Rescue Me (Butler Island)

by Nikki Rittenberry

  “Good to see you, Randall”, she uttered skillfully, the mere tone of her voice resembling something more like a purr.

  “Same goes.”

  She studied him for an extra beat, nibbling on that bottom lip as though she was holding back what she really wanted to say. “Well, I’ll let you boys get back to your game, then.” With a deliberate sway to her hips, Lana returned to the dance floor, squeezing her way through the sea of bodies to a less crowded segment of the dance arena.

  Just take a deep breath, Burns. You’ve waited a month to be with her again—what’s three more hours?

  Three more hours of pretending not to notice the way she looked in that orange mini dress would likely be his cause of death. The sweater material caressed her silhouette much in the same way a Ferrari hugs a winding road. And don’t even get him started on those brown fuck-me cowgirl boots…

  The waitress appeared through the thick haze balancing a tray of various cold beverages. She carefully handed Randall a frosted mugful of Miller Lite.

  “Keep ’em comin’, darlin’”, he told her a moment before catching the rim of the glass between his lips. Because he had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  A very long night indeed.

  Stalking the perimeter of the pool table, Randall contemplated his options. All that remained in order to win this round against Grant was the solid green number six, and the black eight-ball. Problem was they were practically rubbing elbows, and the last thing he wanted to do was slip up and knock the eight-ball in prematurely.

  He did another quick lap around the perimeter, finally accepting that his best shot would require him to lie across the length of the table to sink number six into the opposite corner pocket.

  Randall got into position, adjusting the angle with which he held the cue stick until the chalked-tip was perfectly aligned with his mark. He eased the stick back and forth over his left thumb a few times before he committed to it, then with a deep breath slowly drew the stick back again. The tip was a whisper away from colliding against the white cue when a glimpse of orange entered his peripheral. And in that split-second—when the success of the shot depended on his undivided attention—his concentration lifted from the table.

  Vital mistake: number one.

  “What the fuck was that?” Ty ribbed beside him.

  The white cue rolled to the left at a snail’s pace, finally coming to a halt about a foot away. Damn!

  “Either I’m getting’ better, or you’re havin’ one hell of a bad night, Burns”, Granted boasted, exposing the signature GQ grin the women on the island still went gaga over.

  Needless to say, it had no effect on Randall.

  “The latter”, Ty announced wryly. “Definitely the latter.”

  Rising from the green felt-covered table, Randall stood and reached for his beer, draining the remainder in one swift gulp.

  Chrissakes, the woman got under his skin. And judging by the way she was looking at him right now, midnight eyes ablaze with need, he was getting to her too.

  After stealing a quick glance at his watch, Randall slapped Mark on the back, shoving the length of the cue stick against the guy’s chest. “Play this round for me; I’m sittin’ this one out.”

  “But I suck at pool.”

  “Couldn’t be any worse than me tonight.” Randall turned toward the dance floor, closing the distance between him and the woman in orange.

  “Hey”, he greeted, coming to a halt in front of her.

  “Hey.”

  Electricity crackled around them. He shoved his hands in his front pockets in an attempt to control them. “Where’s your two sidekicks?” He asked, referring to Olivia and Kendall.

  “Bathroom. You know us women: we always do bathroom breaks in pairs.”

  “So”, he uttered, shifting his weight, “you’re all alone out here, then?”

  “Why, are you offering to keep me company?” Lana smiled, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Holy mother of God!

  He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t be in the same room with this woman and pretend he didn’t want her. Couldn’t pretend to give a shit about playing pool with the guys when what he really wanted was to strip her out of her orange number and home in on the treasures beneath.

  “C’mon, we’re dancing”, he announced, taking her hand. Not a request, but rather a command. Dodging bodies in motion, he led her through the crowd to the other side of the dance floor, wrapping her in his strong arms. The lights dimmed blue and the once upbeat tempo suddenly slowed as Sugarland wafted from the speakers.

  The slow ballad gave him an excuse to hold her closer, to feel her soft body press against his.

  Vital mistake: number two.

  Because just like that he was caught in her spell.

  Bowing his head a bit he breathed her in, amazed that even through the thick cloud of nicotine haze he still caught a whiff of vanilla. “You pick that dress out tonight to torture me?” He uttered.

  Smiling innocently, she answered, “Why, you like?”

  “Very much. In fact, I think orange is my new favorite color.”

  “You mean: peach.”

  Raising his head he looked down at her pretty face, currently a subtle shade of blue from the overhead lights. “What is it with you women: always referring to colors as food. Suddenly purple’s eggplant or grape, green’s lime or avocado, and orange can be anything from salmon to carrot to—”

  “Peach”, she interrupted.

  “Yeah, peach.”

  Lana’s lips lifted into a smile. “You have something against peach, now?”

  He thought back to the night he’d argued that sippin’ pink wine put a man’s masculinity into question. The night of their first kiss. “No, I happen to like peaches. So sweet. So juicy…”

  Randall wet his lips, satisfied when Lana’s gaze moved to his mouth. Her lips parted slightly in anticipation, her eyes aflame with wantonness and blazing need. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, Sweetheart, and I’m liable to throw you over my shoulder and take you home”, he warned.

  “And how am I looking at you?”

  “You’re undressing me with your eyes.”

  “Am not!” But when Randall gave her his bullshit detector glare, she quickly changed her answer. “Okay, so maybe I am. A little.”

  Their eyes met and held. Electricity snapped around them again, sizzling, popping as their chemistry ignited. Without thinking Randall swept a strand of hair from her face, noting how her eyes closed, relishing his touch.

  Vital mistake: number three.

  Control yourself, Burns. People are watching.

  As the song wound to an end, he bowed his head, his mouth inches from her ear. “I want you to go home, now. Strip down and wait for me…”

  Lana gasped softly. “Strip?”

  With a wry grin, Randall nodded. “Everything except for the boots; I do have a weakness for those boots.”

  “Come with me”, she murmured, the sound of her voice a little more breathless than she’d intended.

  The corners of his mouth rose in unison this time. He was getting to her. And when the assessment sunk in and took hold, his expression turned serious—as in seriously hot. “As much as you want my rod, right now—as much as I want to give it to you—we can’t leave together. It’ll look suspicious—especially if my truck’s spotted in your driveway all night.”

  And the fact that the two of you are still pressed against one another while the rest of the crowd’s moving and twirling to a hasty beat isn’t suspicious?

  Point taken.

  Peeling his hands from the small of her back, Randall reached for her hand, entwining their fingers before hauling her off the dance floor.

  All night, she recalled him saying a moment ago.

  All night!

  Lana shivered. Her body just involuntarily reacted to him. The tenor of his low gritty voice, the feel of his big hands gliding over her skin, the sight of broad
sinewy muscle bulging beneath his T-shirt unified, stirring a deep yearning. The combination practically liquefied her bones, leaving a weak, wanton woman in its wake. She tried to talk herself down, tried to reason with her limbs, but her body rebelled.

  Bad, bad body.

  Because she’d been so caught up in Randall Burns, so unhinged by his close proximity, she’d nearly forgotten they were still on the crowded dance floor surrounded by women that believed gossiping was a competitive, full-contact sport.

  Randall gave her hand a firm squeeze before loosening his grip. The moment his fingers slipped from her grasp she already missed them. “How much longer are you going to be?”

  “Long enough to play one more round”, he answered, shoving his hands in his pockets again.

  “Hurry.”

  The neediness in her voice caused a grin to spread across his lips. “What’s in it for me?”

  “Oh, don’t worry—I’ll make it worth your while.”

  And just like that, his smile disappeared. “An hour—tops.”

  Chapter 22

  The cadence of Lana’s rapid heartbeat drummed in her ears as she stared at her reflection. Ten minutes. She only had ten minutes until he arrived.

  And she was freaking out!

  She’d spent the last month fantasizing about tonight, methodically planning how she’d seduce the socks off Randall Burns. And now that the time had arrived she feared her courage would fizzle.

  She was new at this seduction thing. Last time with Randall had been so spontaneous—so hot—there’d been no time to be nervous, no time to second guess.

  This time was different.

  Anticipation had been building for a month—one very long month. What if she didn’t live up to his expectations? What if tonight proved to Randall she hadn’t been worth the four-week wait?

  Lana ran a brush through her long brown locks, pondering her last thought. It was her own insecurity, she knew. She’d lost her virginity at seventeen to Jimmy, and although they’d had an active sex-life, that by no means qualified her as an “expert” on the subject.

  Randall’s not looking for an expert. He wants you.

  A shiver worked its way down her spine at that realization. He wanted her.

  Randall Burns wanted her…

  Lana’s heart thumped against her chest. She wanted to be bold, wanted Randall to understand how she ached for his touch. Steeling her spine, she vowed to follow through with her carefully-calculated plan. No regrets.

  The sound of the front door closing drew her from her contemplative trance. This was it, the moment they’d both been waiting for.

  “Lana?” She heard him call out from the living room.

  Giving herself a last minute once-over, she drew in a fortifying breath. Tonight was a new beginning. Because if the last year had taught her anything, it was that life was precious and utterly unpredictable.

  It was past time for her to take a risk.

  It was time to start living again.

  Using the key she’d given him a few months back, Randall unlocked the front door and stepped into the dimly lit living room. His eyes immediately homed in on the lone kitchen chair in the middle of the room, or more importantly, the handwritten note that read “SIT HERE”, propped along the ladder back.

  What is she up to?

  Following directions, he lowered his large frame onto the wooden chair, then called out to her. He’d done everything he could to cover his tracks tonight, beginning with the deliberate loss he’d incurred back at The Saloon. Everyone knew he hated losing—at pool, at anything, really—which gave him an excuse to pay his tab and cut out early. He’d gone home, parked his truck in the driveway, then made the four-street trek to Lana’s by foot. And the nosy onlookers were none the wiser.

  Just the way he and Lana wanted it.

  He heard the soft click of Lana’s boots before he actually saw her. And when she finally emerged from the hall wearing a barely there, see-through white tank top, a pair of white lacey panties, and those fuck-me cowgirl boots, he went instantly hard. “Thought I told you to strip down—everything off except the boots.”

  “You did. But seeing how you enjoyed watching me dance tonight, I figured I’d”—Lana drew in a shaky breath—“give you a private show.”

  Randall interlocked his fingers behind his head. “You have my undivided attention, Sweetheart.”

  You can do this. Be brave, she silently chanted. Reaching for the remote she turned on the stereo and slowly walked forward, beginning her seductive performance as Whitesnake washed over them. Her hands trembled at first, her knees weak, but Randall’s attentive gaze, coupled with the sound of the popular eighty’s band soothed her rattled nerves.

  She stood in front of him just out of reach, her body flowing gracefully, effortlessly. Gathering the hem of her thin white tank, she teased him with a glimpse of her pierced navel. He groaned softly in appreciation, and suddenly she wasn’t afraid. Suddenly she felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

  Suddenly she felt powerful.

  With a renewed sense of courage, she stepped in between the V of his legs and raised the hem higher, higher still. She barely managed to get her top off before he reached for her breasts. Swatting his hand away, she flashed a wicked grin. “Huh-uh, I’m not done yet.”

  He humored her for another minute or two, but when she turned away from him and sat on his lap, wriggling her sweet ass against his fly, his self-control snapped. He reached around, cupping her breasts while spreading soft kisses over her bare back.

  Lana gave in to the pleasure for a few beats, then abruptly stood to warn him he wasn’t playing by the rules.

  Only he followed her up and came at her with eyes blazing.

  She took off running down the hall, squealing when she glanced over her shoulder, discovering he was one step behind her. When he finally caught up to Lana in her bedroom, he reached for her arm and gave it a tug, twirling her around to face him. Without a word, he placed the palm of her hand against the rock hard bulge behind his fly.

  “See what you do to me?” He graveled, slowly backing her further into the dimly lit master bedroom.

  The moment she felt the duvet against the backs of her legs she sat, the palm of her hand still rubbing the fly of his faded blue jeans. “You’re overdressed, Mr. Burns.”

  With a wry grin, Randall reached over his shoulder and yanked the light blue tee over his head, his hooded eyes glued to hers. They stared at one another for a beat or two before Lana lowered her gaze to his broad, bare chest, down over the ridges and valleys of his six-pack abs, to the dark trail of hair that disappeared behind the denim.

  She watched in amazement as his muscles bunched and bulged, loving the way his abs tightened as her fingers worked to unbutton his jeans. The moment his sex sprang free she gripped him, running her tongue along the length of his hard shaft she sampled the bead of hot liquid that’d collected along the tip.

  A deep moan vibrated from his chest a moment before he palmed the sides of her face; tilting her head back he looked into her eyes. “Lie back”, he ordered softly, sternly.

  Randall tore into a foil package, quickly rolling the latex down his length before losing his pants. And when he was gloriously naked, save from the thin layer of latex sheathing his large shaft, he carefully hauled her white panties down her thighs, over her fuck-me boots.

  Lana stared up at him as his eyes raked over her bare skin. His slow perusal heightened the ache between her legs. He had this way of looking at her, a way of making her feel cherished and beautiful. She loved that about him. Loved how riveted he was at the mere sight of her unclad body.

  “Spread your legs for me, Sweetheart”, he uttered just above a whisper. He waited while she complied, observing the slow movements of her knees as they gradually opened. “Christ, you’re beautiful.” Climbing onto the bed he pushed her knees further apart with his hands.

  She should feel embarrassed, humiliated, bashful. But th
e carnal look in his gray eyes seemed to fan the flame burning inside her. The moisture between her legs blossomed as he hovered above, his strong hands holding her knees apart while he looked his fill.

  “This is what you do to me”, she whispered seconds before his mouth came down on her.

  The first slick lap of his tongue had Lana panting, and when he added a finger to the mix, and then another, she reached down, grabbed a fistful of his hair and rode the wave of pleasure pulsing deep inside. Her orgasm swiftly slithered through her writhing body, catching her by surprise. She’d been wound so tight—had been waiting for this moment for four long weeks—that nearly thirty seconds into his oral escapade, she’d detonated.

  At some point she became aware that his hair was still lodged in her firm grip. “S-sorry”, she said releasing the thick black strands.

  “Don’t be”, he mumbled against her hip, spreading soft kisses up her body. “I love it when you lose control.” His lips brushed over her stomach near her piercing, steadily continuing north until he reached the swell of her breasts. He briefly paid homage to her nipples, sucking each hard nub into his mouth, reigniting her desire almost instantly. “Please”, Lana moaned, feeling the throbbing ache return between her legs. She had to have him.

  Now.

  Needed to feel this powerful man fill her with purpose and pleasure and... love.

  Answering her plea Randall’s weight came down on her, chest to chest. Skin to skin. Spreading open-mouth kisses along the hollow of her throat, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled to his back, which inevitably shifted her body above him.

  And then he kissed her, an all-consuming, deep kiss that told her he was right there with her—teetering on the edge of control.

  “I like this vantage point”, Randall murmured when she broke the kiss and sat upright, her legs astride his hips. Lana smiled, her long brown locks falling around her pretty face. His hands slowly migrated up her smooth thighs until they reached the moist, succulent folds between. And when the pad of his thumb gently brushed over the sensitive nub where his tongue had been minutes ago, her smile faded on a gasp.