Rescue Me (Butler Island)

by Nikki Rittenberry

  “We are. And I hope you believe me when I say I don’t normally get like this—drunk, that is.”

  Smiling, Mayor Cliffburg offered to escort her back to his car. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home. You’re in no condition to get behind the wheel of your car at the moment.”

  Chapter 26

  Neither of them spoke much during the ten minute drive back to Butler Island. Lana had nestled her gorgeous body against the cream leather of his 1966 Ford T-bird, resting her head against the seat back while the wind twirled wisps of caramel hair around her pretty face.

  Her navy skirt had climbed several inches upon sitting, revealing the smooth flawless skin along her lean thighs. His mouth watered at the thought of kissing his way up those silky legs…

  Swallowing a rousing groan he squirmed in his seat, suddenly aware of the cramped conditions in the crotch of his gray Dockers. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”

  The back of her skull still resting against the seat, she turned her head and gave him one of those tantalizing smiles he’d become so fond of. “Don’t think I’m that far gone, Michael.”

  Michael… Hearing his name on her lips delivered a sharp jolt of lust to his groin again. Unknowingly he increased the pressure on the accelerator, eager to get her home and make his move.

  He noted the black Mini Cooper parked along the edge of the street as he maneuvered his car into the drive. It belonged to Olivia Everitt—now Womack: the wild woman whose three-hour Jet-ski joyride as a teenager became the stuff of legends around these parts. She was a brilliant photographer—pretty, too—but her free-spirited, gutsy attitude and sassy mouth did nothing for him.

  Nada.

  Shoving the car into PARK, he drew in a deep breath.

  “Thanks for the ride”, she murmured softly. “The food, the wine—everything… It was really sweet.” Flashing him a grateful grin, she reached for the door handle.

  “W-wait!” He stammered, reaching for her arm in a desperate attempt to keep her from leaving the car. “There’s… there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “Okaaay”, she drawled, puzzled, leaning back into her seat again.

  Swallowing hard he forged ahead. “It’s about us. Look, I know you’ve spent the last year trying to piece your life back together again. I won’t pretend to know what that’s like, because I don’t.” He palmed the side of her face with his left hand, subtly stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Your strength and courage over the last year… Well, it was a fascinating thing to watch.”

  “Um, I—”

  “We have a connection, you and I. I’ve felt it for a really long time, and tonight I think you felt it too.”

  “I think—”

  “C’mon, Lana”, he mumbled, leaning in to her. “Don’t fight it.” He was halfway to her luscious mouth when the palms of her hands pressed against his chest, her eyes wide with panic.

  “I-I’m sorry, but…I think you’ve got this all wrong, Mayor Cliffburg.”

  Pulling back, he leaned his shoulder against the leather seat. “Mayor Cliffburg… Are we back to formalities again?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…” Lana took in a liter of air and slowly blew it through her pursed pink lips. “This is sort of sudden.”

  “Not for me, it isn’t… I’m… I’m in lo—”

  Lana’s eyes slid closed. “Please, don’t. Just...don’t.”

  He eyed her for a stretch, completely baffled. How had he misread her signals? He just didn’t understand it. “Okay… I have to admit, Lana, this isn’t how I pictured tonight ending.”

  “How did you picture it? You know what?—on second thought, don’t answer that.”

  “So, tonight: bad timing?” He asked drumming the steering wheel lightly with the side of his thumb.

  Hugging her purse close to her chest, she cleared her throat. “Something like that, yes. Listen, I’ve gotta go. Olivia’s had Connor since he got out of school, and I’m sure she’s ready to head home.”

  Mayor Cliffburg nodded sharply. “Of course.” She reached for the handle and gave the heavy door a firm push. He gave her smooth legs a parting peruse as she maneuvered out of the car. “Hey, Lana”, he called when she finally stood.

  “Yes.”

  “I hope you won’t hold tonight against me.”

  Closing the door, Lana bent her knees and peered through the open window. “Same goes.”

  And then she was gone. He idled in her driveway until she was safely inside her home. Tonight hadn’t gone like he’d expected. If it had, she’d be halfway to naked right now. Backing out of her drive, he continued down her street until he reached the stop sign, and then took a left.

  He wasn’t giving up on Lana Phillips. She just needed more time to get used to the idea.

  What he needed was a new tactic—a new ploy. It would take some time to formulate a fool-proof plan, but then again he had plenty of that, didn’t he? And if his first date with the lovely Lana Phillips tonight proved anything, it was that she was well worth the torturous wait.

  “Hey! How’d it go tonight?” Olivia greeted at the sound of the front door opening. “You get more donations for the—Sweet baby Jesus, you all right?”

  Lana leaned her back against the door, nudging it closed with her body. “Connor sleeping?”

  “Yeah, I took him home with me after school to play Frisbee with Dexter on the beach. We came back around seven and he conked out just before eight. What’s goin’ on?”

  Dexter was Grant and Olivia’s chocolate lab. Connor was an active kid with droves of energy—didn’t usually tire easily. Lana made a mental note to use Dexter in the future when her son needed an energy drain. “Something happened tonight.”

  “Well, obviously. Spill it.”

  “The mayor just tried to kiss me.”

  “What! When?”

  “Just now, in his car.”

  “What were you doing in his car?—wait”, Olivia interrupted, placing her palms in front of her. “Before you answer that, you sit down. I’ll get us a glass of wine.” She returned less than a minute later, handing Lana a glass of white zinfandel before plopping down on the couch next to her. “Okay, I wanna know everything; don’t you dare leave anything out.”

  Lana explained how innocently the evening began, how Mayor Cliffburg came to accompany her, and how she’d finally ended up tipsy, idling in the passenger seat of his car in her driveway mere minutes ago.

  “Wow… You see”, Olivia began, pointing her finger at Lana, “this is why I became a freelance photographer: no creepy bosses to worry about. What’re you gonna do?”

  “What do you mean, what am I gonna do? I need this job, Liv; I’m not exactly in a position financially to quit, right now.”

  Olivia propped her elbow on the back of the couch, resting the side of her head against her hand. “Think he’ll treat you any differently from now on?”

  Lana shook her head, tracing the lip of her wine glass with her fingertip. “No, I don’t think so. He was very nice about the whole rejection thing.”

  “Well, of course he was. Most politicians are bred to be well-mannered and courteous—which makes the inevitable retaliation all the more surprisin’. Because kindhearted, optimistic people like you never see it comin’.”

  “He’s not a bad person, Liv.”

  “Don’t let your friendship with the mayor shroud your good judgment, sugar. Because at the end of the day, a wolf in sheep’s clothing is still a wolf… Just promise me you’ll be careful, all right?”

  Lana flashed a weak smile. “I will.”

  The slivered moon was a sight to behold in the cloudless, night sky tonight, made all the more striking by the array of twinkling stars embedded in its dark vastness. And if Randall listened closely he was certain he could even hear the calm Gulf as it gently lapped the sandy shore.

  The residents of Butler Island were a fairly predictable bunch, rarely swaying from their humdrum r
outines. On any given weeknight most everyone was nestled in their cozy homes by nightfall, lights out by ten o’clock; which was precisely why Randall had waited until eleven P.M. on the dot to throw on some basketball shorts, a tee, and a pair of running shoes. His course varied every night, but the destination always remained the same: Lana’s house.

  Tonight his weary body ached as his feet struck the pavement, jarring his raw, painful joints, pulverizing the bones in his knees to fine dust. He’d spent his days off during the previous month laboring on his Boston Whaler. Truthfully the vessel should’ve been refinished months ago, but needless to say he’d been preoccupied with more… important things.

  Randall rounded the corner onto Third Street, sucking salty air into his lungs. The moment he spotted the familiar gray and white house he was revived, the bone-deep ache he’d experienced moments ago replaced with an inherent yearning.

  A deep-seated urge to burn the midnight oil loving on Lana’s unclad body took hold, pushing his body forward. Climbing the front porch steps he let himself in with the key he’d been given a few months ago, surprised to see light spilling from the kitchen.

  But even more surprising was the discovery of Lana sitting on the counter, her legs dangling over the edge, her head resting against the maple cabinetry. Her deep-blue eyes were staring at the ceiling as if the secret to life was hidden in the roughened texture.

  “A penny for your thoughts...”

  Startled, Lana’s head swiftly turned, following the low tenor of his voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Yeah, I see that.” Moving into the kitchen he stepped in front of her, bracing his large hands on the counter. “Rough day?”

  “I think it’s getting better, now.”

  “Yeah?”

  Lana smiled. “Yeah.”

  Her thin pink nightshirt was slightly askew, invariably revealing one of her bare shoulders. Unable to resist he dipped his head, spreading soft kisses along her smooth, vanilla-scented skin.

  “Yeah”, she sighed. “Definitely better.”

  His mouth traveled to the crook of her neck, tasting, nibbling. “Let’s continue this in your bedroom, shall we?” He graveled, lifting her body from the counter. It took every ounce of control he possessed to set her feet on the ground. Hell, he’d have taken her right there on the kitchen counter if not for the fact that Connor was sleeping down the hall.

  Yes, they’d certainly upped the risk by having sex in the house with her son home—but somehow keeping their hands off one another the last month had seemed… riskier. They did take precautions: he arrived by foot at eleven-fifteen, they locked her bedroom door, they were quiet. And when their bodies were sated, he’d slip from her bed and return home, counting down the hours until he could do it again.

  Following her down the hall they made a left into the dark master bedroom. Quietly nudging the door closed behind him Randall turned the lock. The air was thick with sexual energy and the hypnotizing scent of vanilla, a potent combination that sent an electric jolt of lust to his groin.

  “Where were we?” Lana asked, her voice soft and eager. “Randall?”

  Wrapping his arms around her small frame, he hauled her close, catching her bottom lip between his teeth. “Right here, Sweetheart. Right here.”

  Randall had been lying next to Lana for over an hour, listening to the slow easy rhythm of her breaths. He shouldn’t be here; it was just after five in the morning. He should be home—in his own bed—catching up on some much-needed shut-eye. But somehow the thought of leaving this bed—this woman—paralyzed him. His heart kicked against his chest.

  He was in love with her…

  And that terrified him.

  They couldn’t keep doing this—sneaking around, night after night. He’d been fooling himself to think there could ever be a future with Lana. He wanted one, though—God, he wanted one. But he’d been living in a fabled state, where pleasure ruled and love prevailed. A place where criticism ceased to exist. A safe-haven where consciences were clean of greed and guilt.

  Cautiously untangling his limbs, Randall eased from the bed and reached for his clothes. He glanced over his shoulder one last time before he stepped into the hallway, knowing it’d probably be the last time he’d see her like this: content, peaceful.

  “It has to be this way, Sweetheart”, he whispered softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Moments later he slipped into the stillness of pre-dawn, directing his tired legs forward. And although he wanted to, he didn’t look back.

  Chapter 27

  Mayor Cliffburg awoke to the sound of nails repeatedly scratching at his bedroom door. He opened his eyes; the room was still dark. God, he was so tired. After spending much of the night pacing back and forth, trying to formulate a foolproof scheme to woo Lana Phillips into his bed, he’d collapsed into a heap of exhaustion. And he still had no plan in place.

  The scratching happened again.

  Moaning, he rolled over and pushed his body upright. His Shih Tzu, Scotch, was the culprit responsible for the noise, and if he didn’t get the fur ball outside, and quickly, he’d have a hell of a horrid mess to clean up. Reluctantly rising from bed, he slipped on a pair of Adidas pants, a plain white tee, and some leather flops, scooping the mutt off the ground with one hand.

  “You’re becoming a pain in the ass, you know that?” He mumbled. The dog produced a pathetic-excuse-for-a-bark before licking Michael’s roughened chin, not the least bit concerned that the sun was still nearly two hours from rising.

  He didn’t even really like the damn mutt, but the long white hair and cute little face had never failed to get him lucky over the last year. Women were suckers for men with adorable lap dogs—men pushing baby carriages, too—but that was taking it a bit too far. He hadn’t been that desperate to get laid.

  Shuffling into the living room, he snatched the leash from the foyer and clipped it to Scotch’s blue collar. “Let’s make it snappy this time.”

  Yeah, right. Snappy.

  Michael roamed the empty streets of Butler Island for nearly twenty minutes before the damn dog decided on a spot, but it’d been well worth it once the fur ball kicked grass with his hind legs and prissily trotted away. He just didn’t understand it—how a dog barely weighing in at twelve pounds produced two pounds of shit.

  A gust of soggy wind surged out of the south. The mayor checked his watch: barely five A.M. and he could already tell it was going to be unbearably humid today. Not that it was any surprise. Florida, even here, along the Panhandle Coast, could be summed in two words: excruciatingly hot.

  Enjoying the moderately muggy temps—the word “enjoying” used rather loosely—he headed toward Third Street. It was a bit out of his way, maybe adding an extra ten minutes to his early morning stroll, but that was fine by him. He was already up, Scotch seemed to like the idea, and besides, it gave him an excuse to coast by Lana’s.

  He’d just rounded the corner when he caught movement up ahead on the right. The door to the gray and white bungalow opened slowly, but it wasn’t Lana that emerged from the small dwelling.

  No, it was Randall-fucking-Burns!

  Dodging behind Mr. Humphrey’s beloved rose hedges as not to be seen, Michael peered through the fragrant shrubs as Randall took off in the other direction, noting the man’s shirt was inside-out.

  I’m sorry, but…I think you’ve got this all wrong, Mayor Cliffburg.

  This is sort of sudden.

  So, tonight: bad timing? He’d asked.

  Something like that, yes.

  His hands shook with rage. “Lying whore”, he muttered under his breath. No one made of fool of him.

  No one.

  Lana—his sweet, beautiful Lana—was living a double life: the town’s sweetheart by day, cold-hearted, conniving tramp by night.

  With Randall out of sight Michael straightened, retracing his steps back home. Scotch’s little legs worked overtime to keep up with his fleeting pace, huffing and puffing during the four-blo
ck trek. They made it back in half the time it’d taken Scotch to select his dumping ground, the furry mutt collapsing into a heaping mound of panting white hair just inside the front door.

  Mayor Cliffburg ran his hands through his dark hair in frustration, pacing back and forth while the idea of Lana and Randall sunk in and took root. Damn, he still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the signs until now.

  Lana Phillips was fucking her husband’s best friend…

  His vision narrowed, his heart galloping to a hasty beat. He’d done so much for her. This charity auction idea was all for her. Celebrating the life of a man he loathed was a sacrifice he’d been willing to make.

  All for her.

  Her gratitude and admiration was all part of his carefully calculated plan. Suddenly she’d see him—not as her boss, but as a man. A man she would be forever indebted to. And when it came time to collect, he’d finally claim her body, finally acquire what he’d been lusting after for seven long years.

  But that was over now. Everything was ruined!

  She was going to pay for this—pay for humiliating him like she had. He’d nearly confessed his love for her last night, for Chrissakes! She’d probably gone inside and had a good laugh with Olivia at his expense.

  Nobody made a fool of Michael Cliffburg.

  Lana Phillips was definitely going to pay…

  With only three days remaining until the town gathered for the charity auction, Lana’s mind was overwhelmed. Last minute details required her attention, and she still needed to tweak the order in which some of the items were presented. She wanted to ensure they were building interest and momentum throughout the affair, the value of each item increasing until they reached the grand finale: a fifty-five inch flat screen T.V.

  And to make matters worse, the first named tropical storm of the season was brewing in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the local weatherman predicting landfall some time during the early evening hours on Memorial Day.