Rescue Me (Butler Island)

Home > Other > Rescue Me (Butler Island) > Page 14
Rescue Me (Butler Island) Page 14

by Nikki Rittenberry


  He was good, real good—maybe too good—for his own britches. It didn’t take much coaxing on his end, just a little pout of his lower lip and she was putty in his tiny hands.

  Connor devoured the can of cheese ravioli in record time, then raced into his room to change into the Florida State jersey her parents had given him for his birthday a few weeks ago, returning with his new football tucked under his arm. “C’mon, mommy, you can be my quarterback!”

  Reluctantly she followed her son to the backyard, noting how the gulf breeze had gained momentum, rustling the trees. She’d play until dark, which judging by the sun’s position, would be half an hour—tops.

  Connor got into position beside her, knees bent, chest forward, ready to dash across the yard on her cue. “You have to pretend to hike the ball, Mommy, then throw it over there”, he instructed, pointing toward the back corner of the fence. “This is a really big play; the whole team’s countin’ on you.”

  Lana scanned the yard. There’s nothing like the pressure of upsetting an invisible team to motivate a quarterback… “Okay, ready?” she questioned.

  “Yep.”

  “Go!”

  Only he didn’t. Connor straightened and put a hand on his hip. “Mommy, you’re supposed to say hut, not go.”

  “Oh, okay… Hut!”

  Connor dashed across the yard in a perfect line, then darted to the right. Rearing her hand back, she launched the ball as hard as she could, wincing as she watched it wobble in the air, falling to the ground in the middle of the yard.

  “That was horrible.”

  Lana turned at the sound, the voice both teasing and pure male.

  “Randall!” Connor shouted, sprinting toward him in a frenzied rush, almost as if his eyes needed to prove to his mind that the image wasn’t an optical illusion.

  Good to know she wasn’t the only one—because she’d spent the better part of the day studying the apparition of a man with thick black hair, two gray eyes swirling with desire, and a body corded with a mass of solid muscle.

  “Hey, squirt—”

  “Can you play quarterback? Mommy throws like a girl.”

  “Hey”, Lana remarked, resting her hands on her hips. “I am a girl, encase you two haven’t noticed.”

  “I noticed plenty, trust me”, Randall uttered wryly.

  Lana didn’t miss that his wry comment was in reference to last night, when his mouth and hands had traversed her female form. A shiver of awareness zipped down her spine, settling low in her belly at the memory.

  “I think it’s time your mom got a throwing lesson, don’t you?” Connor’s little head bobbed up and down with excitement. “What do ya say, Lana?—you ready for this?”

  His double entendre was unmistakable, she thought to herself. Because what he really wanted was truth. He wanted clear answers to chase the murkiness away, opacity she’d created when she’d scrambled from his bed and barricaded her panicked soul in his bathroom. She’d asked for some time and he’d been gracious enough to grant her some.

  But now her time was up. She needed to form her feelings into words—difficult when she didn’t quite understand them herself. “I’ll try”, she uttered just above a whisper. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good at this.”

  Randall gestured for Connor to fetch the football from the middle of the yard, catching it with ease when her son launched it toward him. Smiling, Randall slowly ambled toward her, stopping once he stood directly behind her. “I’m right here, Sweetheart. We’ll do this together.”

  Chapter 18

  Randall swallowed a moan as he slowly reached one of his large hands around her middle, hauling her back against the hard plane of his solid chest. Her tummy quivered beneath his fingertips and the sound of her quickened breaths almost made him forget about the throwing lesson—and more importantly, that Connor was patiently waiting at the opposite side of the yard to catch the ball.

  Focus, Burns—now’s not the time to reminisce about last night.

  Easier said than done. Because holding her made him want things, things he couldn’t have.

  “Lesson number one”, he began, “is all in how you grip the ball. Line your fingers along the laces, like this.” Taking her hand he spread her fingers over the laces, noting how they trembled. “One of the keys to a perfect spiral is to grip the ball with your fingertips—not your palm; palming the ball is a recipe for disaster.”

  Lana nodded, summarizing the lesson aloud. “Grip with fingertips—no palm. Got it.”

  “Keep your eyes downfield, but turn your body sideways”, he uttered softly as his hands slid to her hips, rotating them until she was in the proper position. It wasn’t necessary to the lesson, per se; she could’ve turned on her own. But, God, touching her…

  “Place your other hand underneath the ball and bring it up toward your ear.”

  “Like this?” she questioned as she demonstrated.

  “Yeah.”

  “You mean, I’m supposed to throw it with two hands?”

  Chuckling under his breath, he answered, “No, this is for stability and control.”

  Lana turned her head to look at him. “Are you laughing at me, Randall Burns?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Now, get back into position.” He waited while she complied, then went on to explain the importance of proper footwork.

  “This is a lot to take in”, she admitted softly. “How does anybody remember all this, huh?” Lana turned, looking up at him with those beaming midnight orbs. “How does everyone make it look so easy?”

  Somehow, Randall got the inkling they weren’t talking about the mechanics of throwing a perfect spiral. A sudden gust of wind blew a strand of silky brown hair across her pretty face, and without a second thought Randall reached up and tucked it behind her right ear, loving how her eyes closed when his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Just takes practice. Soon it’ll become almost second nature. You won’t have to think about each of the steps, you just… do ’em.”

  Lana’s eyes fluttered open a moment before Connor impatiently yelled across the yard to throw the ball. “Okay, here goes.” Turning her attention downfield where Connor stood, she yelled, “Ready?”

  “Yeah—don’t forget to yell hut! It’s the rules, right Randall?”

  “Sure is, Squirt!”

  “C’mon, Randall, is that really necessary?” asked Lana.

  Randall took a step back, hands low on his hips. “You heard the man”, he uttered softly as a smirk emerged. “It’s in the rules.”

  “Fine.” Lana drew in a deep breath while she lined her fingers along the laces, and after yelling “hut”, she brought the ball to her ear, positioned her feet accordingly, aimed and released the ball, watching in amazement as it soared toward Connor in a nearly perfect spiral. “I did it!” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air in celebration.

  Christ, she was beautiful when she smiled. Unable to resist, Randall stepped forward, lifting her up as though she’d thrown the winning pass at the championship game. He twirled her around in a circle, letting her laughter rain down on him, wishing—even if only for a moment—things could be different.

  Because he couldn’t overlook how right she felt in his arms, couldn’t deny the way she made him feel.

  It was more than physical, although it’d probably started that way that night in his truck three months ago. Lana Phillips had wriggled her way into his shattered being, painstakingly piecing his broken spirit back together again with her radiant smile and her kind, forgiving heart.

  He came here tonight with noble intentions, came here to apologize for what’d happened last night; explain that he’d made a mistake—one that wouldn’t happen again. But he couldn’t follow through. Not when he tossed and turned every night thinking about her. When he now understood how amazing she felt, how delicious she tasted. Not when the simple sound of her laughter warmed him from the inside out.

  Was he being selfish?

  Absolutely.

 
He should be down on his knees begging for forgiveness for what he’d done, but instead he wanted something else: one irresistible, Lana Phillips.

  Heaven, help me…

  “I had to bribe him with a promise to get ice cream tomorrow after school to get him to close his eyes and go to bed”, Lana shared as she sat down next to Randall on the back porch step. “Wish it worked for everything in life”, she uttered quietly.

  Randall nodded, not knowing what to say to that. He didn’t want to complicate her life any more than he already had; being solely responsible for her husband’s death was plenty complicated enough.

  Leaning forward, he placed his forearms against his knees, releasing a puff of air from his chest. “So, about last night…”

  “You sure don’t waste any time, do you?”

  Her tone was teasing, but underneath he sensed how ill-at-ease she truly was.

  Typical. She was trying her damnedest to forge a brave smile, just one of the many things he admired about her. Shaking his head in response to her question, he waited a few beats, allowing his silence to indicate he was ready to listen.

  “I, um…” Running her fingers through her hair, she sighed, “Gosh, where do I begin…”

  “The beginning. The beginning is a good place to start.”

  “Right. Okay…” Drawing in another deep breath, she began, “After Jimmy died I felt broken, alone. He was…my everything. Guess you don’t realize how much you depend on someone until they’re gone. In the beginning I was overwhelmed: trying to establish a new sense of normal for Connor and myself, trying to just keep my head above water, you know?”

  Randall nodded. He knew what that was like. Hell, he’d nearly drowned himself in whiskey over the summer in a desperate attempt to numb the guilt.

  “And then you came back… I can’t tell you how good it felt to have an ally—a partner—again. For the first time in ages I felt strong—like I finally had the strength to move on. I started… thinking about things. Wanting things.”

  “What kind of things?” he questioned gravelly.

  Lana covered her eyes with her hands. “Gosh, this is so embarrassing.”

  Randall carefully peeled her palms away from her face. Holding her wrists steady, he gazed into her deep blue eyes. “Tell me”, he urged. “Tell me what you wanted.”

  Swallowing hard, she gathered her courage. “I wanted to be kissed, touched, cherished. I-I wanted… I wanted you.”

  Resisting the urge to lean in, he kept his expression unreadable. Stone-like. Because her confession only generated more questions. He watched as she nervously nibbled on her bottom lip, so uncertain about his reaction, so insecure.

  Didn’t she know how beautiful she was? Couldn’t she see what she did to him every time they were together? “Let’s fast-forward to last night…”

  “Last night was…” Lana closed her eyes, searching for the right word. A word that would encompass how truly amazing it’d been. “Life changing”, she whispered. “Last night was life changing.”

  “Okaaay”, he drawled. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “Good. Definitely good.”

  Randall smiled for the first time since the conversation began. The heavy mass that’d been pressing down on his chest since last night eased a bit. But the biggest question of all still remained: Why had she fled? “So last night was good for you?”

  “Yes”, she breathed.

  “Tell me what happened afterward. Why were you crying?”

  “Because I… I’ve never been with anyone besides Jimmy. And for a moment I just… panicked, I guess. It sort of felt like I’d betrayed him.”

  We did. Damn it, we both did.

  The fact didn’t sit well with him—and clearly it hadn’t with Lana, either. But it was almost as if they were powerless to do anything about it, like their attraction was too strong, the allure too spellbinding to resist. “And what about now, huh? How do you feel now?” he asked as he palmed the side of her face, his thumb gently brushing over her cheek.

  “I still want you”, she uttered just above a whisper. “God knows I shouldn’t, but I do.”

  With a groan Randall gave in to temptation, pressing his mouth against her soft pink lips. He kissed her like he meant it—like she meant something to him.

  Because she did.

  Lana had become the single most important thing in his life. She was his beacon in the dark, his guiding light.

  You should stop. Do the right thing. Walk away.

  Lana released a breathy moan when their tongues collided. The sound went directly south to his groin, instantly silencing his conscience. Hauling her onto his lap, he gripped her hips, grinding her core against his already hard cock, allowing her to feel just how much he wanted her, too.

  Lana tore her mouth away, gazing at him through hooded eyes. “How are we going to do this?”

  “Any way you want, Sweetheart”, he uttered, his voice low and gritty. “From behind. Against the wall—hell, right here.” Randall placed his lips against the hollow of her throat, releasing a groan when she tilted her head back, allowing him better access.

  “No—I meant us.” Palming the sides of his face with both hands, she drew him away from her neck and looked into his eyes. “How do we do us? Is there an us?” She asked with uncertainty.

  “There’s definitely an us. Definitely…” Randall nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, then laved the succulent flesh with his tongue. Her half-moan/half-sigh threatened his self-control. He’d spent the better part of the last twenty-two hours replaying that sexy sound in his head, wondering if he’d ever be privileged enough to hear it again. It was even better than he remembered. The soft, breathy whimper signified that Lana was losing the battle against her self-restraint, too—that her mind and body were both in tune, coexisting in harmony, both focused on one common goal.

  Him.

  With a deep guttural groan, Randall swept his tongue between her lips as though her kiss was his only lifeline, desperately clinging to the safe haven her body provided. A sudden burst of hissing wind rushed past, vigorously thrashing the leaves on the oak canopy. Lana’s long brown locks surrounded him like a veil of dark silk as bamboo wind chimes clanked and crickets serenaded.

  It was then something strange took hold of him—an odd sensation, really. It was like a cold shiver, raising the hair on the back of his neck, followed by a kick of adrenaline. The fight or flight response caused his hands to shake, his heart to quicken.

  And with good reason, too. Because the splintering crack of wood snapping, followed by a thunderous crash as the solid oak limb fell to the earth caused his already jittery body to jump.

  “Omigod!” Lana gasped. “What was that?” Glancing over her shoulder, she quickly climbed off Randall’s lap, covering her moistened mouth with her hands. “Omigod, Randall—Connor was standing underneath that tree a half-hour ago! What if… what if he’d—”

  “Don’t”, Randall uttered as he stood, gathering her in his arms as much for her comfort as his own. “You can’t think like that.”

  “I’m a mother—I have to think like that! If he’d been standing there, he would’ve… he could have…” Lana closed her eyes. “I can’t lose someone else I love, Randall. I’m not strong enough.”

  Nuzzling his face in her hair, he squeezed her tight, breathing her in. “I’m off tomorrow. If you can push a permit through first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll start cutting it down.” Randall felt her subtle nod against his shoulder. If that’s what it took to put her mind at ease he’d gladly do it.

  He owed her that much.

  Eyes tracking the mass of oak, overflowing with prosperous green leaves, Randall got that strange feeling again. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he was beginning to think maybe something—or rather, someone—was trying to send him a message.

  I’m sorry, Jimmy. So damn sorry…

  Chapter 19

  “Hey, stranger”, Kendall greeted as she rounded the corn
er at aisle three, her three-inch heels tapping against the white-speckled linoleum floor.

  Shit. Busted…

  Turning his body, Randall eyed the woman he’d spent nearly two years of his life obsessing over. “Sorry, Ken, I was sort of in a hurry. Nothing personal.”

  “I can’t believe you actually tried to sneak in here without sa—Omigod, Randall! What happened to your shoulder?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a little gash.”

  Kendall stepped closer, gently bracing her hands on his solid body. His white T-shirt was smeared with dirt and sweat, and the rather substantial red stain along the top of his sleeve clearly challenged his “little gash” tale.

  “Honey, little gashes don’t bleed like that! Why didn’t you go to the hospital? You’re most likely gonna need stitches.”

  Randall shook his head from side-to-side. “I’m fine—just need an antiseptic and some steri-strips.”

  “But—”

  “No hospital, no stitches, all right?” He retorted, surely, harshly, noting how she flinched. The moment he’d uttered the words, he wanted them back. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Kendall reached for a bottle of Bactine, a package of steri-strips, gauze and tape, then turned to Randall. “Well if you’re not gonna go to the hospital, at least let me help you clean up. Come with me; we can do this in my office.”

  Randall followed her down the aisle and behind the pharmacy counter, acknowledging her assistant, Marcus, with a firm nod. They ventured down one of the narrow passages that led to her office, various bottles of medication situated in perfect rows to his left and right. “Slow day?”

  “Yeah, why?” She asked as she opened her office door.

  Randall gestured to the shelves. “Looks like it was an OCD kind of day.”

 

‹ Prev