Club Cupid Read online

  “All’s well that ends well,” Randy repeated to himself as he stared down at the dirty black briefcase Tippy had given him. Having given the contents only a perfunctory glance earlier, he leaned against the seat of his motorcycle and angled the bag under the glow of the streetlight. The leather was of superb quality, but he’d expected no less from a woman who appreciated good penny loafers. His favorite briefcase had been a burgundy leather and canvas expandable bag—great for the oversize printouts he’d taken home every night to read until he fell asleep.

  He lifted the side flap and withdrew a portfolio bearing the name Ohio Roadmakers and a hardhat logo. Inside were the precious compact discs and endless charts and notes that Frankie had been agonizing over…until this afternoon. This afternoon at the beach she had rounded a mental corner, gaining perspective on the matter thanks to a little time and diversion. And she’d decided to turn her back on the corporate world and stay with him…for a while.

  Her resolve to quit reinforced his belief that big companies gobbled up juicy people and chewed on them until the flavor was gone, then discarded them like a piece of old gum. Yessir, he’d been lucky to escape ten years ago with his sanity intact. And here he was, enjoying life more than he’d ever thought possible.

  Randy frowned, running his finger around the edge of a CD which, according to the label, could hold more information than the entire desktop computer in his old office had held on the hard drive. A sigh escaped him. Okay, so he hadn’t realized how intellectually stale he’d become, but just knowing that Frankie would be there in the morning renewed his zest for island life. They’d talk about…not computers, since he didn’t know much about them anymore. And not the stock market, since he hadn’t kept up with the numbers. And not foreign policy, since he no longer watched world news—and damn little domestic news, for that matter. He hadn’t even voted in the last two presidential elections.

  Then he brightened—sports! They could always discuss sports. Sailing and windsurfing and…sailing.

  He scanned the pages of notes, not that he understood much of the vocabulary, but because he found her handwriting so intriguing. She was a jotter—someone who had diagrams and phrases scribbled on every square inch of the margins. He, on the other hand, had been a one-idea-to-one-sheet-of-paper kind of businessman, with neat, organized stacks of papers on his desk.

  Randy set aside memories of his fast-paced days and replaced the portfolio inside the briefcase, thinking how jubilant Frankie would be when he handed her the briefcase. She could overnight the documentation and resign without thinking she’d undermined the project.

  Then he stopped. With the briefcase in hand, what if she decided to return to Cincinnati? What if the only reason she was staying with him was that she didn’t want to face the firing she was convinced awaited her if she returned without the portfolio?

  Randy chewed his lip furiously. Was it really necessary that Frankie know he had the briefcase? Now that she’d decided to give up her job and stay with him, what would it matter if he simply chucked the bag into the ocean?

  What mattered, he realized, was that an entire team of people were relying on the information in the portfolio, and he didn’t want to be responsible for disrupting untold dozens of lives, just like before. Then again, he could simply drop the portfolio anonymously into the mail to Ohio Roadmakers with a note about finding the folder in Key West, blah, blah, blah.

  Yes, he decided suddenly. He would send the portfolio back to the company in a week or so, and if Frankie discovered someday that the materials had been returned, she’d be so entrenched in Conch life, in his life, the job in Cincinnati wouldn’t matter.

  Easier thought than done, he realized later when he reunited with Frankie at the bar. She kept looking at him with those big, blue eyes as if he had betrayed her somehow, even though he knew it was his own guilt eating at him. They had a few beers and he sat with her at Parker’s table, listening to the old man’s stories and laughing as if he hadn’t already heard the yarns dozens of times. Often he sneaked glimpses of Frankie’s profile, loving the way the tip of her nose lifted when she laughed, his heart squeezing when she turned her wide smile in his direction.

  The rowdy atmosphere prevented them from conversing much, but even so, she seemed withdrawn. She didn’t shrink from his touch, though, and on the late ride back to his place, she clung so tightly, she seemed part of his own body. Despite his hurry to get Frankie home and in his bed, Randy drove slowly, allowing the wind and the vibration of the bike to take over, acutely aware of both sets of curves—the ones beneath his wheels and the ones pressing into his back.

  From the bike to the bedroom, they barely spoke. She seemed as anxious as he to make love. Ignoring the pangs of guilt, Randy deposited the gym bag that held her briefcase in his closet, then tugged her to the bathroom. While the shower ran warm, he undressed her carefully, christening every revealed patch of skin with lingering kisses. But her hands and mouth carried more urgency, and by the time they were both naked and standing under the water, Randy had gladly adopted her edgy pace.

  They lathered each other’s bodies with fresh-smelling soap, then Frankie scrubbed his back with a stiff brush, the act strangely more intimate than their nakedness, the friction more erotic than if she’d touched his private zones. By the time they rinsed, Randy wasn’t sure they’d make it to the bed. Indeed, he’d barely grabbed a condom from the nightstand when Frankie pulled him down on top of her on the hard, nubby texture of the sisal rug. They kissed and wrestled until she again straddled him in what was fast becoming his favorite position.

  Her body accepted his in one thrilling down-stroke, then she rocked with him inside her in a quick, controlled rhythm. Between the biting surface of the carpet at his back, and the soft, giving contours of the woman on top of him, every nerve screamed, every response stimulated. When her moans escalated, he stroked her with his thumb until she came in great, heaving spasms, then he readied himself for a powerful climax. Lifting his body into hers with a final massive thrust, he clutched her waist and held her against him as he shuddered his release again and again, murmuring, “Frankie…oh, yes…Frankie, Frankie.”

  Her body fell limp and she might have fallen asleep on the scratchy rug had he let her. Instead, he scooped her up and laid her in his bed, then climbed in next to her and tucked the sheet around them. While his body recovered, his thoughts whirled at a dizzying pace. He’d always enjoyed sex, but this, this…emotional afterglow made for an exceptionally memorable experience. He sighed and debated the wisdom of never leaving this room again, of simply keeping Frankie as close to him as possible for as long as possible. When the thought of her briefcase stashed in his closet loomed large, he squeezed her close, then forced himself to close his eyes and sleep.

  FRANKIE TRIED TO SLEEP. Her body ached, and after the mental gymnastics of the past several hours, so did her mind. She couldn’t stay in Key West. She wanted to, but she was already too emotionally attached to Randy Tate. After her illuminating chat with Parker, she realized how little she really knew about the man to whom she’d so willingly handed her body…and her heart.

  She’d mistaken physical chemistry and comfortable compatibility for affection, and while she might have his attention for a few days or weeks, she knew she’d never have his heart—he kept himself too well guarded. She’d wager that if he let her get close enough to share the tribulations of his past, he’d push her away shortly thereafter.

  Frankie held her breath and listened to Randy’s even breathing, then slid out of bed as silently as possible. Pausing long enough to grab his robe and her cigarettes, she made her way to the balcony and eased open one of the sliding glass doors, closing the screen behind her. The night setting was so incredibly beautiful, she had to smile. The nearly full moon spread its glow across the bumpy surface of the water, silhouetting trees and buildings so perfectly, the only thing missing was a hand-in-hand couple. She would always remember this weekend as one of enlightenment and ro
mance.

  She closed her eyes, almost wishing she was the kind of woman who could become so wrapped up in a weekend fling that she’d throw away everything. But she couldn’t sacrifice it all for anything less than love. Besides, she’d left loose ends in Cincinnati, and she owed it to herself to tidy them up before getting on with her life.

  Feeling around on the shadowy balcony, she claimed Randy’s director’s chair and tapped out a cigarette. The sound of the match striking sounded loud in the confines of the quiet little corner of the world. She drew on the cigarette, thinking she needed to quit, then laid her head back and exhaled.

  “Those things’ll kill you,” Randy said behind her.

  Frankie’s heart jumped and she lifted her head. “That’s what I’ve heard,” she said softly without turning around. She even craved the sound of his voice.

  “Insomnia?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She laughed. “It’s your balcony.”

  The screen door opened and closed. “I have something to tell you.”

  Feeling falsely brave, she said, “Let me guess—you were never an actor?”

  After a few seconds of silence, he said, “You’re right, I was never an actor. I was an investment broker. The company I worked for went bankrupt and took several of my customers down with it.”

  She paused. “Did you do anything illegal?”

  “Not knowingly.”

  “Then what’s with all the secrecy?”

  She couldn’t see him, but heard footfalls as he stepped up next to the chair, and the slight whisper of his arm against metal as he leaned forward on the railing. “It was a long time ago, and I was a different person. In fact, when I first met you, I saw a lot of my old self in you—driven, goal-oriented, a real workaholic.”

  A horrible thought occurred to her. “And you thought you’d save me from myself?”

  “I guess so,” he confessed.

  A stone of embarrassment fell to the bottom of her stomach. She’d fallen for him and he’d viewed her as a project, a fixer-upper. “Gee, thanks.”

  “You didn’t seem happy.”

  “I’d just been mugged,” she reminded him.

  “You know what I mean.”

  She put the cigarette to her mouth for a quick puff. “So maybe I’m not ecstatic about my job. Who is, besides the Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream taster? I’m a good analyst, I make a decent living and I work with great people.”

  “Like Oscar?”

  “Like Oscar,” she agreed, wondering how her friend would react when he heard about the lost documentation. Poor thing—he must be going out of his mind waiting for that fax she’d promised him. “He’s a real gem to put up with me.”

  “You’re leaving on that ship today, aren’t you?”

  She tried to read something into his voice—longing, regret, something—but he had said the words as casually as if he’d asked her what she wanted to drink. “Yes. You might be happy here, Randy, but if I stayed, I’d just be running away from my problems.”

  “What will you do if you’re fired?”

  Frankie shrugged, then realized he probably couldn’t see her. “I don’t know—start interviewing, I guess. Something will come up.” After another drag on the cigarette, she asked, “You had something to tell me?”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “I have something for you.”

  Knowing he didn’t care for her the same way she cared for him freed her tongue. “What is it, and don’t tell me you’re naked.”

  He chuckled. “I am…But I was referring to something else, and considering the fact that you’re going back to your job, it seems all the more appropriate.”

  “What?” she asked, startled when he laid a heavy item in her lap. “What—my briefcase!” She stuffed the cigarette in her mouth to free her hands. “Oh my God—where did you find it?” she mumbled. Feeling for the side flap, she slipped her hand inside and breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers touched the familiar smooth portfolio.

  “A friend of mine found it.”

  “What friend?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

  “A cabbie with his ear to the ground.”

  “When did your friend find it?”

  “This evening,” he said. “That was my errand—to meet him.”

  “Why didn’t you take me with you?”

  “I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

  “Then why did you wait so long to give it to me?”

  “I, um, well…didn’t want you to feel like you have to go back to your job.”

  “I don’t,” she snapped, furious.

  “But you are.”

  “I mean, I didn’t feel like I had to go back to my job,” she blustered. “I wanted—want—to go back.”

  “Oh,” he said simply. “In that case…good—I mean, I guess this nixes plans for the cappuccino machine.”

  So he was glad she had changed her mind about staying. Frankie pushed herself to her feet, clasping the briefcase as if her love, er, life depended on it. “I guess I’d better get some sleep.” She didn’t move, knowing he stood nearby, and naked. And she certainly couldn’t spend the rest of the night in his bed.

  They spoke at the same time.

  “I’ll take the couch,” she offered.

  “I’ll take the couch,” he declared.

  Before he could suggest that they both take the couch, Frankie said, “Okay. See you in the morning.” Then she brushed past him, glad for the cover of darkness to hide her welling tears.

  14

  WITH HER STOMACH tied in knots, Frankie joined the line of passengers waiting to board the cruise ship that sounded its horn every two minutes. Randy had driven her to the dock and insisted on waiting with her while the lines formed. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, flashing him her brightest smile. “For everything—the windsurfing lesson, a place to stay—” She blushed. “And especially for getting my briefcase back. I don’t know what I would have done—”

  “Slow down, Red,” he said with a tight smile and a wink. “I would’ve done the same for any—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “That is, um—”

  “I know you would have,” Frankie rushed to assure him even while her heart hung heavy in her chest. How much clearer could he make it that their couple of days together meant so little to him? “I’ll send your suitcase back soon.”

  “No hurry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  He’d worn a fairly new T-shirt for the occasion, and looked amazingly handsome. Frankie realized she didn’t even have a picture of him and wondered how long she would keep his face in her memory. Hoping he would forget the way she looked when they first met, she wore the white gauze pants and a new turquoise tank top for her send-off, but Randy hadn’t seemed to notice. “It’s hot,” she announced unnecessarily, stuffing her battered hat on her head.

  “This is Key West,” he answered easily, glancing over his shoulder, obviously anxious to be rid of her and on his way.

  Saddened and embarrassed, she deferred to silence as the line snaked around, then realized with dread that a ship photographer stood on the ready to snap pictures of passengers as they embarked. And not just any picture, but in front of a huge red heart frame. With a jolt of surprise, she realized today was Valentine’s Day. Great—once again everyone on the cruise would be paired up.

  “Is Oscar picking you up at the airport?” Randy asked.

  “Probably.” Thankfully, this morning she’d been able to fax Oscar copies of the design sheets he needed. “He’ll want to bring me up to speed on a few systems modifications that were made in my absence.”

  “No doubt,” he said, nodding.

  The closer she got to the photographer, the more she tried to convince Randy to leave. “You wouldn’t want to get caught in all that, um, foot traffic on the way out.”

  “Frankie, I’d like to stick it out the last five feet,” he remarked wryly.

  A
nd so she fidgeted, wondering if he might kiss her before she stepped on board, or shake her hand, or maybe even pop her one for being such a pain. “I can’t thank you enough,” she babbled.

  “You said that already,” he murmured with a smile. “And you’re welcome.”

  “A picture of the couple for Valentine’s Day?” the photographer asked in a thick Spanish accent. He grinned and gestured toward the huge heart.

  Frankie shook her head, but Randy said, “Sure, Pops,” and steered her toward the prop.

  “Randy—”

  “You don’t have to buy it,” he said, laughing. “But I have to admit I was hoping for a goodbye kiss, and at least this way we’ll be semi-alone.”

  She inhaled deeply, hating to admit she was hoping for the same. “Okay, but make it quick. I wouldn’t want to miss this ship, too.”

  “If I remember correctly,” he said as he pulled her close, “quick wasn’t on my adjective list.” Since her hands were full, she could only lift her lips. His mouth covered hers in a sweet, lingering, completely possessive and uncomfortably familiar kiss. His tongue thrashed against hers, dredging up desire she’d suppressed the remainder of the night without him next to her. She savored the sensory details, committing to memory the scent of his fresh soap and minty shaving cream, the feel of his hands kneading her back and waist, the rumble of his slight groan as her tongue said farewell to his. Goodbye…Bon voyage…Don’t forget to write.

  “Is enough kiss!” the man exclaimed, finally gaining their attention. They parted to the tune of hearty laughter from other passengers.

  Frankie wet her lips and looked toward the stairs leading to the entranceway. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

  “I guess so,” he said with a slow wink. “It’s been a pleasure, Red.”

  Since no words came to mind, she simply nodded and started backing toward the stairs.

  “Let me know how that project of yours turns out,” he called.

  Frankie nodded again and, feeling suspiciously close to tears, wheeled and hurried toward the stairs. She knew he’d be gone by the time she boarded, but once on deck, she walked to the railing and looked over anyway. Her heart fell lower and lower in her chest as she scanned the crowd. Finally she had to admit she would never see him again. The ship’s horn blasted so long and loud, she covered her ears. Within minutes, the stairs were pulled away from the ship and the huge vessel began to tremble, then move. The crowd on the dock started to dance and sing in a collective send-off, put into motion by the beat of a snare drum.