“No, red wine,” she corrected, then cracked up at her own terrible joke. “Get it?”
“I got it,” Randy said sourly. “Everyone’s a comedian tonight. Come on, Red, the ride home will be cool enough to help sober you up.”
“I hope Parker has a big hot-water heater,” she said. “Because I can’t wait to take a long, hot shower.”
Cold for me, he thought as he took her arm and led her toward the entrance. At least she was a happy drunk, he noted as they left and she said goodbye to everyone. Out on the sidewalk, she shivered and he helped her into her sweater—not an easy task where armholes were concerned. Once tucked inside, she leaned into him and he slid his arm around her shoulders to make sure she didn’t break her pretty neck in her new high-heeled sandals.
“Mmm,” she murmured, settling next to him. The temperature had cooled considerably, but Randy wasn’t cold—probably because his blood pressure and other vital signs had kicked into overdrive. The street celebrations were in full swing, and would be for another few hours. He steered her in and out of heavy pedestrian traffic. Wobbly at first, she had revived somewhat by the time he led her carefully down the short alley toward the parking lot where he’d parked the bike. He considered putting her into a cab, but since the drive to the B&B was such a short distance, he decided she’d be okay. He nearly changed his mind, though, when he realized the skirt she wore might make for a compromising ride. Not that he hadn’t already seen most of her assets, he noted dryly.
Straddling the bike, Randy turned on the headlight and backed the motorcycle out of its spot, then motioned for Frankie to climb on. She did, albeit awkwardly, with her new bag on her shoulder and no complaints about her hiked-up skirt. If he had concerns about her ability to hold on, they were banished immediately when she wrapped her arms around him securely and tucked her chin next to his ear.
Randy felt a rush of affection for the woman folded around him, and realized with a start that he might very well be saying goodbye to her within a few minutes. After all, he really had no good excuse to see her in the morning. And if the police had recovered her bag, she might simply hightail it to the airport for a standby flight, or grab a taxi to Miami, where her chances of catching an outbound flight would be better.
Once they left the crowds behind, Randy slowed the bike to a crawl, stunned at the thought he would miss seeing her tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.
Even at the slower pace, they reached Parker’s B&B in short order. He wheeled around to the side of the familiar house and braked to a stop. When she pulled her arms away from his waist, Randy felt cold and…alone. He twisted to help her climb off, relieved to see that despite her windblown appearance, she seemed a bit more alert than when they’d left the restaurant.
“I guess this is almost goodbye,” she said with a strange timbre in her voice. He couldn’t read her eyes in the darkness.
“Almost,” he agreed in a tone more cheerful than he felt. “Did Parker say which room he’d put you in?” he asked, trying to determine the closest entrance.
She nodded, then frowned slightly, reached into the black canvas bag and withdrew a small slip of folded paper. “It says I should ask for the extra bed in the guest house.”
Randy felt his smile drop. “It doesn’t.”
“Sure it does,” she said, relinquishing the note.
He glanced at the scrap of paper, then shook his head and muttered a curse to himself. That son of a gun!
“What’s wrong?”
He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind spinning. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Red, but I live in the guest house.”
10
APPREHENSION TENSED Frankie’s muscles, then she frowned, having already forgotten what Randy had said, but knowing it had rattled her. She squinted, trying to remember. “Say that again.”
“I live in the guest house.”
Touching her forehead as if to force the information to remain close by, she murmured, “That’s nice.” Randy stared at her for so long she wondered if she’d said something wrong. “I’m really tired,” she added in a feeble attempt to end the evening. She’d hoped the wine would dull her senses enough to forget…something, and to resist…someone. She bit her lip and suspiciously studied the man standing before her. Was it Randy she was trying to avoid? He didn’t look very scary. In fact, he looked—Frankie tilted her head and giggled—nervous.
“Are you okay with this?” he asked.
She detected a note of concern and inhaled the clean fresh air, trying to clear the fog from the corners of her brain. “Shouldn’t I be?”
He clasped her by the arms. “Look at me, Red.”
You’re so handsome, she thought, realizing with a start that she’d said the words aloud.
He sighed, then turned her to the right—no, left—and steered her toward a tiny cottage built on stilts and not much larger than a child’s playhouse, a comparison which made her giggle again. After a few steps, she decided to kick off her shoes, and walked the rest of the way barefoot, carrying her sandals. Randy didn’t say a word, just tightened up his face like she was being a big pain in the patootie.
“Do you think I’m a big pain in the patootie?” she asked, gazing up at him.
“If a patootie is one of two things,” he said dryly, helping her up stone steps, “then yes.”
Hurt ripped through her. “I’m sorry.”
He made a face while he unlocked the front door. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I don’t blame you for being angry.”
“I’m not angry,” he said, swinging open the door and reaching around the frame to flip on a light. “Come on in and have a seat while I make a phone call.”
Frankie stepped inside, nearly tripping over the bags and boxes of clothing she’d purchased earlier, which had somehow materialized. Barely noting her surroundings, she made a beeline for an over-stuffed gray sofa. She sank into the cushions and started to lie down when she remembered she’d walked barefoot through wet grass. Wriggling her greenish toes on the pale wooden floor, she heard him talking behind her.
“Hello, Nina? It’s Randy—Parker wouldn’t happen to be around, would he?” He sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of. Listen, do you have any available beds tonight, any at all?”
Frankie pushed herself to her feet. “Randy,” she whispered loudly. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He pointed, then turned his attention back to the phone. “It’s a friend of mine and I don’t think she’d be comfortable staying here.”
Walking through a doorway, Frankie felt for a light switch. Illumination spilled over his bedroom, and a rattan ceiling fan began to whir softly. Here the wooden floor gave way to a taupe-colored sisal rug. Frankie stood at the threshold, hesitant to cross into his domain. Randy had made his bed in a hurry, yanking the navy-and-white-striped comforter up to the headboard, the pillows still situated awkwardly beneath. Resisting the urge to stretch out for a catnap, she strolled through the basically neat room to a door she assumed was the bathroom.
At the sight of the glass-walled shower, Frankie began stripping off her clothes, rationalizing she would be finished by the time Randy found her a place to sleep. She turned on the spray of water and adjusted the temperature, then stepped inside, delighted with the pulsing action of good water pressure against her sun-tinged skin.
Too late she remembered she’d left her toiletries in the black canvas bag in the other room. Borrowing a palmful of Randy’s shampoo, she quickly soaped her hair and rinsed, then touched up her legs with a disposable razor and a puff of shaving cream. Lathering with his bar of soap seemed almost too intimate, however, since the planes of Randy’s body had contoured the waxy shape. Wicked images flashed through her head as she smoothed the suds over her skin, but the shower had sobered her enough to know that train of thought led to dangerous territory.
She rinsed and turned off the water, and claimed a clean, fluffy white towel from the stac
k on the back of the commode. Frankie picked up the borrowed bikini and shook her head, then held the fabric under running water in the ancient porcelain sink. After hanging the suit from the showerhead, she felt loath to put on the silk skirt and blouse again without clean underwear. Deciding that wearing the towel by itself was too provocative, she poked through the garments hanging on the back of the door—a black cotton robe, a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, all undoubtedly Randy’s.
Settling on the soft robe as the most concealing and unsexy garment in which to retrieve her underwear from the living room, Frankie walked out, sorting snippets of their earlier conversation in her clearing head. Apparently Parker had put one over on them, saying he had a place for her to stay when all along he’d planned for her to sleep at Randy’s. She frowned. Was Randy perhaps in on the deception? And how often did he offer overnight lodging to lonely tourists?
When she emerged, he stood across the room, pacing the floor in front of the kitchen counter. From the look in his eyes when he saw her, she realized the thin silk garments might indeed have been the better choice, as opposed to being wrapped head to calves in his sleepwear. She stopped just outside the doorway, determined to keep the situation light. “So?” she asked brightly, double-knotting the ties at her waist.
He smoothed a hand back over his hair and leaned against the counter. “So, the nearest available room is in Islamorada. I’m sorry—Parker’s never done anything like this before.”
She pressed her lips together, sensing the ball was in her court. Pointing to the couch, she asked, “Is that the lumpy sofa you offered me earlier today?” The episode at the police station seemed to have unfolded aeons ago.
One side of his mouth climbed in a wry smile. “Yeah.”
Despite the safety zone of distance between them, Frankie felt a pull emanating from him, tugging at her middle as surely as if they were connected by a steel cable. Trying to neutralize the sexually charged atmosphere, she attempted a laugh. “Well, either I’m very tired, or you were exaggerating, because it didn’t feel lumpy to me.”
“You’re being a good sport about this.”
She laughed again. “Me? Once again I’m indebted to your hospitality.”
“I was afraid you’d think that Parker and I set this up.”
Frankie angled her chin at him. “And did you?”
“No.” He held up his hands. “Absolutely not.”
He looked so mortified, she believed him. Which meant, she realized, that he wasn’t too crazy about her spending the night in close proximity. “I hate to intrude,” she remarked softly.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, straightening. “I’ll take the couch and you can have my, um, bed.”
She hugged herself tight and shook her head. “I insist on taking the sofa, and thank you…again.”
He inhaled deeply and shifted from foot to foot, seemingly at a loss as to what to do with his hands. “You’re feeling better?”
She glanced down, then gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes. I showered and helped myself to your robe.”
He wet his lips slowly. “I noticed.”
After moving self-consciously to her packages, she leaned over. “I’m going to change right away.” She straightened.
“What?”
Burning with embarrassment, she asked, “I don’t suppose I could borrow a T-shirt to sleep in?”
He pushed away from the counter and walked toward the bedroom. “That I can help you with.”
She followed him and stood in the doorway while he rummaged in a dresser drawer. He removed a new white T-shirt with a colorful parrot logo that read Rum King’s—Where the First Drink Is a Quarter.
“I like it,” she said with a wide smile.
“Keep it,” he said, handing her the shirt. “I know the boss, I can get another one.”
Her gaze locked with his for several seconds, her senses thrumming at the nearness of him and his bed. Frankie cleared her throat and swept her arm toward the living area. “You have a very nice place.”
“Thanks.” He tugged on the hem of his shirt, then pulled it over his head, baring his chest. “The balcony off the kitchen has a decent view.”
Frankie stood, mesmerized by her own view. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Taking a shower,” he said, nodding toward the bathroom. The muscles in his forearms and chest bunched as he balled up the shirt and banked it into a huge straw basket containing other clothes. “I thought I’d swing back by the bar for closing and let you get some rest.” When he unbuttoned his cutoffs to reveal a slice of the neon orange swim trunks, she took a step backward and bumped into the door frame. His shorts hit the ground and he stepped out of them, then tossed them into the basket. The ridge of his erection strained at the thin material.
Her feet refused to move.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the swim trunks and sighed. “Look, Red, we said no hanky-panky, and as much as I’d like to lay you down on my bed, I won’t, because I told you I wouldn’t. But I’m only human, so if you don’t mind…”
Frankie turned and fled to the living area, her heart pounding. Her body tingled all over and her head swam with erotic images as she heard the faint click of the shower door closing. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder. They were unfettered, consenting adults. He wanted her, she wanted him—what was keeping them apart? She took a step in the direction of the bedroom.
The fact that they’d only known each other for a day? She’d shared more with him in a few hours than she’d shared with her boyfriend wannabe, Oscar, or anyone else for that matter. She walked to the bedroom doorway and shivered at the sound of the shower coming from the bathroom door standing ajar.
Randy was a fabulous-looking man with mysterious insight and a sense of appreciation for the simpler life. Perhaps their chance meeting on Valentine’s Day weekend wasn’t by chance at all—maybe she was predestined to cross paths with Randy Tate so she could learn to follow her instincts.
Frankie stepped to the dressing mirror in his bedroom and peered at her reflection. Still wet from the shower, her hair lay skimmed back from her face and down her back. The sun had coaxed even more freckles to bloom across her nose and cheeks, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now. With one glance in the direction of the bathroom, she inhaled and straightened her shoulders, then loosened the robe ties, allowing the thin garment to hang open a few inches.
In the next room, the shower fell silent, sending her heart pumping into overdrive, but she lifted her chin in determination. Maybe her courage came from the lingering effects of the wine, but she suspected she would look back on this moment as a pivotal point in her life…when she learned to take a chance.
She turned as the bathroom door opened and Randy emerged nude, toweling his hair dry. She had a few seconds to absorb the sheer beauty of his damp, muscled body before he realized she was in the room. Broad, brown shoulders transitioned into a smooth chest, with mahogany nipples accenting firm, slanted pecs. His ribs, waist and stomach were compact planes of separated muscle and sinew. The wall of abdominal strength gave way to slim hips. His manhood hung in a tangle of dark hair, flanked by pale skin, indicating his participation at the nude beach was not as extensive as she’d assumed. Sun-lightened hair covered the length of his powerful thighs and calves. Her throat constricted and she worried if she’d bitten off more than she could chew. No matter, she decided—what she lacked in experience, she would make up for in enthusiasm. If he still wanted her, that is.
He stopped and blinked, then his gaze flew to the opening in the black robe, which revealed one of the few areas of her body he had not already seen. Immediately his erection began climbing and his towel slipped from his hands. His expression was part wonder, part confusion. His molten eyes were alive with desire, but he made no move toward her.
Emboldened by his unabashed nakedness and obvious passion for her, Frankie took a deep breath and pulled open the lapels of the robe. With a flick of her wris
ts, she let the soft garment slide off her shoulders and into a pool at her feet. Immediately her nipples peaked and she felt moisture between her thighs.
His erection sprang up, enormous and straining, as he surveyed her body, but otherwise he remained completely still. At last Frankie could no longer tolerate the silence. “Randy, say something.”
His chest heaved as he filled his lungs, then he slowly exhaled. “Come to me, Frankie.”
She did. With long, slow strides, she walked toward him, her breasts high and taut, her fingers twitching in anticipation of touching every part of his body. They came together in a leisurely embrace during which her gaze remained locked with his. He dipped his head and urged her mouth open with his tongue, then smoothed his hands down to cup her rear and lift her against him. Somewhere in her muddled mind, she registered that he had shaved, and she relished the smoothness even as she missed the sandpaper texture. Their moans mingled and vibrated inside their kiss over the sizzling shock of their bodies touching intimately for the first time.
A thousand fires started in different places in her body, whooshing together in one consuming flame. His hands were gentle and firm, massaging her flesh in a way that promised he wouldn’t release her until they were both fully sated. Caught between his pleasing hands and his branding shaft, Frankie had never felt so drunk with need and want. Standing on the balls of her feet, she clung to him, running her hands down the hard muscles in his back, squeezing his buttocks as he pulsed against her.
He tore his mouth from hers long enough to scoop her into his arms and carry her to the bed, his mouth nuzzling her forehead. “Frankie,” he murmured as he lay down next to her. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” His breathing had become ragged and his expression serious.
Only one thing could change her mind. “Do you have protection?” she whispered.
“Of course.”
She closed her eyes in blatant relief. “Then, yes, I’m sure.”
Randy sighed and cupped her breast, guiding her rosy nipple into his mouth. Waves of warm pleasure washed over her and she arched upward, tangling her hands in his thick, wet hair, urging him to draw on her breast harder, deeper, longer. He flicked his tongue over the hardened peak before transferring his attention to the other side.
Club Cupid Page 11
