A Night of Southern Comfort (11 page)

“More.” Kayla arched her neck, exposing the slim column of skin to his kiss as she panted, “I missed you. Make me forget how much I missed you.”

He groaned, his mouth gently sucking on her skin. Possessiveness overcame him as he staked a claim he knew he had no right to make.

She grasped his face and drew him into a deep kiss, sucking on his tongue in an imitation of the same languid rhythm he used to stroke into her body. Her legs lifted higher on his hips, an unspoken invitation to plumb her deeper and faster. Their kisses increased in intensity. Too much want had stretched between them to make this moment last for long.

Jackson grasped her hands, lifting them overhead, fingers interlacing as they worked together in the rhythmic pursuit of pleasure. They broke the kiss but remained close, harsh breaths panting into open mouths, eyes locked in passion.

“Say my name,” he demanded.

Her expression was confused as he surged into her, his body echoing his request. The last time he’d been with her, she’d called him by another man’s name as she came. It was unbearable to think of now.

“Say it. Please.” He was desperate to hear his name on her lips. His hips drove into her with shallower, faster strokes. The walls of her sex clenched around him, signs that she was close to coming apart in his arms.

“Jackson.” She bowed up, her fingers grasping his as her climax ripped through her.

The combination of her body clutching his penis in that tight, hot grip and the sound of his name in her shout wrung the orgasm from him. Lights flashed behind his eyelids as every muscle tightened to a point just shy of pain.

Spent, sweaty, and satisfied—the trifecta—he rolled over, pulling Kayla with him as he waited for blood to return to his brain. When she shivered in the cool air of the room, he tugged her closer and arranged the sheets over them, stroking the soft skin of her back, their legs tangling together as she rested her head on his chest.

It felt good to be still, to lie with her in the semidarkness, the air redolent with the scent of their lovemaking. Jack waited for the recrimination, the disgust at his weakness to descend, but the only thing settling on his heart was the rightness of being with this woman. For whatever time they had, he’d live in the moment and banish regret.

One night at a time. No promises.

“So…” His voice was husky. When she looked up, he continued. “Are you a dog or cat person?”

Confusion clouded her features temporarily but then a grin lit up her face. “Dog. A big sloppy dog who sheds on everything.”

“Me too. Not the sloppy part, just the dog.”

She continued to grin at him. “What’s your favorite color?”

He answered without thinking. “Blue.” Jackson stared into eyes that were the color of the ocean when she was happy, as dark as midnight when she was aroused, and the color of rain when she was unhappy. “My favorite color is blue.”

Chapter Nine

“Elvis has left the building.”

Startled, Michaela looked up from the patient file she was reviewing at her desk.

“What did you say?”

Jackson stretched, twisting his back to loosen the tension. “I said I’m done for the day. What about you?”

Jackson was sprawled on the couch in her office, stalker suspect files and the remnants of their take-out supper spread on the coffee table. His tousled hair looked sexy as hell, the result of his habit of running his fingers through it when concentrating. She thought it was adorable but she’d never tell him.

He’d woken her with soft kisses and a warm tongue between her thighs, then a slow, languorous bout of sex. Far better than any alarm clock. Through a full day of back-to-back patients, the feel of her thighs, breasts, neck—tender and slightly abraded by his beard—had kept a smile on her face.

They hadn’t touched all day. Once they’d arrived at the office, Jackson slipped into work mode as he got down to the business of protecting her. No one had asked, but she knew from the curious glances that people wondered why he was always at her side or just outside the door of whatever examination room she was in at the moment.

And, of course, word had gotten out about her injury at the hospital, making her the number one topic. Add to that the knowledge that Jackson had stayed at her place, and the good people of Elliott were putting two and two together and coming up with an affair.

Theresa had joked with her about it—asking about the caliber of Jackson’s firearm—and ran interference with the curious. Apparently people had no trouble asking
her
what was going on and like the good friend she was, she’d given them some story about Jackson upgrading her security system. To her face, they’d all pretended to buy it. Thank God for Southern manners.

“Kayla.” His smooth voice brought her back to the present. He beckoned her with the crook of his long finger. Just like the Pied Piper, he knew she’d follow. “Come over here.”

She rose, his eyebrow-waggling leer causing her to laugh until he pulled her down onto his lap and covered her mouth with his. A tender press of lips with a hint of tongue spread sweet warmth throughout her body.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.” In spite of her fatigue, his proximity exhilarated and excited her. Good thing he hadn’t touched her today—she’d had a hard enough time keeping her mind on her work with him just close by.

He nuzzled her cheek, warm breath tickling her ear. “You were great today. Your patients love you.”

“Hmmm. They love it when they don’t get shots.” She arched into his caress, savoring the feel of his teeth nibbling her skin. “If I’m so popular, then I guess none of them are trying to kill me.”

Jackson sighed, releasing his hold to scrub a hand over his face. She missed his warmth. Why’d she bring up the big, dangerous elephant in the room? It was so much better pretending Jackson wasn’t here because her life was falling apart. She moved to leave his lap but he held her in position.

“Hey.” He cupped her jaw and he turned her face to look at him. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Lucky and I pored over your files and it isn’t someone connected to your practice.”

She sighed with relief.

“But that leaves us with two possibilities you won’t like.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“This is either someone from your past…”

“You mean a former lover.”

“Yes. A former lover.” She suppressed a secret thrill when his face twisted into a look of distaste before he continued. “Or it’s connected to your father.”

“So, you finally agree that it’s him?” Her voice was sharp.

“Or someone trying to get back at your father. But this last attack was too personal, too direct.” Jackson shrugged. “My gut says it’s your father.”

“I’m so pissed. We had a deal. He said he’d leave me alone if—” She jumped to her feet to put distance between them.

“If what?” Jackson stood, his frustration evident in the hard lines of the muscles underneath his black T-shirt. “If you disappear and play the good girl for the rest of your life? What kind of life is that?”

“I stood up to him. I made him accept my choices.” Anger welled up from her belly and spread in a wave across her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“You didn’t make him
accept
anything, sweetheart. He’s still pulling the strings.” He waved a hand around her office, his face dark with emotion. “This is the life you allow yourself to have because you think it will appease him. You’re no different than your brother—you’re just hiding in plain sight.”

Michaela jerked back. His words were bitter, sarcastic, and blunt and she hated every single syllable. All of the anger, frustration, helplessness of the last few weeks—no, years—erupted inside of her. She rounded on him, striking him with her fists, repeatedly. She didn’t aim—that would have required focus and calm—she just struck blindly, making contact where she could.

Jackson let her get a few good hits in then blocked her, dodging effortlessly, which only made her more furious. She advanced on him, but he pulled her close to his body.

“Kayla, baby. Calm down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t want to calm down.” She looked up into his face, her heart banging against her ribs with every breath. “Let me go. You’re an asshole.”

He huffed out a laugh as she squirmed in his arms. “Glad you finally figured that out.”

His amusement made her struggle harder. When he held her tighter, she became aware of the entire length of his body touching her, controlling her, arousing her. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and drink in the scent of his woodsy cologne and the underlying musk that was all Jackson.

She also wanted to bite him, claw at him, and tell him to let her go and take all of this shit with him. Her nipples peaked underneath her silk blouse and she couldn’t stop herself from rubbing against his chest, her belly tightening with desire.

His appearance darkened as his tongue unconsciously sneaked out to wet his lips.

Michaela lunged forward, kissing him with a ferocity fueled in equal parts by anger and lust. Without finesse, her tongue pushed into his mouth, curling around his own, forcing a response. He opened to her, welcoming her with a grunt and a thrust of his groin against her belly. She felt him, hard and long, and the desire to have him inside of her made her lightheaded.

Jackson loosened his hold and cradled her face, gentling the kiss to a mere whisper of lips. His voice was a croon, sweet nonsense pouring out of his mouth in an attempt to calm her down.

No. No. No.

She didn’t want to be pacified. She was tired of being handled with kid gloves. She’d always been told to tamp down her anger, put on a serene face for everyone else’s benefit, and deny her own feelings.

Not tonight. Not with the anger eating away at her, making her bend little by little until it broke her.

Knocking away his hands, Michaela grasped Jackson’s neck, pulling him in for a hard, wet kiss that ended in a bite to his lower lip.

“Ow!” He stepped back and touched his tender flesh.

Michaela hiked her skirt up, reached under and removed her panties. They hung for a moment on her long, slender fingers before she tossed them to the floor.

Jackson sucked in a breath, confusion clouding his face for the briefest moment. Dark fire replaced it.

“So that’s how you want it?” His voice was raw, uneven.

“Yes.” Michaela stepped forward and rubbed her hand against the bulge in his jeans before undoing the belt, the button, and the zipper. “Is that a problem?”

“No ma’am.”

She bent to slip off her heels but his hand on her arm stopped her.

Jackson shook his head. “Keep the shoes on.”

She started to protest but he silenced her with a kiss, his tongue forcefully exploring her mouth, his hands cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples. She was on fire, turned on by the anger or Jackson, or both. Not caring, but wanting—needing—to satisfy something deep inside her that had an appetite of its own.

Breaking off the kiss, he spun her around and leaned her over her desk, hiking her skirt up. Cool air swept across her overheated sex. She gasped as he caressed the exposed flesh of her ass, gliding close to, but not touching, her core. Always teasing. She moaned when his hands left her and she pushed back, silently begging for him to return.

She’d never been this exposed with a lover before. Never let anyone this close. Always wondered if they would betray her. But she trusted Jackson. There was no rhyme or reason for it—she barely knew him. But her heart knew he would take care of her.

The telltale sound of a condom wrapper ripping open caused her skin to tingle.

“Damn, Kayla.” Jackson’s voice was rough. He caressed the skin of her ass. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look? All spread out, ready for me?”

He leaned over her body, his thick erection pressing against her sex, his breath hot on her neck.

“Baby, how do you want it?” His whiskey-smooth voice wrapped around her like a rope, binding her in place. “I can go nice and slow, make you feel good all night. Or we can do it fast and hard.” He ran his lips along her skin, nipped at her earlobe. “You deserve to get what you want. No compromise. I’ll give you anything, just tell me.”

I want you.

She clamped her lips together, terrified the thought would slip out. If she said it, he would know—know she didn’t just mean his body. She wanted his heart, his love.

She couldn’t tell him that.

“Hard. Fast. That’s how I want it.” Her voice was raw with need.

“Anything you want.”

He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, then his weight was gone, replaced with the sensation of being stretched by his hard cock. She cried out, arching back to take all of him, and he responded with fast, sharp jabs of his hips. Filling her, over and over again. It was incredible, this total abandonment of decorum and restraint. She was powerful, a goddess—just like their first night together—the only limits to her pleasure were the ones she imposed on herself.

His weight pressed down on her again, possessing her inside and out. The pleasure was unbearable, so intense. She cried out as he loved her, giving her what she needed. All the while, Jackson nuzzled her neck, her hair, and kissed away the pain, leaving only pleasure.

Michaela came with a cry, quickly followed by Jackson’s shudder. His cock throbbed and swelled inside of her, drawing out her orgasm and sending little aftershocks along her spine. She was limp as a doll when he gathered her in his arms and rocked her gently. Long moments stretched out as she regained her composure.

Jackson broke the silence with a gentle question. “You okay?”

Michaela nodded against his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” His tone was irritated and he didn’t bother to hide it as he shifted to look down at her. “Don’t you get it? You don’t need to apologize or beg for what you need. You ask for it and take it, or move on when the answer is no, but
never
be sorry for asking for what you need.”

His words hit too close to home, but he was right. She’d spent too long waiting for whatever little crumbs her father doled out and, if her earlier breakdown was any indication, she’d resented the hell out of it. Time to admit that she needed stuff like every other normal person on the planet.

“I think I needed that.” Her voice was rusty but had enough conviction for a first-timer.

“I think you did.” He nodded, a laugh rumbling deep in his chest. “And I think I know what you need now.”

She pulled back to get a better look at him, the grin on his face contagious. “And what would that be?”

“You need pie.”

…

“Why did you leave Elliott?”

Jack paused in his task of cleaning the counter at the Southern Comfort to consider Kayla’s question. Perched on the stool, she looked adorable with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, face bare of any makeup, and her lips pursed around the straw stuck into her chocolate milkshake. He groaned inwardly as she swallowed, her pink tongue slipping out to lick the last bit of chocolate from her lips. She was a teenager’s wet dream and he felt fourteen when he was around her—horny, horny, and…well, horny.

But, there was something more. He liked her. And, if he could risk sounding even more juvenile, he
really
liked her. She was beautiful, brilliant, kind, and brave. It was true, what he’d said earlier about her merely hiding from her father, but she was brave to try it in the first place. He’d seen Marines face down an enemy across a battlefield, but it took some special kind of guts to stand up to the one person who should have loved you the most—and didn’t.

He took her plate, empty except for a few crumbs of the chocolate peanut butter pie. Once again, he’d watched her inhale her dessert and smiled at her no-holds-barred enjoyment of such a basic pleasure.