Unintended

  I sample my cocktail. It doesn’t disappoint. “Are you a frequenter?”

  “I don’t know what makes one a frequenter, but I typically come four times a year.”

  “That qualifies you as a patron in my book. Is this your quarterly visit or a special trip for Wicked Week?”

  “I, too, had a shitastrophe in my life. I thought the sun and sand would do me some good.”

  He’s using my words. “Divorce?”

  “No.” That’s all he says. No explanation. I’m curious to know what he means but not rude enough to ask him to expand if he doesn’t volunteer the information.

  I decide to steer the conversation in a safer route. “What do you do for a living?”

  “Real estate agent but I also flip houses with my brothers.” I’m guessing Beau has a lucrative business. He’d have to if he comes here four times a year. This place isn’t cheap.

  “What about you?”

  “High school teacher. English and creative writing.”

  “So you’re out for summer.”

  “Yup. Can’t lie. Summer break is a huge perk for being a teacher.” It’s one of the things that drove me to choose that profession. That and my love of words.

  Words are powerful. They can evoke countless reactions. Joy. Pain. Arousal. Make a heart skip a beat. Or shatter it into a million pieces.

  Dinner arrives quickly considering the crowd. Our conversation never slows despite the fact we’re stuffing our faces. “You mentioned divorce. Is it safe to assume that a split from your husband is the shitastrophe you were referring to earlier?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long were you married?” He’s asking more questions than I’m comfortable answering.

  “Our divorce was final a week after our first anniversary.”

  “Irreconcilable differences?”

  Yeah. All that and a bag of chips. “I guess you could call it that since I was unable to accept him screwing one of our former students. And he had a bad case of douchebaggery.”

  “That’s fucking low. And illegal. I hope the prick is being prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” I’m a little surprised by his annoyance. It can’t possibly be out of concern for me, but I can’t ignore the slight ping of joy to hear someone else’s disgust.

  “Technically, his relationship with Caitlyn isn’t illegal since she’s nineteen. They both claim their relationship started after she was of age and had graduated so there’s nothing to pursue from a criminal aspect.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “Absolutely not.” I’m no fool.

  “You seem like a great girl, so your ex must be a dumb bastard. I don’t have to spend more than a few minutes with you to come to that conclusion.” He’s quick to defend my honor. Sort of reminds me of Grayson.

  Everything about Beau seems normal. I could almost forget where we are and that his tastes are likely something I’m not accustomed to.

  “Are you married?” He’s dining alone, but that means nothing in a place like this.

  “Almost. I was engaged until a month ago.” I’d like to know what happened but I don’t want to pry.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Best thing that could have happened to me was not marrying her.” I recognize bitterness when I hear it.

  My curiosity is piqued. “The almost Mrs. Emerson must have done something really bad.”

  Beau goes completely still and closes his eyes. “Unforgivable.”

  There’s only one thing worse than losing one person you love to cheating: it’s losing two people you love. “She cheated with a friend? Or relative?” Oh, God. I hope it wasn’t one of his brothers.

  “Cheating would have been much less painful.” I can’t imagine what he means. There’s very little that could hurt worse than being scorned by the one you consider your soul mate.

  “My bad. I just assumed.”

  I give him a moment to expand on what he meant, but he says nothing. Guess he’s not in the mood to talk about it so I take our chat in a new direction. I’m interested to hear someone’s opinion besides Meredith’s.

  “My friend swears that swinging makes her marriage less complicated. She’s a full-on advocate.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been married nor am I a swinger.”

  Well, he isn’t a four-times-a-year attendee for nothing. He’s some kind of sexual deviant. “My mistake. I assumed you were because you’re at a hedonism resort.”

  “Not everyone here comes to do that.”

  I point to myself. “I can testify to that.”

  Our server comes by to clear our plates. “May I interest you in some coffee or dessert? Perhaps another cocktail or beer?”

  I’m feeling my four martinis. A fifth probably isn’t a good idea. “Heat and hangovers don’t mix, so nothing for me, thank you.”

  Beau flicks his hand. “Nothing for me either.”

  This is the part where we go separate ways. “We should probably get up and give our table to two of those hungry people out there waiting to be seated.”

  “Right.”

  We exit the building and stop on the sidewalk to say goodbye. “It was a pleasure dining with you, Anna James.”

  Beau Emerson is handsome. Kind. Intellectually stimulating. The way he spoke to me made me feel the way a woman should. More like the old me. Not the one still licking her wounds because she was dumped for a toddler, but the woman I was before Drake. Confident.

  “Thank you for offering your extra seat to a stranger. I’d still be waiting for a table if you hadn’t.” In some ways, even though I am thanking him for his seat, he has actually given me more.

  “I hope your stay is a pleasant one.”

  “And yours as well.”

  “Goodnight,” we say in unison.

  I want him to say something more, such as “take a walk with me” or “can I see you tomorrow?” But he doesn’t. I’m tempted to turn back for a glance as I walk away. But I don’t; he’s a hedonist. Spending time with a vanilla girl like me isn’t deemed worthy of a blip on his radar. And spending time with a hedonist as handsome as he is not on mine either.

  CHAPTER 2

  ANNA JAMES BENNETT

  It’s growing dark. The ocean has already swallowed the sun. Beau and I talked much longer than I thought.

  I’m not ready to return to my room to sit alone so I decide to explore the resort despite the warning Meredith gave me about the risqué things happening at Indulge after the sun goes down.

  This is a huge resort; it isn’t a bad idea to scope it out. Identifying the places I can and shouldn’t go is essential.

  The first sign I stumble upon directs me straight ahead for the beach area. Perfect. I would love to feel the sand under my feet.

  I reach the beach’s edge and bend down to remove my shoes.

  “Taking a walk on the beach?” It’s that deep, smooth, southern voice again. Beau.

  Tingles dance across my skin. I nibble my bottom lip to suppress the delight I feel. “Yeah. I’m too anxious to wait until tomorrow.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Beau holds up a finger. “Give me a few minutes.”

  He disappears and returns a few minutes later holding a drink in each hand. He holds out a cocktail for me. “Pineapple-coconut martini.”

  “How did you pull this off?”

  “Magic.”

  I look around and spot a freestanding bar. “The only magical thing about this will be if I don’t have a huge hangover tomorrow.” I sip the fruity concoction. Yummy. “I believe you, Mr. Beau Emerson, are a bad influence.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  “I bet not.”

  “In case you’re unaware, there are two beaches. Planning to go nude or prude tomorrow?”

  Those are my only options? “Choosing to cover my T&A doesn’t make me a prude.”

  “Maybe not anywhere else in the
world but it’s different here. Covering your tits and ass means you’re uptight.”

  I haven’t been a goody-goody a day in my life, but it seems I could be labeled a saint by these standards. “I won’t be getting naked so show me the way to the prude side.”

  “You got it.” Beau leads me down a path lined with glowing torches and trees. The overhead foliage is so heavy I can no longer see the sky or stars. It’s an odd sensation, like walking through a tropical labyrinth.

  We come to the end of the maze where the path meets the beach. With shoes in one hand, and my martini in the other, I step into the sand. Beau stands with a hand in his pocket, unmoving. “Now who’s the prude? Roll your pants up and come with me.”

  I advance toward the water, leaving him behind. I rake my toes through the sand. I close my eyes and listen to the rush of water. Its pattern is predictable. Anticipated. I like that.

  Peace. Tranquility. Deliverance. This is what brought me to this place.

  “I love the feel of sand at night. The sun has gone down, and it’s had time to cool. The deeper you dig your toes in, the cooler it gets.”

  He plunges his toes in. “I’ve never given that any thought but you’re right.”

  “Shh. Be still and listen for a moment.”

  Beau stands beside me, shoes off, pant legs rolled to mid calves. Silent.

  “I love this sound. I have a noise maker set to ocean waves, but the real thing is so much better.”

  “Then we should listen for a while.” He lowers himself to sit in the sand.

  I plop down to join him. Nothing graceful about it. The martinis have made my joints loose and turned my bones to gelatin. “We lived on the Mississippi coast until I was fifteen. Our house was across the street from the beach. I could look out my bedroom window and see the ocean until it dropped out of sight. My dad was still living then. My happiest memories are from when we lived there. Maybe that’s why I find the sound of the water so soothing. It feels like home.”

  “I thought your Georgia peach accent was a little on the thick side. That explains it. You’re a transplant.”

  “I’ve lived in Georgia for nine years but my Mississippi twang still pokes its head out to make its presence known. I’ll never shake it. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

  “I like it.”

  “Drake didn’t. He said it made me sound like a hick.”

  “Your ex sounds like a real ass.”

  “He is, but all the shit he did provided me a vacation in Jamaica. I can’t regret that part.” At least not yet.

  “This is the right place to help you forget your troubles.”

  I want to know what brought Beau here. “This conversation is one-sided. You never told me what it is you’re trying to forget.”

  He doesn’t take the lead to talk so I backpedal. “We can talk about it . . . or we can get up and run into the ocean.”

  “I vote for skinny-dipping.”

  “I said run into the ocean. There was no mention of getting naked.” Just like a man to assume that.

  “Go in your dress if you don’t want to take it off.”

  I stand and use my contortion skills to lower my zipper down my back. “I love this dress. It would be a shame to ruin it.”

  He watches me struggle. “Want me to get that for you?”

  Letting a stranger unzip me doesn’t feel right. “Nah, I’m good. I got it up by myself. I can get it down.”

  My brain is screaming that skinny-dipping with a stranger is a terrible idea, but the liquor I’ve consumed convinces me it’s brilliant plan.

  Beau removes his button-down and pulls his undershirt over his head. He tosses both and reaches for the button of his gray trousers. He pushes them until they’re crumbled with his boxer briefs at his feet.

  What I’m about to do suddenly becomes a little more surreal. I’m questioning my actions. I hold the front of my dress, thinking it over. It’s not too late to turn back.

  “You’re not changing your mind?”

  “I’ve skinny-dipped plenty of times but never with a stranger.”

  “This was your idea. Not mine.” He’s standing completely bare, illuminated only by a sliver of the moon.

  “I know.”

  “Listen, Peach. I don’t have to get a girl like you liquored up and naked to score some ass.” He waves his hand toward the resort. “There are plenty of women up there who’d be more than happy to give me whatever I want, so let’s just forget this.”

  Beau reaches for his clothes, and I realize him leaving is the last thing I want. “No. Don’t go.”

  I let go of my dress. The top catches on my hips so I push it down until it drops on top of my feet. Since I went braless, I’m standing before him wearing only my panties. “You didn’t even have to buy me dinner to get me naked.”

  “You’re not naked yet.” He turns his back on me and goes toward the water. I’m grateful. I didn’t want to wiggle out of my panties while he pretended to not ogle.

  I bolt into the water. The temperature has dropped with the night, but I drudge through so I’ll have its coverage. “This is a helluva lot colder than I expected.”

  “The sand isn’t the only thing to cool after the sun goes down.”

  I go out far enough to submerge my breasts. The girls pull the buoyancy card and float so I go in a little deeper.

  “You have great tits. It’s a damn shame you don’t plan to observe the clothing optional choice.”

  Is he kidding me? “I’d call this clothing optional. I’m pretty sure I can’t get more naked.”

  Beau cackles. “You have the coverage of night and water. Not the same thing.”

  “You seem to have no problem checking them out by moonlight.”

  “That’s because I have excellent night vision.”

  “So do predatory animals.”

  “You consider me a predator?”

  “I don’t know what I consider you right now.”

  He goes under the water, disappearing for longer than I’m comfortable with. “Come on, dude. Not funny.”

  I spin around to see if he’s hiding behind me. “Beau.”

  No answer. This is so not funny.

  “Beau,” I call out louder.

  I see nothing. Hear nothing. My heart takes off in a sprint. “Beau,” I scream.

  He bobs up directly in front of me, after what feels like an eternity, and grabs my waist. “Miss me?”

  I push at his shoulders, making him stumble backward. “Asshole.”

  He gains his footing and reaches for my midsection. “I’m sorry, Peach. Don’t go.”

  My back is to him, but he holds my hips firmly. I imagine what it would be like if he took one step closer, maybe two, and our bodies touched.

  Damn. It would feel so good to be touched again. It’s been so long.

  This is crazy. Completely irresponsible. I’m showing no better judgment than the kids I teach.

  “Why should I stay?”

  “Because I like you. And I enjoy talking to you.”

  “I think you like listening more than you like talking.”

  Silence.

  He doesn’t get to inquire about my personal life and spill nothing in return. “I think I should turn in for the evening. It was really nice to meet you.”

  He releases his hold on me. I spin around to leave but stop when he calls out, “Her name is Erin.”

  He has my attention. “And?”

  “We were together for three years. Engaged for one. We were part of two separate polyamorous relationships over the last year and a half. Both went sour but the last one was the final nail in the coffin.”

  Holy shit. He’s into poly relationships. I’m not sure about the ins and outs of what they do, but I know it’s the big time. It’s even too much for Meredith and Grayson. “Two women at once. I hear that’s every guy’s fantasy.”

  “The sex part is a fantasy come true. Won’t lie. Being with two women was a sex fantasy realized. The relationsh
ip aspect, a total nightmare

  I’m curious about this lifestyle. “How so?”

  “What should have been a sexual partner in our bed quickly turned into a second woman in my life. She became a part of everything in and out of the bedroom.”

  A triad relationship. I can’t begin to imagine how that works. Or maybe it doesn’t. He said it went bad.

  “When I love, it’s wholeheartedly, and I demand the same in return. I have to be everything or nothing at all. I could never share. I’d be consumed with jealousy and tied in knots all the time.” I know firsthand from my experience with Drake’s infidelity.

  “Erin was my primary and could be territorial when it suited her. Jealousy was an issue.”

  I’m calling bullshit. “She couldn’t have been too territorial if she allowed you to bring another woman into your bed.”

  “It wasn’t me. Erin’s the one who introduced Jenna into our lives.”

  “Mind. Blown.” What kind of woman would do that? Maybe a bisexual one.

  “It was great at first but then Erin’s job became more demanding. It consumed the majority of her time. Being alone with Jenna so often brought us closer.”

  “Meaning more sex between you and Jenna without Erin.”

  “Right. Erin despised us sharing something special that didn’t include her.” Sounds like she considered herself the hierarchy on the sex pyramid.

  This is a no-brainer. “I can see where that would go over like a turd in a punchbowl.”

  “You say some of the damnedest things.” Beau’s words are nearly drowned by his chuckles, and I’m reminded of how it feels to make a man laugh. No sneer. No smirk or cruel smile. Just a simple expression of amusement.

  I spend the majority of my time with teenagers. After a while, a bit of their adolescent behavior tends to rub off. “I’m sorry. I sidetracked you. You were telling me about Jenna.”

  “Right. Jenna was thinking long-term. She started talking about getting married and having children, so Erin forced her out of the relationship.”

  That doesn’t explain the terrible thing Erin did. “But that wasn’t the end of it?”

  “I thought it was. I expected to get married and put our poly life on the back burner for a while.”