The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  His brows dipped under the weight of apparent confusion. “I have a wedding to go to. There was really no point in having Chris stay.”

  And Sam wondered why he hadn’t invited Chris to go with him. But that was the type of sensitive question they had no time for just now. She blew out a breath of frustration, wondering if he was being deliberately obtuse. “Just so you know, I have no problem with your lifestyle. Just in case that was a factor in Chris’s decision to leave.”

  “What? What lifestyle?”

  This time she didn’t even try to temper her sigh. “It’s okay, Josh. I know about you and Chris. I… I saw one of the letters that he sent you. That night I spent at your apartment back in Savannah. It was sort of just lying there on your desk.”

  WHOA. Josh thought he knew where this was going. And if he hadn’t been stunned speechless he might have said something to derail it. A denial, perhaps. An explanation. But he’d been struck immobile, unable to do anything but stand there and watch the Train of Heterosexual Horror bear down on him, so that all that managed to issue from his lips was a small noise of masculine distress.

  My God, Sam thought he was gay?

  “It’s okay,” she repeated when he started to shake his head violently. Not that people hadn’t looked at him funny before, but hell, not the woman he loved. This was a disaster of unimaginable proportions.

  Sam extricated one of her hands from beneath the blanket and stretched it out to lie upon his arm. He jumped at the contact, probably confirming her friggin’ suspicions. If his damn mouth would just work he might be able to clear this mess up yet.

  Chris, the bastard. Josh thought he just might kill him.

  “Look, maybe you’re not… out or whatever.”

  Josh’s head was definitely going to explode. The only thing out would be his ego splattered all over the walls.

  “But I just wanted you to know that… I’m okay with it.”

  Which was supposed to make him feel better?

  “And I know you have to be running so you don’t miss the wedding, but I just wanted to get that clear between us now. Okay?”

  No. No. This definitely wasn’t okay. In fact, he may never be okay again.

  Obviously sensing that she’d blindsided him, Sam gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Then she pulled her appendage back under the blanket and looked at him with… sympathy.

  No sympathy. No, no. That was not the emotion he was going for in this situation. Desperation finally loosened his tongue, although his grasp of the English language was suddenly questionable. “Sam, I… I know what you think you saw, but believe me when I tell you you’re off base. I’m –”

  His phone rang, interrupting his declaration. A quick peek showed it came from Clay. No doubt wondering where Josh was.

  “We can talk about all this later,” she told him, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. A little to the left, he thought. That would end this. “Go on and have fun at the wedding.”

  Before he’d regrouped to the point that he was able to do anything but sputter, Sam disappeared down the hall to the guest room. He watched her go with a potent mixture of horror and longing, and started after her, then thought better of his timing.

  Let it sit for a while. Let her have her little delusions.

  Then they’d talk, alright. In a language she was sure to understand.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IT was the longest wedding ceremony in recorded history.

  Well, to be fair, it was probably pretty average as far as those things went, but Josh’s own agenda kept interfering with his appreciation of the event. So he pushed aside the shrapnel from that bombshell Sam had dropped, concentrating on the fact that two of his friends were making the ultimate commitment.

  The church was elegant, the sacred air expectant, as late afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained glass in a celestial benediction. The bride was radiant in her mother’s gown of cream satin and Irish lace, and the groom – who’d required a couple shots of liquid fortitude to keep his hands from trembling – wept openly and without shame.

  In the interests of keeping things lively, Max Hennessey Copeland – the couple’s ring-bearer and five-year-old son – grabbed hold of little Grace Wellington – the flower girl and best man’s daughter – and planted one on her when the priest invited the groom to kiss the bride.

  Josh thought that Clay and Tate had some interesting times ahead.

  The reception, as expected, was a blowout. No one did parties better than the Irish, to Josh’s way of thinking, and Tate’s family didn’t disappoint. They rented a huge old mansion along the Battery, with rooms available for out of town guests either there or at the Hennessey’s bed and breakfast. Whiskey and champagne flowed like water, a Celtic trio entertained on the verandah, and dinner was a sumptuous buffet of the best traditional southern cuisine had to offer.

  But all of it seemed disjointed as Josh was still rather numb from shock. Sam’s comments called into question many of the things that he’d believed about their relationship. Such as why she’d run so suddenly from Savannah.

  Was the problem not that he’d pushed her into a place that was uncomfortable for her emotionally, but that for the first time she was truly emotionally compatible with a man only to think she’d discovered he was gay?

  Christ. No wonder she bailed fast and far.

  And looking back now, Josh realized she’d had no reason to think otherwise. He’d never made a move on her physically because he felt she’d needed his friendship first, and in Sam’s experience that had to have been something of an aberration. Given her carnal wonderland of a body, men must have always pursued her for sex. Then along comes Josh – an art student with an affection for dressing well, a pretty boy (hell, he knew what he looked like) who stared at her naked for several hours each week during class, spent untold other hours in her company, held her in his arms while she cried on his shoulder and didn’t once attempt a damn thing?

  Good God, no wonder she’d believed the feelings were mutual when she saw that awkward and ill-advised love letter Chris had sent him.

  He could kick himself in the ass. He’d inadvertently pushed her away from him all those years ago when he was trying to do just the opposite.

  He was on the deserted upstairs verandah, nursing a beer and trying to figure the best way to approach Sam, when Kathleen tapped him on the shoulder. He started, making him realize how preoccupied he’d been.

  “Hey,” she said, hitching one long leg up so that she half-sat on the railing. The moonlight glinted off her hair, making it glow with a golden-red fire. She looked lovely tonight, he realized. Kathleen Murphy was a very pretty woman. “What are you doing up here sulking in the shadows?”

  “Sulking,” he admitted with a wry smile.

  Kathleen’s brow arched in concern. “You’re not still carrying a torch for Tate, are you?”

  “What?” Josh was appalled. “No. This has nothing to do with my friend’s wife.” He hadn’t thought of Tate that way in months.

  “Okay, okay.” Kathleen raised her hand. “I take it back. So what has you sulking this fine evening?” With her champagne glass, she gestured to the clear night around them, the fronds of the palmetto trees swaying in the salt air. From the verandah below came the sound of what he thought was a hornpipe, a throaty voice swelling over it like a wave. “Surely you’re not thinking about work? The ghost of the mayor’s daughter isn’t allowed to haunt you tonight.”

  The statement sounded flippant, but Josh knew what Kathleen was getting at. It was difficult for detectives – especially those in homicide – to have much of a semblance of normalcy in their lives. So they took their moments where they could find them. “Not work,” he debunked that notion, but was still too raw to offer any explanation about Sam.

  Just then they both became aware of a light switching on in one of the nearby rooms. The draperies over the French doors were open enough to reveal a glimpse of Clay’s friend, Kim. Like Kathleen, she wa
s outfitted in bridesmaid’s garb, her auburn curls pinned on top of her head. She kicked off her heels, turning down the coverlet on the massive four poster bed.

  From their angle they could see through to the door of the elegantly furnished bedroom, where Rogan Murphy had just appeared. He moved toward Kim, a hungry look in his eyes, shedding his tux as he went. Kim’s laugh drifted out just before the draperies were pulled tight, but not before he and Kathleen had gotten an unexpected eyeful.

  “My eyes,” she said in horror, raising a hand to them. “I think they’ve been burned to cinders.”

  Josh couldn’t hold back his laugh. “Well that was more of your brother than I ever needed to see.”

  “The idiot,” Kathleen sighed, dropping her hand. “That’s a big ole train wreck waiting to happen.”

  “You don’t like Kim?”

  “Oh, I like Kim. She’s great, Rogan’s great, and they’d probably be great together. But the fact of the matter is that Rogan is his own little train wreck right now. Kim’s half in love with him, at least, and so she’s blind to the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this. Even he knows he shouldn’t, but when he’s been drinking he’s a typical man – follows where his dick leads him. Tomorrow morning he’ll wake up, sober up, and realize that he’s in no place right now for any type of emotional involvement. Kim will be hurt by his withdrawal and he’ll be angry with himself that he hurt her, which will make him avoid her like the plague, despite the fact that he cares for her. Like I said,” she lifted a shoulder. “Train wreck.”

  Josh stared at her in amazement. “You get a degree in psychology when I wasn’t looking?”

  She snorted, indicating her opinion on that. “I grew up in a bar. Psychology goes with the territory.” She hopped down from the railing. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Josh, I’m heading back to the party. I don’t think I can stomach sitting out here any longer knowing my brother’s having sex twenty feet away. Don’t sulk too long.” She gave a little wave as she went back inside.

  Josh thought about what she said. About people not being in the right place to make an emotional commitment. And when he thought about it, he realized that Sam had been in that place all those years ago. She’d had so much growing to do personally, so many emotional obstacles to overcome, that in actuality it was probably fortuitous they hadn’t gotten together. In the intervening years she’d come to respect herself, see herself for the person she was inside. She didn’t need any crutches to fall back on, wasn’t about to let anyone abuse her. Even in the face of all the adversity lately Josh hadn’t seen her crack once. She was a rock, now. Strong and solid.

  Strong enough that she could stand the truth about him, the fact she’d misjudged the situation. The fact that he was in love with her and was determined to become her lover.

  “Time to stop sulking,” he agreed, setting aside his empty glass.

  He was out of there. He had eight years of longing to make up for tonight.

  SAM scrubbed the brownie remnants from the corners of the baking dish, doing her best to keep her mind off her conversation with Josh. She’d deposited half the batch with Karen’s parents when they’d come to pick up Snickers, and while looking over some of the never-ending insurance paperwork, managed to polish off most of the rest herself.

  Just what her hips needed.

  But with all her old vices off limits, she’d seen no alternative but to anesthetize herself with chocolate.

  It wasn’t every day a woman opened the closet door and told the man she loved to come out.

  And poor Josh had been so shocked.

  But when she’d come in and seen him with his arm around Chris, and Chris hotfooting it out of there on her account, she’d figured it was time to address the issue. If she was going to be living here for any length of time, it couldn’t be ignored.

  But lord. That had been both awkward and undeniably painful.

  She dried the dish, bent to stow it away just as the beeping alarm signaled that Josh was home. Glancing at the clock, she noted with surprise that it was still early.

  The dull thud of dress shoes sounded against the floor, and Sam turned from the sink to greet him.

  He was beautiful, she thought, as she always did. It was like her mind simply couldn’t get used to all that sheer physical perfection and had to recalibrate each and every time.

  “Hey.” She smiled warmly to cover a sudden rush of nerves. “I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”

  “You ran.”

  Thinking that he was still upset about her car’s breakdown, she crossed her arms as he strode toward her. “No, I walked, actually.” He inched closer, and she backed up, rear end hitting the counter. He dropped his coat, literally tossing it on the floor, and she worried about his coherence. “Are you okay? Because that jacket’s not a rental.” She motioned to the crumpled garment, which lay like a fallen soldier on the field.

  He kicked it to the side. “Eight years ago.” The tie hit the floor next, and Sam eyed its fluttering descent. “You ran away from Savannah.”

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up as the first cufflink fell, skittering under the cabinets with a metallic clang. “You ran away from me.” Off flew cufflink number two, another kamikaze victim of the conflict. Josh was either mad or maybe… hot. Sometimes tuxedos could be uncomfortable. Although it wasn’t that warm in the room.

  Then her brain registered what he’d just said.

  “I…” Sam watched the other little monogrammed circle roll off to join its comrade. What the hell had they been serving at that reception? “I ran from you?”

  A sock went flying over her shoulder.

  Well, she guessed she had. But what did that have to do with anything? Unless he was feeling guilty because he realized she’d been in love with him at the time. Was still in love with him now. Maybe he was upset about their current situation. Maybe he thought that she should leave. Although how that translated into him taking off his clothes she wasn’t entirely sure.

  “Oh, God, Josh.” This wasn’t the conversation she’d meant to have with him. She’d simply wanted to let him know that she was okay with his lifestyle, but it looked like she’d opened a different can of worms. “Look,” she lifted a hand to her temple, “what happened back then is totally irrelevant.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said, his beautifully tapered fingers working the buttons on his shirt. “What happened in the past is completely relevant. It laid the foundation for what’s going to happen tonight.” An increasing swath of skin was revealed by his busily marching fingers. Sam tried not to get distracted by The Chest.

  “What?” She peeled her eyes away, confused.

  And the fact that he was now half naked wasn’t helping matters.

  “Um, Josh, I’m not sure if you, uh, maybe, swam in the champagne fountain or something, but maybe we might want to have this conversation tomorrow. After you’ve sobered up.”

  A feral look came into those sparkling baby blues and Sam grasped the sink behind her. Because his hands were now attacking his pants. She was happy he was comfortable enough to disrobe in front of her, but it sort of drained the blood from her head.

  Was this some kind of test?

  Could she resist jumping her hot, naked homosexual friend amidst the rubble of formalwear blitzkrieg currently littering his kitchen?

  Truthfully? Probably not. Although she’d pull a Geronimo and give it a good effort.

  But then Josh blasted through whatever fortifications she’d erected by dropping a lethal, unexpected bomb.

  “I’m not drunk,” he said, releasing his zipper. Pushing his pants down his muscled thighs. “And I’m not gay.”

  No. He certainly wasn’t. The state of his silk boxers gave credence to that.

  Sam’s eyes boggled as she confronted the hard evidence, while her rioting hormones shouted thank you, God.

  But all these years… how was it possible that she’d been wrong?

  She raised her gaze to his in amazement.


  He met it with a triumphant smile.

  And then he was on her, the very naked skin of his chest pressed solidly against her T-shirt. She could feel his heat through the threadbare cotton and her nipples puckered in response. Then his lips took hers in a hungry caress that was more ruthless than she would have expected.

  Not that she’d been expecting any caressing at all.

  His hands slid down her hips, taking their measure as they passed, to grip her rump in a possessive squeeze that left no doubt as to his intentions. Lights exploded inside her head, tiny white starbursts of disbelief. And when he lifted her a few inches to press his erection firmly against her, liquid heat pooled between her legs.

  Her body was at once alive with sensation and yet paralyzed by shock.

  JOSH’S entire body trembled with passion barely suppressed, but he couldn’t help noticing that Sam wasn’t responding. She wasn’t protesting either. She wasn’t doing anything at all – just sort of… dangling there like a limp fish on a string.

  Shit. Maybe he’d misjudged the situation. Maybe he’d pushed too hard, or scared her with his aggression or… hell, maybe she wasn’t interested in him at all. He’d been so hell-bent on showing her, proving to her that he wanted her that he hadn’t really considered that she might not want him.

  “Sam,” he murmured against her lips, painfully aware of the fact that he was all but buck naked and undeniably erect, absolutely on fire for this woman, that he’d just performed his first ever striptease and now the proverbial crickets could be heard chirping. “Did I just make an ass of myself?” He wasn’t sure his ego could take this.

  She dangled there for a second – the longest of his life – and he contemplated all the ways he could kill himself. But then her hands slid one, then slowly joined by the other until they were tentatively cupping his rear.

  “Oh, God,” he breathed because he couldn’t help himself.

  “It’s a great ass,” she said shakily, angling her head so the words caressed his ear. “I just… wasn’t expecting to see it. Ever.” She gently bit his lobe, shooting a line of napalm straight into his brain. “But definitely not tonight.”