White Picket Fences

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  But he’d want someone like her. Randi was sure of that.

  “This is a great house,” he said appreciatively as he pulled up in front of her place.

  “It needs a picket fence,” she said, because she couldn’t say what she was really thinking. That she wished the evening didn’t have to end. “But I’m getting one soon.”

  “Is someone here?” he asked, walking her to the door.

  “No.” Could he actually be hinting? But what about the last time they’d gone out? He’d been charming then, too. Until he’d brought her home. After that, he couldn’t leave fast enough.

  “The lights are on.”

  “Oh.” So much for hints. “I’m not very good about turning them off.”

  “You forget sometimes?” he asked, his hand lightly touching the small of her back as they climbed her steps. “It happens to everyone.”

  “Not really,” she felt compelled to tell him. “I pretty much never turn them off.”

  Lights seemed friendly to her—almost as though they gave the house life. She found it comforting to have them on. Not that she’d admit it to anyone. Ever.

  “You must get a hell of an electric bill.”

  “Yeah, but I cut other places. Like groceries. Doesn’t take much to feed one. I eat a lot of energy bars and cereal.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  They were at her front door. Randi took as long as she could locating her key, but that stretched out the time by only about ten seconds, since it was in the pocket of the short leather jacket she’d worn over her black denim jeans and peach sweater.

  He’d worn Dockers and a cream-colored oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She was only slightly underdressed.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  The words escaped before she could stop them.

  “Sure.”

  She didn’t know which surprised her more—that she’d actually asked or that he’d accepted.

  She had no idea what to do with him once they were inside. He seemed to fill her small foyer and to spill over into the living room that was separated from the foyer by her sofa.

  “Have a seat,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her like some silly high-school freshman entertaining the football team’s senior quarterback.

  What was it Barbara had said about their retarded social development?

  Rather than sitting, Zack wandered around her living room, stopping to peruse the various pictures of her family displayed around the room.

  “Must have been something, growing up with four boys,” he mused, smiling at a photo of her and her brothers, taken almost fifteen years before. They’d all been hiking the red-rock mountains near Sedona and were sweaty and exhausted—but victorious—as they grinned into the camera. Becca, who’d waited for them at the bottom, had taken the shot.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” she said, smiling as she looked at the photo again. The memory it brought back was special—an experience she treasured. She’d been one of them that day. “I never have to worry about my car breaking down or hiring movers!”

  He turned to look at her. “They weren’t overprotective?”

  “Of course they were,” Randi said, still smiling.

  “I just ignored them.”

  “You’re something, you know that?” His words were soft, caressing her, as he moved closer.

  Randi stood there, hypnotized, waiting for him. He was going to touch her. She could read his intentions in the half-lowered smoky eyes that were holding hers.

  His hands settled on her shoulders at the same time his lips covered hers. Taking possession of her senses.

  Lost, in a world she’d never truly known, Randi gave herself up to his touch, to his warm lips, his avid kiss. Her body flamed, adrenaline flowing through her so quickly it left her breathless.

  Or was it the mouth covering hers that was consuming her breath?

  Zack’s tongue slid between her lips, tasting her, testing her. In the past, she’d endured it and wondered what all the fuss was about; this time it made her joints lose their strength.

  She’d have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her. If he hadn’t led her over to her couch, guiding them down without ever breaking contact with her lips.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, kissing her neck, her collarbone, before reclaiming her swollen wanton mouth.

  Randi would’ve told him how incredible he was, if she’d been able to form the words.

  Her hands flew over his body, his expansive shoulders, his back, the thick blond hair that just touched the back of his collar. His face.

  So different from hers, that face. A bit rough with a day’s stubble. There was so much character there. From the masculine chiseled cheekbones to the lines around his eyes, Zack’s face spoke of a man’s life. A life lived.

  Randi was enthralled.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since you first walked into my office,” he murmured, smoothing the hair back from her face. “You’re so soft. So hot.”

  He slid his hands over her cheeks, down her neck and past her shoulders, taking both her breasts at the same time. Arching her back, Randi strained against that touch, welcoming it.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she whispered, raising her head for another of his mesmerizing kisses.

  Accepting the invitation, Zack kissed her again—long and hard—all the while caressing her breasts through the soft angora of her sweater. The friction of his large callused hands against the soft wool was making her wild with wanting.

  Wanting him. Wanting more.

  There were no thoughts of this being too soon. Of this being so completely unlike her. The feelings he evoked were too compelling, so natural and perfect—so breathtakingly beautiful—there was no chance to be practical.

  No reason to be afraid.

  She was feeling things she’d never felt before. Things she’d sometimes wondered if she’d ever feel. She was so damned relieved she almost started to cry. She wasn’t frigid. Or sexless. Sean just hadn’t been the man to make her burn.

  “I want you.” Zack’s voice was rough with desire as he drew away only far enough to look at her, to meet her eyes.

  Randi nodded. “I want you, too,” she whispered.

  Now. She wanted him right now, before something happened to make this incredible feeling go away. Before he figured out that she didn’t have what it took to keep him coming back.

  Before she remembered that comfortable was safe, that all she needed was a white picket fence.

  Before he got turned off by her aggression, or intimidated by her abilities, her strength. Her independence.

  The last thing Randi felt, as she slowly led Zack Foster to her bedroom, was independent. She’d never felt more helpless in her life.

  Or more impatient…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SOMETHING NIGGLED at the far reaches of Zack’s mind, but he was too deafened by the passion roaring through his blood to take heed. To listen.

  He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, sliding out the condom he always kept there; he tossed it onto the end of the bed before tackling Randi down to the very same spot.

  The woman in his arms was perfection. Her skin, so smooth and soft, covered the firm feminine muscles. Softness and strength—the combination robbed him of coherent thought. He had to have more, touch every inch of her, see every inch of her. Enter her.

  But more than his own needs, what fueled Zack past the point of accountability was the need he was arousing in Randi. Never had a woman been so out of control for him, ripping open his shirt, digging her fingers into the hair on his chest, playing with his nipples, while he played with her lips. Her hips ground against his as he lay on top of her across her bed.

  Her moans were tickling his lips, her eyes begging him….

  It was the most honest expression of physical hunger he’d ever known.

  “Slow down, honey,” he whispered, “so I can make it good for you.�
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  Her hips pressing up into his groin, squeezing his hardened penis, Randi half chuckled. “It’s already better than it’s ever been.”

  The words filled him, relieved his insecurities, spurred him on.

  “Let’s get these clothes off you,” he said, burying his face in her neck as he lifted her sweater.

  Her bra was off by the time the sweater hit the floor, and Randi’s breasts were naked and available for him to see, to touch, to taste.

  And taste them he did, kissing her, suckling her, driving her—driving himself—beyond the point of reason.

  Her jeans slid away; his pants and shirt joined them as they explored each other, leaving wet kisses and urgent caresses over every inch of exposed skin.

  When he delved into places not quite exposed, Randi let out a moan that tore all the way through him. He wanted the moment to last longer, to explore her far more completely than he’d done, but he climbed on top of her, instead, barely taking time to sheath himself before he plunged deep inside her.

  He’d meant to take things nice and slow, to move with her, not on her, but her body was so slick and ready, her cries so intense, he found himself riding her like a teenager in heat. She met him thrust for thrust, her fingers splayed across his buttocks, showing him what she wanted.

  Zack barely held on until he felt her pulsating around him before he slid over the edge, reveling in a release that was more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced.

  Spent, he supported himself on his forearms and stared down at her, telling her without words what she’d just done to him.

  The woman was incredible.

  AN HOUR LATER, physically sated though not at all sleepy, Zack slipped quietly into his slacks. Then, leaving them unzipped so as not to make any more noise than necessary, he collected the rest of his belongings and tiptoed out of Randi’s room.

  He had a feeling he’d made a huge mistake, going to bed with Randi Parsons. Going to bed with anyone in this town where anonymity was impossible. Where there would always be a morning after.

  Especially with Randi Parsons. She wasn’t a love ’em and leave ’em type.

  And love ’em and leave ’em was all Zack did.

  He’d just never done it so foolishly. Or without making certain that the woman in question knew the score.

  He had to work with her, for crying out loud.

  She was Will Parsons’s little sister.

  She had four older brothers, all within walking distance.

  Maybe one of them would shoot him and put him out of his misery.

  RANDI LAY SILENTLY in bed, pretending to sleep as Zack gathered his things. She didn’t move—didn’t want to risk having to speak with him, or worse, hearing anything he might have to say—until she heard her front door click shut.

  She gave him another couple of minutes to get to his Explorer and down the street. Then she jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of old familiar sweat-pants and a matching soft fleece-lined shirt.

  Hugging her arms around her body, feeling the fabric’s softness against her skin, grasping at comfort wherever she could find it, she trailed slowly through her house, looking for a note. She didn’t expect to find one. Men who sneaked out in the middle of the night, who sneaked out right after the loving, didn’t leave notes.

  They didn’t leave tracks.

  They just left.

  She’d expected more from Zack Foster.

  Fool that she was.

  RELIEF.

  It wasn’t what she’d expected to feel when she woke up the next morning and remembered what had happened—remembered how it ended.

  But as she dressed in her usual shorts and a long-sleeved waist-length underwear top, as she tied her running shoes, making sure the laces were even and lying flat, she had the most overwhelming sense of relief.

  She’d had her night of fun—of decadence. She’d slaked the strange desire that had been consuming her. And she’d risked nothing. Not her routine, her comfortable life. Not her heart.

  From here on out, it was business as usual.

  Zack Foster certainly wasn’t going to be asking any more of her, not after leaving the way he had the night before.

  They could put the entire episode behind them and get on with it.

  And if she felt a twinge of regret for the friend she might have had in Zack, for the incredible something she’d glimpsed the previous night, she shrugged off those thoughts as she’d shrugged off the occasional losses she’d had on the LPGA circuit.

  Life wasn’t perfect.

  But it was pretty damn close.

  The first thing she did when she got to her office that morning was order herself a white picket fence, scheduled to be installed in March, during spring break.

  “Randi, you got a minute?” Brad Bordella, her women’s basketball coach, asked just as Randi was putting down the phone after talking to the fence people.

  “Sure, Brad, come on in,” she said, completely focused. Women’s basketball was a top priority this year. They had to show not only the university and the town’s residents that the title they’d won last season wasn’t a fluke, but they had the rest of the Division One universities in the country watching them, as well.

  They weren’t even going to think about the Women’s National Basketball Association coaches who were waiting in the wings to make offers to her girls. There’d be time for that later.

  If they had another winning season.

  “I found a center who can take us all the way home,” Brad said, slumping his nearly seven-foot height in a chair near Randi’s desk. “Name’s Susan Farley.”

  It was the best news Randi had heard in months.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She’s in Nevada, playing at a junior college. Came from a small high school. Apparently wasn’t seen in time to be offered any real scholarship money for her freshman year and couldn’t afford to get anywhere on her own.”

  “She’ll have had a lot of playing time.”

  “You’ve got that right. She’s broken every record the school had.”

  Randi wouldn’t let herself get too excited—but damn, this was as good as a white picket fence for boosting her morale. There was more at stake here than just her track record—or Brad’s. She didn’t want to let Will down.

  “You’ve spoken to her?”

  He nodded. “And to her parents.”

  “I’ll need to see the paperwork, of course, but you have my verbal agreement. Sign her.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  Her stomach dropped as Brad frowned at her.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “She was undiscovered last year. She isn’t this year.”

  “She’s had other offers.”

  Brad nodded, and Randi’s back straightened. Women’s athletics at Montford had been near death when she’d become director. In four short years, she’d taken them to championship status—in basketball and tennis. After six years of schooling and a series of increasingly responsible jobs, she wasn’t giving anyone a chance to say that her success was a fluke. Or give them an opportunity to criticize Will for hiring her.

  Being the champs in tennis was good, but there was no gate money in it. She needed the basketball success to keep the money flowing. To keep the department alive and competitive.

  “How much?”

  Brad named a scholarship amount that far exceeded anything Montford had ever offered to a female athlete.

  “We have to have her.” Randi wouldn’t back down. She couldn’t.

  “If we don’t, we’ll be playing against her, and I can guarantee we ain’t gonna win.”

  “She’s going to be a sophomore?”

  Brad nodded.

  “How are her grades?”

  “Decent, average…mostly C’s.”

  “Mostly? Are there any B’s in there, or are we talking D’s?”

  “Some B’s. One or two D’s.”

  Not exactly scholarship qualit
y. Especially by Montford standards.

  “She’ll have to do better than that if we’re going to be able to keep her.”

  “We have to get her first.”

  “We’d have her for three seasons.”

  “So will any other school that gets her.”

  They stared at each other, Brad’s face grim, Randi’s determined.

  “I’ll find the money somehow. You talk her into signing.”

  Brad’s smile was slow in coming, but come it did. “You got it, boss.”

  Randi felt pretty damn good. Until he left her office and she looked again at her budget and the funds she had available for scholarships. She’d known the figures before she’d spoken with Brad. Been fully aware of them the entire time the coach was sitting in front of her.

  The money wasn’t there.

  But it would be. Somehow.

  ZACK WAS IN SURGERY until noon on Friday morning, but the first opportunity he had, he shut his office door, picked up the phone and punched in the number for Randi’s office.

  He’d behaved like a jerk the night before, leaving without so much as a note. The damage was done, he recognized, but he definitely owed her an apology.

  She probably deserved an explanation for his actions—some history might make his position a little easier for her to understand—but Zack didn’t share that with anyone. His business with Dawn was over. He intended to keep it that way.

  There had to be people who knew, acquaintances with whom they’d associated in Phoenix, but not a soul had ever spoken to him of his wife’s indiscretions.

  Cassie, of course, knew the truth. However, that didn’t concern him because he trusted her and she respected his privacy. She neither asked questions nor answered them.

  And no one else in Shelter Valley had reason to be aware of his past. Not unless Randi knew Barbara Sharp, and chances of that weren’t great. She’d been off the circuit for ten years.

  Besides, he gathered that Barbara and Dawn were keeping things fairly quiet. According to Dawn, after that first meeting at the Phoenix Open, she had never even been to a golf match.

  “Randi Parsons.” She picked up on the fourth ring.

  He pictured her sitting behind her desk, feet raised, as she’d been the other day. Looking sassy and smart and far too delicious for his peace of mind.