Bayou Born(40)

She started toward the table, but stopped. James closed the door behind the departing delivery guy, then reached between the flower pots and vases and retrieved her ringing phone. He handed it over.

Without looking at the number, intuition told her that her mother called.

She was right. “Hello, Momma.”

“Branna! How are you feeling this morning?” Her mother’s voice sounded a pitch too high and too bright. Something was up.

“Good. Momma, let me call you right back.” Branna closed her phone and turned to James. “I’m grateful for the help. You’ve got stuff to do, so please don’t feel obligated to stay.” In truth, she hated to see him leave. Being close to him, despite her injuries, made her pulse beat stronger. Faster. Harder. She could finally admit to herself, there was only one reason for it, even if she wasn’t ready to speak the words aloud.

“I’ll have some food delivered for you. I’ve a class this afternoon. I’ll call you later this evening.”

He surprised her when he moved close and cradled her face with his hands. His warm lips pressed firmly against hers. She leaned in and kissed him back, wishing she could melt into his arms and hold him tight forever. The accident had brought focus to her mind and clarity to her heart. Being near him heightened each of her senses. Her toes curled. In his arms, the connection to him ran deep.

He touched her as though he cherished her. Tender and light. She loved that about him. Her heart skipped several beats. Her pulse pounded faster. Quivering sensations flooded her body.

This was love. The real thing.

James owned her heart.

When he pulled back, his eyes reflected puzzlement, or maybe surprise. She hated coolness touching her where he had touched before. He pulled back farther until an arm’s length separated them, but held her hands. Was he as reluctant to leave her as she was to have him go?

Before he let himself out, he turned back to her. She blew him a kiss. He beamed. Was that true happiness on his face?

What type was she now?

After the click of the front door closing, she turned her attention back to her mother. When the phone’s ringing stopped, but before her mother could answer, she said, “Sorry for the wait. How are you?” If she kept the conversation routine, her mother would hopefully remain calm.

“Honey, Steven called.”

The hair on the back of Branna’s neck prickled. That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Oh?”

“He’s very concerned about you. Your accident yesterday hit the internet news. He mentioned something about it being a good thing that he gave you a car...and he’s optimistic that the two of you might reconcile. He said the car was one you’d admired.”

“Momma, don’t build false hopes. Steven and I won’t, under any terms, ever be Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.”

“I would like to understand what came between the two of you. Steven said—”

“The painter needs me, Momma. I’ll call you back later.”

“All right. I’m happy to know you’re okay.”

Branna pushed the “end” button and wished there was one she could use on Steven. If she ever saw that man again, she’d probably need an attorney, because she’d be going to jail for murder. What nerve to involve her family!

Of course he did. He was Steven Sterling. He’d do anything to win his case. She was nothing more than a challenge to conquer, then pushed aside for the next. She knew his routine.

After a cup of tea and a small bowl of cheese grits, she popped a classical CD into the stereo and laid on the couch to rest. Her body ached. Heaviness in her limbs made it hard to want to lift a hand. Her muscles argued when she fought against relaxing.

She focused on the melody. In her mind’s eye, she read the individual notes on sheet music. She flexed her fingers as though she played the piano and hoped losing herself to the sounds of piano and strings would erase the sadness embedded in her chest. When she broke her engagement to Steven, she hadn’t considered how hard it was for her mother, and now that Steven had planted hope, she had to be the one squash it. How would her mother feel about Steven and Camilla?

When the home phone rang, she looked at caller ID. She reconsidered before answering. How did he get her number? What lie had he told to some unsuspecting person to gain the information? Or had her mother caved?

The ringing stopped as she reached for the phone. Then started immediately again. If she didn’t pick up, he’d call back again and again, ruining any chance of resting. Maybe call blocking was the answer.

She grabbed the phone and firmly pushed the “talk” button. “Hello, Steven.”

“Branna, I’m so relieved to hear your voice. Your mother said you were fine, but after seeing the photos of your Volvo on the national news...anyway. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I wanted to fly out there the minute I heard, but...”

“But what? You were too tangled up with your current lover?”

“That’s not nice. There’s no one but you, Branna. I never loved another woman.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘other women’? As in the plural form of the word. Are you so in the habit of lying, Steven, that you’re incapable of honesty? I know your clients benefit from your skill at side-stepping the truth, but it doesn’t work with me.”

“Baby Doll, I’m sorry about the past. I’m asking you to forgive me. I thought you might have since you never told your family—at least not as far as I can tell—about our little issue. All of your family still talks to me.”

“As long as they don’t talk to you about me, I’m fine. Besides, you have a professional relationship with Uncle Peter. I didn’t want your Robin-Hood lawyer image ruined just because you can’t keep your pants zipped.”

“It was one time, Branna. It’s not like you to carry a grudge. The Branna I know would forgive me.”

“That naïve girl is gone. Had it only been once, I might have forgiven you. But Steven, I know the whole truth. And I will not let you destroy my family. Words of warning. Stay away from me. Stay away from my family.” She ended the call.

Calmness claimed her. No more uncontrollable rage. Only serenity, like gentle waves lapping against white sand on a sunny day at the beach. Sure, she had a touch of anger, a cupful compared to an ocean, but Steven no longer had a hold on her heart. She was completely free.

“Freedom!”

She’d experienced it with James. Her one night with him had been the exact opposite of anything she’d ever done before. In James’ arms, inhibitions dissolved, spontaneity and desire flowed. She was a woman who knew her own mind and understood she had value as a person. They were equals and lovers. Well, one night together might not make them lovers. She’d have to work on that.

She’d never enjoyed a sense of ease with Steven even though she’d known him forever. Looking back, a much-defined set of expectations came with a relationship with him. Much like a checklist of acceptable behavior with a report card given once a week.

“Proper. Pretty. Propriety,” she repeated to herself.

Maybe he felt as trapped as she had? Maybe that was the reason for his wandering, and he just didn’t understand the root problem. He hadn’t always been so heartless.

“A devilish smile, seducing eyes and athletic body...and those first twinges of real desire,” she muttered, remembering him in high school.

But he was two years ahead of her. They only dated in her mind. She worshiped him from afar. During her final year of grad school, they worked together on a charity fundraiser—one of his mother’s famous causes. Steven had noticed her then.

Their chemistry left her breathless. The Prim Princess—folks called her that behind her back—bent herself into a pretzel to please him. How could she have been so stupid? The result of naiveté? Having never been in love before Steven, he consumed her world. A few weeks after they started dating, he had called late at night and woke her. He whispered as she lay in bed cocooned by darkness. His soothing voice directed her where and how to touch herself. He made her whisper where and how she would touch him. Hearing his climax shook her as much as the intensity of her own. Afterward, there was an awkwardness between them that never truly went away.

The first time they made love, it was hot and fast, and over too soon. His touch made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. He ridiculed her lack of experience. She had blamed herself.

How sad that their best lovemaking had been that one time of phone sex.

Still, nothing had prepared her for the letter she’d accidentally found when she’d gone to clean out her things from his condo in New Orleans. Steven’s current legal case had taken him out town for depositions, which allowed her privacy to pack. She’d loved the cozy intimate space in the heart of thriving French-Quarter action. She took her time and prepared a farewell dinner for one. While chopping vegetables, she managed to slice her finger. When she searched the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for a bandage, a letter fell out. She opened it.