Bayou Born (Fleur de Lis Series)

by Linda Joyce

  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.”

  “Oookay.” Her voice warbled with hesitation.

  He led her to the bar to claim her purse.

  “It’s Lady Branna, right?” Dale handed him the tab and motioned him closer. “As in, she’s like one of those British folks related to the queen or something? I met a guy at a restaurant in Lakeview once. Someone said he was the nephew of a king in one of those little countries in Europe. He spoke American with a French accent. She’s like him, right?”

  James suppressed a chuckle. Branna wrinkled her nose and tilted her head as if she was trying to determine if Dale was teasing or not. Or maybe he made no sense to her at all. James couldn’t tell, though he was amused as she drained the last bit of her drink.

  “I mean, should I ask her for her autograph?” Dale held up a one-dollar bill. Ten years ago, when Dale first started tending bar for his uncle at Tin Lizzie, whenever someone remotely famous or noteworthy wandered in, Dale asked them to autograph a one-dollar bill. He framed it on the back wall of the bar. When the wall was covered, he then started stapling autographed bills on the ceiling, like the Irish pub over in Pensacola had done, until there was not a spec of ceiling tile showing. James had heard rumors that Tin Lizzie’s ceiling was specially insured.

  “Well, I don’t know.” James cocked his head. “I only met her yesterday. She said she’s southern royalty. Who knows, maybe she is. I don’t think she’s the lying type. Ask her.”

  He watched Dale slide a dollar bill in Branna’s direction and ask her the question.

  “I’m not legally a lady...” She pursed her lips as if struggling to find the right words. She blinked a few times, then started again, “Well, I was raise to be a lady...but not the type you mean.” She hiccupped. Confusion flashed across her face when Dale insisted again that she sign the dollar bill. Flustered, she wrinkled her face like a kid about to cry.

  “Sign, then I’ll give you back your purse.”

  James nodded, hoping to encourage her so he could get her out of the bar. She looked up at him wide-eyed. Her gaze locked on his as though she was drowning and needed him to toss her a lifeline. She licked her lips, then tried to shove her hair behind her ears. The large tequila drink had rocked her boat more than he’d imagined.

  “Here.” James handed over a pen. He moved closer to whisper in her ear. “Just scroll your name across the bill. You’ll make the guy really happy. It will give him something to brag about.”

  As if under hypnotic suggestion, she moved the tip of the pen across the dollar, then handed it to Dale, who then, handed back her purse.

  Pulling some bills from his pocket, James paid the tab, leaving a sizeable tip. He held out his hand to Branna, who took it and squeezed tightly.

  Outside under the flicking floodlights, bugs bumped against the light and buzzed. Gravel crunched under their feet as they made their way to his car. He kept her hand in his and helped balance her with his other hand in the small of her back. He felt her shiver. The evening coolness made him wish he had a blanket in the trunk. The river was not even a mile away. There, they could relax before the drive home. Who was he kidding? He had more than relaxation in mind. The outside air had not cooled his arousal.

  They passed a crew-cab pickup with a couple in the backseat. The parking-lot floodlight created a silhouette of a man and woman engaged in a fierce lip-lock.

  “Getta-a-roooom!” Branna slurred her words.

  “Com’on Pumpkin, we gotta go. That good ol’ boy in that truck could have shotgun. No sense in riling the natives.” He hustled her along, then glanced back to the truck before he opened the car door for her. The couple inside the pickup gave no sign of hearing Branna’s shout while they tore at one another’s clothes.

  Branna slunk down in the seat as though she had no bones in her body. “I’ve never been drunk before. So this is what it feels like.”

  She marveled at her own drunkenness?

  He hooked her seatbelt, and then closed the door, rounding the car to the driver’s side. He pulled from the parking lot with one eye on Branna, who attempted to open the window. Once she rolled it down, she laid her head on the frame and squealed, “Wheeee!”

  “Never?” he asked incredulously.

  “No. Never.”

  She giggled as though she enjoyed a private joke. He shook his head. Branna Lind was full of surprises.

  Their outing had gotten out of hand. That was his fault. He’d take full responsibility, but more alone time with Branna right now would lead to serious problems. His brain shouted, “No!” His body, screamed, “Yes!”

  He turned onto the road to Lakeview, a half-moon shone above. Except for an occasional farmhouse with a floodlight, the view everywhere now looked the same—empty darkness.

  “Where do you live Miss Lind? Where is your house?”

  “Remember...truck...last night? Beat up, white. Said you’d...introduce that guy. Interested in his house...but now...”

  “What’s your address Branna?” He slowed to the side of the road and leaned closer to hear her mumblings.

  “I think...”

  “Think what?”

  Branna’s head lolled to the side.

  Damn it. She’d gone to sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Branna woke. Her body was limp and her brain enjoyed a pleasant haze as someone carried her. In the darkness, she looked up into James’ barely visible face. His thighs bumped against her butt whenever he took a step. She circled his neck with her arms and would have gone back to sleep, except that the butt bumping made her giggle. The buzz from the margarita wrapped her in state of relaxed surrender. And she couldn’t deny it, the hardness of his body intrigued her.

  “Pumpkins are lighter,” James grumbled when they were a few steps from the landing at the front door.

  “Huh?”

  “Your midnight changing act. What happened to it? I’m not carrying a pumpkin up these steps. You look like a featherweight on your feet. But I have to say, you weigh more than a pumpkin in deadweight.”

  “Where are we?” Shadows surrounded them. Tree shapes created by moonbeams draped the darkness. She leaned back a bit to see the ground was far below. Her brain began to compute. She was alone in the woods with a man she barely knew, and he was carrying her up to a cabin. His touch had produced the most wonderful quivers all night. Dare she admit to erotic stimulation? His kiss was smoother than satin. She had every intention of exploring the adventure of James. Once they
made it inside.

  But a headline about a dead college instructor flashed in her head. She tensed.

  “Relax. You’re safe. This is a protected place with coffee and food before the drive back. Listen, local cops sit and wait for drunks to leave the bars down the highway a mile. Neither of us needs to make the police-blotter list tomorrow.”

  When James got close to the door, close enough to press the handle, it poked her butt. The front door opened, and once across the threshold, he set her on her feet. She swayed, a definite margarita wobble. He caught her. Was this a game they were playing?

  “Anyone home?” she called sing-songing-ly. When no one responded, she giggled. “No one’s home. Are we breaking and entering? No. Couldn’t be that because you didn’t break anything. No door. No glass. Maybe your back. Carrying me up those steps. Are you okay?” She swayed. Being drunk wasn’t so bad. She giggled, remembering the lengthy lecture her grandmother gave about the demons of alcohol.

  Taking a step from the doorway toward the living room, she tried to balance on both feet, but swayed. James caught her, picked her up and plopped her on a couch that faced a large stone fireplace.

  “I’m not a sack of potatoes.” She frowned.

  “Pumpkins. Potatoes. I could think of other ways of describing you.”

  He knelt in front of her, put a pillow on the armrest of the couch and guided her to lie back. He scooped up her feet, dropped her shoes, and let her stretch out long on the couch.

  “You mean descriptions like the ones that sleazy bartender used at the Library?”

  If he heard her, he ignored her question.

  “I’ll make some coffee and get us some food,” he said.

  She rose to sitting when he walked around the couch and toward the kitchen. The place had a definite cabin feel, but in Mississippi, houses built on stilts were called camps in the bayous and flood-prone areas. “Is there water nearby?”

  “We’re waterfront on the Itchneetucknee River. This is my grandparents’ escape.”

  She collapsed back down on the couch, her eyes too heavy to stay open.

  A few minutes later she woke. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee lifted to her nose, but she wasn’t ready to let go of her margarita buzz. The mellowness relaxed her. All thoughts of anything else disappeared. But—the desire she experienced on the dance floor with James had not diminished a bit. She squeezed her legs tightly together, then stretched long. She had an itch that demanded scratching.

  What would James think?

  He appeared suddenly before her. She shuttered her eyes, almost squinting to see him. Could he read the need she was certain reflected in her eyes?

  He placed a plate with hunks of cheese, torn bread, and fruit spreads on the coffee table. Due to her nervousness earlier, she’d not eaten much. She had cravings, all right, but food was not what she wanted.

  Grandmother was right. Alcohol was indeed a drug. It had removed her inhibitions.

  James reappeared with two mugs. He placed them on the table, then reached in his shirt pocket for individual creamers, and then retrieved sugar packets from his pant’s pocket.

  “I don’t know how you take your coffee.”

  She scooted to sit with her knees bent. James sat on the couch beside her feet.

  “Two creams. Two sugars.”

  James added the ingredients to her drink. He handed the mug to her. She noticed that he drank his coffee black and made a mental note. She snuck a few glances at him as she blew on the hot liquid in her cup. He seemed lost in contemplation. Since they’d crossed the threshold, the carefree ease they’d enjoyed before appeared to have remained at the bar. Maybe the hominess of the room had killed his mood?

  “I’m sorry I feel asleep. This is nice, but we probably should be going soon.” She couldn’t look at him, instead watched the steam rise from her too-hot coffee.

  “Actually, I think things work out like they’re supposed to. Fate.”

  “Me falling asleep?”

  She watched him ponder his response. His seriousness started to worry her.

  “No, our meeting was fate. And everything since then.” His chocolate brown eyes softened when he smiled at her. A quiver shot to her gut as he ran his hand from her knee to her bare foot. He stroked her ankle. She wanted to move, but couldn’t.

  “Our very first meeting at the bookstore definitely wasn’t planned. James, you’d been avoiding me up to that point. But the rest of tonight? A non-date. The huge margarita—too much for one person to drink. Then, a place with food and coffee. You planned this, didn’t you?” She looked at him warily. What had she gotten herself into? The more she learned about him, the more she wanted to know. But the closer they got, the more she wanted to run. How did he freeze her in place and at the same time, leave her wanting more?

  “No. You’re jumping to conclusions. I didn’t—”

  “Why did you kiss me back there?”

  He went very still. Dangerously still. He put down his cup and locked his eyes on hers. Her breath caught. She stared back. She refused to back down.

  The feeling that washed over her wasn’t fear.

  He angled his body, his shoulder against the back of the couch, then pulled her feet into his lap. His gaze kept her hypnotized. He spoke her name softly, “Branna.”

  “Uh-ha?” Her heart raced. She set her coffee mug down.

  “I’m gonna do it again.”

  She gulped.

  He rose and picked her up, carrying her while keeping his eyes on hers. It was barely ten steps to the hallway. The moment at hand made her remember the kissing game she’d played in high school, “Ten minutes in heaven.”

  Down a dark hall, James turned into a room, then lowered her to a bed. Her head rested on a pillow. He sat beside her, their hips touching. He bent, and his lips hovered just above hers. His warm, strong hands cradled her face. The tingling from his touch intensified. Her insides quivered. If he didn’t make a move, she was going to die.

  His eyes searched hers as though asking a question.

  She answered by rising to sit. Closed the distance between them. Their lips melded.

  She kissed him hard. Desperately.

  James deepened the kiss, sucking on her bottom lip. His tongue found access to her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her body arched, pressing hard against his. An ache deep inside her grew, and she strained against him more.

  Without breaking contact, he stretched out on the bed next to her, and then pulled her back beside him.

  A voice she recognized in her head shouted for caution and reason, but she left the “good little girl” back in Bayou Petite. Here, she was a woman.

  A woman in control.

  She rolled on top of James, lying against the full, solid length of his body. She cupped his face with her hands and gently kissed him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, then rested one hand on the back of her head, the other beside her neck. The hard rise in his jeans left no room for doubt. He wanted what she did. She gyrated her pelvis into his, something she wouldn’t have ever done with a man she’d only known a couple of days, let alone a man she’d never been out on a date with before.

  “Branna?”

  She tilted her head and then leaned close to him, her chin on his shoulder. His breath softly blew against her ear, and shivers reached her toes.

  “You asked earlier, ‘How far are we going...’”

  He wanted to talk now? “Yes?”

  James stilled. She could tell he held his breath.

  “We’re going to go as little or far as you want tonight.”

  Her insides melted. Desire magnified to full bloom. She pressed her lips to his, hard. Her hands reached for his, and she laced their fingers together.

  Then, she whispered in his ear, “It’s all or nothing.”

  Straddling his hips, she removed her blouse and unhooked her bra. A move she’d never made before. She pushed herself to standing on the bed, then stripped, dropping each piece
of clothing in a pile on the floor.

  Beneath her, James, his eyes trained only on her, wrestled off his clothes. They landed on top of hers.

  As she lowered herself, James rose to a sit and ran his hands up her calves, and then her thighs. Heat from his tingling touch coalesced in the apex of her legs. The intensity made her weak. Had her bones melted?

  She slid and straddled him. His hardness settled inside her. Her hips undulated.

  Bravely, she faced him.

  When his mouth captured her breast, she braced herself, hands on his shoulders.

  The sensual stimulation was unbearable.

  She’d lost all control of her body. She moaned, unembarrassed by the sound. She gloried in skyrocketing—all the way to heaven.

  The moment was exactly what she wanted. She silenced the scold from the proverbial “good girl” in her head. Silenced it completely.

  She stilled when James moved under her, wanting to experience each sensation.

  They rocked together, up and back. Up and back.

  Each move made her move more. Want more of him.

  She tensed. Heaven exploded into bursts of shiny stars. Quivering warmth bathed her body. An experience so luxurious she never wanted it to end.

  Later, when they lay tangled in the sheets, fingers threaded together, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, the clock by the bed beamed the time overhead. It was nearly two in the morning. She needed to go home.

  Sitting up, she turned to reach for her clothes. James pulled her back and put his finger to her lips when she started to protest.

  “Shhh,” he said softly. “The next best part is yet to come. Just sleep with me for now.”

  He pulled her close, wrapped her arm around his waist, settled her head on his shoulder, then rubbed her arm in long soothing strokes. James had a power over her she wasn’t in the mood to question. She drifted off, a deep contentment lulled her soundly to sleep.

  Later, she woke with a start. Disoriented, she sat up, unsettled to realize her still nakedness. She grabbed the sheet to cover her body and looked around the bedroom.

  Perfectly framed in front of three tall windows, was the silhouette of a man. James stood tall with his back to her. He was lean and muscled, and in the moonlight, looked like a god carved from marble. He appeared to survey the dark.