Rescue Me (Butler Island) (18 page)

Make no mistake: she wanted him. The desire she harbored
for Randall Burns was deep. Bone-deep. So imbedded in her body she feared she’d
never rid herself of the overwhelming need his touch inspired.

So what was causing this sudden bout of hesitation, one
might ask?

Simple: Jimmy.

She’d already betrayed him once. Could she do it a second
time? A third? A fourth?

It’s been nearly a year
,
Lana
.
It’s not
like you jumped in the sac with the guy immediately
;
wasn’t as if you
didn’t spend countless nights awake trying to refute your attraction to his
best friend
.

Placing the small headphones attached to the voice
recorder over her ears, she pushed the worry aside and opened the Word document
she’d saved just before lunch. Her stomach read her the riot act again at the
mere thought of food, groaning its disapproval over her decision to return to
work.

Her finger hovered over the
PLAY
button on the recorder when Mayor Cliffburg’s deep voice
wafted from his open door. “Lana, can I see you in my office for a minute?”

“Be right there, sir”, she called out. Quickly removing
her headphones, she pushed to her feet, stepping into the mayor’s office with a
cautious gait.

“Close the door and have a seat”, he requested, poring
over a pile of papers scattered about on his desk.

Picking at her nail polish—or rather, what was left of
it—Lana nudged the door closed and slowly lowered her rear end into one of the
burgundy winged-back chairs in front of his desk. Suddenly feeling as though
she needed to explain why she was behind on loading Tuesday night’s meeting
minutes to the town website, she cleared her throat and lunged into an
explanation. “If this is about the website, I can assure you everything will be
uploaded by the time I leave today. There was just so much discussed at the
meeting, I—”

The mayor placed his pen on his desk and leaned back in
his chair. With his elbows resting comfortably on the arm rests, he tented his
fingertips into a point just below his chin. “Good to know. But that’s not why
I asked you in here.”

“Oh.”

“I actually had an idea I wanted to run by you. I want
your opinion.”

“
My
opinion?” She questioned dubiously, slapping
her palm against her chest. The mayor nodded. “I’m not sure if I’m qualified
enough to—”

“I have a proposition.”

“What kind of proposition?” She uttered, baffled.

The mayor studied her for a moment, his eyes softening.
“I’ve been thinking… Memorial Day’s coming up in a few weeks.”

Lana fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t need
Mayor Cliffburg to remind her of that; the holiday didn’t mean the same thing
to her anymore. Memorial Day wasn’t an excuse to stay home from work and
barbeque like it’d been in years’ past. Its significance was personal, now.
Tragically personal.

“Like I said—I’ve been thinking, and I’d really like to
start a new tradition this year; get the entire town involved. How would you
feel about conducting a charity event following the boat parade in Jimmy’s
honor?

“We could do a silent auction, have residents and
businesses on the island donate various items for the cause, and the proceeds
would benefit the Public Service Society—which, as you already know, lends
support to injured public service workers and their families.”

Lana sat motionless—speechless—as the clock on the
mayor’s desk ticked-off the seconds.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

What did she think
? Well, Jimmy was a simple
man. A modest man. His motivation for doing good deeds had zero to do with
notoriety. A fundraiser in his honor was probably the last thing he’d want,
but…

But she believed in the charity’s mission, knew firsthand
the kind of good the organization was capable of. “I-I don’t know what to say…
I’d…” Lana glanced at her lap while she found her voice, finally settling her
gaze back on the Mayor. “I’d appreciate that. Very much.”

Mayor Cliffburg smiled. “Then it’s settled: The island’s
first annual Jimmy Phillips, Jr. Charity Silent Auction.” Shifting his weight
forward, he braced his forearms on the desktop. “With that established, we need
to focus our attention on planning the event. Maybe you could load something on
the website, advertising the affair.”

“Of course—no problem—”

“And we need to hit the pavement, requesting donations
from local businesses and residents.”

“Consider it done.”

“This is going to take some time to organize. You think
you can make yourself available after regular office hours for the next few
weeks?”

Lana nudged a strand of hair that’d fallen in her field
of vision. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I can make this happen—I
want
to
make this happen.”

“I have faith in you, Lana. You never cease to amaze me.”

Chapter 21

A cool, sharp breeze swept over the boardwalk as the sun
slumped below the horizon. Seagulls squawked overhead searching for an easy
meal, no doubt, and the occasional pelican observed the growing crowd, perched
on wood pillars along the pier railing. Randall drew the crisp salty air into
his lungs as the soles of his shoes knocked against the wood.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

His shift had ended roughly half an hour ago. He’d
quickly gone home to shower before falling into his Saturday night ritual. The
promise of two dollar domestic drafts at The Saloon beckoned him week after
week without fail. Exercising his skills on the billiard table, sipping cold
frothy beer from a frosted mug, fraternizing with the guys, had lured him to
the smoke-filled bar once again. But for the first time in recent memory he
wasn’t the least bit thrilled about being here.

Shoving the heavy wood door aside Randall slipped into
the dim lounge, weaving through the growing crowd toward the billiard area at
the back of the establishment. Beams of colored light highlighted the smoky
haze on the dance floor, flickering in time with the beat of Jason Aldean’s
Dirt
Road
Anthem
. The dance floor was swarming with people—mostly
women—yet through the congestion of swaying bodies it’d still only taken mere
seconds to zero in on Lana.

Vivid hues of pink and blue light flashed across her
silken skin. Long brown hair fell around her pretty face in soft waves, his
fingers practically twitching at the thought of running them through it. Arms
in the air, her hips moved with the kind of fluidity that made a man take
notice. Visions of Lana straddling his lap while rolling those flexible hips
over his cock crept into his mind…

And that’s when he suddenly became aware that his feet
were no longer in motion. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there
enjoying the show, how long he’d been practically drooling at the sight of her,
but he did know for certain he’d draw unwanted attention to his involuntary
reaction if he didn’t get moving again.

Tearing his eyes away from the sweet spectacle, he willed
his feet to move toward the pool table in the back corner where Grant already
awaited him.

“What took you so long, Burns?” Granted greeted, slapping
his palm against Randall’s before pulling him in for a shoulder bump. “Thought
you were gonna stand me up.”

“Stopped at home to take a shower.”

“You got a hot date or somethin’?”

Randall snatched a cue stick from the wall display, then
sidled up to the pool table. “A date with a cue stick and a boat-load of beer.”

Grant chuckled. “Easy there, buddy—wouldn’t want anyone
to accuse you of moving too fast on the first date.”

Randall’s gaze averted to the brunette leaving the dance
floor, heading his way. Those deep-blue eyes locked onto his, the hint of a
smile playing across her soft pink lips.

“Hard to go slow when something tastes so good.” And
Randall should know—because the anticipation of tasting Lana again tonight
after a month of slow torture was wreaking havoc on his head. Both of them.

“Womack”, Lana called out over the music. “Where’s your
wife? She was supposed to be here almost an hour ago.”

Grant smiled, shaking his head. “I talked to her earlier
this afternoon. She said she was headed to Ty’s to work in the dark room for a
bit.” Swallowing a mouthful of beer, he set his mug on a nearby high-bar table,
freeing his hands so he could begin racking the billiard balls. “I swear the
woman loses all sense of time when she’s in there. You want me to give her a
call?”

Lana waived the offer aside. “She probably got caught up
playing with Tenley and talkin’ to Kendall.”

Randall braced the edge of the pool table with his hands,
digging his fingers into the green felt to keep from reaching for her—his grip
so tight the skin covering his knuckles paled. Across the crowded room she’d
been gorgeous, but up close she was damn near irresistible.

His grip tightened when she turned to him and smiled—not
an
I’m-trying-to-be-polite
kind of smile, but rather
I’m-secretly-picturing-all-the-naughty-things-I’m-going-to-do-to-you-later-tonight
kind of smile. Randall swallowed a groan. Fuck, how the hell was he going to
make it the next few hours without touching her?

“Good to see you, Randall”, she uttered skillfully, the
mere tone of her voice resembling something more like a purr.

“Same goes.”

She studied him for an extra beat, nibbling on that
bottom lip as though she was holding back what she really wanted to say. “Well,
I’ll let you boys get back to your game, then.” With a deliberate sway to her
hips, Lana returned to the dance floor, squeezing her way through the sea of
bodies to a less crowded segment of the dance arena.

Just take a deep breath, Burns. You’ve waited a month to
be with her again—what’s three more hours
?

Three more hours of pretending not to notice the way she
looked in that orange mini dress would likely be his cause of death. The
sweater material caressed her silhouette much in the same way a Ferrari hugs a
winding road. And don’t even get him started on those brown fuck-me cowgirl
boots…

The waitress appeared through the thick haze balancing a
tray of various cold beverages. She carefully handed Randall a frosted mugful
of Miller Lite.

“Keep ’em comin’, darlin’”, he told her a moment before
catching the rim of the glass between his lips. Because he had a feeling it was
going to be a long night.

A very long night indeed.

Stalking the perimeter of the pool table, Randall contemplated
his options. All that remained in order to win this round against Grant was the
solid green number six, and the black eight-ball. Problem was they were
practically rubbing elbows, and the last thing he wanted to do was slip up and
knock the eight-ball in prematurely.

He did another quick lap around the perimeter, finally
accepting that his best shot would require him to lie across the length of the
table to sink number six into the opposite corner pocket.

Randall got into position, adjusting the angle with which
he held the cue stick until the chalked-tip was perfectly aligned with his
mark. He eased the stick back and forth over his left thumb a few times before
he committed to it, then with a deep breath slowly drew the stick back again. The
tip was a whisper away from colliding against the white cue when a glimpse of
orange entered his peripheral. And in that split-second—when the success of the
shot depended on his undivided attention—his concentration lifted from the
table.

Vital mistake: number one.

“What the fuck was that?” Ty ribbed beside him.

The white cue rolled to the left at a snail’s pace,
finally coming to a halt about a foot away. Damn!

“Either I’m getting’ better, or you’re havin’ one hell of
a bad night, Burns”, Granted boasted, exposing the signature GQ grin the women
on the island still went gaga over.

Needless to say, it had no effect on Randall.

“The latter”, Ty announced wryly. “Definitely the
latter.”

Rising from the green felt-covered table, Randall stood
and reached for his beer, draining the remainder in one swift gulp.

Chrissakes, the woman got under his skin. And judging by
the way she was looking at him right now, midnight eyes ablaze with need, he
was getting to her too.

After stealing a quick glance at his watch, Randall
slapped Mark on the back, shoving the length of the cue stick against the guy’s
chest. “Play this round for me; I’m sittin’ this one out.”

“But I suck at pool.”

“Couldn’t be any worse than me tonight.” Randall turned
toward the dance floor, closing the distance between him and the woman in
orange.

“Hey”, he greeted, coming to a halt in front of her.

“Hey.”

Electricity crackled around them. He shoved his hands in
his front pockets in an attempt to control them. “Where’s your two sidekicks?”
He asked, referring to Olivia and Kendall.

“Bathroom. You know us women: we always do bathroom
breaks in pairs.”

“So”, he uttered, shifting his weight, “you’re all alone
out here, then?”

“Why, are you offering to keep me company?” Lana smiled,
then caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

Holy mother of God
!

He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t be in the same room
with this woman and pretend he didn’t want her. Couldn’t pretend to give a shit
about playing pool with the guys when what he really wanted was to strip her
out of her orange number and home in on the treasures beneath.

“C’mon, we’re dancing”, he announced, taking her hand.
Not a request, but rather a
command
. Dodging bodies in motion, he led
her through the crowd to the other side of the dance floor, wrapping her in his
strong arms. The lights dimmed blue and the once upbeat tempo suddenly slowed
as Sugarland wafted from the speakers.

The slow ballad gave him an excuse to hold her closer, to
feel her soft body press against his.

Vital mistake: number two.

Because just like that he was caught in her spell.

Bowing his head a bit he breathed her in, amazed that
even through the thick cloud of nicotine haze he still caught a whiff of
vanilla. “You pick that dress out tonight to torture me?” He uttered.

Smiling innocently, she answered, “Why, you like?”

“Very much. In fact, I think orange is my new favorite
color.”

“You mean: peach.”

Raising his head he looked down at her pretty face,
currently a subtle shade of blue from the overhead lights. “What is it with you
women: always referring to colors as food. Suddenly purple’s eggplant or grape,
green’s lime or avocado, and orange can be anything from salmon to carrot to—”

“Peach”, she interrupted.

“Yeah,
peach
.”

Lana’s lips lifted into a smile. “You have something
against peach, now?”

He thought back to the night he’d argued that sippin’
pink wine put a man’s masculinity into question. The night of their first kiss.
“No, I happen to like peaches. So sweet. So juicy…”

Randall wet his lips, satisfied when Lana’s gaze moved to
his mouth. Her lips parted slightly in anticipation, her eyes aflame with
wantonness and blazing need. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, Sweetheart, and
I’m liable to throw you over my shoulder and take you home”, he warned.

“And how am I looking at you?”

“You’re undressing me with your eyes.”

“Am not!” But when Randall gave her his bullshit detector
glare, she quickly changed her answer. “Okay, so maybe I am. A little.”

Their eyes met and held. Electricity snapped around them
again, sizzling, popping as their chemistry ignited. Without thinking Randall
swept a strand of hair from her face, noting how her eyes closed, relishing his
touch.

Vital mistake: number three.

Control yourself
,
Burns
.
People are watching
.

As the song wound to an end, he bowed his head, his mouth
inches from her ear. “I want you to go home, now. Strip down and wait for me…”

Lana gasped softly. “Strip?”

With a wry grin, Randall nodded. “Everything except for
the boots; I do have a weakness for those boots.”

“Come with me”, she murmured, the sound of her voice a
little more breathless than she’d intended.

The corners of his mouth rose in unison this time. He was
getting to her. And when the assessment sunk in and took hold, his expression
turned serious—as in seriously hot. “As much as you want my rod, right now—as
much as I want to give it to you—we can’t leave together. It’ll look
suspicious—
especially
if my truck’s spotted in your driveway all night.”

And the fact that the two of you are still pressed
against one another while the rest of the crowd’s moving and twirling to a
hasty beat isn’t suspicious
?

Point taken.

Peeling his hands from the small of her back, Randall
reached for her hand, entwining their fingers before hauling her off the dance
floor.

All night
, she recalled him saying a moment ago.

All night
!

Lana shivered. Her body just involuntarily reacted to
him. The tenor of his low gritty voice, the feel of his big hands gliding over
her skin, the sight of broad sinewy muscle bulging beneath his T-shirt unified,
stirring a deep yearning. The combination practically liquefied her bones,
leaving a weak, wanton woman in its wake. She tried to talk herself down, tried
to reason with her limbs, but her body rebelled.