A Night of Southern Comfort

by Covington, Robin

  Jackson nodded, his face grim. Shouldn’t he be happier? His job was done.

  “He’s the one. We found the pictures and a notebook tracking your schedule. It’s more than enough to charge him.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No.” Jackson’s jaw flexed. “No. He just kept asking for Crystal.”

  “His sister? Why?”

  “She’s bailed him out his entire life. He probably thinks she’s going to do it again.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “I’ve got shoes with a higher IQ than Terrell.”

  “So, it’s over?” She held her breath waiting for the answer, afraid of what he’d say but desperate to know the truth.

  He looked at her and reached out to push a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. His eyes, dark and tender, were also full of hard decision. This was the beginning of the end.

  “Yeah, I think it is. All the facts point to his guilt and once we get his bank records, I’m sure we’ll find the reason he did it.”

  Dropping his hand, Jackson shifted so he could lean against the desk. Their shoulders brushed. His pose was casual, long legs crossed nonchalantly in front of him, but tension rolled off him like a wave. His mood was impossible to decipher and it drove her nuts.

  Her reaction was even more infuriating. She was disappointed. Like some crazy woman she was disappointed to have her stalker caught because it meant that Jackson would be out of her life.

  If Terrell isn’t the one, then Jackson will stay.

  She didn’t want him that way. She wanted him to stay because being with her was more important than his ambition, because he loved her. She wanted what no one in her life had ever given her and even though she knew she was a fool to hope for it, she couldn’t help herself.

  “Sheriff Burke will have a deputy take you home and stay with you. I’ve got at least a couple more hours here,” he said.

  “Will you come home when you’re done?”

  Her choice of words surprised her and by the look on his face it shocked him as well.

  “Kayla.” His voice was low, thick with a tender warning. He looked down at the floor. “I told you. This can’t—”

  She straddled his thighs and claimed his mouth in a kiss of longing, lips firm against his, tongue seeking the entrance that he quickly gave on a growl of desire. Had it only been a few hours since he’d been in her bed? She strained against him, her body hungering, aching for him and his touch. She snaked her hands around his neck, seeking the soft skin and hair at his nape, caressing the tension out of the tendons straining under his hot skin.

  Michaela released his mouth and leaned her forehead against his as their breath mingled with every sharp pant that coursed between them. She’d lived her life afraid to want. If this was truly a new start, then she had to reach for what she needed. She couldn’t let him go. Even if his answer was the same, she had to let him know.

  “I lied to you Jackson. I lied.” She pressed her lips against his to stop his reply. “I love you.”

  Jackson pulled back and framed her face in his hands. His expression was shadowed with regret but the most prominent emotion was longing. Dark and powerful.

  Her heart seized, hope flaring to life that for once his desire would prevail over his logic.

  “I… I…” Jackson’s expression was grim, pained. “I can’t do this. I can’t stay.”

  “Then don’t. We’ll do it your way.” Michaela bit down the hysterical laugh bubbling up her throat. This was crazy. “You go to DC and I’ll be here. You come to me when you can or I’ll come to you.”

  “And you’d be happy with that? Waiting for me? For weeks? Months?”

  “I don’t know.” She bit her lip in frustration at this truth. But she’d rather try than just walk away. “I’m willing to try.”

  A short cough in the hallway behind her interrupted them. Turning her head, Michaela saw a younger deputy and Lucky loitering just outside the door. The officer wore an embarrassed expression but Lucky smirked as he looked over the scene before him.

  Michaela still straddled Jackson’s long legs, her hands tunneled under his clothing.

  She didn’t care. Miss Manners could go screw herself.

  She turned back to Jackson. Dark and intense as always, he watched her. She couldn’t read all of his emotions but she knew indecision when she saw it. Leaving this conversation for later was probably for the best. The police station wasn’t the best place for her to use everything in her arsenal to remove his doubt and get him to take a chance.

  She’d need fewer clothes and a horizontal surface for that.

  Easing away from his embrace, Michaela leaned over and delivered a swift, warm kiss to his lips, resisting the urge to linger and taste. She whispered in his ear, “Wake me up when you come home.”

  …

  “You look like shit “

  Jack flipped Lucky the bird and settled back against the open tailgate of his truck. The sounds of his best friend’s footsteps blended into the noise bouncing around the mostly empty sheriff’s office parking lot. He’d escaped out here after a couple additional hours of interrogation to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

  He’d tried everything in his power to convince Terrell to give up the name of the person who put him up to stalking Kayla. In spite of his interrogation, with Lucky playing the good cop as usual, their suspect had refused to talk. In fact, he only repeated his request to have his sister come to the station.

  “What’s that look all about?” Lucky settled next to him on the truck bed. “Terrell? Michaela? Both?”

  He shrugged, scanning the dark edges of the lot and listening to the sounds of the sleepy little town—the AC units humming, distant voices on Main Street. He huffed out a breath, releasing some of the tension in his body.

  “It doesn’t feel right. Terrell couldn’t organize a riot at an anarchy convention.” He paused at Lucky’s chuckle. “I can’t believe he planned the stalking, the blackmail.”

  “Even the dumbest ones get it right sometime. If we find the money in his account it’s pretty much open and shut.”

  “Yeah.” His skin prickled with unease but it wouldn’t be the first time his gut was wrong.

  “So, let’s look behind door number two.” Lucky grinned in the night, his teeth flashing white in the lamplight. “Dr. Roarke? You two looked very cozy. I guess it’s going to be a bitch to call it off when you go to DC.”

  Jack debated whether to continue this conversation, but he needed to hear what Lucky had to say. He counted on his oldest friend’s opinion.

  “She doesn’t want to call it off.” Beside Jack, Lucky fell silent, his sudden attention slicing through the semidarkness like a knife. “She says she loves me.”

  “And you?”

  Jack bypassed the answer. He didn’t know himself. He cared about her, wanted her, but the love thing was something he’d never figured into the equation.

  “She says we can be together on weekends.” His tone highlighted his confusion. How could that possibly work?

  Lucky clapped him on the shoulder as he jumped off the tailgate. He fished in his pocket for his car keys. “Do it.”

  “Are you serious? That’s your advice? What about her father and our little bargain?”

  Lucky opened the door to his truck and paused before climbing in. “Do it. Just tell her. You need something other than the job. Something waiting for you on the outside. If you don’t, I don’t know what will happen.”

  Jack knew what he really meant. If you don’t have something outside of the job, one day you won’t come out. God knows he’d worried about that himself. Leaving the cesspool of undercover work was hard, assimilating back into “normal” society a challenge. A loner by nature, he wasn’t good at reaching out.

  Jack watched Lucky climb in and drive out of the lot. Reaching for his keys, he got behind the wheel, and headed to the place he had started to think of as home. This was complicated. His work life made a normal relationship almost
impossible and Kayla had no idea what she was getting herself into by even suggesting they continue after he returned to DC.

  But you want her.

  He didn’t want to end this. But to stay with her would be delaying the inevitable. So, why did it feel like the absolutely right thing to do?

  At her door, he relieved the deputy sitting watch in his patrol car and sent him on his way. Her little house was quiet, dark, and still as he entered. The fragrance of her perfume in the air calmed his mind and melted the tension from his bones. He was at peace here and it wasn’t the place—it was Kayla. She was where he belonged.

  He set the alarms, still uneasy about her safety, and walked across the living room. The silence was broken only by the cadence of her grandfather clock, its tattoo in perfect sync with the desire throbbing in his veins. Jack paused at the doorway to her bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the gloom as he sought her out.

  She was asleep, her golden hair spilling out on her pillow. A sliver of moon glow shone through the window and cast her beautiful features in sharp relief. His cock twitched at the sight. If he climbed in beside her, she would welcome him with her body and her heart.

  Not yet. He’d draw out the anticipation a little longer.

  Two steps from the doorway had him inside her bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into a hot shower. The water sluiced down his body, rinsing away the fatigue and ugliness of the day. As his muscles relaxed, the tight curl of arousal in his belly sharpened. Jackson reached down and stroked his hardening length with a soap-slicked hand, a groan escaping from his lips and echoing against the tile. His thoughts drifted to Kayla, her warmth, her raw, unashamed response in bed. She might look like the Ice Queen, but he’d burned under her liquid fire.

  Turning off the water, Jack stepped out of the shower, the chill of the air-conditioned room raising goose bumps on his flesh. Toweling off, he walked back into the bedroom, stopping at the bed to enjoy the silky length of her naked back exposed by the disheveled sheet.

  “I told you to wake me when you came home.” Her voice was soft and sleepy as it drifted up from the rumpled bed.

  Joy—an unfamiliar emotion—welled up in his chest as he grew harder, his erection straining upward toward his belly. Being with Kayla, laughing with her, was like taking the little blue pill.

  He tossed the towel onto the floor, then lifted the covers on the bed and slid toward Kayla. Spooning up behind her, he slipped one arm underneath her and pulled her close. He lifted the hair from her neck and pressed moist, fervent kisses along her nape, the silky baby tendrils tickling his nose as he inhaled her fresh vanilla scent.

  Kayla squirmed beneath him, pushing her tight, luscious ass against his cock. Water dripped from his hair onto her and he chased the rivulets with his tongue, tasting the warmth of her skin.

  “You’re getting me wet.” Her voice broke somewhere between a giggle and a moan.

  “That’s how I like you.” Jack wedged his leg in between hers, opening her up to his hand. He traced a path down her belly to the slick wetness in the folds of her sex and circled her clit. Her sighs made him ache with want. “Baby, you make me crazy. I love how you get so hot for me.”

  Kayla rocked back against him, the rhythm capturing his cock between her thighs as he rubbed his fingers against her folds. Her head lolled back onto his shoulder, exposing the column of her throat to his mouth. He traveled lower, arching over her to suck a nipple into his mouth. She tasted ripe and sweet, and he caressed the swelling tip with his tongue and teeth. Her arousal between her thighs coated his erection, making his vision swim with unadulterated pleasure.

  “Jackson, please. I need you.”

  She needed him? He couldn’t imagine taking his next breath without being inside her. The ache in his cock rendered him incapable of even his usual dirty talk.

  Mirroring her words, she took his cock in her small hand and placed the head inside her, rocking her body to pull him deeper.

  He collected enough brain cells in one spot to form one thought. “Wait. We need to—We can’t.”

  “I’m safe. On the pill.” She reached back and drew him into a heated kiss, tongues tangling, moans trapped between swollen lips. “Please, Jackson.”

  “Are you sure?” Not a good time to have this discussion, with the head of his penis already surrounded by her wet heat. But he was clean, he trusted her, and he wanted this.

  Her answer was her body enveloping him with liquid fire as she ground down on his shaft. They both gasped, his breath stalling in his chest. She lifted, her folds dragging against his cock forcing a growl out of his chest.

  On autopilot, he pressed into her over and over again. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Her silky hair caressed his cheek as her body flexed against his, urging him to take her with him when he found paradise. Determined to feel her come apart all over him, he sought out her clit, his fingers quickly becoming slick with her arousal.

  “You’re so wet.” Desire loosened his tongue. “I can feel me slide in and out of you and it’s so hot. I need you to come, I want to feel it. Please, baby.”

  Kayla whimpered, the hard rhythm of her pants signaling her imminent release. She ground against him, taking her pleasure and giving it back to him tenfold. She arched one last time and the muscles of her sex clenched around him, dragging his orgasm from him in almost painful waves.

  They lay tangled in the darkness, breaths heavy and loud in the pre-dawn silence. He gasped, pulling air into his lungs to speak before he drowned in what he had to say.

  “I want to try. I want you to come to me in DC.”

  She stiffened in his arms. A soft “oh” escaped from her lips.

  “I’ll get a place. Somewhere in Old Town, near the river.”

  Moments ticked by, each second making him wonder if she’d changed her mind. Maybe she’d figured out how stupid it was to tie herself to a guy who was an emotional dead end. If she were smart, she’d tell him to forget it.

  But she didn’t. Kayla snuggled against him, drew his arms around her, and murmured, “That sounds nice.” Then she drifted off to sleep.

  Jack lay there, listening to her even breaths as the sun rose outside the window. Lucky was right—he needed someone waiting for him outside of the job. Now he knew who she was.

  Chapter Twelve

  If she were any happier, she’d have a bevy of animated forest creatures following her around the office.

  Michaela reviewed a file and laughed at the image of deer in the waiting room, birds on her shoulders, and her office staff breaking into song. She could blame it on the lack of sleep, but it would be a lie. She was giggle-by-the-lockers-when-the-boy-who-asked-you-to-prom-passes-by euphoric and that wiped out all fatigue from the events of the past twenty-four hours.

  When she’d awakened, Jackson was sleeping soundly in her bed. His tousled, dark hair lay in stark contrast to the white of the pillowcase, his stubbled jaw softened by sleep. Sheets tangling around his body had gifted her with a mouthwatering view of his bare ass. He was delicious and it had taken every ounce of her strength to leave him there with a soft kiss against his hair and a note by the coffeemaker.

  He’d sent her a text a couple of hours later, letting her know that he was going back to the station and asking her to meet him for lunch at the Comfort. She smiled, her cheeks aching with happiness.

  Jackson had made no promises. She hadn’t asked for them. But he’d spoken words that left the door open for the possibility of a future. She’d accepted it for what it was—a chance for happily-ever-after.

  Her daydreams were interrupted by an unholy racket in her hallway. The raised voice of her office manager, Vergie, sounded loud and clear. “Sir, you can’t go back there! I’m going to call the police—”

  Vergie’s usually sweet Southern twang was turning ugly. Michaela jumped up. When she cleared the doorway, she stopped dead in her tracks, her feet frozen in place.

  “Don’t you give me that look!” Vergie’s large bosom heav
ed with the indignation usually reserved for arguments over parking spaces at the Piggly Wiggly. She pointed her finger at the face of the intruder. “You might have been the governor but you can’t just barge in wherever you please. Just exactly who do you think you are?”

  “He’s my father.” Michaela didn’t bother to temper the derision coating the last word like honey. The aftertaste it left in her mouth wasn’t so sweet.

  Several faces, patients, staff, and finally the governor, swiveled to look at her. Their expressions ranged from shocked to nosy to mesmerized.

  Her father looked like he smelled something really nasty.

  So did she. She smelled a rat. Nothing good ever happened in her life when he was around.

  She motioned him into her office. The dread he always brought with him seeped into her bones and drove away the post-Jackson warmth.

  Michaela broke the tense silence. “You didn’t come all this way for a social call, so why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

  “There’s no need to be rude, Michaela.” The governor toyed with the gold cufflink on his right wrist. He didn’t need to adjust it. His cold blue stare told her that he was furious. She couldn’t wait to hear what she done to disappoint him this time.

  “Your office is…adequate for your limited ambition.”

  “I don’t remember asking your opinion of my place of business.” Realizing she was rising to the bait, she reined in her temper before continuing. “I have a full day of patients waiting, so if you could get on with it, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Fine. I was hoping you could pass on this letter to Detective Cantrell.”

  Michaela stared at the long, white envelope he withdrew from his jacket pocket. He held it out to her.

  She lifted her hand in automatic response, but held back at the last moment.

  Too late. The governor’s mouth twitched at her obvious effort.

  “I don’t understand.” She kept her voice even.

  “Michaela, let’s not play games.” His hand remained outstretched as he walked two steps closer. “If you think for a minute that I didn’t have someone watching you, then you’ve been deluding yourself. I know all about you and Detective Cantrell playing house and I can’t say I’m surprised.”