by Linda Joyce
The proverbial “good girl” voice in her head screamed, Now you’ve really done it!
What had she really done? She looked around. A strange house. A strange bed. With a man who was nearly a stranger.
Oh God. She’d never drink again!
James must have heard her ruffle the sheets, or maybe he heard her panicked thoughts. He turned and faced her. Fear fled at the flash of his warm smile. The way it crinkled the corners of his eyes. All she could think when he walked toward her, moved with complete male grace, was that she had kissed him there, and there, and there.
When he reached her, he pulled back the sheet and exposed her nakedness. He kissed her softly at the base of her neck. Her pulse throbbed there. She couldn’t breathe, not from fear, but from sweet anticipation. What would he think if she massaged him there, and then had her way with him?
“My turn.” His voice sounded husky and sexy. “I promised. The next best part is yet to come.”
He started a slow assault with his hands and his lips, caressing her shoulders, then moved to her chest, as though he treasured her body.
Delight tickled her insides. She gave in to the sensation of weightlessness. His mouth floated kisses over her breasts. His fingers caressed the inside of her thighs, moving in slow circles, inching higher and higher on her legs. In mere moments, he would have her drifting to meet heaven again.
The ecstasy was unimaginable. The craving was more than she could bear. Alcohol wasn’t the demon addiction. Making love with James had to be.
James teased and tantalized her skin, stroked and sucked her body until she was begging for more and hanging on, trying not to fall off the edge of the earth.
He joined his body with hers. Filling her. They moved at a slow even pace, together as one. They rode the waves of pleasure.
He caressed her butt as they rocked. She grabbed tight to his shoulders for support and arched her back when he carried her to the top of the cliff of pleasure, the place where they both wanted to be...she felt his shudder as she heard her own long guttural moan.
Then they melted back to earth.
Had he somehow taken her bones?
Her body was so languid, further movement was out of the question—at least for another hour or so. Maybe the rest of the night. As her breathing returned to normal, James turned on his side, spooning her from behind. His hand draped, resting on her waist.
She never shared loving making with Steven that ever closely resembled what had just happened. And, her “good girl” argument to Biloxi had been that sex couldn’t possibly be satisfying outside of love...Well, she’d have to rethink that now.
She didn’t have words for the experience with James, but that didn’t matter. The corners of her mouth turned up. She was a later bloomer in more ways than one. She finally understood what Camilla had been telling her, about the burn, the need, and the euphoria so potent is was a drug. One that took you to the highest mountaintop, then launched you to the stars.
James was the perfect lover.
Had she really thought those words?
She had a lover?
She had a lover.
Oh, no.
Chapter 15
In the first light of early dawn, the room looked unfamiliar. Sitting up, Branna clutched a sheet to her chest. The banging in the kitchen had to be James, right?
What were you thinking? The “good-girl” voice in her head started to lecture, and her heartbeat zoomed to the edge of panic. Had she walked through a magical door in Lakeview or simply lost her mind? Maybe there was something in her drink last night. Otherwise, how could she rationalize, let alone explain that she’d been intimate with a man she barely knew.
Breathing deep, trying to hold on to some semblance of calm, she gazed out the windows. When was the last time she rose to watch the radiance of a new day? When had she seen rays of light cast a glow that made the world looked wonderfully refreshed? Certainly not since her engagement to Steven. Just how long had it been? Before college? For too many years, she’d juggled balancing school and duties at Fleur de Lis. Who had time for a sunrise?
The beauty of the golden light soothed the pounding in her heart. Tension eased more. Before her, a squirrel leaped from limb to limb. The bedroom’s second story windows offered a view like one would find living in a tree house. And through the trees, she caught a brief glimpse of light blue, the river flowed really close by.
Thankfully, there were no obvious neighbors in sight.
Hearing another pan bang against something brought uneasiness back to her gut. What had she been thinking? James was her assigned mentor. Their relationship had to remain professional.
She couldn’t blame last night on alcohol, she was in enough control of her faculties that she could have stopped what happened. She didn’t because...she wanted the experience. She wanted James. It was all about him. She and desire had climbed a mountain, reached the highest peak, then when desire demanded full attention, she was happy to oblige. Never would she regret making love with him, no matter how loud the “good-girl” voices wanted to shout her down.
But...after last night, James could peg her as another “type”? If so, she probably wouldn’t like the label.
She scrambled for her clothes, now neatly folded in a chair by the window, and then dressed. A second later, James entered the bedroom with two mugs. He handed her one.
“Two creams. Two sugars.”
The timbre of his voice resonated low in her gut and sent a warming sensation lower. She barely managed to nod as he stood grinning at her.
She nodded again for good measure.
“Are you a morning person?” James asked.
Was he really standing there expecting a benign conversation? After everything that happened last night? In this room? In that bed? Not once, but twice. She blinked, hoping her voice would remain as casual sounding as his.
“Honestly, I love sleep. It’s the greatest luxury in life. Sunday mornings, I get up for church at the last minute. I don’t think Father John has ever seen me with makeup.” She wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth. She was babbling. “A morning person by design, not voluntary.”
“I see. Catholic or Episcopalian?”
“Hail Mary’s and everything.” She chuckled nervously.
His eyes never left her. His gaze unnerved her. She raked her fingers through her hair, certain last night’s makeup had smeared her face like a Jackson Pollock painting. Taking a step forward, she whispered, “Restroom?”
“Ah. Oh. Sorry. Through there.” James pointed down the hall.
She took another step. Glanced at him. The door opening wasn’t wide enough for her to pass with him in the way. He turned and raised his hands, holding his mug high above his head. She slipped by, making sure they didn’t touch.
Inside the small bathroom, she stood in front of a pedestal sink and took a good look into the mirror. “Not too bad,” she muttered while wondering how to disappear and reappear at home alone. Her actions last night would shock anyone who knew her. She had shocked herself. The discomfort that dawned with the sun was something she’d never experienced before. The idea of adventure suited her far better than the actual experience. Had Lewis and Clark felt that way on their Journey of Discovery to the uncharted west?
“Branna, are you okay? I can make breakfast or I can take you out to eat. What’s your desire?” James called through the bathroom door.
Desire had led to her current predicament—hiding out in the bathroom. How in the world would she face the man at work every day? His assignment was to show her the ropes on the job, yet he managed to educate her in several new ways that had nothing to do with what they did for a living. And, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want more.
“Branna, I’m starting to get concerned. If you don’t come out, I’m going to have to come in. We can deal with the elephant in the room. We just have to talk about it.”
Not only was James a good kisser, a wonderful lover, but clear
ly he had some measure of mindreading skills. That made him even more dangerous. Quickly, she washed her face, rubbed it dry, then slowly opened the door.
He reached in and took both of her hands, holding them as though they were delicate like porcelain as he guided her to the living room. Could she be growing accustomed to the quivering he sent though her body with a mere touch?
The man had the most unnerving way of capturing her total attention. As they stood before the stone fireplace, about in the same spot where everything had started last night, he looked deep into her eyes, as if looking for all of her secrets. She blinked.
“There are a couple of ways to look at this situation. It only requires an open mind.”
Puzzled, she tilted her head and shifted her gaze from his eyes to his mouth.
“Yesterday evening was a non-date, but somewhere between the ‘non’ and ‘date,’ it became an actual date.”
She started to protest, but he squeezed her hands. “Hear me out. There was no way I could get you home by midnight, and we both know what happens then, so I brought you here, where no one—trust me on this—no one turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”
She furrowed her brow and remained silent. So far, he hadn’t said anything that she could argue against.
“Now, the way I see it, everything from after the Tin Lizzie to dawn was our first date, and I want today to be our second date, allowing us to dispense with all of the after-the-first-date issues.”
It alarmed her that he was making complete sense. It wasn’t lost on her that he didn’t make specific references to their activities between midnight and first light. That would have sent her running.
“That’s one way to look at it,” she agreed noncommittally.
“Good, then on our second date, I want us to get to know each other better and decide on when we’ll have our third date.”
“We,” she said. “We don’t know each other at all!”
“Au contraire, mon ami. We know quite a bit about each other.” He winked.
What craziness. Who was she? She went to bed with him, almost a stranger. And then he woke up and considered the new dawn an opportunity for a second date. The “good girl” warred with the “adventuring girl” in a heated battle. What should she do? James Newbern had an appealing charm. Many positive qualities. Who was she kidding? She’d lived more, drank more, and danced more with him than anyone. He was the charge to her battery. He was sexy as hell. And, she never used four-letter language, yet the facts completely warranted it this time.
But in the light of day, her daring dwindled.
“I think,” she started and offered a half smile. “I need to take a rain check on that second date. I’m not feeling too great. Plus, I don’t mix business and...”
James grinned at her. “So. Much. Pleasure.” He finished her sentence.
She wanted to slap the smile off his face.
“Hmm, are you one of those?” she asked.
He drew back. “One of what?”
“The type who blurs the lines between work and private life.”
“I guess you’ll just have to take a chance and find out for yourself, Miss Lind.”
Chapter 16
A dream diffused into fractured images, and sleep slipped away. Startled awake, Branna looked around. This wasn’t in her room at Fleur de Lis. Clarity settled in when she spied the green glow of the digital clock as it shined five forty-five a.m.
“Oh,” she groaned. “Another hour...have to get up. Monday...school.”
Closing her eyes, she slowed her breath, trying to coax her body to relax and her brain to quiet. She wanted to return to luxurious sleep where worries dissolved like sugar in hot tea. While Lakeview had washed her nightly bad dreams about Steven away, maybe her anxiety over James triggered them again?
Flashes of the nightmare came back to her. She found herself on stage at the Valentine’s Day auction panicked and trying to cover her total nakedness with a large fan, one with feathers that a burlesque dancer might use. All of Bayou Petite stared at her, their jaws slack in stunned silence, while her view was of Steven’s back as he abandoned her there, totally humiliated.
For months, unpleasant dreams had exposed her lack of invincibility and opened her eyes to her own fragile vulnerability. Steven’s betrayal had crushed her confidence as easily as swatting a mosquito.
After that living nightmare, her choice to remain in Bayou Petite had locked her in a tug-o-war. Staying was a stand of defiance against him. However, staying meant she risked running into him in town and at local social functions. Unfortunately, their families traveled in the same circles, and even if they didn’t, given the size of Bayou Petite, sooner or later, they were bound to meet.
She punched her pillow and flipped on her side. So what had she done about his…his philandering? Isolated herself at Fleur de Lis for months. That made her feel like only half-a-coward, but in truth she lived like one, rarely leaving the property and always in fear of running into the man who destroyed her well-planned life. She would not allow him to shatter her family with his promiscuous feats, thus she remained silent about all of the reasons she’d broken off the engagement.
In the end, her decision to face her fears and get on with her life drove her from home. Drove her all the way to Florida.
In an hour, she needed to rise from the safety of her bed, to start her first day of teaching. However, after Saturday night, she would forever associate teaching with James. In her brain, the two were intricately linked.
Frustrated that her mind continued to roam, she planted her feet on the floor, then padded to the bathroom. Turning on the light, she stared into the mirror. “You can’t hide. You can’t leave. You’ve got to face this mess, face James.”
After squeezing toothpaste onto her toothbrush, she worked the brush in circles as her “good-girl” conscience berated her.
How could she have made love to him? A man assigned to oversee her transition. Maybe he had a girlfriend. In that case, he was a louse. Or maybe he had something causal...remember Sara Nell.
Branna scrubbed her teeth harder. She had always laughed at the radio preachers shouting about the demons of alcohol, but now she understood firsthand—consequences came from exercising the elbow in a bar. In fact, face-to-face with Steven again might be less uncomfortable than facing James at school.
The jitterbug that danced in her gut made her want to pack up and return to the safety of Fleur de Lis. Yet as much as that idea held an appeal, if she dragged herself home, she’d forever feel like a coward and a complete failure. Such admirable qualities for the next Keeper of Fleur de Lis. Not!
Talk about morning-after regrets.
No, she wouldn’t run. She could carry on as though nothing bothered her and reconcile that one night with James as a learning experience—one night of fun and pleasure. She, too, could act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The façade of strength was better than a no-show of fortitude.
She finished washing her face, then took a deep breath. The more she tried to shift her focus, the more her thoughts drifted to James. The man took cool tingles and ramped up them to a hot sizzle. Could the magnetic pull of attraction between them sit on simmer? It would take an ocean of self-control to keep her distance from him. The picture in her mind of James standing naked before the window in the moonlight made her dizzyingly hot. The heat of his hands on her body was more than a mere memory.
She fanned her face to cool the flush before putting on her makeup.
At least this morning she finally felt human.
Not like yesterday.
The weekend had been wild, at least measured by her standards. How did her sister and Biloxi manage to party all the time? Did a person build up endurance to liquor, loud music, and dancing? Or did a hot looking guy somehow trigger hormones that made a woman go crazy?
A chair held the clothes she laid out last night, but she went to her closet and searched for something different. A blue and whit
e summer dress she’d picked from the Brooks Brother’s catalog last year and had never worn.
“It fits fine,” she said to her reflection in the mirror.
Partying as she had on Saturday night at Tin Lizzie would kill her before she could build up enough endurance to handle it on a once-a-week basis. How boring her life must seem to others. However, she’d take fine dining and a jazz concert over the raucous Tin Lizzie and bar food.
But as long as James danced with her, she’d probably follow him anywhere.
He’d brought her home yesterday morning, after a tall Bloody Mary with breakfast, rather than dropping her off at her car. Afterward, she slept most of the day, which helped her avoid the pounding in her head and the queasiness in her stomach. She rose once, thinking she might eat, but standing before the open refrigerator door, the idea of food made her first ever hangover worse. She worked at rehydrating—all the salt on the rim of the margarita had made her thirstier than parched cotton growing in a drought. However, after hours of sipping only water, she could pass for a bloated fish floating in the Mississippi. She switched to club soda and washed down Tylenol. That had finally stopped the throbbing in her head.
And she would do it all again because?
Being in James’ arms was like a fabulous vacation. One where she was wrapped in warm shearling before a fireplace while a blizzard blew outside, and at the same time, anticipating the thrill of racing fast to the bottom of a rollercoaster’s hill.
The idea was schoolgirl silly, but so true.
However, yesterday evening, when she was barely feeling human, James had called and announced that he headed toward her house to take her to her car. A deafening silence hung between them on the trip. They barely made polite conversation. She sensed something bubbling beneath the surface of his calm exterior. Did it have anything to do with her? She had been too embarrassed to ask.
Late last night, Steven had texted her. Wished her good luck on her first day of work. She threw the phone across the room. When would she ever get his thorn out of her side?