“… How soon can you get ’em to us? We’re located in the Florida Panhandle… Really? Well, I think you’ve got yourself a deal!”
She recited the city’s credit card information, as well as the billing and shipping addresses. “Thanks, Henry. Happy New Year to you, too.”
After placing the handset back into position, she slumped, allowing her head to thump against the desk. “I’m not sure how we managed this”, she began, her voice slightly muffled, “but we’ll have twenty-four fireworks delivered by Saturday at half-price.”
“Half-price?” he questioned as he stepped closer, reaching out to touch her shoulders. “That’s definitely something to celebrate…”
Lana tensed the moment she felt his hands. It wasn’t necessarily that he was touching her—she’d been his secretary for almost seven years, now. And when you worked closely with someone you were bound to accidently touch.
But this wasn’t accidental.
This was more than a simple, nonchalant touch—this was a caress. His fingertips grazed her bare arms, raising the hair on the back of her neck. Lifting her head from the desk, she quickly glanced over her shoulder. “I have to go. It’s late.” He must have sensed her discomfort, because suddenly the unpleasant sensations of his fondling fingertips were gone.
“You mean, you don’t have time for a celebratory cocktail? C’mon, this is a big deal, Lana; we just dodged a bullet! Just one drink”, he gestured with his finger.
“I’m sorry”, she uttered as she collected her belongings. “I can’t. Randall’s watching Connor… He’s waiting for me.”
The mayor unclenched his jaw and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He thought even less of Randall Burns than he had Jimmy Phillips. The man was a hothead, a smartass, and a drunk. “Randall?—not sure that was such a good idea, Lana.”
“Why do you say that?”
He shrugged, buying time while he carefully chose his words. “He’s… ill-mannered. Is that really the kind of influence you want on your son?”
Lana slid her other arm into her black blazer and then ran her hands under the collar to free her long brown locks. “He’s been nothing but kind to me and Connor over the years. And besides, I didn’t have much choice considering the circumstances.”
Mayor Cliffburg opened his mouth to say something, but quickly thought better of it. If he pushed she’d only get defensive, and if there was one thing he did know, it was that Randall Burns didn’t deserve one ounce of her blind devotion. “Fair enough. So about that celebratory drink… Maybe some other time?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.” Lana tossed her purse over her shoulder and turned to go. She was several paces from the front entrance when she heard his voice again.
“Good work tonight, Lana. As usual, you never cease to amaze me…”
“Hey, I’m really sorry it took so long”, Lana spoke as she carefully nudged the front door closed behind her.
Clicking the TV off, Randall rose from the couch and shoved his hands knuckle-deep into the pockets of his denim jeans. “You get everything straightened out at the office?”
“After spending hours on the phone on a wild-goose chase, I managed to find a company in Atlanta with enough fireworks to get us by this year.” She quickly glanced around the room, noting how uncharacteristically quiet it was for eight-thirty in the evening. “Where’s Connor?”
“He fell asleep about twenty minutes ago watching cartoons.”
“Really?” she asked incredulously as she lowered her purse from her shoulder. She gently placed it on the entry table she’d faux-finished earlier this month and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That early?”
Randall nodded, scratching the back of his head. “He helped me on the boat for a bit before we grabbed pizza. Think I wore the little guy out.”
“You are just full of surprises”, she mumbled softly, smiling. “Let me just check on him. I’ll be right back.”
Slowly pacing back and forth, Randall tried to convince himself her praise meant nothing, that her angelic and genuine smile held no significance.
But then he’d be lying. Because it had.
And somehow just knowing he’d been the one to ease her weary mind tonight—that he’d been the person she’d turned to—created emotions he’d long forgotten. A sense of warmth, along with something he couldn’t quite name, quickly multiplied and unfurled deep in his chest. It was a feeling he feared he’d become too fond of if he wasn’t careful.
“You were right. He’s exhausted—didn’t move a muscle when I kissed him good night!”
Lucky kid. Randall cleared his throat. “Anything else you need before I go?”
Lana crossed her arms as she studied him from across the room. “Yeah, you can have a drink with me. After the day I had, I could use one.”
He wavered for a moment or two. It would probably be better if he left; it’d taken every ounce of control he possessed not to act on his feelings when she’d walked through the front door. He didn’t really understand them, and it was that admission that scared him most.
His fascination with Lana had only intensified since the night in his truck nearly a month ago. It seemed she’d gone from Jimmy’s sweet, innocent wife to the beautiful woman starring in his graphically-erotic fantasies almost overnight.
And that’s where she had to stay, because acting on them would only complicate matters.
Being alone with Lana would only test his resistance—something he knew would fail him when she looked at him like that: her eyes pleading, her teeth nibbling on that plump bottom lip. Randall opened his mouth to decline her invitation, except when the words materialized on his tongue, he couldn’t seem to voice them. “Yeah, sure.”
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…
Rescue Me (Butler Island) Page 9