Bayou Born(20)

“Let’s dance.”

Before she could stop him, James grabbed her purse and handed it to Dale, who put it behind the bar. “Save our seats,” he told the bartender, laying a ten-dollar bill on the counter. He tugged on her hand and pulled her off the raised chair. She almost lost her balance. Then, they wound their way around through the tables to the dance floor.

The band announced the next song was the last one of the set. They wanted everyone out on the floor or they might not return after their break. The crowd roared when the guitarist picked the first strands of Sweet Home Alabama. Anyone not on the dance floor stood and cheered. Some banged bottles on the tabletops in time to the beat. The raucousness shot adrenaline through her body. If she’d been at the top of the Empire State Building, she’d swear she could jump and fly.

He never let go of her. There was barely room to sway together, let alone dance, which protected his feet from another beating like they endured last night. She tingled all over from the throb of the music and from being in James’ arms. The energy of the crowd swirled around her, giving her the sensation of rising click-by-click, climbing the up-side of a rollercoaster’s hill. Giddiness washed over her as if she’d opened a door and stepped through to Never Never Land. A feeling of being completely alive.

The band continued playing the song, raising the pace of the frenzied crowd. She’d swear every single person in the room was moving their body someway. After a drum solo and a final guitar lick, the band bowed and quickly departed from the stage, leaving the crowd staring at the spot where they’d been.

“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.”