“Let’s get out of here.” Randall was already pulling her through the crowds, moving quickly toward the exits. In just a few minutes, they were back in the car, out of the parking lot and surrounded by heavy traffic.
As the car inched forward, they rehashed highlights of the game. Randall fluctuated between stroking her arm and her leg, touching her incessantly, sneaking his hand higher up her thigh a bit at a time. Sloane rested her hand on his heavily muscled thigh, resisting the urge to move it higher too.
Traffic finally opened up and Randall looked at the clock. It was exactly 10:00.
“I was going to suggest someplace quiet for a drink or maybe some music,” he said slowly, drawing out every word. “But I don’t want a drink, Sloane. I just want you.” He looked over at her, then back at traffic. She was quiet, and she knew he would be unable to gauge her reaction in the shadowed darkness of the BMW.
The silence dragged a minute or more until Sloane finally responded in a throaty voice, “I don’t want a drink either, Randall. What if we just go to my place?”
Randall was so still that Sloane wondered if her acquiescence had registered. He drove quietly. She was about to repeat herself when he stopped at a red light. Randall reached across the center console and pulled Sloane toward him, one arm wrapping around her back to hold her in the awkward pose while his tongue plundered her mouth and his teeth nipped at her bottom lip. The kiss lasted until the car behind them started honking and Randall realized the light was green.
Sloane slid back into her seat. Her mouth was bruised, her chin slightly chafed from his five-o’clock shadow. She felt thoroughly kissed. She felt sensual, heavy limbed and womanly. Randall’s hand was stroking along her thigh where her dress had ridden up. Neither of them made an effort to pull it back down. Instead, Randall’s hand just followed it up her leg, his hand big enough to cover most of her thigh, his little finger precariously close to the edge of her panties, sliding along her thigh in a tantalizing motion.
Sloane stroked Randall’s arm, feeling the muscles move with his small movements, admiring his strong forearm. She rubbed up his arm, then returned to his thigh, stroking lightly, feeling the solid muscles bunch and relax as he applied pressure to the gas pedal.
It was intoxicating, in this dark space alone with this hunk of a man. She longed for his finger to stray higher. Her body grew sultry and damp with desire. She wanted to ask Randall to pull over so she could climb into his lap. Sloane was desperate to feel skin against skin, to feel the weight of this enormous man ram her into a mattress or the seat of the car, or the nearest patch of grass, to ride him while looking at his handsome face. She was overcome with longing, her skin hot, her panties wet.
Luckily, they found a parking space near her building without having to circle the block. They walked toward her building arm in arm, him stroking her bare shoulders and back, her with her hand up the back of his un-tucked shirt. They stopped every few steps to kiss, each kiss thick with promise, lasting longer and demanding more. They were too hungry for each other to wait.
Randall ran his hands over the wide expanse of skin left bare by her halter and she thought she would melt from the feel of his hands on her. He played with the tie holding the dress up.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed at him.
“Don’t test me,” he responded, tugging playfully but leaving everything intact. “I would take you against the side of this building right now if I wasn’t afraid of getting arrested.”
“What’s a little jail time between friends? After all it runs in the family,” she quipped, astonishing them both when she joked about her father’s incarceration.
“I mean it, Sloane,” he growled. “Do not tempt me further.”
“I mean it too, Randall.”
He spun her around and sandwiched her between his body and the rough brick wall of the nearest building, rocking his body hard against hers, his erection large and insistent against her belly. Sloane wrapped one leg around his lower legs, trying to pull him even tighter to her, crushing her breasts into his massive chest. She pushed at him, dropped her leg and throwing all caution to the wind she groped for the zipper on his pants. He looked astonished, but he didn’t stop her, even helping a bit when she fumbled with his belt buckle.
While unfastening Randall’s pants, Sloane felt a cool breeze on her legs and realized that the hem of her dress had been lifted high on her hip. He had one hand cupping the spot where the back of her thigh curved into her ass pulling her to him. While he was kissing her until she thought she would gasp for breath, Randall was reaching to divest her of her panties.
Sloane heard footsteps and froze in place.
What the hell were they doing? They were just yards from her condo. In less than five minutes they would be safely inside.
She pushed him away, pulled her dress down and made sure she had not progressed too far with his trousers. She placed a shaking hand in his and began leading an unresisting Randall toward the lobby of her building. “Two minutes,” she whispered to him.
“Not one second more,” he retorted, giving her a threatening look that she knew brooked no argument. Reassured that they were decent enough, they left the darkness of the street and stepped into the pool of bright lights under the portico of Sloane’s building.
“Randall? Is that you?” The couple turned in surprise toward the sound of a booming male voice. “Randall, it’s John Berensen. What are you doing in this part of town?”
Sloane’s heart sank in her chest. She felt like she was just doused with ice water. John Berensen was the attorney who had prosecuted her father. From his greeting, Sloane deduced that he was also Randall’s friend.
“John,” Randall released Sloane to give the small, balding man a hearty handshake. “Nice to see you.”
“What are you doing over here?” John asked again. Then the open smile on his face faded. He had noticed Sloane. “Oh, hello Sloane.” He couldn’t have been less enthusiastic if he tried. “I didn’t realize you two were acquainted.” The attorney did not bother to hide his disdain, almost completely turning away from Sloane, effectively cutting her off from any further conversation.
“How is your dad doing? Chasing a mountain somewhere?”
“Well, not so much in summer, but he does still ski every chance he gets.”
“I would love a chance to catch up with him. Does he know how you are spending your time and with whom, Randall? He might have something to say about it, you know. This could cause irreparable damage to the firm. You need to think about that. This won’t do, my boy. Mark my words.”
“I think my father trusts me to choose my own friends,” Randall retorted but he had waited a heartbeat too long to defend himself and John was saying goodnight, and giving Sloane one last look as if she was a bug squashed under his shoe.
He walked off into the darkness, leaving Randall and Sloane standing there speechless and uncomfortable.
“Sorry about that,” he offered.
“Not your fault,” she replied graciously, but the hurt was evident in her voice. “That was certainly awkward.”
Randall stood there a moment in silence. Sloane watched the emotions play across his face. She understood immediately - after all these months of experience - the exact moment he had decided she was more trouble than he was willing to tackle. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself to stave off the stab of pain, she started saying an awkward goodnight.
“Maybe I should just get going,” Randall announced at the same moment, his voice a cross between reluctant and resigned.
“Yeah, maybe that would be best. Thanks for the ballgame; I had a great time.”
Sloane didn’t wait to see if Randall would kiss her goodnight. She spun on her heel and headed into the lobby, moving so quickly that she yanked the door open before the doorman could reach it.
She got into the elevator cursing that slimy toad, John Berensen. Then she cursed Randall for his cowardice, giving up without a fight, and l
eaving her uncertain of him and sexually frustrated.
She unlocked the door, flipped on the lights and headed straight for an ice cold shower.
CHAPTER TEN
Sloane spent all day Sunday in her pajamas berating herself. She was annoyed with John Berensen for showing up when he did, and spoiling what promised to be a remarkable and very satisfying end to her fun night. She was on a total high with Randall before John showed up and ruined it. It might have been awkward to run into anyone, but no one could have been worse than John.
The disappointment she felt with Randall was like a toothache - raw, painful and insistent. She had allowed herself to believe in Randall, in the possibilities between them. She could no longer deny her attraction and it seemed he was feeling the same. Then she remembered this was Randall she was talking about. Randall.
So she added herself to the list of people she wanted to strangle.
What had she been thinking when she’d accepted a date with Randall Parker? She knew that she was negotiating a sensitive business transaction with him so why on earth would she have jeopardized everything for a night out?
She had been an idiot to risk everything for some fun - especially involving Randall. It was not like he would commit to her, defend and protect her. After all, he watched his best friend dump her. He knew she was lonely and desperate. She would be an easy conquest – and she had been. He was a player, like Wyatt, like all four men had been since their college days.
She had risked everything for that? If she was lucky, she could salvage the business deal; otherwise she would lose everything. She had laid out scenario after scenario of how things might proceed from here, none of them good. Perhaps he would pretend nothing happened and conduct business as usual. He might be able to do that, but she had been uncharacteristically vulnerable with him so she was unsure she could pretend that nothing happened
Alternately, he could dredge up the completely embarrassing episode on the street expressing some feeble apology. Or worse, no apology. She couldn’t figure out a way for Randall to finesse that one.
Both of these required her to see him and Sloane was concerned about that. She couldn’t be sure she could keep her hands off him.
He could drop her as a potential client, causing her to die of shame and lose the business opportunity all in one fell swoop. That was the worst possibility because then she had to live not only with humiliation, but also with the guilt of costing hundreds of people their livelihood. How could she ever survive that? How could she explain it to her father?
The last scenario was the one for which she hoped, where Randall just handed her business off to an associate at his firm. They would not have to deal directly with each other again and her business opportunities would remain intact.
And if enough time passes before I am face to face with him again, hopefully, I would be able to keep my hands off him.
She was unable to envision a circumstance where he admitted he had screwed up, then stood up to Sloane’s critics and forged a strong, unshakable team with her. It was too much to hope for. It was the one scenario where she was allowed to indulge her fantasies involving Randall.
She seesawed back and forth, livid with herself or incensed with Randall. What kind of man was he, deserting her at the first sign of scandal? He knew the score when he invited her out. He knew about her father and the way society had turned their backs on her entire family. Why ask her out if he wasn’t prepared for the heat? At least he could have tried to stand by her to see if they could make it. They were really connecting, laughing, sharing, communicating and the promise of the sex…
Sloane was so confused when she remembered the sex, or the almost sex. They were mauling each other out on the street, in plain sight, like randy teens. She couldn’t recollect it without getting aroused all over again. She may have been stupid to trust him, but she was smart to let him touch her. The man knew what he was doing in that department. All that experience with all those women had certainly paid off.
Half of Sloane wished she had never allowed anything to happen. The other half was thoroughly disappointed that they did not finish what they started. She had tossed and turned all night, unsure if it was her hungry body or her angry mind keeping her awake.
Sloane took control of situations. She made things happen. She had racked her brain most of the day trying to come up with a way to take command of this situation rather than waiting for Randall’s next move. She was a confident chess player, able to see several moves ahead. Not today. Her brain was muddled with thwarted desire, serious confusion and total exhaustion. Sloane was over-tired, frustrated, angry and she was stumped about how to deal with all these emotions.
So far, she had found only one solution. She would stay in her pajamas and never leave her apartment again. She would eat only junk food (thank God the grocery store delivered). She would watch Hallmark Channel movies and TCM oldies for a good cry and so that she could believe in happy endings – even if they only happened on TV. She would let someone else figure out the tough stuff.
She had no friends left, no one to miss her. Sure, her mother would notice if she went into hibernation, but really who else would care? She still had a responsibility to the workers at HI, but she was botching the job of running the company. The employees would be better off with someone else at the helm.
Sloane wondered what that said about her life. What had she done with thirty years if she had no one who would care if she disappeared? Had she really been that selfish, that focused and that useless?
Oh just say it Sloane, have I really been that bitchy?
It was painful to take stock, so Sloane avoided it with TV and a short nap. Around 5:00, she picked her head up off the sofa and poked her nose through the curtains. She could see people walking across the street to a small park. She suspected it was a beautiful day. She saw families pushing strollers and couples hand-in-hand and admitted to herself, finally, that she was lonely. She really should take the time to get outside. At least outside, people would surround her.
She missed being part of something bigger, and not just work, but also the hospital benefit, the country club, friendships. She missed being in a couple too, more than she had acknowledged until right now.
Sloane padded to the kitchen in her bare feet and poured herself a glass of Chardonnay. She took a sip, put both the glass and the bottle in the refrigerator and moved swiftly down the hall to her bedroom. Throwing on a pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt and her running shoes, she pulled her hair up in a messy ponytail and went to brush her teeth.
Did I really wait until now to brush my teeth? Gross!
Grabbing her keys from the front table she let the door slam behind her, not bothering with all the locks, then went back to grab ear buds and her iPhone.
Tunes are what I need. Fresh air and tunes will clear my head. This is the start of a plan. Sloane Huyler, you are coming up with a plan. You have wallowed long enough.
After about a mile at a fast pace, Sloane felt her head start to clear. She surveyed her situation and began making mental plans for the rest of the night and going forward. It included small things like cleaning the junk food wrappers off the cocktail table, and big things like ways to change her situation with Randall. She felt back in control as she mentally reviewed her list.
First, a quick clean up of the living room followed by a much-needed shower. Second, she would take stock of her skills and match them with the types of jobs in which she was interested. Salary would be a big motivator. Third, she would analyze the costs for her parents to retire comfortably and review their assets. Finally, she would draft a plan to try to sell first, but if that failed, create a liquidation plan for HI, including a severance package for as many employees as possible including her.
Sloane had made her decision, right then and there, running eleven-minute miles and sweating like a pig. She would liquidate Huyler Industries and move on. She realized as her head cleared that she was trying to save a company for her
father, a company he had put at risk, not her. Wasn’t it his choices and decisions that were closing HI, not hers? If he was innocent, he should have fought to clear his name. And if he was guilty…she couldn’t bear to consider that possibility. Either way, it was time to move on and she was ready to tell that to PPHP - to Randall.
This transition was terrifying to Sloane. What if she couldn’t find another job? What if no one wanted to hire her or pay her what she was worth? She would take her chances, Sloane decided, because this option afforded Sloane the chance to start over, to start fresh and build some semblance of a life. She had just determined that a more balanced life, with people who cared, was what she needed most.
She needed to send a professional, appropriate email to Randall, or his designate, outlining her plans and the associated costs. He could take it from there, hopefully helping find someone to acquire HI or suggest an appropriate alternative. She would have no reason whatsoever to talk to him.
Yep, email. For the time being, that was the best answer for avoiding Randall while still handling her current financial situation.
First things, first. After she did all of that, she could reevaluate her life, relationships and potential for happiness. Having an action plan helped Sloane feel back in charge, back where she needed to be.
The sun had almost set and the streetlights were coming on when Sloane let herself back into her apartment ready to work on her plan. She was dripping in sweat and her Fitbit indicated that she had completed a seven-mile loop. She wandered into the living room and dropped onto the huge green sofa, exhausted, to remove her shoes.
I’ll just sit here a minute and catch my breath. I am so ready to tackle all this. I feel so much better.
Sloane stretched out without removing her shoes and was asleep in seconds.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Beholden (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 2) Page 9