A Night of Southern Comfort (6 page)

“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 over 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.

He pointed a finger at her and then the spot in front of her feet, making his message clearer than neon on the Vegas Strip.
Stay here.
She nodded again.

Jackson crept away in the direction of the rustling. A chill covered her skin, from the loss of his body heat or the fear skirting around the edge of her overactive imagination, she wasn’t sure.

Michaela couldn’t see him any longer. The shadows of the surrounding rose bushes now cast a decidedly unromantic pall over the almost-sex-afterglow and she counted the endless moments until she had some clue about what the hell was going on.

She didn’t have long to wait.

…

Son of a bitch
. The asshole was in her bushes spying on the two of them. Jack didn’t need to see him to know what was going on. Years of training had honed his instinct, and it screamed “kill the fucker.”

He sidled along the side of the garden, the roses giving him good cover until he could maneuver around and get a good look at the Peeping Tom. The adrenaline coursing through his system deadened the stinging scrapes on his arms from the thorns but heightened his senses. Cocking his head, he pinpointed the location of the intruder. The rustling emanated just to his left on the path that led from Kayla’s carriage house apartment to Crystal’s large mansion.

Yesterday, he’d walked the property with Lucky. The path was slightly overgrown, with gaps in the landscaping where a man could slip through, cut across neighboring lawns and escape to Main Street. He had to grab this guy quick.

Quick, silent footsteps brought him within spitting distance of where the local perv was hiding. Poised to rush him, Jack crouched low, taking one last steadying breath.

The flash of the headlights of a passing car ruined his best-laid plans.

The light gave the stalker a clear shot of Jack silhouetted against the bushes. Jack’s momentary blindness gave the jerk a five-second head start. Fighting to get a clear sight of the guy, Jack followed his crashing progress through the garden. Jumping over lower plants and shoving in between larger ones, he pushed his body to the limit in an attempt to close the gap.

“Stop! I’ll shoot!” he shouted.

Unfortunately he didn’t have his gun. If he had, he would have shot the asshole just for making him run with a hard-on. Hard as a spike because of Kayla, the adrenaline rush had done nothing to help his condition.

Seeing the point of no return approaching, Jack made a final effort to surge ahead but the other guy was quicker. He disappeared around the edge of Crystal’s yard and when Jack emerged on the other side he was nowhere in sight.

“Dammit!”

Sprinting to the neighbor’s yard, Jack scanned the shadows looking for any movement but he knew he was too late. Rage burned like a fire in his chest, his breathing loud and labored on the trip back to Kayla. At least he knew the stalker was still around. She couldn’t refuse his help now. The proof of her danger was irrefutable.

Emerging onto Kayla’s driveway, he drew up short when he couldn’t see her anywhere. The burning fury of his rage morphed into an icy dread. Had he been deliberately drawn away? Was this guy working with someone? The last time he’d made a mistake, he’d watched people die. He’d tear this fucking town apart before he let it happen to Kayla.

“Kayla!”

“Over here.”

Jack whirled around. Kayla emerged from behind her car, a medium-sized concrete garden gnome in her hands. Relief turned his legs to rubber but it didn’t keep him from getting to her in a few, long strides. A quick scan told him she was unharmed.

“Jackson.”

Her voice was off. He stepped closer but she held the gnome in front of her like a tacky talisman against the things that go bump in the night. It would have been funny except for the way her hands were shaking.