needs me.”

I went back to my barstool, and Aidan followed, convulsing with laughter. His dimple was showing, his eyes were crinkling, and I was tingling down to my toes.

“Hah, did you get a load of the expression on his face? Hilarious.”

“Did he know I was joking?” I asked.

“Who knows? Tommy’s not too bright,” Aidan said.

I felt a little uneasy about the practical joke. But Aidan soon distracted me, regaling me with gossip about the people in the bar. To hear him tell it, half of them were degenerates, and the other half were fools. They were constantly beefing with each other, trashing each other’s cars, falling off the dock, and generally causing mischief. We drank and laughed like old friends. He fetched another round, and then another. (Somehow, the drinks kept vanishing.) And I … relaxed. I let go. He had this laid-back, adorable, stoner cowboy vibe about him. Like he didn’t take the world too seriously, so I shouldn’t either. God, did I need that right then. Meanwhile, the brother and his fellow cops were looking on, scandalized.

“Your brother and his friends are staring at us,” I said.

“He’s shocked a woman like you would be with me.”

“He thinks I’m with you?” I giggled. The vodka had gone to my head.

“Why you laughing?” Aidan said, looking almost hurt.

“Honey, I’m way too old for you.”

“What are you talking about? You’re hot as hell. Trust me, if I was gonna get with one woman in this bar tonight, it would be you. You blow everybody else away.”

The boy knew how to sweet-talk, and he was getting in my head. I looked around the bar and decided, Hell yeah, I am the best-looking woman in here tonight. If I was the woman in the bar he most wanted to sleep with, then he should have me, right? He’d made his choice, and I was flattered enough that I wanted to honor it. It made sense, in that crazy moment. The room was warm and pulsating with light. I was feeling no pain. Jason was somewhere in Brighton Beach, screwing his Russian whore, and I didn’t care, because I had Aidan to distract me. I wasn’t thinking about my declined credit cards, my empty bank accounts, the silent house awaiting me. I was flying, and I wanted it to last forever.

Time passed. I can’t count how many vodkas I drank. A bunch of people got up to leave, and Aidan went to settle their tabs. I followed him with my eyes as he worked the crowd. He had a lot of fans. The women in the bar lit up under his attention, poor saps. It never occurred to me that I was one of them.

I watched him taking people’s money, and it came rushing back for the umpteenth time that I had no money to pay my tab. Just then, Aidan returned, carrying two more drinks and an antipasti plate—which I couldn’t pay for.

“Something wrong? You look upset,” he said, his face full of sweet concern.

“I forgot my wallet.”

“No worries. I know you’re good for it. Here, eat something or I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

He smiled at me, then took a toothpick, speared an olive, and held it up for me to eat. And I ate out of his hand. In the bar. In front of people. What the hell was I thinking?

The din had died down. When Aidan’s brother called his name, the sound carried across the empty room. The cops were standing up to leave, waving money at Aidan. He went over to take it and shook hands all around. I drained what was left in my glass—vodka-flavored melted ice. My body felt loose; my face felt numb. My vision was doubled. Bands of light reflected off the mirror behind the bar and seemed to vibrate in the air. I knew I was drunk, and I didn’t give a shit. The booze held Jason at bay, at the edge of my consciousness where I could tolerate him. I got up and went to the bathroom and peed for a really long time. I thought about sticking my finger down my throat to get rid of the liquor but decided not to. My face in the bathroom mirror was puffy, and my eyes were too bright. I didn’t recognize myself, so I redid my lipstick as fast as I could and got the hell out of there.

When I got back to my seat, the bar was nearly empty, and people were talking about me.

“—your lady friend?” one of the cops said to Aidan.

“She’s waiting for me to close up shop,” Aidan said.

That made no sense, since I was not actually waiting for him. Well, I was waiting, in my own mind, but he’d be pretty full of himself to assume that. We had no understanding. It hadn’t remotely been discussed. For all he knew I was about to stiff him for a night’s worth of drinks and run out the door. But I didn’t say anything to contradict him in front of his brother.

I should’ve, probably. I realize that now.

I looked at my phone. It was almost midnight. How had that happened? Aidan wiped down the bar, took the money from the cash register and placed it in a light-colored fabric envelope. The people on either side of me had left. Aidan looked my way.

“You okay, Caroline?”

“I think so.”

“I have to give the till to my manager. I’ll be right back. Stay there. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I closed my eyes, letting the room spin around me. It seemed like he was gone for a long time.

“Hey. You okay?”

I opened my eyes to see that Aidan had returned. He was pulling on a beat-up leather bomber jacket. It must be time to go. I tried to stand, and nearly fell off the stool. Magically, he was behind me. He caught me as I tumbled. His arms were like iron around my waist.

“Whoa, easy there. Let me drive you home, sweetheart,” he said.

I thought, What the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose.

Wrong.

11

I lowered the window and let the cold night air blow on my face. Aidan was driving me home in my own car. He asked me once or twice if I was all right, and I managed a nod. Otherwise we didn’t speak. I was grateful for his silence, and for the comfort of his presence. I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone tonight in that big house that I’d built for my husband and me.

He pulled into the circular driveway and turned off the engine. Jumping out of the car, he came around and opened the door for me. Such a gentleman.

The distance from the Escalade’s passenger seat to the ground seemed impossible.

“Here,” he said, in a gentle tone, “put your hands on my shoulders.”

I stepped down, and his arms went around me.

“Okay?” he whispered, his lips against my hair.

“Yes.”

I leaned into him, my head swimming, savoring the feel of his long, hard body against mine. A vision flashed into my mind of us in bed together. Lying naked, our limbs intertwined, his hands running over my body. The thought of it took my breath away.

I leaned on Aidan’s arm as we walked up the front steps. At the door, he took my keys from my hands and inserted them in the lock, as I crumpled sideways, my face against his shoulder. He smelled like the ocean, mixed with the tang of leather from his jacket. I’d been warned over the course of an entire female lifetime never to let a strange man into my house. But somehow every bit of caution I possessed had deserted me. Here I was—on a dark, deserted stretch of beach, my neighbors fled to the city—inviting the stranger inside. And not just any stranger. The one I’d seen a week earlier, possibly casing my house. I won’t blame the vodka. My dad used drink as an excuse for every wrong thing he did, and my mom’s excuse was my dad. I was drunk, yes, but I knew what I was doing. I felt awake, alive, fully conscious—more conscious than I’d felt in years.

Inside, I flipped on the lights and headed for the front of the house, stumbling slightly over the corner of a thick Tibetan carpet. Aidan was right there to grab me, and the grip of his hand on my upper arm sent warm waves through my body. In the kitchen, Aidan gazed around like a kid on Christmas morning. I was glad for how awestruck he seemed. He’d been taking care of me, and I’d been helpless. But now we could switch roles. In my house, I was in charge.

“I’ll give you a tour,” I said, and in my own mind, it was an invitation to more than that.

He lit up. “I’d like that. When I worked your party, I wasn’t allowed inside.”

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it in the hall closet, then held out my hand for his.

“Take off your jacket,” I said.

He stripped it off and handed it to me, and I thought, First piece of clothing, off. My heart was beating so loud I thought he would hear it. I couldn’t help it—my eyes went up and down his body, taking in the broad shoulders in a soft blue button-down, the flat stomach and narrow waist, the long legs. I took a deep breath, and met his eyes, only to find him watching me, appraisingly, like he knew what I was thinking. I felt a blush spread across my face. But I had no intention of turning back.

“Come,” I said, and took his hand.

I led him through the living room, over to the wall of windows that faced the ocean. “The water’s right there.”

“I know. I can visualize it even at night. I love this place.”

It was full dark outside, and our own reflections stared back at us. Aidan stood behind me, a full head taller, his outline blurred—or was that double vision from the drink? Our eyes met, and he put his hands on my waist. I leaned back against him, feeling his hot breath on my hair. He kissed my neck, and I shivered.

“Show me more,” he said.

Show him more? Did that mean what I thought it did? I imagined undressing for him, unbuttoning my top, taking off my bra, my jeans, my panties, while he watched me in the window. The vision sent a sweet ache right down to my thighs. I would have done it then and there, but he took my hand and led me toward the living room, and I realized, no—he actually wants to see more of the house. For a second, I wondered if I’d gone crazy, imagining that a man so much younger, so good-looking, wanted me. But he did want me. If he also wanted my house, those two things didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

We made a circuit of the room, and I demonstrated its features like Vanna White showing off prizes. Touchscreens ran the lights and the blinds and the music. A soaring French limestone fireplace dominated the great room. I touched a button and flames sprang to life in the grate. We stepped through the French doors onto the terrace, and I flicked on the outdoor lights. The pool sparkled invitingly, but it was too chilly for a dip tonight, and certainly for a skinny-dip. The deck had its own built-in kitchen complete with pizza oven, enormous grill, hidden beverage drawers, and firepit. He admired it extravagantly, as the wind caught his words, and cut through the filmy fabric of my shirt.

“It’s cold,” I said. “Come back inside.”

The media room featured a wet bar and a giant television screen, surround sound and two rows of leather recliners. He was a very appreciative audience, but I was getting impatient. If he didn’t want to do anything, I’d rather that he leave, so I could retreat to my bed and wallow in my sorrows. But how to find out what he had in mind, short of coming out and asking?

I had an idea.

“I even have a light show. Come on, it’s in the master,” I said.

I took him by the hand and led him up the dramatic hanging staircase to my bedroom. We lay down side by side in the dark, on the enormous bed, with its mountain of pillows, and looked up at the ceiling. I pointed the remote, intensely aware of his body, inches from mine.

“Watch.”

My voice was full of barely suppressed excitement. I pressed a button, and the ceiling above us began to change slowly, from black to indigo to bluish gray to glowing pink. The sound effects moved in sync with the dawn, evolving from the soft whoosh of the night breeze to the first stirrings of the birds to joyful chirping at the break of day. I shifted closer to Aidan, so our legs were touching. My body against the bed was liquid and melting, thrumming with the thought of what would happen next.

“That’s incredible,” he said.

“Just wait. Sunset’s so beautiful, it’ll make you cry.”

We lived a perfect day together watching the colors wash across the ceiling. From the fresh light of early morning through the beaming radiance of noon, through the gathering of shadows as the day waned, our fingers intertwined. He raised my hand to his lips and turned it over, kissing my wrist, then my palm, slowly, lingeringly. The brush of his lips against the skin of my hand made me dizzy, and I thought, It’s been too long. And, Why shouldn’t I? And, I deserve this. At sunset, rapturous colors—pinks and lavenders, ochers and golds—cascaded across the ceiling accompanied by soft music and the sound of lapping waves. The round, red orb of the sun was beginning to touch the water. As we watched it sink into the waves, he moved his right leg until it rested between my two, and I knew then it would happen. I paused the display at the moment the sun disappeared into the water, then looked into Aidan’s eyes. His face was bathed in the spectral glow, his eyes dark with lust.

“Isn’t it magic?” I whispered.

“You’re magic,” he said.

The line was corny, but I ate it up. He pulled me toward him and took my face in his hands. I was conscious of my own heartbeat, of this singular moment in time. In bed with a complete stranger, I could forget who I was. I could become a different woman. My lips parted. He kissed me, and I kissed back harder. His tongue tasted sweet and tangy, of limes and vodka. He pulled my head back, kissing me with such fury that it was almost a bite, then moved his mouth to my neck, my ears. I thought, I’ll have marks in the morning, and I loved the thought of that. My insides turned to mush, and I arched my back, quivering with need, pressing into him until I felt the bulge in his pants. I moaned and reached down for his belt buckle. No hesitation, no shame. I wanted him that badly.

He grabbed me and pulled me on top of him, so I was straddling him. His eyes were locked on my face, the pupils dark, as he grabbed me by the butt and pressed himself against me through our clothes. I rocked and squirmed, aching with need.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“What do you want me to do to you? Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Say please.”

“Please.”

“Strip for me first,” he said, and his voice was rough. “Go ahead. Start with the shirt.”

I leaned back and undid the top button of my filmy blouse, taking my time going down the row of buttons, loving the way his eyes were glued to my fingers. I let the blouse slip from my shoulders, luxuriating in the tickle of the fabric against my bare skin. Every sensation was heightened. I’d worn my sexiest bra tonight—sheer, push-up, black. I must’ve been planning ahead, without fully realizing it, or admitting it to myself. My breasts swelled out of it now like an invitation. He reached out and yanked the bra lower, so my nipples showed, and made this primitive grunting sound at the sight of them. I thought I would faint.

He pulled me toward him. His mouth found my breasts, and he grazed them with his teeth, first one, then the other. I was panting with pleasure. Then he grabbed my waist and flipped me, so he was on top. He hovered there, the front of his jeans tented with his hard-on, as I writhed. To be wanted like this, by this gorgeous guy—I was swooning. My eyes closed, and my head swam.

“Look at me,” he commanded, as he grabbed my arms and pinned them to the bed.

I opened my eyes. He let go and took a step back, yanking his pants down and his shirt over his head. Then he ripped my jeans and panties off and stared down at me. Instead of plunging into me then and there like I expected—like I wanted, needed—he got down on his knees. He leaned forward and blew softly on the sensitive spot between my legs, and I shuddered with desire. He moved higher up, kissing my abdomen, then my navel, his lips caressing, his tongue licking and teasing as he moved slowly back down. My legs went rigid, and drunken, rapturous tears leaked from my eyes. Then he slipped two fingers inside me, and I moaned in bliss.

“Mmm, so wet,” he said, as his fingers moved slowly in and out.

By the time I finally felt his tongue down there, I was panting and bathed in sweat. My hands grasped the duvet, and I screamed at him not to stop. He took his time, and I cried out, shuddering, as the orgasm washed over me in intense waves. Then he stood up and grabbed me by the ankles, yanking my legs toward his shoulders, and plunging into me hard, stroking in and out with perfect control. I cried out with every thrust, holding on to his arms, mesmerized. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex like this. Maybe I never had. Just when it was about to become too much, when I was about to beg him to stop, he started groaning. He bucked and twisted, gripping my thighs, and collapsed against me.