Fireflies and Magnolias (16 page)

Even as she dried herself off and pulled on some clothes, everything in her felt unbalanced, like she’d landed in that Fred Astaire movie where he walked on the ceiling. Everything she knew to be up had become down.

“Amelia Ann?” Clayton called from the door. “Are you all right?”

All right? Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to contain it. It took her a minute to get herself under control.

“Princess?”

As she yanked on her favorite powder blue comfort sweater from her walk-in closet, she decided she was going to burn today’s clothes. She made a show of stomping on them before she strode over to the door and opened it.

“All right?” she answered honestly. “How am I supposed to respond to that? I can’t stop shaking. I can’t get warm.”

His hand reached out and caressed her face. “Of course you can’t. You’re in shock. Come downstairs with me and have some tea.”

Steam was billowing around them from the shower. “But I haven’t even brushed my hair.”

God she must be losing it to have forgotten such a basic step of self grooming.

“Let me do it.”

And he led her into her bathroom and selected a brush from her messy counter. Standing behind her, he slowly ran it through her wet locks, taking special care when he hit a tangled clump at the ends. The motion was oddly soothing. No one had ever brushed her hair for her before.

“You’re tending to me,” she whispered, and her eyes sought out his in the mirror.

It was strange to have him here in her sanctuary. The bra and panties she’d worn earlier were on top of the pile of dirty clothes she’d stomped.

“You have a problem with that?” he asked, raising one brow.

“No. It feels good,” she said, leaning back against his chest.

The words were small and inadequate, but it was the best she could manage at this moment. After so long, she finally knew what it was like to feel his mouth on hers. Have his hands run over her body. Now he was in her bathroom brushing her hair, something she never would have imagined big, bad Clayton doing.

“I’m sorry we stopped,” she admitted in a quiet voice, “but it’s probably for the best. I’m not exactly at my…best today.” Obviously. She’d just said “best” twice. But if he thought he could turn cold on her again, he was mistaken. Now that she knew the force of his passion for her, not to mention this tender side of him, she was never going to let him push her away.

He continued sweeping the brush through her long blond hair, even though it was all straightened out now. It was nice to realize he didn’t want to stop.

“For that and other reasons,” he answered cryptically, and she wondered what he was thinking.

“Do you regret it?” she asked boldly, unable to read his expression.

Setting the brush aside, he spun her to face him. “Regret kissing you or stopping?”

She placed her hands on his chest, a chest she wanted to caress more. “Please don’t say you regret kissing me. I couldn’t take it right now.”

He kissed her forehead. “I don’t regret kissing you. Now, let’s go downstairs.”

Relief rocked through her, and the tears she’d been holding back all day rose in her eyes. He’d come when she needed him. Without hesitation.

“Thank you for coming today, Clayton. I don’t know how things would have gone otherwise.”

His gray eyes grew stormy, and he pulled her against his chest. “I’m glad you kept your promise to me. Oh, Christ, Amelia Ann. Every time I think of what could have happened…”

Her arms wound around his back, and she clung to him, savoring his warmth as the first tears fell down her cheeks. “I know. I can’t stop thinking about it. But that’s how Jasinda and her kids have been living for years—day in and day out. There’s terrible darkness in the world, Clayton. More so than I ever realized until I started volunteering at Community Legal. ”

He lifted her chin and cradled her face between his palms. “Yes, but there’s incredible light too. You brought that light to them by getting them out of there. You’re a miracle, Amelia Ann.”

Not willing to let him think that, she shook her head. “I’m no miracle, Clayton. Far from it.”

“Don’t tell me what I know.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, and she fell into the sensation of his touch, his taste, his demands. Desperate to deepen the link between them, she rose on her toes to get closer. The slow, sensual dance of their tongues and lips and teeth was so erotic, she closed her eyes to savor it. There was no impatience like earlier. Everything was tender sensation, and she reveled in it. When he pulled back, she opened her eyes.

And she could tell from his heated gaze that he was holding onto his control for her sake as much as his own.

“I made you some hot tea,” he told her, holding out his hand. “Come downstairs with me.”

She touched a wet curl. “Let me put on some makeup and blow dry my hair.”

“You don’t need to put on any makeup on my account. I think you look more beautiful without it if that’s even possible.”

Oh, and if that didn’t warm her more than a hot shower… But she needed a moment to collect herself. So much had happened, and part of her wanted to slow everything down—even things between them.

“I’ll be down in a bit.”

When he left, she set her hands on the counter and stared into her reflection. Whatever danger she’d faced today, at least one good thing had come out of it. Clayton’s defenses against her seemed to have tumbled to the ground like the walls of Jericho. At last. As she blow dried her hair, she savored that knowledge.

And she didn’t put on any makeup because of his comment, something he would see and understand. Her mama had raised her to believe good Southern women never let anyone outside the family see them without makeup.

The thought of him seeing her this way—fresh faced and vulnerable—was as intimate as his hands on her bare breasts. And that memory sure made her shiver.

He was pacing in her family room holding a tumbler of bourbon in one hand when she came down the stairs. As soon as he saw her, he crossed the room and led her to the couch, then poured her tea from the teapot she kept on the kitchen counter. It was yellow with butterflies, and it seemed so girly and frivolous against his hand.

“I feel like such a fraud,” she admitted, gesturing to the well-furnished room, “after seeing how Jasinda and her kids were living.”

He sat next to her and settled his drink on his knee, and it delighted her that he wanted to be so close.

“I expect that’s only natural. Try and think of what you have as a blessing. That’s what my mama told me growing up when we lived in a big house.”

“Where was that?” she asked. The rare mention of something about his childhood only added to the intimacy coursing between them.

“In Brentwood,” he said. “Mama couldn’t live in our Franklin house after my daddy died, so we moved. It was pretty grand, but then again, you know my mama. She has fine taste. But she also made sure we always volunteered on Thanksgiving Day growing up. Mama said I should always remember I had a lot to be grateful for, but it was nothing to feel guilty about. That such privilege was the impetus to help and support others who weren’t as fortunate.”

She ran that through her mind. “It’s a fine line for me. The more glimpses I get at how other people live, the harder it is to be…okay with all my privileges. Sometimes I’m walking back from my classes on Vandy’s posh campus, and I want to scream, ‘Don’t y’all know how rich we are? That millions of other people don’t have what we do?’ I mean goodness, within a few miles of campus there are people who can’t even afford groceries.”

“If your life had been different, you wouldn’t be who you are. Now you can help other people because of who you are and the privilege you’ve known. Try to remember that when the voice in your head gets the best of you.”

Her tea wasn’t hot anymore, but it was warm and hit the spot. “That’s a comfort, Clayton.”

H
e was a comfort, she realized.

And he hadn’t told her brother. At least not yet. It was time to ask about that, although she hated to disrupt the peace between them. She leaned against his side, and he put his arm around her.

“Don’t get angry with me, but I expect you’ve been thinking about Rye.”

“Yes, I’ve been stewing something fierce about him while you were upstairs.”

“I still haven’t told him or my family about the clinic.” While his arm stayed around her, she felt his body tense. “I need to find the right time to tell them.”

“Do it soon,” he said, and his voice was rough as sandpaper now. “You’re asking me to keep things from my best friend, Amelia Ann. It’s a difficult position. And after tonight…”

The thought of telling her brother now, so soon after this new connection had been made, terrified her. She wasn’t sure it was solid enough to withstand pressure from outside forces.

“We’d best keep this to ourselves,” she said, feeling a different kind of tightness in her diaphragm. “Don’t you think?”

He didn’t respond, which worried her.

“Clayton?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Tell me what happened today, Amelia Ann. I need to know. I’m hoping it’s not any worse than what I’ve been imagining.”

Resigned not to receive an answer about her brother, she ran him through all the events that had culminated in him sweeping in like a guardian angel. She stole a few glances at him while she talked, only to see his mouth had flattened into a tight, straight line.

“I don’t think you’ll stop working there if I ask you, right?” he finally asked when she finished.

After today, the thought of facing that kind of situation again made her legs quiver. But she couldn’t back down, not when she was so needed. “I want to help women and children escape domestic violence, Clayton. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare me. I’ll just have to take better precautions. I’ve learned a lot today.”

“No more home visits,” he said in a harsh tone.

Oh, how the fearful part of her wanted to smile and agree so she would never have to face the Boogeyman again. But she couldn’t make that promise, and she would only start to hate herself if she did. “Sometimes it’s hard for the women to come to the clinic, or we need to assess the home situation. I won’t promise you that, but I will promise you never to go alone again.”

His body redefined rigid. Concrete was soft and bouncy in comparison. “I mean it, Amelia Ann. It’s not safe for you to walk into the home of a violent offender. I don’t care what kind of evidence needs to be collected for a protection order.”

Yes, he was a lawyer too—of course he’d understand why they had needed to assess their clients’ homes. “I was supposed to have a partner today, but she called in sick at the last minute. We decided I could do it alone.”

“A lot of good that did you,” he said, taking another drink of his bourbon. “I’m going to have a talk with your director about this. Mark my words.”

She turned and tucked her legs under her. “Please, don’t. It’s
my
job, and I have to find a way to handle it. Felicia is sick about what happened today. She’s a strong woman, Clayton, but she pulled me into a crushing hug when she got to the shelter. Trust me, she’s going to make some changes in how we do home visits. And like I said, I’ll only go with a partner from now on.”

Amelia Ann knew her boss well enough to know Felicia felt guilty. When they saw each other at the shelter, she’d clutched her and apologized twice in a whisper for not being there when she was needed. While Amelia Ann had tried to reassure her, she hadn’t been up to the task after the afternoon’s events. Felicia had insisted she go home, and she hadn’t fought her. They’d agreed to talk tomorrow in more depth.

He scrubbed his face. “And how am I supposed to stop from going out of my mind worrying about you?”

Her hand rose to rub her heart, which suddenly felt so alive in her chest. “Do you worry about me, Clayton?”

His level stare was enough of an answer.

“I’ll be all right,” she told him, using every ounce of her charm. “This is what I was meant to do! After the dust from today settles, I’m sure I’ll be smarter and stronger for it.”

“You’re plenty smart and strong, but violence isn’t something anyone in their right mind wants to cut their teeth on.”

He sounded so put out, she put her head on his shoulder as a gesture of intimacy, of care. “I can’t be someone I’m not. Not even for you.”

He grunted and shrugged his shoulders as if to shake her off. “It was easier when you were a simple Southern belle.”

Now that made her lift her head. “No, it wasn’t.”

She didn’t have to tell him how that façade had darn near killed her inside. He already knew.

“You’re right. It’s
never
easy with you.”

She might have taken that for an insult, but he pulled her against him again, his eyes burning with passion.

“What am I going to do with you, princess?”

Love me like I love you
, she thought to herself, but she simply let him hold her, enjoying the feel of his beautiful arms around her at last.

Clayton tossed and turned all night, kept awake by thoughts of Amelia Ann and what he’d done to her. Every old fear surfaced as he lay there sleepless, and when he finally managed a few minutes of shut-eye, he dreamed about Amanda. He woke up in a cold sweat and realized he’d turned yellow. Last night, he’d wanted Amelia Ann enough to risk everything.

But the cost to his sanity and his heart would be too high. He knew it.

It was time to step back. There was a part of him that hated his cowardice, but this is how it needed to be.

He decided something else as well: Rye deserved to know he’d kissed his sister. To conceal the truth would be a lie of omission, and it would feel bad enough to keep the truth about Amelia Ann’s volunteer job from Rye. At least he could tell him this one thing, no matter how hard it was to gather the gumption.

Besides, his friend’s reaction might bolster his unwilling conviction to keep his distance from Amelia Ann.

***

When Tory opened the front door to him later that morning, she immediately grabbed his arm. “Bad news?”