A Night of Southern Comfort

by Covington, Robin

  Her only outward reaction to his question was the jump of her pulse in her neck. Her answer rolled off her tongue smooth as glass.

  “No. Everything’s good.” She shrugged. “The governor’s plan failed. Simple as that.”

  He processed all of her reactions—eye contact, breathing, muscle tension. Everything about her demeanor indicated she was telling the truth. But, he knew in his gut she wasn’t telling him everything.

  “You know, it’s normal for these things to escalate.” He kept his tone nonchalant even though the facts should scare the crap out of her. “The stalker is frustrated by the lack of response and he works to get a more direct and instantaneous reaction.”

  Her face was blank as she listened. He reminded himself to never play poker with Kayla.

  “It could be as simple as a hang-up.”

  She blinked. He was on the right track.

  “And the next step is going into the physical space of their target—like their home.”

  Son of a bitch. Kayla squirmed in her seat and looked around the diner—probably trying to find the nearest exit. Struggling to remain calm on the outside, Jack made a mental list of how many ways he could kill the asshole who’d been in her apartment.

  “Well”—she cleared her throat—“that’s good to know. If the threat were real, I’d know what to expect.”

  “Kayla—”

  “Hey, I thought I told you not to worry about this. Nothing’s going on.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave away just how much she didn’t like this conversation. She wasn’t a fidgety person and he doubted she knew her “tell.”

  She continued in a lighter tone, “Aren’t you off duty?”

  Jack paused, deciding to stop and let her guide this back to easier conversation. If she spooked, he wouldn’t be able to stay close. He’d have Lucky install the bugs at her house and office sooner rather than later. He dialed back “cop mode” and settled back to enjoy the one perk of this job—spending time with this beautiful woman.

  “A cop is never really off duty. It’s in my blood to serve and protect.” Jack smiled in response to her more relaxed chuckle. “I help everyone even if I haven’t seen them naked.”

  “So, that doesn’t get me special treatment?”

  “No. But it will get you a longer strip search.”

  The moment the words left his mouth, their night together and the memory of all the ways they’d explored each other’s bodies walked up and slid into the booth with them. Rattled, Jack was spared the effort to reply by his mom depositing their food on the table.

  Glad for the distraction, he took a sip of the cold tea and gathered his thoughts, determined to steer the topic away from the fact that she had an available bed just a few blocks away. Drawn by the sound of her digging into her dish, he looked up and was riveted by the sight of her taking a bite of the pie. The expression on her face was nothing less than simple bliss. He knew when the creamy confection hit her tongue because she moaned appreciatively—her long, graceful neck arching in pleasure. Mesmerized, he tracked the slow progress of the fork as it slid out of her mouth, the pink tip of her tongue sweeping across her lower lip to enjoy every last morsel.

  Damn. Jack groaned low in his throat.

  Kayla caught sight of his face and whatever she saw there gave her pleasure. The result wasn’t a full-blown grin. No, it was a slow, knowing smile from a woman who knew the power she had over a man. The same smile had drawn him closer the night they met. It still did him in.

  Visions of his dining companion in the shower on her knees swirled in his mind as his cock hardened painfully in his jeans. He grabbed the glass of sweet tea again and swallowed the lump lodged in his throat.

  She took another bite. He struggled to get a grip. He was a grown-ass man, not some horny teenager who couldn’t cut through the fog of lust.

  Looking quite pleased with herself, she gestured toward his untouched slab of pie. “Aren’t you going to eat?

  “I’m not that hungry.” At least not for pie.

  She took another bite and rolled her eyes heavenward in ecstasy. “I never pass up a chance to have Dolly’s pies.”

  He shifted in his seat and rested an arm along the back of the booth in an attempt to look more at ease than he felt. “Yeah, well, that’s the benefit of being the owner’s son. I get to eat here whenever I want.”

  “Dolly’s your mom?”

  He nodded. “It’s a small world.” He watched her expression change from confusion to understanding as she processed that piece of information.

  Then she licked her lips and he almost forgot to breathe.

  He shifted his gaze to her lips, then lower. Her hard nipples peaked the thin fabric of her dress, confirming he wasn’t the only one affected by the heat sizzling between them. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched a pink tint creep up her cheeks. She was such a fascinating contradiction.

  “You said you don’t live here. Where do you live?” she asked.

  “I live in Roanoke. I work undercover so I’m not around a lot but it’s close enough to stop by when I’m off duty.” That might come to an end if he came through for the governor. “My current job is only temporary until I can get back to DC and the FBI.”

  “You didn’t want to come back to Elliott?”

  “No. I couldn’t wait to leave.”

  “Why? This place is so small and welcoming.”

  “Too small.” He scoffed, reining in his reaction when he saw the confusion on her face. “It’s different when everyone thinks they know you.”

  “I know how that goes.” She smiled and jerked her thumb at her chest. “Grew up in a fishbowl, remember?”

  He laughed, her humor deflating his ire. She hadn’t had it easy—still didn’t from what little he’d observed—but she was sticking to her guns. The sexy exterior had grabbed his attention but it was the inner fire, the deep-seated self-knowledge that kept him intrigued.

  “I haven’t said it, but I admire how you stood up to your father. It couldn’t have been easy. It was gutsy.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “Yes. It was.” He paused wondering if she would answer his next question. “Has he always been like that?”

  “Yes. No.” She scrunched up her face, struggling with her thoughts. “I remember he was easier when I was little. My mother ran interference among all of us.”

  “And after your mom passed away?”

  “My brother and I became props to get the ‘poor widower and single dad’ vote. As long as we followed his plan, everything was okay.”

  “And when you didn’t?”

  She paused, her eyes closing briefly before she answered. “I always did what he wanted, eventually.”

  “Until now?

  “Yes. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I had to live my own life.”

  “So, I was right.” She looked at him quizzically. “You are gutsy.”

  Pink tinged her cheeks as she shook her head and looked down at the tabletop. Her hands gripped the edge with white-knuckle tension. He guessed she struggled with whether she should stay here in Elliott. She was too smart not to have a backup plan. The fact that she needed one pissed him off. He’d been on edge since the meeting with the governor in Richmond and now he was wound so tight he either had to fight or fuck the anger out of his system before he blew.

  Jack moved in his seat and jostled the table, causing Kayla to look at him. The jolt of cellular recognition crackled between them like a live wire. He’d read about it—that crazy moment when your body remembers where it has been, whom it connected with, and yearns to be there again. Frankly, he was surprised that the Formica-covered table hadn’t gone up in flames.

  “I guess this is a pretty crazy coincidence.” With a shaking hand, Kayla smoothed her hair back from her forehead.

  “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  A furrow creased her brow. “What? How can you say that? The bar? My father’s house? This town?”

/>   Jack leaned forward and placed his hand on the table, only a hair’s breadth from where hers lay. It took everything he had to resist closing that gap.

  “Doc, you went to the bar looking for a man and I happened to be in the right place at the very right time. That’s not kismet—that’s just probabilities.”

  “No.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper that curled around his gut in a tight clench. “I wasn’t looking for a man at all. That changed when I saw you. I picked you because I couldn’t not pick you.”

  At her words, his entire focus shifted to include only her. Kayla’s expression was defiant, daring him to refute what she’d said. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even speak, much less argue. Frankly, he didn’t know if he wanted to. The thought that someone like Kayla might actually want him scared the hell out of him.

  His mom approached the table and “tsked” at the untouched pie on his plate. “Y’all want anything else?”

  Never breaking eye contact with Kayla, Jack closed the distance necessary to cover her long, delicate fingers with his own.

  “Dr. Roarke will take the pie.” He briefly calculated just how dumb his idea was, but with all of his blood flowing to his crotch, he couldn’t count that high. “To go.”

  Chapter Four

  Michaela shivered in the crisp air of twilight in early spring. The chill was in sharp contrast to the fire burning where Jackson grasped her hand.

  This was crazy. She was a fool to blurt out that confession, especially when it didn’t change a damn thing. Her skin tingled with a rush of blood, her arousal bringing Jackson into sharp focus, shifting the bustle of Main Street into the background. The sounds of the crickets and the aroma of early blooming flowers created a cocoon built for two. Needing to move, Michaela let go of his hand, turned onto the sidewalk, and headed toward home.

  Jackson followed her.

  To fill the silence, she said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I…I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

  “You didn’t upset—” With a deep breath, he spoke in what she now recognized as his usual, abrupt manner. “You just can’t say things like that.”

  She knew that. Whatever attraction brewing between them was a nonstarter. She couldn’t have a man in her life with the governor looming in the shadows and her future uncertain. If she had to leave, it would be easier if she didn’t have to leave someone behind. But if any man could tempt her, it was Jackson.

  Jackson curled his arm around her waist, the action a contradiction to the words he murmured in her ear. “I’m not staying here, so we shouldn’t start what we can’t finish. One night was one night…”

  She picked up his train of thought, “…but this would be two.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not looking for a relationship right now,” she said.

  “And I never will be.”

  He stepped away from her, a chill replacing the sweet warmth of his body pressed up against hers. What was that ache in her belly? Disappointment? He’d just laid all of his cards on the table and she could play by his rules if she wanted. But she was beginning to think this game was too high-stakes for her heart.

  Their bodies brushed against each other too often to be accidental and the silence between them remained sexually charged as they turned onto the lane where she rented a carriage house from Crystal. The lane was lit by streetlamps, but her little driveway was bathed in shadow, broken only by the moonlight slanting through the trees. The smell of roses and the neighbor’s fresh-cut grass mingled with Jackson’s warm male scent and hinted at the spell warm Southern nights and a porch swing could cast over a pair of lovers.

  As they approached the front door, memories of standing in front of his hotel room flooded back. Was that only a month ago? Jackson laid his hand on her shoulder, halting her movements as well as her heart. Without thought, she turned to face him. The hot bulk of his body pressed against her from shoulder to thigh and anchored her against the cool wood of her door. Michaela shivered at the touch of his palm on the bare skin of her shoulder.

  “Kayla.”

  God, she loved that. The sound of his voice, rough and low, warmed her down to her marrow, the intimacy of the nickname. All of her baggage as Michaela fell away when he used that name.

  He placed his right palm flat against the door, bracketing her body with his, the domination sending a thrill up her spine. His face was partly in shadow but she saw enough of his expression to recognize naked desire. He leaned in and she melted against him, his heat cutting the chill from the air.

  “I like you like this,” he breathed.

  “Like what?”

  “Like this. All soft and warm.”

  Damn. This was the sexy, intense lover from the hotel. When he placed his forehead against hers, his warm breath skimming across her skin, she shut her eyes to ward off the memory and the moonlight—an unstoppable combination. If she was going to end this, now was her last chance.

  His voice was little more than a groan of desire. “Kayla.”

  “I like that.”

  “What?” His lips ghosted across her cheek and she shivered. “You like it when I call you Kayla?”

  Hell, yes. Michaela’s answer caught in her throat and died when his lips brushed against her temple. All she had to do was lift her face and take his mouth, the taste of him would fill her senses and soothe the ache building in her belly. Her hands drifted up to burrow underneath his jacket and skim up the warm cotton of his T-shirt. She dug her fingernails in at the sensation of hard muscle flexing underneath her touch, barely registering the muffled groan he buried in her hair.

  This was a really bad idea. She should stop this madness, but the blood pounding through her veins made it impossible to think clearly.

  This was so fucking good.

  That was her last coherent thought before he took her mouth in a heated kiss. She gripped fistfuls of his T-shirt, fighting the urge to rip it off and gain access to the skin underneath. She couldn’t get enough of him, practically climbing up his body in an effort to get closer. Jackson was happy to oblige. He dug his hands in her ass, hauling her closer while demanding her kiss with bruising pressure and nips of his teeth. Jackson didn’t treat her like a china doll—he took what he wanted and she was crazy to give it to him.

  For a month of nights, she’d craved what they’d created together in that hotel room. It was passionate, fun, crazy, wanton, and so fulfilling she wondered how another man would ever live up to the memory. She was relieved to discover that it hadn’t just been a figment of her imagination—they were explosive together.

  Michaela broke off the kiss, sucking in air while he licked, nuzzled, and nipped his way over her throat and down to her collarbone, leaving a trail of moist fire in his wake. Her body temperature spiked when Jackson cupped her breast briefly, tweaking her nipple with his thumb, before edging over to undo the top buttons. The humidity of the night dampened her flesh as he pulled aside her neckline, kissed along the tops of her breasts and into the hollow created by her lingerie.

  Michaela arched into the touch of his lips, encouraging him to take more of what he wanted. God knew she burned for him. All thoughts of resisting her desire were forgotten when he nudged aside the flimsy fabric of her bra and drew her nipple into his mouth. Hot. Wet. Greedy suction. The poignant ache was almost too much to bear.

  “Touch me, Kayla.”

  She moaned. His words, rough and primal, unleashed a deep yearning in her veins. Unable to remain passive in this insanity, she ran a hand down the hard length of his torso, stopping to caress his erection through the rough denim of his jeans. He bucked up into her grip and pinned her hard against the door. Damn, she wanted the clothes gone and his cock driving into her until she could see beyond this fog of lust.

  The calloused palm of Jackson’s hand skimmed under the folds of her skirt and up the sensitive skin of her thigh before roughly lifting her leg and hooking it ov
er his hip. She was exposed and vulnerable and she prayed he’d take full advantage of the situation. When his fingers slipped along the edge of her panties and under the silky material she thrust her hips forward in an open invitation. More.

  “Jackson, please.”

  His mouth smothered her plea as his thumb found her clit and circled with a tender stroke calculated to drive her crazy. In perfect concert with his touch, but in stark contrast to the hard roll of his groin against her palm, he gentled his kiss, drawing out the pleasure.

  Abruptly, he released her mouth. She looked at him in lust-addled confusion. His lips were glistening, wet, and swollen. She wanted them all over her body.

  “Kayla. We need to go inside or I’ll take you right here.”

  Her knees buckled. Only his grip held her upright as his words penetrated the haze of desire hovering over them like the humidity of a Virginia summer.

  She licked her lips. “Remind me to give Theresa a raise.”

  He huffed out a low laugh. “If that means you say yes to either suggestion, then I agree.”

  “She put a condom in my pocket earlier today.”

  “Double her salary.”

  Laughing, Michaela kissed him with a gentle tug on his lower lip. She ran her mouth over his jawline, tasting the salty tang of his sweat and settling just shy of his ear. Her hands fumbled with his belt, the need to touch him overwhelming her coordination. “The condom is in my pocket.”

  “We’ll have to be quiet. I don’t want your neighbors catching us.”

  “I don’t know”—she giggled as he fumbled for the condom, tickling her a little—“that could be fun.”

  “Shit, Kayla. You can’t keep saying things like that. You’re gonna ki—”

  Jackson froze.

  “What is—?”

  She was prevented from speaking by the heavy weight of Jackson’s large hand covering her mouth. She struggled against him until she heard it. Movement. In the bushes. Close by.

  Squinting into the gloom that now seemed more sinister than sexy, Michaela sought out his face, looking for a clue on what to do next. Jackson pressed a finger to his lips and when she nodded, dropped his hand from her mouth.