Rescue Me (Butler Island) (9 page)

Lana smiled nervously, surprised by the jittery reaction
her body had. “Okay, be right back.”

Moments later she reappeared from the kitchen carrying
two wine goblets filled with white zinfandel. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not
much of a wine drinker, but this is all I have.” She placed his glass on the
coffee table and sat beside him, tucking her legs underneath her.

As the clock on the mantel steadily ticked, they engaged
in casual conversation, neither rehashing the difficulties of celebrating
Christmas just two days earlier. Randall couldn’t help but notice how their
somewhat meaningless exchange was in direct contrast to her rigidness. She
seemed… ill at ease. He eyed her for a few long beats as she spoke about the
mass invasion of weeds smothering her Autumn Joy plants.

“With it getting dark earlier now, I haven’t really had
much time to stay on top of it, you know? And lately it’s been raining so much,
even the weekends are a complete bust.”

Was it her?—or was Randall carefully examining her? She’d
put a lot of effort into duping him, wanting him to believe she was at peace:
her mind, body, and spirit coexisting in complete harmony. Apparently he wasn’t
buying it. “Okay, what?” She finally asked. “You’re looking at me like you’re
trying to figure something out.”

“Guess I’m busted. So… is everything all right with you?”

Lana captured the edge of the wine glass between her lips
and took a small sip. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You just seem kind of…
tense
. Probably more so
when you first came home, but you’re definitely still keyed up about something.”

Tilting her head slightly, she regarded him. “You weren’t
paying attention to a single word I’ve said in the last five minutes, were
you?”

“Sure I was—I can multi-task—and quit trying to change
the subject.”

“Multi-tasking? Didn’t think men were capable of something
difficult like that!” she teased.

But then he gave her
The Look
: his bullshit
detector. It shouldn’t have surprised her, really. She was knee-deep in it and
he knew it. With a defeated sigh, she answered, “It’s just my job. I’m finding
it more and more difficult to handle these days… for a lot of reasons—too many
to go into right now.”

“If it’s making you
this
unhappy”, he emphasized
with his hand in a sweeping motion, “then why don’t you just quit?”

“Because I need this job. I can’t afford to lose it.”

“Okay, so in the meantime search for something else.”

“I never finished college, Randall. And there isn’t
exactly a high demand for secretaries in Franklin County, at the moment.”

Lana swirled the glass in her hand, watching as the blush
liquid climbed the sides of the goblet, taking on a whirlpool-like form. “By
the way, if I didn’t mention it before I really appreciate your help tonight
with Connor. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped
in and rescued me again.”

“Glad it worked out.”

“Me, too.” Drawing the glass to her lips, she swallowed
another sip, eyeing Randall’s wine still sitting on the coffee table where
she’d placed it half an hour earlier. Gesturing toward his glass, she finally
asked, “Aren’t you going to drink that?”

He didn’t really want to. The damn wine was…
pink
,
for heaven’s sake. But she was so damn alluring, looking up at him with those
midnight eyes, long lashes fluttering—hypnotizing him. In fact, he was pretty
damn certain he’d stand up and hop on one foot right now if she asked him to.
Lucky for him, she was only suggesting he take a sip.

Reaching forward, he gripped the dainty glass filled with
pink alcohol in his large hand and brought it to his lips. He swallowed a
meager portion, wincing as though he’d sucked the juice of a sour lemon. “Ugh.
How the hell do you drink that shit?” He questioned, setting the glass back on
the coffee table.

“
Shit
…? I’ll have you know this is a high quality
white zinfandel. And really, I could say the same thing about that god-awful
whiskey you like to drink.”

Randall allowed his weight to settle back onto the sofa.
“First of all, Sweetheart, that high quality shit you’re referring to is
pink—not white. And drinking whiskey is practically in the man code.”

“All right, well is there something in the ‘man code’
about the color pink?”

Randall rubbed the coarse stubble along his jaw with the
back of his fingers, trying desperately to suppress his growing grin. “No, we
happen to like the color pink.”

Somehow Lana didn’t think they were still discussing
wine. “So since I obviously don’t have any whiskey, what’re you gonna do? I
wouldn’t want anyone to revoke your man card or anything.”

God, she was pretty. And the best part was: she had no
idea the affect—the power—she had over him. He was spellbound, lured by the
longing in her eyes, captivated by the fiery spark spontaneously ignited
whenever they were near one another.

Right now he wasn’t worried about his fucking man card.
Nope, and she wouldn’t be either if she’d noticed the massive bulge expanding
behind his zipper.

Unable to control the impulse to touch her, Randall
reached behind her head, palming the back of her neck; noting how his hand
seemed to fit perfectly there. His eyes raked over her delicate features, and it
was then he noticed the light sprinkling of freckles scattered along her nose.

Lana’s heart raced.

Kiss me
.
Kiss me
…

She’d been here before: her face inches from his, staring
into steel-colored eyes, silently pleading for him to narrow the distance until
their mouths collided.

Kiss me
,
please
.
Just kiss me
...

Gazing into her midnight orbs, Randall sought confirmation
that she was feeling this pull between them, too. And when the answer in her
eyes reflected the yearning in his, he inched forward until his mouth landed
against her soft pink lips.

He clung to his restraint for a few long beats, his lips
lightly grazing over hers, giving her time to push him away if she was having
second thoughts. And when that didn’t happen, he swept his tongue inside her
mouth, finally tasting what he’d been dreaming about for nearly a month.

The moment their tongues collided, he was a goner. Even
knowing how wrong this was he didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. And judging by the
faint moan that’d escaped from the back of her throat she didn’t want him to,
either.

Their unhurried kiss continued, tongues waltzing in
harmony, slow and steady; delicately crossing uncharted boundaries by testing
the unspoken attraction that’d unintentionally blossomed between them.

Randall’s left hand remained on the back of her neck as
his right slowly began wandering. His fingertips lightly grazed her shoulder,
down her arm, and almost immediately he felt the ripple of goosebumps beneath
his fingertips, temporarily marring her satiny skin. Just knowing he had that
effect on her created a reckless hunger within him. Desperate to get closer, he
gathered her in his arms and hauled her onto his lap.

Lana settled onto his lap the best she could in her black
skirt, straddling his powerful thighs while he feasted on her mouth. God, she
was burning up, ablaze with need, so raptured by the thrill of the moment that
her hands trembled against his solid chest. His strong hands kneaded into her
backside, pulling her closer still. But when she felt the pressure of his rigid
length against her aching center, she panicked.

He was a crazed man, his desire for Lana eating him from
the inside. Blood roared in his ears as his heart pounded, quickly draining
south to his painfully-throbbing cock. Palming her sweet ass, he raked her body
over his dick, realizing immediately that he’d taken it too far. Lana’s
malleable body suddenly stiffened, and the next thing he knew the pressure of
her sweet mouth was gone as she scrambled to her feet.

Lana backed away, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“I-I think you should go.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to…” Randall
scrubbed his palm down his face. “Christ”, he mumbled. “Maybe we should talk
about what just happened.”

Lana’s head rapidly shook from side-to-side. “No, I…
Please, just go.”

He sat motionless, staring at her, his desire and his
conscience waging a brutal battle. He didn’t want to leave things like this—not
when he knew he was the cause of her rattled state.

“
Please
”, she pleaded again just above a whisper.
She didn’t know how much longer she could suppress the growing wave of hysteria
mounting inside her chest. She closed her eyes as though doing so would
magically make him disappear, as if it could erase the reality of what she’d
done.

No good would come from him staying, and yet knowing
this, he didn’t want to go. But this wasn’t about what he wanted. “Okay.”
Rising from the couch, Randall stood and journeyed to the front door. He was
halfway through it when he suddenly stopped, gripping the jamb. He looked
skyward for a moment before turning back to glance at her over his shoulder one
last time. “Good night, Lana.”

And just like that he was gone, leaving Lana alone with
the ticking clock and a whale of a guilty conscience. The sound of his ignition
caused a cold shiver to work its way down her spine.

She couldn’t help but feel like a tease. God, what
Randall must think of her…

She’d wanted him to kiss her; he’d known that. And when
he’d acted on the impulse she’d felt alive, consumed by unbridled desire—so
consumed she’d lost sight of who she was—who
Randall
was.

Randall was Jimmy’s best friend, for heaven’s sake! He
was the
one man
on the planet she wasn’t supposed to be kissing! She
didn’t believe in ghosts, but she wondered if Jimmy’s spirit was spitting nails
right now, having witnessed the two people he’d trusted so implicitly, kissing
on his sofa.

Because it’d been wrong.

Hadn’t it?

Lana ran her trembling fingertips over her lips, still
slightly wet and swollen from their kiss. If it had been so utterly wrong, why
had it felt so right? Why had the sensation of Randall’s lips pressed against
hers felt so reviving?—like she had suddenly wakened from a deep sleep?

She’d never get over the heartbreak of losing Jimmy.

Ever.

But she was so tired of being lonely. So tired of lying
awake at night wishing she could change the past. Wishing she had the courage
to carve a new future.

Wishing for a different life.

If only there was a formula to follow, some semblance of
guidance printed clearly in black and white designating each part of the
grieving process; a model to guide her, indicating the appropriate time to
start thinking about moving on with her life.

She’d worry about that another time, because right now
she needed to wash away the agony, the despair.

And the embarrassment.

Covering her mouth, Lana suppressed a fleeing sob as she
trudged into the bathroom. Turning the faucet to the hottest setting, she
slowly removed her clothes.

She had more tears to cry and a shower drain more than
willing to collect them.

Chapter 12

The sound of the local weatherman’s voice greeted Randall
as his lids slowly fluttered open. He’d finally fallen asleep on the couch
about three-thirty this morning, and judging by the time displayed in the lower
right hand corner of the television, that’d been roughly three hours ago. No
wonder his lids felt akin to coarse sandpaper.

He’d gone to The Saloon after leaving Lana’s last night,
hoping the consumption of Jack Daniels would siphon the memory of that kiss.
And when that hadn’t happened, he’d come home to a quiet, empty house, the
memory of Lana’s soft lips in tow.

Damn, he’d really made a mess of things.

He probably should’ve left the moment she returned last
night, but there was just something about sweet, beautiful Lana he couldn’t
resist. Something about the way she looked at him.

Something about the way she made him feel.

Randall slowly swung his legs over the sofa cushions
until his feet made contact with the knotted-Pine floor. Resting his elbows on
his knees, he hung his head, running his fingers through his jet-black hair.
He’d made a promise to Jimmy, agreeing to take care of Connor and Lana in his
absence. The man had saved his life, and in return Randall had skipped town for
five months and made-out with his wife…

What kind of man did that to his best friend?

A no-good, worthless, selfish son of a bitch, that’s who.

For Chrissakes, Jimmy died saving him! The man had
sacrificed precious years with his son, decades with the woman he loved,
without hesitation. And knowing the kind of man Jimmy was, he’d probably do it
again if given the opportunity. Randall figured the very least he could do was
keep his hands to himself.

Rising from the couch, he quickly changed his clothes and
brushed his teeth. He had to make this right. Lana needed to know she could
count on him, that he wouldn’t take advantage of her like he had the night
before. With a hasty step he moved outside, carefully loading the tools he’d
need for the laborious job that lay ahead.

Randall was going to honor his promise to Jimmy, keeping
his hands off Lana—even if it killed him. And now that he knew the texture of
her soft lips, experienced the perfection of her body under his fingertips,
tasted heaven in her kiss, he conceded that it just might.

Lana poured a splash of milk into the steaming bowl of
cinnamon instant oatmeal she’d made for Connor and gently placed it in front of
him on the kitchen table. “Be careful stirring that up; it’s really hot.”

“Thought you said we were havin’ French toast?” Connor
whined.

“Don’t have time this morning. I woke up late. Maybe
tomorrow, okay?” Lana stole a glance at Connor over her shoulder before pouring
her coffee. She felt guilty about nixing the French toast menu this morning.
But after spending most of the night tossing and turning, reliving every
blessed moment of kissing Randall, then silently scolding herself for having
enjoyed it, she’d been too tired to get moving this morning.

“I need to finish getting ready. We’re leaving in twenty
minutes, okay?”

Connor never said a word, just kept shoveling spoonfuls
of instant oatmeal in his mouth. The kid sure could lay the guilt on thick. As
if she hadn’t had enough to feel guilty about already…

Moving into the master bath, Lana quickly pulled her long
brown trusses into a loose bun and applied a thin layer of mineral foundation,
paying particular attention to the dark circles under her weary eyes. After a
few sweeps with her mascara wand and a light coat of nude lipstick, she
selected a winter-white pant suit from her overstuffed closet.

She really needed to think about packing Jimmy’s stuff.
It would solve the cramped conditions in her closet, giving her ample room to
store her clothes and accessories. Funny how she’d often complained to Jimmy
about sharing the small space. Lana couldn’t recall how many times she’d
suggested he store his clothes in the guest room, and now that she was capable
of acting on her frequent request, she wasn’t entirely certain if she still
wanted to.

Refusing to allow her thoughts to travel down that road
this morning, she stepped into a pair of taupe heels, surveying the ensemble in
the mirror while she fastened a pair of simple pearl studs to her ears.

To her relief, she looked the same.

Good.

Because on the inside she felt…different. She wasn’t
entirely sure whether different was a good thing or a bad thing just yet, she
was still trying to figure that out. But at least there were no scarlet letters
adorned to her blazer; no outward visible signs illustrating the scene that’d
unfolded last night between her and Randall.

Satisfied with her overall appearance, she headed to the
living room where Connor sat watching cartoons. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yeah.”

Lana grabbed her purse on the entry table and flung the
strap over her shoulder. “All right, turn the TV off. It’s time to go.” Connor
begrudgingly did as she asked, then joined her at the front door.

After days of overcast skies and misty rain, she was
delighted to find the golden sun beginning its climb over the horizon. And as
she scaled down the porch steps, she was shocked to find something—
or rather
,
someone
—else: Randall kneeling in her flower bed, tossing weeds into a
neat pile beside him.

Her body froze in mid-step as her eyes drank him in. The
thin cotton t-shirt clung to his broad back, brawny muscle rippling underneath.
Oh boy…

“Whatcha doin’?” Connor asked excitedly as he zoomed down
the steps.

So much for being discreet.

Randall’s head snapped up at the sound of Connor’s voice.
His eyes quickly averted to Lana before returning to Connor. “Just a little bit
of yard work for your mom. Careful”, he warned when Connor reached down to pull
a nearby weed, “I don’t want you to get your nice clothes dirty.”

“Can I help?” Connor asked hopefully.

Lana finally unfroze and found her voice. “You have to go
to day camp, remember?”

“I think I’m gonna just stay here with Randall.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Randall don’t care, do ya?” he uttered confidently as he
turned to him.

Lana didn’t give Randall an opportunity to answer before
interrupting, “I paid a lot of money for this two-week program, Connor. You’re
going.”

“But you let me hang out with him last night” he whined.

She could feel Randall’s eyes boring into her, assessing
the extent of the damage he’d inflicted last night. Feeling as though she
needed to kill two birds with one stone, she chose her response carefully,
leaving Randall to sort the hidden meaning as she returned his inquisitive
gaze. “Last night was…a one-time deal.”

Lana glanced at her watch, then back at Connor. “Go get
in the car, okay? I don’t want to be late.” Shoulders slumped and head hung
low, Connor shuffled to the driveway.

Glancing over his shoulder, Randall called out, “I’ll
stop by on Sunday. Maybe we can head to the beach and throw the Frisbee around,
if it’s okay with your mom.”

Connor turned on a dime, searching Lana’s pretty face
with hopeful eyes. And when she nodded, the boy threw his hands in the air in
celebration before sprinting to the car.

With her son out of earshot, Lana turned her attention
back to Randall. “What are you doing?”

“Pulling weeds”, he answered as he stood, dusting his
dirty hands on the side of his legs. “Told you I was paying attention last
night.”

She tried to suppress her grin, but the corners of her
mouth disobeyed. She was relieved he wasn’t angry with her for leading him on,
then kicking him out. But then, that was Randall: flexible, always friendly,
and forgiving. “I stand corrected; guess you
can
multi-task. A little.

“Among other things”, he remarked with a wry grin.

Lana’s cheeks took on a rosy hue, recalling the
other
things
they’d done last night.

“Thought I’d even trim your hedges while I’m here too.”

“You don’t have to do this, Randall, really—any of this”,
she kindly emphasized as she swept her hand in the air.

“It’s okay. I want to…”

Seconds ticked by as they both silently dared one another
to be the first to acknowledge the kiss. Shifting his weight, Randall finally
cleared his throat. “Look, I’m, uh… I’m sorry about last night. I crossed the line
and I shouldn’t have. It won’t happen again.”

Lana’s eye’s quickly found her feet. She didn’t know
whether to be relieved or disappointed. That kiss had knocked her completely
off her axis. “You’re forgiven. It was…a crazy, one-time incident, you know? No
need to dwell on it.”

“Yeah…” He wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to
convince at the moment, but either way she was right. It couldn’t happen again;
he needn’t forget that.