by Ava Miles
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.”
He 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.
Chapter 13
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?”
“Some might see it that way, although it’s not business-related.”
“I see,” she said, her eyes troubled now. “Rye’s downstairs, working on a new song for the Thanksgiving concert.”
He walked in the direction of his doom. No need to put it off.
Sure enough, Rye was sprawled on the couch, playing a soulful melody Clayton hadn’t heard before.
“What do you think of this?” Rye asked without moving from his perch.
Clayton stroked his jaw, anticipating the crunch of his best friend’s fist. “I kissed your sister.”
Rye continued strumming the guitar. “Tammy’s so cute and sweet; it’s hard not to kiss her.”
Shit. The man didn’t have a clue. “Not Tammy. Your other sister.”
A B-flat echoed out, not the right chord for the melody, and Clayton knew his friend had finally processed what he was saying.
“Amelia Ann?” Rye asked, his brow scrunching together like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “Come on now. You’re pulling my leg.”
He stood his ground, even though his belly rolled like a ship at sea. “No, I’m not. Wish I was.”
The guitar was set aside with less care than usual as Rye stood to face him. “You kissed, kissed her? My baby sister, Amelia Ann?”
The burn of embarrassment flushed to his ears. “Yes.”
Rye’s mouth flattened into a straight line, and his eyes turned mean. He moved fast and slammed Clayton against the wall. “Why in the fuck would you do that?”
“Rye Crenshaw! What in the world are you doing?” Tory asked, running into the room. She must have followed him down the stairs to get there so fast. Likely she had guessed that whatever was burdening Clayton spelled trouble.
“Clayton kissed Amelia Ann,” his friend ground out, his hands fisted in Clayton’s shirt.
Even though Tory was barely shoulder height for them, she wedged her way between them and gave her husband a pointed look. “Well, it’s taken longer than I expected, but I knew this was coming.”
“You did?” Clayton and Rye asked at the same time.
They both stumbled back, Rye releasing his grip.
Tory rolled her eyes and gave her husband a not-too-gentle shove. “Of course I did. I have eyes, don’t I? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And heaven knows, you fight like cats whenever you’re around each other. Rye and I did the same thing when we first met.”
Clayton’s gut twisted. Tory and Rye had fought each other like pros until they’d…no, it couldn’t be the same between him and Amelia Ann…could it?
“How do they look at each other?” Rye asked.
Her flat stare was answer enough.
“Well, I haven’t seen them fighting like hellcats.” Rye grabbed his head and started pacing. “This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. I want to wake up.”
Clayton agreed. This was a nightmare all right. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep the truth from you.”
“She let you kiss her? Why would she do that?”
“I would think that would be obvious,” Tory told him, earning her a narrowed glance.
“I just can’t wrap my head around this. Dammit, Clayton, you’re way too old and—hell, I cannot believe I am saying this—experienced for my baby sister.”
“I know it,” he said, looking down at the boots he’d shined this morning before coming over.
“Then why in the world did you do it?” Rye asked, punching the air. “You’re one of my best friends.”
Tory laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Rye, they want each other.”
“Don’t say it like that. She’s my sister.”
The shudder that went through his friend ripped Clayton’s guts open. He hated that he was the reason Rye felt this way.
“But he’s—”
“No buts,” Tory interrupted, elbowing him. “I know this is hard for you to hear, but people don’t always plan these things. If they did, you and I would never have fallen in love.”
Love? He wasn’t that far gone. He couldn’t be. Love meant destruction. Amanda had taught him that. “It’s not like that. I only kissed her.”
Rye put his hands on his waist like he was about ready to go at him again. “How much?”
He gulped. “How much what?” he asked although he knew what he meant.
“How much did you kiss her?”
Tory socked him. “Enough. Rye. That is none of your business. Clayton, I know Rye appreciates your honesty even though it wasn’t necessary for you to tell him.”
Rye’s hands settled on her shoulders. “Wasn’t necessary? Woman, what’s gotten into you?”
“Common sense, Rye Crenshaw. You should find yours. Clayton and Amelia Ann like each other. It’s none of your affair, and you aren’t going to stand in their way.”
Holy hell. Tory thought they were dating? The need to backpedal became an undeniable urge. “It’s not like that.” It couldn’t be like that. He couldn’t let it be.
T
ory turned on him like an avenging angel, giving him a glance that could have brought Lucifer to his knees. “Are you saying you just want her for sex?” she asked baldly.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out. “Forgive my language.” He was only digging himself a hole here with his big mouth.
“You’re forgiven,” Tory said, leaving her husband’s side and coming to stand beside him. “Are you or are you not planning on dating Amelia Ann? Isn’t that why you kissed each other? Why you decided to risk being punched—”
“Or fired,” Rye added, his eyes full of fire.
“—by telling this jackass here.”
“Jackass?” Rye called out. “What did I do?”
Tory strode over to him. “I’ll tell you what you did. You’re acting like something was done to you, and it wasn’t. Clayton and Amelia Ann are old enough to make their own decisions, and if they want to kiss each other and have sex—”
“Stop. Please. I’m her big brother.” Rye planted his hands over his ears.
Running from the house and never coming back seemed like an appealing option right about now. “We’re not—”
“Clayton Chandler, are you telling me that you don’t want Rye’s…oh heck…blessing on you spending time with his sister?”
The question rooted him to the ground. He hadn’t expected anyone to toss out a line about the future. Rye was supposed to shut this down like Clayton thought best.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s Rye’s sister, and he’s my best friend and boss. Nothing can happen between us.”
“Now you’re thinking right, bubba,” Rye ground out.
Tory scratched her head, looking fit to be tied now. “Oh, is that the problem, Clayton? Because I don’t think you’re thinking straight. Not for one minute. Why don’t you head home so Rye and I can continue to talk about why this is none of his business?”
“None of my business?” his friend said, flinging his arms out in exasperation. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because it’s true,” Tory told him. She hooked her arm through Clayton’s. “Come on, I’ll escort you out.”