Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series) (14 page)

“Oh, Lord! If Momma could see me now.” She laughed, not caring who might hear her over the din of voices and piped-in muzak.

With James in the lead, their hands linked, she followed him toward their seats. Someone behind her bumped her hard. She gasped. Fell forward into James, almost sending him forward. She struggled to right herself with the rowdy crowd pushing all around her. Tremors of fear raced through her mind as she started to slip toward the floor. Panicked, she clawed at James’ back.

James turned on a dime. Grabbed her, protected her from falling. He sheltered her from the crushing crowd, and held her steady as she caught her breath. The crowd parted around them as though they were a large boulder in the middle of a fast moving river. Shaken, she clung to him, then blinked when he leaned in and kissed her.

His mouth was warm.

Heat and quivers raced all the way to her toes.

Wrapping his arm around her, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” Then he wrapped her in an embrace, rested his hand on her hip, and guided her back to their spot at the bar.

Shocked by the kiss, a touch so light and quick that it appeared and disappeared so fast she could have dreamt it. She touched a finger to her lips. They were still warm where his lips had been.

“Who’s going to protect me from you?” she whispered.

Chapter 13

James contemplated the woman beside him as Branna rested her back against the wall. Her gaze now landed anywhere but on him. Her eyes glittered, probably from excitement and maybe from drinking half of the oversized margarita so fast. The flush in her cheeks was probably alcohol induced.

Or could it be the result of their kiss?

He never intended to cross that line. Kissing a colleague would make for muddy business. Dr. Brown warned him to keep things professional. Why, he wasn’t sure, since he kept to his own strict rule of no fraternization after watching other faculty members mingle their lives. He’d witnessed when a relationship ended badly—anger, even vindictiveness, showed up at work. Small towns had a way of breeding relationship-discontent. Maybe it happened in big cities, too, but there people had the luxury of anonymity.

However, the fact that he’d kissed her didn’t bother him nearly as much as his reaction to the kiss worried him. When their lips met, the music died, noise went away, even the crowd disappeared. Only he and Branna were alive in the room. Time stopped. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of hers. Her soft feminine scent filled his senses. The caress of her lips made him a man dying of thirst...that only she could quench.

A second later, the reality of the bar, crowd and music crashed down around him. That moment of...unreality scared the living hell out of him.

He scooped a few peanuts from a bowl on the bar and tossed them into his mouth. Instead of discussing his spontaneous act and any reaction to it, for the last fifteen minutes, Branna had avoided all eye contact with him, even when she made small talk during the final minutes before the band started its next set. Weren’t women the ones who were supposed to say, “we need to talk”?

The lights in the bar dimmed. A mirrored ball lowered from the middle of the ceiling and began to turn, casting prisms of silver light around the room. The band struck up a ballad. It was the time of night when people started hooking up, looking for love in all the right or
wrong
places. The blind-eye of alcohol made once unappealing partners look suddenly desirable. A curious pre-mating ritual that made him chuckle. Typical honky-tonk Saturday night.

All evening he had danced respectfully with Branna, like they were two friends out to have some fun, but in truth, despite his “no fraternization” rule, since the kiss, he’d strained to hold himself in check. The attraction pushed hard against his immoveable stand, so hard it made him want to set his rulebook on fire, watch it burn to ashes, and enjoy the release to freedom. Then, he wanted to kiss her again. And again.

“Let’s dance,” he said, not giving her an option.

Branna never let go of his hand as they returned to the dance floor. She snuggled close for a slow dance. Danger stepped closer. When she gazed at him, her eyes bright and half-shuttered, the effects of an alcohol induced haze, his heart and mind agreed that he needed her. Wanted her. His resistance drained further when he noticed a few grains of salt on her top lip.

“Lick, drink, and suck,” he muttered several times, choosing to focus on the shot of tequila he’d order after the dance ended. He’d never had a woman drive him to drink before. Not even Caroline.

When Branna licked at the salt, the tip of her pink tongue entranced him. Everything in the room disappeared except her. He tilted her chin, ignored the question in her eyes, leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

Her mouth was warm and pliant. She kissed him back. Kissed him as though she savored the connection building between them. Had it become his new lifeline?

Holding her close, swaying in place to the music, he continued exploring her lips. His hands moved down her back. Her softness aroused a hardness in him, and if she noticed, she didn’t let on when she strained closer against him.

Branna’s eyes remained closed as she clung to him. She swiveled her hips against his. The tip of her tongue rested at the peak of her top lip.

“Ohhh. God,” he groaned. Could arousal actually kill him?

He’d tempted fate, then taken a leap off a cliff. But did Branna feel the same? Or at least something?

The only way to get closer to her, short of stripping naked and joining their bodies together, was to ravish her mouth. Thankfully, she didn’t stop him.

When the song ended, Branna stopped moving, and then pulled back. “Why did you kiss me like that?”

He paused. His only excuse was lame. “Couldn’t help myself?”

“What were you thinking, Dr. Newbern?”

“You have irresistible lips.” He had only truth as a defense. Though it wasn’t the complete story.

She frowned as though she expected some other answer. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Maybe I should take you home now. You’ve had too much to drink and drive. We can pick up your car tomorrow.”

“I swear you sound just like my mother. Know this—I make my own decisions. I’m not ready to go.”

Even mad she was beautiful. Her brow creased, and her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him. Her mouth pouted in a way that only made him want to kiss her again. He gut clenched. Who was he kidding? He wanted way more than a kiss. Mentally, he tore his rulebook to shreds. “Another dance, then?”

When she turned to walk away, the band started the next slow song. He pulled her back. “I promise I won’t do it again. Let’s not ruin the evening. Forget that I’m a jerk.”

She hesitated, but when he tugged her hand, she came easily into his embrace.

“I know a place not far from here,” he whispered in her ear. “We can hang out there for a little while. Get a cup of coffee and something to eat. Make sure we’re both sober before we make the hour drive back.” He twirled her slowly, trying to get her to look at him. When she still refused, he let go of her hands and took a step closer. Nose to nose, with arms opened in surrender, he said, “I promise, you will be safe.”

Questions, distrust glinted in her eyes. He waited for her answer. She paused for a long moment, then finally said, “How far are we going?”

“Not far, Cinderella. Besides, we can’t have you turning into a pumpkin in front of all of these people.”

“Oookay.” Her voice warbled with hesitation.

He led her to the bar to claim her purse.

“It’s Lady Branna, right?” Dale handed him the tab and motioned him closer. “As in, she’s like one of those British folks related to the queen or something? I met a guy at a restaurant in Lakeview once. Someone said he was the nephew of a king in one of those little countries in Europe. He spoke American with a French accent. She’s like him, right?”

James suppressed a chuckle. Branna wrinkled her nose and tilted her head as if she was trying to determine if Dale was teasing or not. Or maybe he made no sense to her at all. James couldn’t tell, though he was amused as she drained the last bit of her drink.

“I mean, should I ask her for her autograph?” Dale held up a one-dollar bill. Ten years ago, when Dale first started tending bar for his uncle at Tin Lizzie, whenever someone remotely famous or noteworthy wandered in, Dale asked them to autograph a one-dollar bill. He framed it on the back wall of the bar. When the wall was covered, he then started stapling autographed bills on the ceiling, like the Irish pub over in Pensacola had done, until there was not a spec of ceiling tile showing. James had heard rumors that Tin Lizzie’s ceiling was specially insured.

“Well, I don’t know.” James cocked his head. “I only met her yesterday. She said she’s southern royalty. Who knows, maybe she is. I don’t think she’s the lying type. Ask her.”

He watched Dale slide a dollar bill in Branna’s direction and ask her the question.

“I’m not legally a lady...” She pursed her lips as if struggling to find the right words. She blinked a few times, then started again, “Well, I was raise to be a lady...but not the type you mean.” She hiccupped. Confusion flashed across her face when Dale insisted again that she sign the dollar bill. Flustered, she wrinkled her face like a kid about to cry.

“Sign, then I’ll give you back your purse.”

James nodded, hoping to encourage her so he could get her out of the bar. She looked up at him wide-eyed. Her gaze locked on his as though she was drowning and needed him to toss her a lifeline. She licked her lips, then tried to shove her hair behind her ears. The large tequila drink had rocked her boat more than he’d imagined.

“Here.” James handed over a pen. He moved closer to whisper in her ear. “Just scroll your name across the bill. You’ll make the guy really happy. It will give him something to brag about.”

As if under hypnotic suggestion, she moved the tip of the pen across the dollar, then handed it to Dale, who then, handed back her purse.

Pulling some bills from his pocket, James paid the tab, leaving a sizeable tip. He held out his hand to Branna, who took it and squeezed tightly.

Outside under the flicking floodlights, bugs bumped against the light and buzzed. Gravel crunched under their feet as they made their way to his car. He kept her hand in his and helped balance her with his other hand in the small of her back. He felt her shiver. The evening coolness made him wish he had a blanket in the trunk. The river was not even a mile away. There, they could relax before the drive home. Who was he kidding? He had more than relaxation in mind. The outside air had not cooled his arousal.

They passed a crew-cab pickup with a couple in the backseat. The parking-lot floodlight created a silhouette of a man and woman engaged in a fierce lip-lock.

“Getta-a-roooom!” Branna slurred her words.

“Com’on Pumpkin, we gotta go. That good ol’ boy in that truck could have shotgun. No sense in riling the natives.” He hustled her along, then glanced back to the truck before he opened the car door for her. The couple inside the pickup gave no sign of hearing Branna’s shout while they tore at one another’s clothes.

Branna slunk down in the seat as though she had no bones in her body. “I’ve never been drunk before. So this is what it feels like.”

She marveled at her own drunkenness?

He hooked her seatbelt, and then closed the door, rounding the car to the driver’s side. He pulled from the parking lot with one eye on Branna, who attempted to open the window. Once she rolled it down, she laid her head on the frame and squealed, “Wheeee!”

“Never?” he asked incredulously.

“No. Never.”

She giggled as though she enjoyed a private joke. He shook his head. Branna Lind was full of surprises.

Their outing had gotten out of hand. That was his fault. He’d take full responsibility, but more alone time with Branna right now would lead to serious problems. His brain shouted, “No!” His body, screamed, “Yes!”

He turned onto the road to Lakeview, a half-moon shone above. Except for an occasional farmhouse with a floodlight, the view everywhere now looked the same—empty darkness.

“Where do you live Miss Lind? Where is your house?”

“Remember...truck...last night? Beat up, white. Said you’d...introduce that guy. Interested in his house...but now...”

“What’s your address Branna?” He slowed to the side of the road and leaned closer to hear her mumblings.

“I think...”

“Think what?”

Branna’s head lolled to the side.

Damn it. She’d gone to sleep.

Chapter 14

Branna woke. Her body was limp and her brain enjoyed a pleasant haze as someone carried her. In the darkness, she looked up into James’ barely visible face. His thighs bumped against her butt whenever he took a step. She circled his neck with her arms and would have gone back to sleep, except that the butt bumping made her giggle. The buzz from the margarita wrapped her in state of relaxed surrender. And she couldn’t deny it, the hardness of his body intrigued her.

“Pumpkins are lighter,” James grumbled when they were a few steps from the landing at the front door.

“Huh?”

“Your midnight changing act. What happened to it? I’m not carrying a
pumpkin
up these steps. You look like a featherweight on your feet. But I have to say, you weigh more than a pumpkin in deadweight.”

“Where are we?” Shadows surrounded them. Tree shapes created by moonbeams draped the darkness. She leaned back a bit to see the ground was far below. Her brain began to compute. She was alone in the woods with a man she barely knew, and he was carrying her up to a cabin. His touch had produced the most wonderful quivers all night. Dare she admit to erotic stimulation? His kiss was smoother than satin. She had every intention of exploring the adventure of James. Once they made it inside.