“What happened here?” Jackson’s mouth lingered over the silvery scar on her knee.
“I fell off a horse when I was seven.”
“You ride?”
“Not anymore.” She bit her lip as his teeth grazed her inner thigh. “I ride other things now.”
His head snapped up, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Is that so?”
“Do you need me to prove it?”
“I think I do, yeah.” He skimmed his lips up her thigh, stopping to press wet kisses to her sex. A hint of tongue, a little tease that made her gasp and lift her hips in invitation.
“Damn, you taste good. Open up for me, Kayla. Let me eat you up.”
Oh, that mouth of his. Michaela wasn’t sure what was a bigger turn-on—the way he used his tongue or the words that spilled out of his mouth. She arched into his caress, shifting open to allow him access to the place where she ached for him, needed him.
“Make me come, Jackson,” she gasped out between panting breaths.
“I will.” He swept his tongue along her folds, sending tingles up her spine before moving upward, trailing his hot mouth along the skin of her hip, stomach, up to her breast where he hovered. His moist breath ghosted across her skin, causing her nipple to pucker and reach for his touch. He was so close but so far away and she squirmed with the hot tension that swirled in her belly.
Jackson’s dark lashes lifted to reveal the deep onyx of his amazing eyes. Eyes that held desire but so much more in their depths—kindness, affection, humor. Seeing him this way, she didn’t know how he ever drifted into the shadows on the job. Didn’t everyone see what she saw? Captivating. She couldn’t soak him in fast enough.
“What?” His voice was gruff but a smile tugged at the side of his sexy mouth.
I’m in love with you.
Heat swept her body, creeping up her neck and settling in her cheeks. Shit. She was in over her head and didn’t see a way to avoid the train wreck headed straight for her. She loved him and there was no turning back now—even if she wanted to. She didn’t. This was real. This was hers. This wasn’t orchestrated by her father and that was enough to make it worth the heartbreak.
“What happened here?” Looking for a way to change the subject, she touched the scar that bisected the edge of his eyebrow, wincing when her hand shook.
“Beck hit me when I tried to break up a fight with Teague.”
“What about?”
“Not a clue.” Like a cat, he nuzzled into the caress of her fingers. “Probably a girl.”
She worked her way down to his chin, tracing the scar that gave him a rugged, dangerous look. He read the question in her look.
“Afghanistan. Ugly guy with a knife.”
Michaela leaned in, drinking in the earthy scent that was totally unique to him before pressing a soft kiss against the puckered skin. He drew in a sharp breath, hands tightening on her hips.
“Kayla.”
“Sshh.” She skimmed her lips down the beard-roughened skin of his neck, tasting the sexy male tang of his sweat. “It’s my turn.”
Tongue tasting, teeth scraping over sensitive areas, she made her way down his torso. He shifted under her touch, muscles flexing as masculine groans reverberated through his chest, transferring delicious vibrations to her lips. She pushed him onto his back, giving her better access to a full view of his hard, large body. She hungrily took in the wide expanse of him, pausing only when she spied a round scar on his side—newer, shinier, and pinker than the others. Jackson stilled under her scrutiny.
She pressed her lips to the scar before resting her face on his abdomen. He looked down at her, his expression blank.
“My last job for the Bureau.” His deep breathing vibrated under her cheek before he continued. “My partner shot me.”
Michaela’s heart clenched at the pain that shadowed his face and caused his voice to shake with fresh and raw emotion. This is not what she wanted for them. Tonight wasn’t about pain and regret—that would come later. She opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t need to know but he cupped her face, his thumb stroking her lower lip with a tenderness that made her want to cry.
“We broke the rules and paid for it. We were both sleeping with the same woman. She turned out to be the lover of the drug lord we were after, and she played us both. In the end, he was willing to betray everything to be with her, but I couldn’t do it.” Jackson closed his eyes, but continued with his confession. “He was going to kill me and for a moment I almost let him. I was so ashamed at what I’d allowed to happen. But when the smoke cleared, she was dead, I was wounded, and Tom died on the way to the hospital. They allowed me to resign but they weren’t going to let me stay. I had nowhere to go, so I came home.”
“Jackson.” Michaela’s heart ached for him and what he’d lost. Friendship. Pride. Integrity. And she was jealous—stupidly and insanely jealous of the woman who’d been able to capture this man’s heart, even if it was for the wrong reason. The words slipped out before she could stop herself. “Did you love her?”
He huffed out a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh as he scrubbed his hand over his face. “God, I hope not. It’s got to be better than that.”
She guessed the shrug of his shoulders was supposed to convey nonchalance but she felt the whipcord tension in his body, heard the sharp edge to his breathing. No wonder he wanted to get back to DC so bad—he had a few dragons to slay before he could rest.
She grazed her fingertips over the sleek muscles of his abdomen and followed the dark line of silky hair to the nest of curls around the base of his penis. He was aroused, already thick with ropy veins underneath the translucent skin. Michaela took him into her mouth, bathing the satiny crown with tender licks of her tongue and gentle suction.
She couldn’t say the words that sat like candy dots on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t tell him that if he wanted to know what love was really like, then he had to look no further than her. But she could love him with her body and let that be enough.
“Baby, you’re killing me.” Jackson writhed under her caress. “Your mouth is so sweet.”
She hummed around his rapidly swelling cock, relishing in the dark, musky taste. He smelled delicious, all male and warm. Michaela caressed his balls and the smooth skin just behind them as Jackson’s hips snapped in the rhythm of release. She put everything she had into pleasuring him with her mouth, taking cues from the moans and sensual babble spilling from his lips.
“Come here.”
He pulled her around until she straddled his face. Before she fully comprehended what he planned to do, Jackson nudged her onto her knees and devoured her sex with his hot, wet tongue. His mouth ate at her, driving her to a fever pitch and causing her to falter in her task.
No man had ever made love to her with such raw intensity. It was heaven and hell. Ecstasy and torment. Michaela gave herself over to the passion, to every lick and suckle he used to push her toward ecstasy. In turn, she engulfed his cock with deep suction while pumping his shaft with firm, sure strokes.
Jackson’s body tightened, his thigh muscles taut as he arched into her mouth and came with a shout. She took it all, reveling in her power over his pleasure. His hold tightened on her hips as he latched onto her clit until she ground down on his mouth, coming apart in wave after wave of rapture. Aftershocks shot up her spine as she collapsed on top of him, the hair on his thigh tickling her cheek.
This was heady stuff. She was drunk on their passion. That was the only excuse for the foolish truth that spilled off her tongue.
“I love you, Jackson.”
…
Jack remembered an elderly relative catching Lucky and him with a girlie magazine and warning them that they’d go blind if they “interfered” with themselves. But he didn’t remember ever being told that having a rock-your-world orgasm would affect his hearing.
When she’d engulfed in him in the white-hot heat of her mouth, he’d promptly forgotten his name. He’d rubbed together e
nough brain cells to tug her over his body, and the combination of her tongue on his cock and her taste in his mouth had short-circuited what was left of his mind.
So, he couldn’t have heard her right. She hadn’t said she loved him. Had she?
The bed shifted as Kayla jumped up and scooted across the floor toward the bathroom. Jack lifted up on one elbow in time to get a glimpse of her very fine naked ass just before she shut the door.
Maybe she just needed to take care of some—
The lock clicked into place and he fell back on the bed with a groan.
Hell. She had said it.
Jack stared at the ceiling. What the hell just happened? And what was he going to do about it? They’d been getting closer but he’d put off thinking about it. The sex was great—the best he’d ever had—but he’d been really clear about what this was and what it wasn’t. Really clear.
He sat up and glanced toward the bathroom door. Not a sound emerged from there and it made him nervous. Was she crying? Mad? Maybe he was wrong about the whole thing and she really just had to go. Maybe she didn’t mean it.
That last thought did not bring him the relief he expected. So, what the hell did that mean? Yeah, he liked Kayla, but that wasn’t love. She’d gotten carried away in the heat of the moment, no big deal. He’d also gotten a little carried away in the looking-deep-into-her-eyes-soul-mate department but it didn’t mean anything. It was a by-product of great sex and the circumstances. Nothing got the libido going like a stalker. They’d talk about it and move on.
He glanced at the closed door.
As soon as she came out of the bathroom.
Feeling foolish, Jack hopped off the bed, tiptoed over to the door, and pressed his ear against the wood. Nothing. No water running, no crying. Only the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He pressed closer, face mashed against the door, when he heard the unmistakable tumble of the lock. Surprised, he stumbled backward, his heart racing, and fumbled for his pants.
He wasn’t having this conversation bare-ass naked.
Spying them on the floor, he leaned over to grab them, mooning Kayla when she walked into the room. Groaning from the absolute absurdity of the situation, he stepped into the legs of his jeans and turned to face her as he closed them up. His embarrassment fled when he noticed she desperately tried to look anywhere but at him, her hands grasping the lapels of the robe she’d put on in the bathroom.
“Kayla.” He stepped forward, but she held up her arms to stop him in his tracks. His heart raced when he saw the chaos roiling in her gaze. God, he hated to see her like this.
“Jackson, wait.” She took a step back and crossed her arms in a defensive posture. Her telltale flush crept up the creamy skin of her neck, alerting him to just how upset she was over this whole thing. “What I said… I didn’t mean it.”
This was too painful to watch. “I know. You don’t need—”
“It was the heat of the moment. You understand?” She barreled on, disregarding his comment. “This is an emotional time for me and I think I just projected on you because you’ve done so much for me and I have this stalker following me around—”
“You make it sound like Stockholm syndrome.” His voice was bitter but he couldn’t rein it in. She was only saying what he’d been thinking, but hearing it from her didn’t sit well with him at all. In fact, it burned deep in his gut.
“What?” She crinkled her brow in confusion.
“Look, I know you don’t love me.” Suddenly, the distance between them was too much. Jack stepped forward, grabbed her hands and pulled her close. She felt so good against his body and smelled like sex and vanilla. The combination almost made him lose his train of thought. He shook his head slightly. “But, we care about each other and that’s okay as long as we keep it in perspective.”
“In perspective?” Her voice was cautious.
“Yeah. We both know this can’t be serious or anything.”
“Of course not.”
“So, we just continue as we were and forget all of this.”
“And you’ll catch my secret admirer and head back to DC.”
“That’s right.”
“And this”—she gestured between them, ending in a soft caress on his chest—“will just end.”
His chest tightened underneath her touch and he breathed in deeply as he covered her hand with his own. The momentary thought of making this more than a fling was the most selfish thing he’d ever done. “I care about you, Kayla. And because of that I’m not going to pretend we have a shot together. Not in the real world.”
“Because of your job?
“Yes. I work undercover. I have to become something ugly to do that job well.”
Her eyes were rainy gray, betraying her emotions. She wanted more—so did he—but it wasn’t possible. Even if she convinced him he could do his job and still keep her, she’d leave him the minute she learned of his deal with her father. As much as he hated the sadness in her now, he didn’t want to contemplate the hatred she would have if he let them fall any deeper into this.
A familiar ringtone jangled out into the silence, announcing a call from Lucky. Long ago, his partner had programmed the buddy song from an animated movie about toys into his phone and Jack never had the heart to change it.
Releasing Kayla, he searched the floor for his jacket and retrieved the phone from his pocket. “What’s up, Lucky?” He listened for a few moments, watching curiosity overtake Kayla’s features. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”
He put the phone in his pocket and grabbed his shirt off the floor before turning to face Kayla. Her face was paler than usual, back rigid, bracing herself for the worst. Considering their conversation just five minutes ago, Jack wasn’t sure if his news was good or not, but he pasted a grin on his face, then pulled the T-shirt over his head.
“You’ll want to get dressed. Lucky caught your stalker.”
Chapter Eleven
Michaela hated waiting.
Years of cooling her heels with her brother as they waited for the governor to trot them out and put them on display made it her least favorite pastime. And it felt like days—even though it was only a couple of hours—since Sheriff Burke had planted her in this vacant office with an endless supply of nasty coffee. He’d tried to make her comfortable, placing an “Elliott City Jail” emblazoned pillow and blanket on the couch located on the opposite side of the room. But she’d remained seated in the uncomfortable desk chair with the bird’s-eye view of the interrogation room that contained Jackson, Lucky, and her stalker—Terrell Willis.
She was still reeling over that news flash. Michaela had given Terrell a job as her handyman at the request of his sister and her landlord, Crystal. As far as she knew, they’d gotten along famously. But Lucky had caught him red-handed, literally, as he graffitied the front of her office in garish, crimson paint. The words “Hore Go Away” made up in venom what they lacked in spelling.
They’d driven past her office on the way to the sheriff’s office, and she’d laughed so hard at the hateful scribble that Jackson had an open look of alarm on his face. Laughing was the only possible reaction—she refused to break down in front of him again. The post-orgasmic verbal diarrhea was bad enough without adding a crying jag to the emotional roller coaster of the last twenty-four hours. That was enough to send any man screaming off into the night. Hell, even she wanted off this crazy ride.
And when he wrapped this case up tonight, Jackson would be free to head for the nearest exit.
The heat of her humiliation crept up her neck and across her cheeks as she remembered the scene in her bedroom. The combination of sizzling sex, danger, and her emotional state made the brief loss of control over her mouth inevitable.
She loved him. He knew it.
She’d lied about it. He pretended to believe her.
But he loved her too.
She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. He would never say it because he wouldn’t give her false hope. It wasn’t
a question of him wanting to stay—he’d never give himself permission to stop pursuing reinstatement in the FBI. He had something to prove and it drove him with a passion greater than the one he had for her.
Besides, Jackson didn’t belong here, and this was the place she’d chosen to start her new life. Wrong place. Wrong time. Right man.
The door to the interrogation room scraped the old wooden floors as it swung open. Jackson, Lucky, and Sheriff Burke emerged from the room, the strain of the last few hours evident in the slump of their shoulders. They shut the door and talked quietly together in the hallway. Lucky looked annoyed, Sheriff Burke skeptical, and Jackson was seriously ticked off.
They spoke for several minutes, clearly debating an issue when the sheriff threw his hands in the air and stalked away. Lucky and Jackson continued to speak in low tones, one blond head, the other black as night, bent together as they debated whatever had happened in the interrogation room.
She stood and walked around the desk, straining to hear what they said. Even though she knew it was about her, she was hesitant to intrude. They functioned so well as partners, it was clear the bond between them ran deep. If Jackson and his FBI partner had possessed half of the same connection, it must have destroyed him to watch his partner die.
Finally, Jackson turned, the strain tightening his jaw into a hard edge. He wasn’t happy with whatever had happened in that room. The pressure in her chest made it hard to breathe.
Michaela leaned back against the desk, gripping the edge like a vise as he advanced on her with even, heavy footsteps. His dour expression didn’t improve upon closer inspection.
“Is he—” Her throat, tight from the hours of silence, didn’t want to let her words go. “Is he the one?”
A Night of Southern Comfort Page 12
