Club Cupid (12 page)

“Sure.”

She slipped her feet into the low-heeled white sandals she’d purchased last night—not the best shoes for riding, he noted—and slung her canvas bag over her shoulder. “I’ll walk to the bank from there,” she said primly, jamming on her sunglasses.

Amused at her sudden streak of independence, he nodded. “And then what?”

“Find a place to stay tonight.”

He straightened, more than a little unsettled at the thought of her spending the night elsewhere. Feeling as if she were slipping through his fingers, he walked toward her slowly and smiled with as much nonchalance as he could summon. “That’s not necessary, Frankie.”

“I think it might be.”

“No,” he assured her. “I will definitely take the couch.”

She bit her bottom lip. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of your generosity.”

“Don’t,” he said simply. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you—” Randy cleared his throat to cover the slip “—want you to be safe.”

She hesitated and he wished he could see her eyes. “Thanks, but I’ll see what I can find,” Frankie said softly. She held up a single, bulging shopping bag, indicating she was taking all her worldly possessions with her in case she found another place to stay.

Relenting with a swallow, he said, “Wait a minute.” He strode to the bedroom and knelt beside the bed, then lifted the edge of the comforter and felt around in the darkness. When his fingers seized upon the handle of a suitcase, he withdrew the tan leather bag, now gray from a decade’s worth of dust bunnies. Randy restored the small case to its original condition with a T-shirt long overdue for the rag bag, all the while thinking of the day he’d packed the suitcase in the vacant bedroom in his huge Atlanta home. Inside he’d put a couple pairs of jeans, a few casual shirts, underwear and an Atlanta Braves cap. Everything else—Hugo Boss suits included—was sent to Goodwill.
He smoothed a hand over the rich leather bag, an award for some sales record or another, then carried the piece of luggage into the living room and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“You can’t go around looking like a bag lady,” he said with a wry smile. “Put your things in here.”

She removed her sunglasses, her eyes wide. “I can’t take your suitcase.”

“Sure you can—I have no use for it.”

Frankie scoffed. “Everyone needs a suitcase.”

“Not if they’re never planning to leave,” he reasoned.

Her eyebrows crinkled slightly and she seemed at a loss for an argument. “You should never say never,” she said finally, caressing the fine leather handle.

He considered her words, then to voice his own resolve that he was exactly where he wanted to be, he said, “Never.” The word came out sounding more brusque than he’d intended, so he added, “You can send it back to me when you get home and let me know how the job situation worked out.”

Frankie fingered the small leather bag, hesitant to become further entwined in Randy Tate’s life, but absurdly willing to maintain a thread of a connection to him after she returned to Cincinnati. “All right,” she agreed, kneeling to transfer the clothing from the shopping bag. When she lifted the new bathing suit, Randy’s hand snaked out to touch hers.

“If you’re still up for that windsurfing lesson,” he said, “leave out your suit.”

Again, she hesitated.

“Come on, enjoy your last day,” he urged with a heart-stopping grin. “Take home a good memory.”

That was the problem, she noted dryly—she would be taking home too many good and disturbing memories already. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “But go easy on me. The way my luck is running, I’ll probably break both legs.”

His eyes danced. “Maybe your boss will take pity on you if you’re in traction.”

She’d chickened out on calling Oscar a few minutes ago, dialing her parents instead to give them peace of mind, and to give herself momentary relief from the disastrous work situation that awaited her. “Perhaps I should aim for a broken neck,” she said miserably.

But when Randy’s good-natured laugh made her chest expand with unexpected longing, she realized she’d be lucky to escape Key West without a broken heart.

F
RANKIE SURFACED
and gulped air into her straining lungs. “I was only kidding about the broken-leg thing!”

Randy’s laugh reached her. She blinked him into view, chagrined to find him magnificently clad in his black wet suit, straddling the surfboard and paddling toward her, the sail sagging—again.

“I’ll never get the hang of it,” she complained, shivering despite the borrowed wet suit she wore. The water temperature had dropped considerably after they’d swum past the sun-warmed shallows. Having landed in the chilly depths headfirst at least a dozen times, she felt a bit waterlogged. By comparison, Randy’s hair was still dry above his ears.

“You’re doing great,” he said, reaching down for her hand. Then he grinned. “You sailors aren’t used to being in the water, eh?”

Frankie summoned a sweet smile, reaching up to take his hand. “No!” She levered her body and yanked hard, gratified at the look of surprise on his face as he lost his balance and toppled into the water, leaving the surfboard rocking. He came up gasping. Frankie laughed and kicked toward the safety of the board to avoid retaliation, squealing when she felt his hand close around her ankle.

He easily pulled her backward and clasped her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her from behind. A sensual thrill raced through her as he laughed like an evil villain who had captured his unfortunate victim.

“Ah, my careless mermaid,” he murmured behind her ear. “Don’t you know there are sharks in these waters?”

Frankie rolled her neck and squeezed his arms interlocked over her chest. He tread water for both of them, and while she knew she wouldn’t drown, she felt far from safe in this man’s embrace. A chill raced over her skin.

“Hungry sharks,” he said, nipping at the back of her neck. “Just waiting…to eat you up.” He growled against her wet, cold skin, laving the sensitive curve with a warm tongue before clamping down in a playful bite.

Desire struck her low and hard as she squirmed. “Help,” she whispered lazily, her voice hoarse. “Save me…someone.”

He chuckled against her neck, gently sinking his teeth deeper into her flesh. The pleasing pain awakened every nerve ending, hardening her nipples to the point of chafing. She pulled his arms against her, guiding his hands to cover her breasts. He groaned and obligingly massaged her through the rubbery material. The tip of his tongue danced across the patch of skin he’d captured, sending shudders over her body that engulfed her so completely, her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

Randy lifted his head and rolled onto his back, dragging her with him. “Let’s get you back to
shore.” He kicked hard, propelling them toward the wayward surfboard.

“I’m f-f-fine,” she protested, but went along willingly.

They caught up with the surfboard, which had fallen onto its side, leaving the slack sail to float on top of the bobbing waves. He released her long enough to right the board, then held it steady with one hand and helped hoist her astride with the other. Trembling both from the cold and his touch, Frankie balanced herself and smiled down at him. He winked and patted her leg, the simple gesture making her heart flutter. Then he positioned himself near the back of the board and kicked, acting as the motor and rudder, to propel them back to the shallows. Frankie used her hands and legs to speed their progress, and soon they were in warmer, shoulder-deep water.

She slid off the surfboard and helped Randy walk it ashore near where their towels lay under the same bowed palm trees as yesterday. Far to their right in front of the nude beach, a few guests bobbed in the waves, batting a huge inflated ball back and forth. To their left, a lone—and clothed—couple walked hand in hand away from them, apparently seeing and heeding the signs posted for the private beach. On the horizon, a couple of windsurfers and Jet Skis were visible. Based on their traffic patterns, a two-story cruiser chugging slowly behind the smaller watercraft appeared to be serving as a home base.

Exhausted, Frankie tipped her face up to the sun, welcoming the warmth, then pronounced, “I am one lousy windsurfer.”

“Not true. The water’s too cold,” he offered. “Otherwise, you’d get the hang of it in no time.”

She surveyed the silhouette of his fabulous body in the second-skin black wet suit, trying not to stare as he stripped it off with the ease of practice, the rubbery fabric making little sucking noises of resistance. Underneath, his black swim trunks had molded to his body, outlining his maleness. Frankie wheeled, fumbling with the back zipper of her own suit. “The water is pretty cold,” she agreed, noting her encased nipples were still rock-hard.

He walked up behind her, brushed away her hands and unzipped her wet suit. His hands lingered on her waist, and she moistened her lips, tense with anticipation. “You know, Frankie,” he said, his voice low and casual. “If you could be here when the water warms up, I promise you would love it.”

Her breath caught in her chest.
It?
Key West? Surfboarding? Or being with Randy? Was he tempting her to stay, or simply teasing her? “Wh-when will the water warm up?”

The sun heated her back where he separated the suit and pulled the stretchy fabric from her shoulders. “In a couple of months it’ll feel like bathwater.”

She pressed her lips together and reached up to help tug the rubbery suit away from her cold skin. “In a couple of months I’ll be knee-deep into the rollout of my project.”

“I thought you were going to be fired.”

She peeled the wet suit down her arms. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Pulling from behind, he helped her slide the suit down her hips. “So?”

Tingling from his touch, she leaned over and tugged off the cumbersome garment one leg at a time. “So what?”

He took the heavy suit from her and squatted to spread it out in the sun next to his. His silence further stirred her curiosity, but she held her tongue. Slowly he stood, pursing his mouth, then captured her hand and led her back to their shady spot. She stared at their entwined fingers, bronze and pink, marveling over the simple pleasure of holding hands with someone you…were physically attracted to.

They settled onto their respective towels, with Randy maintaining a loose hold on her hand. When he turned over her palm and traced the outline with a pumice-textured finger, she languidly thought he’d decided not to answer. Then he raised his eyebrows and shrugged casually. “So…why not stay with me…for a while?”

Stunned, Frankie studied him, gauging his seriousness—and her own reaction.
For a while
…no strings, no commitment. She had to admit the notion sounded more appealing than returning to a hornet’s nest at work.

He tilted his head. “Does that little crooked-eyebrow thing mean you’re thinking about it?”

“It’s crazy,” she said, shaking her head.

“Preposterous,” he agreed, leaning forward to nuzzle her hairline.

“Ridiculous,” she murmured, lifting her mouth for a kiss.

“Absurd,” he whispered as he covered her mouth with his.

Frankie sank against his body and lifted her hands to caress his hard chest, to thumb his dark nipples. He smoothed his hands down the indention of her spine and over the rounds of her hips, easing his fingers inside the thin fabric of her bathing suit to knead her skin. Knowing all too well what pleasures his hands could unlock, she shuddered with desire.

He lifted his head, his eyes dancing. “Is that a yes?”

She tried to analyze the situation as objectively as possible under the extraordinary influences of an incredibly sexy man and a tropical breeze. She acknowledged the temptation of chucking it all. She could call Oscar and her boss, apologize for what happened, tender her resignation and stay in paradise with Randy…for a while.

Still, as appealing as the idea sounded, she knew herself well enough to know that she couldn’t simply walk away from her responsibilities. And she’d probably be bored silly within days. After all—she swallowed—there was more to life than romping on the beach and windsurfing. Besides, could she afford to become more attached to someone whose life-style was so contrary to her own?

She shook her head and opened her mouth to tell Randy his suggestion was out of the question, but he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her words. “Just think about it, Red,” he urged in a too-sexy rumble. Then he smiled, his even teeth startlingly white against his dark skin, and leaned forward to brush his lips against hers. “Meanwhile, here’s
some food for thought.” And he kissed her with such depth and sweetness that all thoughts of…whatever else she’d been thinking…were banished.

He eased her back on the towel, then lifted his head and gazed at her. A few wisps of tawny hair danced around his eyes. “Frankie, I want to see you tremble in my arms again.”

Her body screamed yes, but her head told her to retreat. She murmured, “Randy, two wrongs don’t make a right.”

He gave her an unabashed grin. “How about three wrongs?”

In spite of her reservations, she giggled. He was an impossible charmer.

“Four?” he pressed, kissing her neck. “I’m not young, but still relatively healthy.” He kissed her thoroughly, gathering her beneath him, caressing her waist and the back of her thighs. She sighed into his mouth, cheerfully resigned to his lovemaking and willing to postpone reality for the time being. He moved his mouth to her shoulder, nudging down the strap of her bathing suit. Frankie absorbed her surroundings through half-closed eyes while she held his head next to her body.

Palm fronds swayed above them, the leaf edges curling like fingers. The sun trickled through, splashing her face with brilliant sunlight, then retreating. The sand dune next to them partially blocked the early-afternoon breeze, but occasionally a cool gust enveloped them.

Giving in to the erotic perfection of the moment, Frankie closed her eyes and groaned when he un-tangled the straps from her arms and pushed the
swimsuit to her waist. Her breasts immediately tightened, her nipples bracing for his onslaught. He stopped long enough to brand each breast with an attentive, suckling kiss, then moved lower, peeling down her bathing suit to make way for his hungry mouth.

She moved her hips in small circles to the music he unleashed in her body, but paused when he slid the suit past her hips, exposing her swollen mound. “Randy,” she whispered in protest.

“We’re alone, Frankie,” he assured her, moving his lips across her stomach. “Give in to the fantasy. Doesn’t it feel good to have the wind and sun on your body?”

She sighed in agreement, willing away the inhibitions that tightened her muscles and opening her knees enough for him to shimmy the suit down her legs. Randy laid her bathing suit aside, then stood and stared down at her. Suddenly self-conscious, Frankie started to sit up, but he raised his hand. “Please don’t move.”

Flushing with pleasure and the titillating sensation of indulging in a sexual daydream, Frankie lay back on the towel and closed her eyes. At that moment she understood the allure for the nudists. There was definitely something wickedly wonderful about baring your body outside the privacy of your home.

“Frankie, you have to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Randy said, his voice gravelly. A rustling sound caused her to open her eyes. Randy had shed his trunks and stood above her, the water and sun to his back, his arousal jutting full and proud.

She reveled in his compliment, and stared openly at his nakedness. “That’s probably what you tell all the stranded tourists.”

“No,” he breathed as he knelt between her legs. “Not by a long shot.” He hooked his arms under her knees and pulled her gently toward his mouth. Inhaling sharply, she froze, mesmerized by the sight of his head dipping between her thighs. “Relax,” he whispered against her triangle of red curls. “Let me do all the work.”

Her muscles dissolved on their own accord, unable to withstand the proximity of his mouth to her sex. She felt his breath first, hot and diffused against the sensitive folds, then his tongue, strong and probing, delivering promises. Frankie gasped and convulsed beneath him, and the world fell away around them as his lips closed firmly upon the stiff little nub imbedded in her nest.

“Randy,” she whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, digging in her nails.

He moaned in response, the vibration of his deep voice against her skin sending warm ripples through her stomach, triggering an intense swell of longing that foreshadowed an unprecedented climax. Frankie began to undulate, to meet the thrusts of his tongue as he made savory love to her. As desire ballooned in her loins, she urged him to greater fervor with murmured assurances of what was to come, and very shortly. He hastened her rhythm, coaxing the burning orgasm to the surface with patient, steady pressure.

When she clenched her knees against his shoulders in preparation for her deliverance, he squeezed her thighs with strong hands, and sent
her soaring over the edge with an animal growl against the swollen bead. Frankie cried out his name and bucked under his kneading mouth, relishing the long, languid flood of release between each contraction. She descended with slow, satisfying spasms which he matched with unerring perception. At last she quieted, shrinking from his mouth when even the gentlest pressure was torture for her engorged flesh. She sighed in bliss, reveling in the perfection of one of the most basic of human acts.

But she didn’t have long to ponder how Randy had managed to elevate the essential mechanics of sex to a satisfying emotional experience. He crawled higher, his face a mask of smug maleness. She had the fleeting thought that he might pound his chest, but instead he planted a quick kiss on her mouth, then reached for his gym bag. He unzipped two pockets before withdrawing a condom, which he lay next to her shoulder. “You,” he said as he dropped another kiss on her lips, “have very strong legs.”

She laughed, heady with her own scent and musky taste lingering on his mouth. Reaching down to stroke his erection, she murmured, “Did I hurt you?”

Randy caught his breath and bit back a healthy curse. “You’re killing me.” If he didn’t get a grip, he would explode within Frankie Jensen’s small white hands and end their pleasure much too soon. Her enthusiastic response to his sensual tongue-lashing and her vocal climax had stoked his fires to heights he hadn’t experienced since his teenage years, when sex had been new and so incredibly
exciting. For an instant, he wished he and Frankie could have known each other then, could have explored the blush of erotic discovery together. Then he bit his tongue. With his youthful ready-at-a-moment’s-notice libido, he couldn’t have handled her back then—hell’s bells, she was almost too taxing
now
for him. He closed his hand over hers, stilling her nimble fingers. “Ease up a minute, love. You make my body forget how decrepit it is.”