The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “Every four hours.” Her tone was falsely sweet.

  “That coupled with the anti-inflammatory should take care of it. Luckily the fragment was small.”

  “Justin –”

  His affable tone took on just a thin edge of irritation, but he pitched his voice low. “If you don’t keep it immobilized until the swelling goes down, you’ll exacerbate it to the point that surgery is the only option. Then you’ll be on desk duty for a month. I know you don’t want that.”

  He was right, and it pissed her off.

  “Besides,” he added at normal volume. “I feel badly enough about this as it is. Just wear it for a few days. For me. Because otherwise I’ll feel like an ass every time I see you grimace.”

  “Oh, you’re good.” She shook her head as irritation gave way to resignation. He’d made it seem like she would be doing him a favor, salvaging her pride and getting his way in one simple turn of phrase. And she’d look both petty and stupid if she told him exactly what he could do with his little sling. “Or possibly evil.”

  “Life would be pretty damn boring without a little of both.”

  Because it was true, and because he was her friend, and because her elbow did hurt, damn it, Kathleen sent a playful punch into his stomach. With the hand not immobilized by the stupid sling. “I guess this means you’re going to have to spread ‘em, after all.”

  “What?”

  “Excuse me,” Sadie said as she choked on her cider. “Wrong pipe. Uh, I think I’ll just…” she gestured vaguely toward the back of the pub. “Pregnant woman. Bladder.”

  Kathleen watched her hustle away, then turned back to Justin with amusement. “I guess Sadie got the wrong idea.”

  “Right.” Justin blinked at her, before taking a healthy slug of his drink. “Wrong idea.”

  “SECOND best-looking guy in the room, and he’s standing all alone.”

  Justin turned from where he’d been studying some homemade ornaments – the Murphy siblings’ grade school handiwork – and lit up like the tree behind him. “That’s because I was waiting for the best-looking girl to come see me. Hello, Molly.” He tugged the happily kicking foot of the rosy-cheeked baby. “And her mother, too.” He dropped a kiss onto the cheek of Samantha Harding, one of his favorite people in the world. “I know it’s been too long since I’ve seen you, because Molly is huge.”

  Pride bloomed, taking Sam’s face from sweetly attractive to a thing of Madonna-like beauty. “Isn’t she just? And she’s happy tonight, which is a bonus. Yesterday was her four-month checkup, so we were both feeling a little suspicious of medical professionals. Good thing you’re not wearing scrubs, or she might have beaned you with her rattle.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time a woman has resorted to violence where I’m concerned.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Her hazel eyes danced like sugarplums. “From what I hear at the center, you’ve got quite the fan club at a certain local restaurant.”

  “What?” Sam was a social worker, and currently split her time between the delightful Molly and the outpatient substance abuse program where she worked a couple days a week. He had no idea why his name should have come up. “What restaurant?”

  “You really don’t have a clue, do you?” She shook her head, a laugh bubbling out as Molly made a grab for Sam’s swinging brown hair. “I could torment you and claim client confidentiality,” she untangled her hair, kissed her daughter’s fist. “But when this particular young woman heard that I not only knew you but was seeing you tonight, she insisted I say hello from her. Well actually,” she amended with a little smirk “she called you that yummy doctor with the amazing hands, and suggested I plant one on you, but I’m fairly certain Josh might have something to say about that.”

  “What might I have something to say about?” Samantha’s husband asked as he strolled up, clearly the best looking guy in the room. Even by Justin’s purely heterosexual standards. “Or, about which to say… whatever. I’ve had too much eggnog to worry about grammar.”

  “About me kissing Justin,” Sam explained, passing him the gurgling baby.

  “Oh.” He bounced his daughter, calmly unconcerned. “Well, you are standing under the mistletoe.”

  “I am?” Wary now, Justin looked up.

  “They’ve got it hanging all over. I think Mr. Murphy’s trying to make up for that low fat stuff Maureen has him drinking by adding spice in other areas. Honey, if you see a big Irishman in a red suit coming at you, run the other way.”

  Justin nodded. “Because Molly doesn’t need to see that. The whole I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus thing is just creepy.”

  “Who’s kissing Santa?” Kathleen asked as she came up beside him, popping some kind of holiday Chex mix into her mouth.

  “Do you ever stop eating?” Justin wondered.

  “Sure, sometimes I sleep. Is Dad putting the moves on somebody? I can go distract him with a hamburger.”

  “We were just discussing the abundance of mistletoe in here…oops,” Sam said as Molly turned fussy and started chewing her fist. “Sounds like somebody else is hungry. I better go feed her before things get ugly.”

  After Sam took the baby and wandered off, Justin realized she hadn’t finished explaining what she’d meant. Not that it was what he’d actually call important. Amazing hands? Hell, what surgeon didn’t? And if they didn’t, they were in the wrong profession.

  Putting that out of his mind, he turned to catch Josh saying “…sling. Boy that brings back some bad memories.”

  Kathleen arched a brow at Justin. “See? You guilting me into this thing is going to traumatize my coworker. He’ll have bullet-riddled flashbacks to the day he was shot, wake up screaming in the night, lose sleep, perform poorly –”

  “Hey, my performance is excellent.”

  “ – on the job. Really, for Josh’s sake, I think I should avoid wearing the sling during working hours.”

  When Justin just stared at her she said “Fine. Fine. But his impending mental breakdown is all on you, buddy.”

  Buddy. Justin really hated that word.

  “Maybe if you push her down again,” Josh said around a mouthful of Chex mix he’d snagged from Kathleen’s cup “you could incapacitate something more useful, like her mouth.”

  “Harding!” someone called from across the room, and Josh lifted his hand in acknowledgement. “Cripes, I think there was a bum over on East Bay your family forgot to invite, Kathleen, but otherwise the whole city is here. I’ll catch you guys later.”

  “So,” Kathleen said when Josh had left. “Read any good books lately?”

  “You really are a smartass, you know.”

  “I’ve never understood that.” Kathleen shook her hair back, those coppery strands sliding against the long stem of her neck, the nearby tree lights teasing out the red and gold until it all blended together like flame. Her blue eyes sparkled, her skin gleamed creamy and fair against the dark sweater that hugged her gentle curves. There were buttons on her right shoulder. One, two, three…

  “Understood what?”

  “Why, when someone is running their mouth, do people call them a smart ass?”

  Justin wondered if they’d simply pop open if he slid his finger along her collarbone. “Because there’s no curse word for mouth. You can call someone a smart mouth, but it just doesn’t have the same, slightly offensive connotation. If you want to accurately convey your annoyance, you have to swear.”

  “Smart bitch?”

  “Not a body part.”

  He watched her pop a candy coated pretzel in her mouth as she considered. She was wearing lip gloss tonight. When the light hit it just right, it sparkled. “Well, we know we can’t say smart dick, because it’s not really a curse word, and it’s also an oxymoron.”

  “I would argue, but the poor decision making skills of the penis are universally acknowledged. It does, however, invoke wonder and awe in other arenas.”

  Kathleen stopped chewing. “Are these arenas on the pl
anet Wishful Thinking? Because I’m thinking it’s more indifference and irritation.”

  Justin opened his mouth. Closed it. No good could come of offering to show her where she’d gone wrong in her thinking.

  “See?” She poked him in the chest, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. It looked like candy, that damn lip gloss. Like a Charms lollipop. The kind that was sour at first, and got sweeter as you licked it. “As soon as we start talking about the penis, you lose the ability for coherent speech. Really, the next time I have to subdue a male suspect, I’ll just drop that word, like an anatomical bomb. Should wrap things up pretty quickly. Damn, I’m almost out of Chex mix.” She looked mournfully into her cup. “I’ll just –”

  He didn’t think. If he had, he never would have done it.

  Justin reached out, slid his fingers into her lovely hair – really, it was like his arm moved independently of his body, like he had no control whatsoever – lowered his mouth.

  And tasted.

  KATHLEEN froze.

  Justin was kissing her. His lips were soft, his breath spicy like the nutmeg on the eggnog. His long fingers cradled the back of her head and his mouth moved warm against hers. She made a sound, surprise or… yeah, that was surprise, and her lips parted as her eyelids fluttered. He changed the angle, just a small shift so that their parted lips molded, and her hand drifted up to his chest.

  To push him away? But when he breathed into her mouth her fingers clutched at his sweater. She had no idea what had gotten into him, kissing her was a very un-Justin-like thing to do, but since he apparently did it really damn well, who was she to object? Besides, all his heat was really confusing the issue, and she stepped closer, because he felt so good. Big and broad, and when he parted her lips again with his tongue, slid inside to taste and tangle, the hottest place she’d ever been. She went dizzy, and something fell – the last of her Chex mix, maybe, spilling onto the scarred wood floor – and then it was just Justin, filling her mouth, taking over her mind. The kiss spun out, days, she was kissing him for days, all hot lips and teasing tongue and the faintest scratch of whiskers. He’d showered but he hadn’t shaved. Strange that the combination was suddenly sexy. With her sensitive redhead’s skin, she usually preferred men who spent regular time with their razors. When he pulled it back she made another sound – distress, that was definitely distress this time – but he simply shifted to bring their bodies flush together. Then his tongue was back, and her arm was squished between them in the sling, but his hand was on her hip, so she didn’t care. His fingers tightened over her jeans and Kathleen thought clothes are so overrated just as someone said “Whoa” behind them. Sadie, she thought that might be Sadie’s voice, but who needed Sadie when she had Justin right here.

  Go away, she thought, and slid her fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, taking a little nip of his bottom lip with her teeth. She got lost for a moment, lost in all the heat and the lovely hard press of his body. Hard, Justin was hard – maybe wonder and awe, after all – but her brother’s voice said “Maybe not so Hopeless.”

  Justin lifted his head, looking dazed and gorgeous. He’d always been gorgeous, it was just an anatomical fact, but she’d never quite registered that he was gorgeous before, in the hormonal meltdown sense. Wanting more, Kathleen started to go after him but he blinked and glanced around. “I…” His gaze slid back to her mouth, then darted to her eyes. He took a step back, and she felt cold all over. “I’m sorry. That was…”

  Amazing, Kathleen wanted to say.

  “Out of line. It’s just that your mouth was so…” He scrubbed a hand over his head before he shook it. “It’s the mistletoe. Or maybe your lip gloss. And I’m going to shut up now, and just say that I’m sorry.”

  When he hurried away, cutting through the waves of partygoers like a steamship – the SS Delicious, perhaps – Kathleen stood, Chex mix scattered at her feet and her preconceptions blown to hell. She turned, feeling stunned, and saw Sadie beaming and Declan looking bored. “This is what I was missing?”

  “Only for the past three years,” Declan said.

  “Well… God.” She looked over the crowd, saw Justin pushing out the front door.

  And wanted to miss it again, real soon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JUSTIN lay in the dark, reliving that kiss.

  And then kicking himself for reliving it. Followed by kicking himself for kissing her in the first place. Or maybe enjoying the fact that he’d kissed her, and then kicking himself for… hell, he didn’t know. Maybe it was kicking himself he enjoyed.

  Who was he kidding? He’d been thrilled with that kiss. Ecstatic about that kiss. And had spent the past week and a half reliving it in vivid Technicolor with surround sound empowered by Dolby – thinking about her moaning against his mouth still made him shiver – and if he was kicking himself at all it was only because he’d basically flushed three years of self-restraint down the drain.

  For a few, glorious, minutes.

  “What are you doing?”

  The overhead light flicked on, and Justin squinted at the blurred features of his younger brother. “This is a little thing I like to call sleeping.”

  “You’re on the sofa. In your underwear. And your face looks… weird.”

  “You should talk, since yours looks just like it.” He sat up and scrubbed a hand over the face in question, his palm rasping against a day’s worth of stubble. Two days? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shaved. He’d been working like the indentured. “And the sofa was closer than the bed.”

  “Well the game’s about to start.” James shoved at Justin’s bare legs, making them slide across the leather, plopping down with bottle in hand.

  “Is that beer?” He peered at the label.

  “I’m over twenty-one.”

  “Hell, when did that happen?”

  “About four years ago. Probably around the last time you showered.”

  Justin stared at his baby brother. “Why are you here again?”

  James clicked the remote, satisfaction running over his face as fifty-two inches of high definition kicked in. He sipped his beer, propping his enormous, sock-clad feet on Justin’s table. “Christmas break. Final semester of law school. Stress. Your house is the only one without rugrats.”

  Justin currently felt annoyed with his three older brothers for their tendency to reproduce. “You could have spent the rest of the week with Mom and Dad. Or, you know, gone back to your own apartment.”

  “Yeah, right. Dad would have talked about patent law and mom would have talked about nice young women. Like I have any interest in either of those. And my apartment is a shoebox filled with dirty socks.”

  Justin dubiously eyed the socks touching his table.

  “What?” James lifted a foot. “They’re clean.”

  “I know. They’re mine.”

  “Hey, something came for you.” Clearly anxious to change the topic, his brother gestured with his bottle. “I put it on the kitchen table.”

  Too tired to be appropriately annoyed, Justin stretched before heading toward the kitchen. He spared a glance for the cardboard box sitting on the table, much more interested in the contents of his coffee pot. The final drops were just falling into the carafe. James might be a pain in the ass, but he was a considerate pain in the ass. And he made damn good coffee. After filling a cup and taking that first, bracing sip, Justin wiped a little spillage off the black granite counter. He’d finished the final installation with James’s help, after living with plywood over his cabinets for a year. Having belonged to an elderly woman, the house had been an overly feminine, out of date dump when he’d bought it, but he was slowly fixing it up. It wasn’t big, and it wasn’t fancy. But it was close to the beach, and the foundation was good. He could work with that. He liked repairing stuff that was battered and broken, giving it new life.

  Good thing, he thought wryly, considering his day job.

  Slightly more focused after his cup was
half-drained, Justin topped it off and turned his attention to the box. There was a little heart drawn where the return address should be. Probably some kind of care package from his mother. Leftover Christmas cookies, maybe, even though she’d already loaded him up last week. But with James temporarily bunking with him, it had to be nearly impossible for her to resist feathering the nest a little.

  He dragged it across the pine tabletop with his fingers, then sliced the clear packing tape with a knife. Inside was another box, wrapped in shiny red paper. A fat white bow with pink and red hearts printed on it squatted in the center. Justin’s eyebrows drew together. A little early for her to be sending Valentine’s gifts. Maybe she’d run out of Christmas wrapping. Or…

  Dismissing that as a waste of brainpower, he pried the tape up and laid the paper aside. Nestled inside this box, in a bed of silvery tissue, was what appeared to be Mickey Mouse. And Minnie, he corrected, fingering another layer of tissue aside. Caught up in an embrace. When he lifted the figurine out – it appeared to be some kind of tree ornament – he saw the words on the banner which stretched around their feet.

  Our First Christmas Together.

  Okay.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Taking another sip of coffee, he looked in the box for a card or some kind of note. When none appeared he snagged the ornament by the little fabric loop it hung from, and walked toward the living room doorway.

  “Was mom doing drugs when you left Savannah?”

  “What?” James pulled his attention from the TV with a frown.

  “She sent me an our first Christmas ornament.” Justin held it aloft. “Unless this is some kind of suggestion that she’d like me to take you in permanently, I wouldn’t eat any more of those brownies she made. She must be lacing them.”

  Justin tossed the ornament through the air, and James fielded it like the veteran ballplayer he was. “Mickey Mouse?”

  “I would call you Minnie, but that’s just wrong on so many levels.”

  James shook his dark head, and sat the ornament next to his feet. “Why would she mail it, anyway? She just saw you last week. Wait. Was that what was in the box?”