Bayou Born(42)

Yesterday proved that to her in a whole new way. She would balance her happiness with family responsibilities. She had a right to come first, especially when it came to love. Her mother put love first. Her aunts and uncles too. Why had her family foisted expectations on her unlike anyone else in their family, ever?

She lit candles in the living room and the large one on the dining table, before she put several jazz CD’s in the player, then hiked herself up on the swiveling barstool at the counter.

“It smells awesome in here.” Her stomach gurgled embarrassingly loud, enough to be heard over the sizzle of meat.

“Sounds like you have an appetite. I would’ve brought wine, but in case you’re taking pain meds, alcohol would be ill-advised.”

“I took a muscle relaxer, but not the painkiller. I agree, though. Not a good idea to mix.”

She didn’t need drugs or alcohol to experience the high that came from the company of the man she loved. How would he respond when he discovered that fact?

When the steak reached doneness, and the salad was mixed, James put plates of food on the counter and handed over silverware.

“We could eat at the dining table,” she offered, hoping for a candlelit dinner.

“Is there something wrong with the counter? No need to mess up a linen tablecloth.”

She shrugged, relenting, and wondered how to go about seducing him. There, her education was lacking, save watching Victoria Secret models on commercials.

“This is so good. I guess it’s cozy at the counter,” she said between bites. The domesticity provided a sense of belonging. A contentment she longed for. She could imagine many dinners sitting side-by-side with James. “How was class today?”

“They grumbled about their homework for next week. They have to come up with a list of at least ten books that define who they are.”

“Hmm. I could start with Gone with the Wind and Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.”

“My students weren’t so quick on the draw.”

She eyed him. His eyes crinkle in the corners from his warm smile. His hands, strong and steady, cut steak with a knife and fork. When he licked his lips to catch a dribble of juice, she fumbled her fork and almost dropped it.

“You’re really invested in your students. A great quality in a teacher, James.” She ran her hand from his shoulder to his elbow. When she looked up, his brow was furrowed, and his mouth quirked to one side as though he were perplexed.

“Last year, a student I’d had during my first year of teaching came to see me. He’d graduated with honors, then had gone on to a university and received his Bachelors in journalism. He said as quirky as some of the homework was, my class was the one that helped him the most. For me, the reward doesn’t get any better than that.”

“Clearly you have lots of talents.” She paused. Hearing her voice practically purr was a little unsettling. Gathering up their plates, she asked, “Adult beverage? I have a bottle of wine. Just because I shouldn’t imbibe, doesn’t prevent you. I wish I had thought of that with dinner. Or, I have some Basil Hayden, if you prefer.”

“Branna, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” She hoped that didn’t sound as overly bright to him as it did to her.

Wariness in his eyes let her know he remained skeptical. “I feel like I should check your temperature or something.”

She wanted to say she was definitely hot, but not due to any infection, unless a cocktail of love and lust was her virus. “Let’s go sit in the living room and enjoy the music.”

Though he hadn’t asked, she brought him a glass with two fingers of bourbon whiskey and set it on the coffee table.

“No,” she said shaking her head. “Please sit over here.” She pointed to the other side of the couch. If he remained where he was, she couldn’t cuddle close to him without aggravating the abrasions on her neck. The other side would be perfect. And if he couldn’t take the hint when she curled up to him, after he finished half of his drink, she’d unbutton his shirt.

Would he need a clearer clue?

When he settled into the couch, she snuggled close. He lifted his arm over her shoulder, which made their bodies fit closer. He raised an eyebrow, but kept the question to himself, instead started talking about upcoming summer events in Lakeview.

Contact with James, as always, fluttered her heart and produced racing quivers through her body. Sometimes soft and pleasurable, other times, more intense. When the intensity cranked up, the current running through her always seemed to converge in the apex of her legs. Like now.

She shifted her hips, seeking a more satisfying position. Though her muscles ached, that only made the quivering sensations more desirable. Like the contrast between sweet and salty.

Each minute that passed seemed more like five or ten. She tried to keep up with James’ discussion of “Things to Do in Lakeview,” but as it dragged on, her impatience rose. He, of course, probably thought he was being helpful. She, however, waited for an opening to tell him she loved him, but with little experience in seduction, would she come off sounding like a silly high-schooler? If she put a sexy, full-court press on him, he’d probably freak and tell her she wasn’t that type, which was only half the problem. The other part—the good girl voice in her head sounding like G. G. Marie yelled, “Floozy!”

A confession of her feelings needed perfect timing. However, maybe it was time for “show” rather than “tell.”

“What was it like growing up in a historical landmark?” James asked. He took a final sip of the bourbon and drained the amber-colored liquid.

“Wonderful,” she said, lifting her face to his.

“James,” she whispered, ignoring his is obvious choice of subject. “Would you like another drink?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to change the music?”

“No.”

“Do you want to help me feel better?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

She smiled. With nimble fingers, she maneuvered the bottom button on his shirt undone. When he didn’t move, she unbuttoned the next button. Excitement made her shiver. Breathless, she reached for another on his shirt.

“Branna?” James halted her crusade to free his buttons. “As much as I want where I think this is leading, I’m not comfortable. You had a harrowing experience yesterday, and you’re still healing.”

He kissed her nose, then lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers. A chaste kiss. A proper kiss. But the urgent cry of her body craved more.

How could she tell him that this was not the time for gentlemanly behavior? She melted against him while butterflies in her stomach did a free-form dance.

“I’m fine. I promise,” she whispered near his ear. Reaching for his shirt again, she planned to show him just how ready.

“Let me kiss you and hold you.” He repositioned himself, then lightly pressed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t frown, Branna. We’ve all the time in the world. Let me just hold you for tonight.”

Kisses caressed her jaw, her cheeks, her eyes, and her nose. When his lips found hers, she allowed his kisses to silence her.

For now.

After all, they had all night.





Chapter 30

Early Friday morning, James parked his battered white truck at the rest stop south of Gainesville. Five a.m. and already he was dragging. Coffee did nothing to jumpstart his brain. He grabbed a cooling cup of black liquid and his tote bag, locked his truck, then headed to the other side of the rest stop where Bobby waited in the dual-wheeled pickup hooked to a flatbed-semi loaded with bales of hay. Destination—Marathon Key.

“JD, look at you. Holey jeans and old boots. Boy, you’re still a damn redneck,” Bobby said as he climbed down from his truck. “You know what they say—once a redneck, always a redneck.”

“Shows what you know.” James pulled open the rear truck door and tossed his tote bag inside. “What ‘they’ say is, ‘You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.’”

“Well, what I want to know, Professor, who the hell is they anyway?”

He chuckled. Bobby could twist an argument better than anyone—woman or politician. “Listen up. They are the kind of people who pay my salary to teach smart redneck kids so they don’t grow up to be smart-asses like you.”

“Damn, smart-mouth is what you are,” Bobby said as he checked the tie-downs on the load. He tugged on each one as he walked around the truck.

“You’re a fake, Mr. Parker. Anyone with any sense knows that.”

Bobby played his role to the hilt. Bobby’s father had demanded that his son get an education and threatened to keep Bobby from working the farm, even inheriting it, if hell-raising Bobby didn’t graduate with a four-year degree. Old man Parker was a tough bird. It was his way or the highway.