Randall’s head gently shook from side-to-side as another bout of silence slipped between them. And then…
“Well… since you said ‘please’, I guess I can’t refuse.”
Not willing to give Lana another second to rethink his marriage proposal, Randall pressed his lips against her soft, smiling mouth. The moment he tasted her, he wanted more. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss just as the pad of his thumb brushed against the front of her white blouse.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she mumbled against his mouth.
With a wry grin, Randall grazed the hard nub again. “Multi-tasking…”
Epilogue
“The end.”
Randall closed the book he’d been reading and placed it on the wood nightstand. Connor had dozed halfway through the story, but Randall had pressed on, anyhow. Tugging on the covers, he hauled the sports-themed quilt over Connor’s shoulders and shuffled to the door, killing the light with a flip of a switch before quietly closing the door behind him.
Tucking Connor into bed had become a nightly ritual. The little squirt really seemed to enjoy it, and truth be told, so did Randall.
Reading to him took roughly five minutes, but for five minutes every night, Randall felt Jimmy’s presence—like he was actually there, listening to the story alongside Connor, smiling his signature ear-to-ear grin.
The notion resonated with him.
Trekking into the kitchen, he poured a glass of white zinfandel and snagged a Miller Lite from the fridge, closing the door with his left foot.
Roughly three months post-op his limp was barely noticeable, the four-inch scar along the outside of his left ankle looking better every day. The pink ridge was a constant reminder of how close he’d come to death; how grateful he was to be alive. He’d just placed Lana’s wine on the coffee table when she appeared at the front door.
“Honey, I’m home”, she teased as her purse strap slid down her arm. Placing the faux leather bag on the entry table, she gestured to the glass, “That for me?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. After the day I had, I need a drink.” Scooping the pink concoction into her hand she caught the glass between her lips, swallowing a sip before collapsing onto the couch next to him. Planting a brief peck on Randall’s lips, she swallowed another sip of white zinfandel. “Connor sleeping?”
“Yeah, just tucked him in about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Did he make it to the end this time?”
Randall took a pull from his Miller Lite and shook his head, “Only halfway.”
She angled her body to face him, propping her elbow against the back of the couch. “You know, for the first time ever, I think he actually looks forward to bedtime. He loves it when you read to him.”
“Me too.” He felt Lana’s smile all the way to his toes. God, she was really somethin’. A brilliant blend of angelic beauty, easy confidence and effortless grace. “So, how’d it go tonight?”
“Surprisingly well, actually. I only had to interrupt the meeting twice to make reference to the agenda.”
Michael Cliffburg resigned as Mayor of Butler Island less than a week after his devious plot was exposed on the town’s website. Betrayed by their acclaimed leader, residents had all but forgotten the subject matter of Jenny’s outburst at the inaugural Jimmy Phillips, Jr. Charity Auction and had chosen instead to focus their requital on the man that’d orchestrated it. With the town’s executive chair vacant, a special election had been conducted in early July, awarding Debbie Handler the uncontested title of Madam Mayor.
Residents embraced her platform of honesty and integrity, believing Debbie’s transparent-approach to governing was just what the small island had been lacking in their former leader. Because whether one liked what she had to say or not, no one could deny that Chatty Debbie was a straight shooter. She told it like it was—often in great detail.
“So she only went off-topic twice, eh? Not too bad for her first city commission meeting.”
“Yeah, I suppose it could’ve been much worse”, she agreed before swallowing another sip of wine. Setting the glass on the coffee table, she kicked off her navy heels and tucked her legs underneath her. “I mean, the woman can change subjects on you in the blink of an eye! One minute, she was discussing the budget for the Oyster Festival next month, and the next thing I know she was advising everyone to be on the lookout for peeping Toms.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. Setting his beer beside her wine glass, he hauled her onto his lap, her legs flanking his powerful thighs. “Oysters are an aphrodisiac, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.” Wiggling her bottom against the hard bulge expanding behind his fly, Lana captured her bottom lip between her teeth. “Mmm, did somebody have oysters for dinner tonight?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t need any help in that department, thank-you-very-much. Just lookin’ at you gets me hard.” His hands disappeared beneath the hem of her white dress, sweeping up her smooth legs. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he found her hot core already wet.
“What do we have here?” he asked as the pad of his thumb brushed the damp satin of her panties. “Looks like maybe somebody else had oysters.”
“I don’t like oysters”, she practically moaned, gently rocking her hips.
“That so?”
“Yes.”
“What do you like, then?”
“This… You being here… Us…”
Randall observed her through hooded eyes, noting how her heavy lids mirrored his own. Lana’s lips parted on a sigh as she ground her wet core against him. Firm. Steady. Slow. He could sense her heat through his fly, could feel his denim jeans dampen with her sweet honey.
Thick strands of silky caramel hair surrounded him as her lips drew nearer, tickling his face. The immensity of Lana’s beauty punched him in the gut, sending shockwaves of tenderness, gratitude, and warmth surging across his body.
Because he was living the dream.
A dream he prayed he never woke from.
A note from the author:
To my readers,
Thank you for spending time with me and the characters of Butler Island. It has truly been an unforgettable journey for me and I hope it was for you, as well.
For roughly sixteen months my mind inhabited the small island: helping Olivia Everitt overcome her fear of commitment in Picture Perfect, guiding Kendall Porter down a path of personal and professional bliss in Addicted to You, and finally ending with the difficult journey Lana Phillips faced after the sudden death of her husband in Rescue Me.
Though the characters were imaginary, their struggles are real. And that’s precisely what I wanted: for readers to feel a connection—to feel they could relate to the insecurities and strife plaguing the lives of the characters in this series.
I hope I was able to accomplish that on some level.
This trilogy will always hold a special place in my heart, as will each and every one of you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Until we meet again,
Nikki Rittenberry
Please visit www.nikkirittenberry.com for a complete booklist, news about upcoming novels and appearances, and the author’s bio.
Rescue Me (Butler Island) Page 26