Club Cupid Read online

  “And you can go back early?” His eyes mocked her.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “Why on earth would I stay?” And increase the odds of going to bed with the likes of you?

  “Why indeed?”

  “Exactly,” she murmured.

  “Exactly,” he repeated.

  The energy of their earlier passion seemed to hang in the air around them, thickening the atmosphere. Remembering her forwardness, Frankie flushed and pushed her hand through her tangled hair. “After I get directions to the B&B from Mr. Grimes, I’ll pick up the things I need. Then I’ll probably turn in early—it’s been a very trying day.”

  Trying. Randy silently agreed. He’d spent the entire day trying. Trying to resist becoming involved in this woman’s situation, then trying to squash the compelling physical attraction he felt for her, then trying to ignore the feelings of failure and inadequacy she resurrected with her concern for her job.

  He sighed. Key West boasted more bars per capita than any other place in the world—so why did she have to wander into his peaceful little hole in the wall? Oh sure, she could turn and march out into the street and disappear, but dammit, she’d already set wheels into motion that wouldn’t be so easily slowed again. During the ride back from the beach, his thoughts had run amok, darting between the incredible pleasure of having Frankie’s body jammed up next to his and long-forgotten curiosities like how the new tax laws might affect capital gains.

  She put her hand on the doorknob, and Randy realized that despite the havoc she had wreaked in his life in the space of a few short hours, he wasn’t willing to let go just yet. “I’ll go with you.”

  Frankie turned back, a frown knitting her eyebrows. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She hadn’t said no—a good sign. “What’s not a good idea is you walking around the streets by yourself at night. You can buy the things you need, we’ll grab a quick bite to eat, then I’ll drop you off at the B&B.”

  She squinted, bit her bottom lip and considered his words for several seconds, during which he strove to hide his pathetic hopefulness. “Then we say goodbye?” she asked, obviously wary.

  “Then we say goodbye,” he agreed with a nod.

  “No more…” She gestured vaguely between them.

  “No more,” he vowed recklessly, raising his hand.

  “Okay,” she relented, turning the doorknob.

  “Okay,” he repeated, ridiculously pleased.

  “You’re starting to sound like your parrot,” she said over her shoulder as she opened the door.

  Randy’s gaze dropped to her rounded rear and Tweety’s newest phrase came to mind, but he wisely held his tongue.

  FRANKIE WALKED her fingers through a rack of blouses, conscious of Randy’s eyes on her from a few feet away. Under her lashes, she studied him leaning against a rack, holding a small bag of travel-size toiletries she’d purchased at a drugstore. For the umpteenth time since they’d left the bar, she wondered if she was compounding earlier mistakes by not taking leave of his company when she had the chance. At the same time, she had to admit she felt better knowing he would see her to bed, er, to the bed-and-breakfast inn.

  They were two of only a handful of customers in the clothing store. Music, laughter and the buzz of voices filtered in through the front door, which had been propped open with a chair. The youngish salesclerk stood gazing longingly at the happy people milling by, their faces lit beneath the glare of neon lights. Distracted, but trying to hurry, Frankie pulled out a plain beige cotton shirt and folded it over the pair of pleated long navy shorts on her arm—simple and sensible.

  “How about this?”

  Randy’s voice startled her. She glanced over to see him fingering a short water-green silk skirt.

  “It’s a nice color and it feels good,” he urged.

  Mildly surprised, she walked toward him, still carrying her own choices. “It’s pretty,” she agreed, noting the wraparound style. “But not very practical.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “Well, I typically wear matched suits to work.”

  He pursed his lips. “Strict dress code?”

  Frankie shook her head. “Personal preference.”

  “At least try it on.”

  She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, its texture so soft it felt almost oily. “It is a nice color, isn’t it?” she mused, then spotted a pale yellow silk blouse hanging on the next rack that would make a striking combination. Feeling indulgent, she conceded his good taste and added both garments to her arm.

  The dressing rooms offered questionable privacy since they faced the foot-traffic area and the doors were curtains that hung from neck to knee. The inside was even less impressive, with no mirror and one itty-bitty hook on which to hang both her old and new clothes. Muttering under her breath, Frankie slipped off her loafers and disrobed self-consciously, leaving on the bikini bottoms, which had become increasingly elusive and uncomfortable.

  “How does it look?”

  Frankie jumped, then glanced up to see Randy standing at arm’s length from the so-called door. She held the beige shirt over her breasts, even though he couldn’t see them—and even though he’d already seen them. “I’m not dressed yet.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “Then it must look pretty good.”

  She flushed to the roots of her hair and ignored him, pulling on the shirt and shorts.

  “There’s a mirror out here,” he said, pointing to his left.

  She shoved aside the curtain and emerged, aware of his perusal. Stepping in front of the mirror, she checked the modest length of the shorts and the shoulder seams of the simple shirt. She glanced in the mirror at Randy and saw him crinkle his nose.

  “What?” she asked, frowning.

  He straightened and shook his head. “Nothing.”

  She turned to check the rear fit. A little loose, but adequate in a pinch.

  “Hmm.”

  Frankie looked back to the source of the grunt. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head again. “Nothing.”

  She started back to the changing booth.

  “It’s just that…”

  She sighed. “What?”

  “Well…” He tilted his head to one side, scanning her figure. “That outfit’s kind of plain, don’t you think?”

  She looked down at the neat, unadorned garments. “So?”

  “So try on the other one.”

  Flustered at his familiarity, she nodded to his shabby cutoffs and threadbare T-shirt. “For some reason, I assumed clothes didn’t mean much to you.”

  He shrugged good-naturedly. “If I’d known you’d be dropping in the bar today, I’d have worn my good T-shirt.”

  She closed the curtain with a snap and kept her gaze averted while removing the clothing as quickly as her quaking hands would allow. There was something undoubtedly erotic about undressing with Randy in plain sight…she might as well be performing a striptease.

  With burning cheeks, she shimmied the yellow silk tank over her head. The thin fabric settled over her breasts with a whisper, the slight friction instantly pearling the tips. She wrapped the skirt around her hips, and even before she secured the ties at the side, she knew the garment was perfect—a perfect fit to mold her hips, the perfect color for her pale skin and the perfect length to show off her long legs…but where on earth would she wear the outfit when she returned home?

  “So?” he asked, still loitering nearby.

  Frankie swallowed and pushed back the curtain, foolishly gratified when Randy straightened and his eyes grew large. “Wow, Red.”

  Embarrassed, she gave him a wry smile and stepped in front of the mirror. The garments were indeed flattering, she decided as she turned sideways. Still dubious, she glanced down at her white feet. “But I’ll need shoes.”

  At last the preoccupied salesclerk turned, surveyed Frankie’s outfit and smiled. “We have a few pairs of sandals in the back.”

  Randy
looked to Frankie with eyebrows raised.

  She sighed and nodded to the girl. “Eight and a half.”

  With ballooning confidence, Frankie chose a few more items—white gauze drawstring pants, a floral skort, a soft pink T-shirt dress, a one-piece teal swimsuit, two casual tops and a thin white cardigan for the cool evenings on the return cruise. The clerk returned with a selection of shoes, and Frankie chose a pair of strappy green sandals to go with the silk skirt, and a pair of low-heeled white mules to go with everything else.

  “Why don’t you wear the skirt to dinner?” he suggested, grinning. “I’m dressed like a bum, but no one will be looking at me anyway.”

  Pleased beyond understanding, Frankie nodded and ducked back into the changing room to dress in the outfit. She was looking forward to a nice, conversational meal, fully dressed, with a table wedged safely between them.

  “Will there be anything else, ma’am?” the girl asked when Frankie carried the purchases to the cash register.

  “Yes.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Underwear.”

  Standing a few feet away, Randy coughed and she shot him a warning glance.

  “Right this way, ma’am,” the clerk said, heading toward a counter in the back of the store.

  In case he had notions of “helping” again, she pointed a finger in his direction. “Don’t move from that spot.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, which she didn’t believe. Thankfully, Frankie was able to select a few undergarments without him looking over her shoulder, but she had to admit, she chose styles that were more brief and lacy than her normal fare.

  “All done?” he asked pleasantly, while craning for a peek as the salesclerk tucked the filmy garments into bags.

  “Yes,” she said primly, and he chuckled.

  Not amused, she removed a black canvas bag and nylon wallet from a rack, in resignation to the fact that she might never see her briefcase and wallet again. Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts because when she looked at him again, he gave her a comforting wink. “It’ll turn up,” he said quietly. And once again, she believed him.

  “I suppose I’ll have to buy a suitcase tomorrow,” she said with a laugh, to change the subject.

  The bounty took a good portion of the cash Oscar had wired her, but she didn’t worry because she’d be able to pick up replacement traveler’s checks in the morning. She did experience a pang of guilt when she thought about her would-be boyfriend who was genuinely worried about her while she spent the evening in the company of an undeniably attractive man…a man who had become entirely too easy to kiss in the—she checked her watch—good Lord, seven hours she’d known him. Seven hours. Frankie shook her head and glanced sideways at her companion as they gathered up bags.

  “What have I done now?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, stepping through the open door onto the sidewalk.

  “Good, because I’m trying to be on my best behavior.” The thinly veiled remark indicating he’d like to finish what they’d started—twice—sent a thrill to her stomach, but she decided she was hungry and ready for another beer.

  She stopped and looked down at their burdens. “How are we going to get all these packages to the inn on the back of your motorcycle?”

  “No problem,” Randy said, then walked to the end of the curb and lifted his hand to hail a cabbie sitting on the corner. Immediately, the lights flashed and the driver pulled forward. After taking the bags from her arms, Randy loaded all the packages into the back seat, walked around to the driver side and leaned down.

  “Hey, Tippy,” he said to the tiny man.

  Tippy grinned and put out his hand for Randy to palm. “What’s happening, my man?”

  After a glance to ensure Frankie hadn’t followed him, Randy returned the smooth handshake, leaving a fifty behind.

  Tippy’s eyes bugged. “Where to?”

  “Take these packages to Parker’s and have them delivered to the room he reserved for a Miss Frankie Jensen.”

  “Done.”

  “One more thing, Tippy—I’ve got a business proposition for you.”

  The man instantly turned serious. “I’m listening.”

  “I’m looking for a woman’s briefcase that was scarfed earlier today.” He squinted, trying to recall the descriptions she’d given the police officer. “Black and soft-sided, like a purse. The guy who took it was young, white, with short hair, wearing jeans and a green T-shirt. If you find the punk and he hasn’t dumped the bag, I want it.”

  Tippy nodded and considered his words. “How bad do you want it?”

  “Five hundred for the briefcase, contents intact.”

  The man shook his head. “Any money and jewelry are long gone, man.”

  Randy dismissed the comment. “I’m interested in some papers and CD’s that were in the bag, but I’ll throw in a hundred-dollar bonus for the wallet, minus the cards and cash. Got it?”

  “Yeah. Where can I find you?”

  “Leave me a message at the bar.”

  The little man sneaked a peek at Frankie standing on the curb under the streetlight and whistled low. “Six hundred dollars, huh? I hope she’s worth it.”

  “She is,” Randy said without thinking, then pushed away from the cab with a stone of anxiety in his stomach.

  9

  HE STOOD long after the cab had pulled away, staring at the woman standing on the sidewalk who had so thoroughly captured his…attention. Her long curls swirled around her shoulders in the light breeze, and the new clothes showed off her fabulous figure. Unbeknownst to her, she was turning the head of every man who passed. And she was his date for the evening, a thought that made his stomach clench with possessive masculine pride.

  The fact that she was stranded and had practically no other choice was inconsequential, he decided.

  She smiled. “Are you going to stand in the middle of the street all night or are you going to feed me?”

  “Feed you,” he relented. With a strange tightening in his chest, he rejoined her, then turned in the direction of his favorite restaurant, Jordy’s Shell House. On the way, his southern manners resurfaced, rusty from disuse. In the decade since he’d arrived, his encounters with women had been short-lived and superficial. He couldn’t remember ever taking a woman to dinner with the express determination to not bed her afterward.

  Sex with Frankie would be incredible, he knew, and therein lay the paradox. Randy had the unsettling feeling that if she’d already affected his mind-set in such a short time, making love to her might have him doing something really crazy…like asking her to stay here with him instead of going back home to her boyfriend and her Fortune 500 job.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” she observed.

  Randy started from his musings, suddenly realizing that they only had a few more hours together, and he wanted to make the most of it. He had no doubt that Tippy would smoke out the thug eventually, but if the police hadn’t yet recovered the briefcase, chances were slim the kid hadn’t sunk the bag or burned it. Either way, she’d be leaving on another cruise ship Sunday at the very latest. “Just enjoying the scenery,” he said, thinking she’d grown more lovely with each passing minute. “Are you cold?”

  “Cool,” she admitted, then unfolded the white cardigan.

  He took the sweater from her and placed it around her shoulders, resisting the urge to leave his arm there. Everywhere he looked, couples held hands, danced, kissed—and more. Gearing up for Valentine’s Day, he supposed. Funny, other than the opportunity to raise money for charity at the bar, Valentine’s had always been just another day to him. Now he wondered if he would remember it as the day Frankie Jensen sailed out of his life.

  “So tell me about this big project you’re working on,” he said to keep his mind from wandering into dangerous areas.

  She laughed. “It’s very boring, actually.”

  “Try me.”

  Frankie shrugged, then said, “It’s a co
mputer system to track inventory of road-paving materials. The company I work for bids on state and federal road jobs, and up until now, inventory control has been haphazard.”

  He frowned. “Doesn’t sound like much of a way to run a business, much less a huge business.”

  “You’re right, but the raw materials used in our line of work—like rock, sand, asphalt, concrete—are difficult to track. The material might be mixed at a plant and trucked over, or mixed on the job site. And since most of the materials are stored in piles that sit out in the elements, there’s a lot of waste—” She stopped and laughed. “See, I told you it was boring.”

  “Not at all,” he corrected her. “But I admit to being a little surprised to hear that your specialty is asphalt inventory systems.”

  “My specialty is systems analysis and design,” she said. “It just so happens that Ohio Roadmakers made me the best offer out of college.” She pressed her lips together. “Looks like I’ll be job hunting soon.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” he insisted. “Maybe you’re overreacting.”

  Frankie shook her head. “No. If that documentation doesn’t show up, it could take us weeks to piece together the information the vendor needs to get the new compiler working. The new system has to be in place before construction season, which is just around the corner. If we miss this deadline, we’ll have to wait until November or December when activity at the job sites slows down again, and we’ll have sacrificed an entire season’s worth of productivity gains—” She stopped again and sighed. “I’m sorry, this isn’t your problem.”

  “That’s all right, it sounds interesting,” he confessed, aware of the stir in unused areas of his brain. Ohio Roadmakers sounded familiar—did it trade on the New York or the American stock exchange? He should at least renew his subscription to the Wall Street Journal, he decided. “I’m glad to listen if it helps to talk about it.”

  Frankie shook her head. “I think I’d rather try to enjoy the rest of the night, um, evening.”

  “Here we are,” he said, stopping in front of a tiny rounded awning, suddenly wondering if Frankie would be disappointed to find Jordy’s absent of white tablecloths and upscale patrons. His doubts were erased, however, when they stepped inside and she brought her hands together.