know,” he said.
He kissed my forehead and stroked my back.
“How did you know?”
“I heard it at your party. People were talking. Look, you’ll be fine. I promise. I’m gonna take care of you.”
“How can you say I’ll be fine? We’ve been married twenty years. Out of the blue, he left me for some Russian whore. She’s not even pretty. He broke my heart. And took all my money.”
“He took the money?”
“Yes.”
“Well, shit. That is a problem. We have to get that back.”
We? I let the weirdness of that slip by, so desperate was I to believe it was possible to get my money back. I imagined he had some legitimate plan in mind, involving lawyers and court orders and such. Why I thought that, I can’t explain. I was assuming he was normal, I guess. In fact, Aidan’s experience with the law was all from the wrong side, but I didn’t know that then.
“How?” I asked. “How can you get it back?”
“Don’t worry. I know what to do. I’ll take care of your husband for you,” he said.
I’ll take care of your husband. Those words should have terrified me. But they went right by me, because of what he did next.
Aidan kissed me deeply, his tongue finding its way into my mouth. Then he took me by the shoulders and spun me around, so I faced the tile wall. The water cascaded over us as he grabbed my hips and thrust into me from behind. I should have known that Aidan was bad news. I should have heard the meaning behind his words. Not, I’m sorry to hear about your problems. Not, I sympathize, or even, I have a smart lawyer friend you can call. But, I want you, I want your money, and I’ll kill your husband to get it if that’s what it takes. I didn’t hear any of that. I couldn’t, over the sound of rushing water, of my own moans of pleasure. There’s no pretty way to say this. I wanted to feel better. I wanted the sex. At that moment, nothing else mattered.
13
She looked beautiful wrapped in a bathrobe, sitting at the kitchen table, so beautiful it was a crime. Even the bathrobe was beautiful. White terry cloth, thick as a rug, like you’d get in a five-star hotel. Not that Aidan had ever stayed in such a place, but he could imagine. The kitchen table was beautiful, too. Rustic oak, built by a skilled carpenter, with a sparkly chandelier hanging over it, and a view of the ocean waves rolling in the distance. And not just any view, but the view he’d loved since he was a little kid and first realized that the world could be beautiful. So, yeah, the robe and the table and the view of the ocean had moved him this morning. But it was the woman who made the real magic. Caroline. She was his good-luck charm, come to rescue him, and he loved her for it. Hell, he plain loved her, as she sat there laughing, her skin glowing, tendrils of golden hair curling around her face.
“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” she said, and he leaned down to kiss her on the mouth.
They’d had sex in the shower, then fallen back into the big bed, with the down comforter, and done it for a long time. Every position. He made her come three times, screaming like a banshee. She was starved for it. Then they slept till noon, and he woke up with her tangled in his arms, her hair cascading onto his chest, and he thought, This is what I’ve been waiting for. He loved this place, this house, this woman—completely. It scared him how much. He was almost embarrassed to think it, but meeting Caroline felt like destiny. The bad times were a trial, a test that he must’ve passed, or how else would he have graduated to this incredible reward.
He lived it again in his mind. Watching her sleep. How she woke up and smiled. And how they made love again, till his cock was raw, and his heart so full that he didn’t know how he could ever pay her back. He’d worked as a short-order cook before the bartending gig. He learned at the halfway house, and he was damn good at it, would’ve kept at it except it was hard work and the pay wasn’t as good as tending bar, where he made mad tips. But cooking was one way he could thank her. He was hungry anyway, after all the sex. When he offered to make breakfast, she lit up at the idea, and they wound up down here in the kitchen with Aidan standing at the fancy stove.
“You like your eggs scrambled or fried?” he said.
“Mmm. Scrambled. Thank you for taking care of me. You make me feel good, Aidan.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” he said, and she blushed adorably. In the misty morning light, she looked like a girl, like they could have been the same age.
He got out a pan and took the eggs from the giant Sub-Zero fridge. Even the eggs were magical here. Blue-green beauties from the organic farm, they shone like jewels. He cracked one into a bowl. The yolk was vivid orange, and Aidan thought, Take me out in a box, I’m never fucking leaving this place.
He brought plates to the table. She smiled up at him, grabbed his hand, kissed it, and he thought about having sex with her again. But this thing between them was more than sex. He didn’t want her to think of him as just some stud. He wanted to get to know her, and for her to know him. Well, not everything about him, not yet. He’d be nervous telling her about his past. He would start with the good things, and there were good things. He’d make her see.
He turned on the burner, and the blue flame was beautiful to him. Scrambled eggs and toast—simple, you’d think, but he had a special technique involving butter and a long, slow cook over low heat that made them extra creamy. He took his time, humming as he worked, enjoying the feel of her eyes on him. When the eggs were perfect, he carried the pan over to the table and turned them out onto her plate.
She took a bite and closed her eyes, savoring.
“Mmm. These are the best eggs I’ve ever had,” she said.
He served himself, sat down and tasted. He couldn’t disagree.
“I’m all right at a couple of things,” he said, ducking his head modestly.
“All right? More like amazing.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively.
Now it was his turn to blush. But he couldn’t stand it if this was only about sex for her. People refusing to take him seriously was the story of his life. He wanted more from Caroline, and she kind of owed him, didn’t she? After the way he took care of her last night. Maybe she didn’t owe him love, or even gratitude, but she owed him respect. He hoped she wouldn’t turn into some stuck-up bitch, or he’d be really sad. He ate his eggs in silence, staring down at the plate, until she teased him with her bare foot on his leg.
“Cat got your tongue? I didn’t take you for the silent type,” she said, nudging him playfully. Her toes were painted the color of blood.
Her legs where they emerged from the bathrobe were perfect and shapely. An hour ago, those legs had been wrapped around his neck. He could take her back to bed and make her beg for it. He had power here. He needed to be more confident, and not be cowed by her beauty or her money.
“I’m feeling cooped up,” he said. “It would be nice to get outside. What if we went for a walk on the beach?”
“Oh.” She put her fork down. “That’s not such a good idea.”
Figures, uh-huh.
