The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  Justin leaned back, trying to reconcile the vivacious young woman who’d waited on him with flirtatious good humor the other night at Murphy’s with the woman Anne described. He knew from experience that even seemingly sunny-natured people could turn on a dime under the right conditions, particularly if there were pharmaceuticals of some sort involved.

  He was also aware that he’d heard only one side of the story, which was never the advisable way to form an opinion. But when Anne took a tissue from her purse, and surreptitiously wiped the tears which brimmed in her eyes, Justin felt a tug of masculine guilt. His fix-it nature demanded that he come to the aid of the pretty damsel in distress.

  Maybe he could have a talk with Samantha Harding. She was Shelley’s rehab counselor, so surely she would have an idea of whether or not the woman may have fallen off the wagon. He hoped not. He actually rather liked her. But in the meantime, Natasha – and her sister – was his immediate concern. He reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, retrieved one of his business cards.

  “I want you to call Natasha’s doctor before you do anything else, because he has her records and knows what medications she’s already taking. There’s always the possibility for interaction, even with natural supplements, which is something of which you want to be careful.” He borrowed her pen, scratched out a phone number on the back of his card. “Additionally, this is the number of a family counselor I know. I strongly recommend that you give her a call. I think that both you and your sister could benefit from talking to her.”

  He capped the pen, passed both it and the card across the table.

  “And something that I don’t think we physicians say enough, particularly when there’s a pill that can be prescribed, but the best ways to alleviate stress are often the most simple. Get some fresh air, enjoy the sunshine. Go for a walk on the beach or sign up for a yoga class. Relax. Have some fun.”

  Anne’s hesitant smile bloomed in response to his suggestion. “Thank you. So much. For the cappuccino, and for your time.”

  “No problem.” Lifting his own beverage, Justin took a bracing sip.

  He needed to remember to buy a new coffee machine before he headed home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DUSK had settled by the time Justin turned onto his street. He’d been gone longer than he anticipated, long enough for clouds to roll in and obscure the moonlight. A storm was brewing. The surf was angry, the water in the inlet frosted with whitecaps. Wind gusted, Mother Nature’s quicksilver moods shifting again toward petulant. His headlights and the faint glow of his neighbor’s landscape lighting were the only things to relieve the darkness. Lumber rattled in the cargo space behind him as he swerved to avoid a branch which had fallen from one of the overhanging oaks. Justin grabbed for his new coffeemaker to keep it from sliding off the passenger seat.

  “Crap,” he muttered when it slipped beyond his fingers to land on the floorboard. Hopefully it was packaged well enough that the carafe hadn’t cracked.

  Switching his attention back to the road, Justin drove the last few yards to his driveway. He parked, then leaned across the seat to pick up the box.

  No visible damage, he noted after he’d opened the top flap and peered inside. Good. He didn’t want to wait until he got to the hospital in the morning for his caffeine. It was pretty much his one dietary vice, but he was as dependent upon it as any addict.

  Justin started to switch off the headlights, noticing for the first time that they were illuminating the carriage-style doors of his detached garage. Because his truck wasn’t parked in front of them.

  Justin clutched the box as his heart gave one hard lurch. He’d been so concerned with the stupid coffee maker that he hadn’t even missed the truck.

  Oh hell no. If that crazy bitch had driven off with his…

  “Calm down,” he muttered to himself, interrupting his own mental tirade. He’d had the locks changed. James had the only other key. Reason dictated that his brother had simply run out for something. Knowing James, likely food. Or beer. Why he hadn’t texted Justin and simply asked him to pick something up was another matter altogether, but Justin was annoyed that his first reaction had been panic, of sorts.

  He wasn’t one to fly off the handle. Hell, if he was prone to panic, he would have washed out of medical school the first semester.

  Shaking his head, Justin shut off the headlights and climbed from the SUV. He’d ask James to unload the wood tomorrow. As good as his word, his brother was taking charge of replacing the weather beaten boards on the back steps. Justin had had a moment or two of anal-retentiveness, seeing someone else working on his stuff, but he’d gotten over it. James knew his way around power tools, had a good eye and a level head. And Justin could use the help.

  Moving between the garage and the house on his way to the back door, Justin’s sneakers crunched the oyster shells beneath his feet while the wind shook the nearby live oaks, leaves falling like confetti in his own personal parade. Shifting the box beneath one arm, he flipped through the keys on James’ ring, looking for the one he’d had cut just that morning. Hooray for 24/7 locksmiths. Unable to see well in the deepening shadows, Justin paused.

  And whirled at the sound of oyster shells crunching behind him.

  “Jesus,” he muttered when he recognized the faint gleam of red hair, a little light in the gloom. Apparently it was his day to be snuck up on from behind. At least he hadn’t taken a swing at her, as he had at Anthony.

  Because thinking of Anthony tended to turn his mood sour, Justin put the man from his mind. And the heart which had sped up in agitation began beating harder for another reason.

  “Sorry,” Kathleen called when she was only a few yards away. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Because the fact that he’d been startled – again – made him feel like a wimp of epic proportions, Justin started to feign nonchalance. And then thought to hell with that. This was Kathleen. And he was damn glad to see her.

  “Clearly this is why you’re the cop and I’m the surgeon.”

  “Oh? And why’s that?”

  Her voice held curiosity, and just the faintest hint of amusement. And was like a warm, familiar caress in the dark.

  “I may not always know what’s coming at me in the OR, but it’s generally brightly lit and I’m armed with a scalpel. Not to mention that the action mostly happens in front of me. Skulking through dark alleys with eyes in the back of my head is not really part of my skill set.”

  She smiled. He sensed it more than saw it at first, but as she stopped just a couple feet away from him, his gaze traced the curve of her lips.

  And lingered.

  The smile faded, degree by degree, and Justin raised his eyes to hers. Their gazes locked, and in her normally cool, assured blue eyes he saw a question, followed by an unmistakable flare of heat. Her lips parted, a couple short, surprised breaths passing between them in the suddenly thick air. The tip of her tongue slipped out to moisten her top lip.

  Justin lost his shit.

  Without conscious thought, he dropped whatever it was he was holding and grabbed her shoulders, yanking her toward him. Teeth bumping, lips mashing, their mouths met, open and hot, with no finesse whatsoever. Just desire, immediate and primal. Her tongue met his, hungry, demanding. The taste of her, tangy, sweet, and something that he identified as uniquely Kathleen, shot straight to his cock like an erotic jolt of high-test espresso. When he slipped a hand into her hair, accidentally loosening the pins she’d used to hold it in a twist, it fell in a haphazard tangle down to her shoulders. Angling her head so that he could take the kiss deeper, the groan which echoed from her mouth into his caused his synapses to misfire and short out.

  “God, God,” she repeated, all but stuttering when he shoved her back against the wall of the garage. Her breath hitched, her eyelids fluttering shut as he raced kisses across her cheek, nipped her ear, ran his open mouth down the long, elegant stem of her neck.

  His teeth latched onto the cord
there, just short of an actual bite. Wind whistled down the passageway, but did little to cool the heat which engulfed him. His hands slid under her jacket, over her gently rounded hips, fingers bunching the silky blouse she wore until it slipped free of the waistband of her skirt. The skin beneath it was satiny smooth, warm to the touch.

  Sinking to his knees, Justin pushed up the blouse, dipping his tongue into her navel and lapping at it like a man starving.

  Kathleen’s fingers threaded through his hair, tightening into fists when his hands raced down to grab her ankles. The oyster shells crunched beneath her heels as he pushed her feet slightly further apart. Eyes rolling back from the paintinged pleasure, Justin ran his hands up the length of her truly incredible legs. The calluses on his palm rasped along the sheer hose which covered them.

  How long had he looked, dreamed of having those legs wrapped around his hips, draped over his shoulders, but denied himself the potential danger, the certain pleasure of touching?

  Too damn long.

  His lids popped open, gaze sliding hotly from her tasteful, professional black pumps to where he’d encountered lace – and then bare skin – at the top of her thigh. He eased her skirt up, air pumping in and out of his lungs like a bellows, confirming visually what he’d felt with his hands. Kathleen was wearing old-fashioned stockings. Not hose. She even had on a garter belt.

  The heat which pumped through his veins, flushing his skin, turned into an inferno.

  Unable to stop himself, Justin’s hands shot around to grab her taut, rounded cheeks, holding her in place while he leaned forward. Shuddering at her warm, slightly musky scent, Justin ran his tongue over the thin strip of black satin between her thighs.

  “Oh,” Kathleen said, the word stretched out on a groan. The pounding sound he heard was either his own blood rushing in his ears or the back of her head hitting the garage wall. “Justin.”

  The sound of his name easing past her lips in just that tone brought Justin surging to his feet. Tightening his grip on her bottom, he boosted her up, fitted his hips between her thighs. And had to squeeze his eyes shut at the rush of sheer pleasure.

  Justin gritted his teeth, dangerously close to losing it. He pressed his forehead to the rough wooden board beside Kathleen’s, banged it once in an attempt to restore some blood flow. But it was no use. All the blood in his body seemed to have gathered in his groin, giving him an erection the approximate size and density of a giant sequoia.

  Or at least that’s how it felt when she rubbed against him.

  “Justin,” Kathleen said again in a short, hot pant next to his ear, her hands gripping his shoulders, her slim, firm, legs tightening around his hips, and whatever hold on rational thought Justin had claimed previously shattered along with his restraint.

  Grabbing her face, Justin thrust his tongue into her mouth, hard and deep, claiming it, owning it in the same way that he was going to claim and own her body. His, dammit, she was his, his, his and he didn’t give a damn that it was politically incorrect or inherently illogical. He’d been reduced to an animal. An animal marking its mate.

  “Oh my God,” Kathleen gasped when he pulled his mouth away long enough to shift her weight so that he could yank open the fly of his jeans.

  And just like that, the sky opened up and it started raining.

  Not a gentle rain. And not a warm rain, either. A frigid, pelting rain that felt like shards of ice were being launched from a celestial cannon.

  Nature’s version of a cold shower.

  “Hell,” Justin muttered. His back was already soaked. The slight overhang of the garage roof was protecting Kathleen from the worst of it, though her exposed legs – being as they were currently wrapped around his hips – had to be getting wet.

  He eased back, allowing her feet to fall to the ground. Water streamed off his hair, running into his eyes, and he swiped at it before meeting Kathleen’s gaze. She looked a little stunned, but she recovered quickly enough.

  “I think you dropped your keys over there.”

  “What?”

  “Your keys.” She pointed to a spot on the path behind him. “You dropped them when… I –I thought you probably needed them to unlock the door. So that we can get out of the rain.”

  Right.

  He glanced at her, saw the unmistakable flush riding her cheeks. Between that and the stutter, he guessed she was still a little rattled.

  Good. That made two of them.

  Then she crossed her arms over her chest, and Justin realized that she was probably freezing. Despite the overhang, the rain was blowing hard enough that even her blouse was growing damp. He could see the outline of her bra through the flimsy material. Pivoting, Justin snatched up the keys he had indeed dropped when he’d basically attacked her.

  Flipping through the ring with fingers going numb, he found the key that had been eluding him earlier.

  He started to hold out his hand, then thought better of it. He didn’t trust himself to touch her right now.

  “Let’s go. I’ll get us some towels.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KATHLEEN dripped all over the wide, shiny planks of pine on Justin’s kitchen floor, waiting for him to return with the aforementioned towels, and trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  Not that she didn’t understand the basic logistics. She’d startled him, he’d made a joke, she’d smiled in response, and then…

  And then.

  Kathleen shivered, but it certainly wasn’t because she was wet and cold. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be cold again, and was surprised the water hadn’t already simply evaporated, in a burst of steam, from her clothes. She closed her eyes, picturing Justin on his knees in front of her, running his hands along the lace edge of the stockings that Sadie had coerced her into buying that day in the boutique, instead of the cheesy flannel pajamas. She’d felt stupid at the time, sure she’d never wear them. If she was the type to lie to herself, she’d claim that it happened to be a happy coincidence she’d worn them today, but she wasn’t generally given to self-delusion. She’d worn them because they made her feel secretly, unexpectedly sexy beneath the strictly professional gray wool suit she’d donned for her court appearance. The suit she’d donned after Justin had sent that text. The text which she’d known somewhere in the back of her mind meant more than a friendly hi, how are ya.

  So, suspecting she would follow up on that text, she’d abandoned the sensible nylon hose she usually wore in favor of the silk stockings.

  When she remembered the look on Justin’s face – fixated and hungry – as he pushed up her skirt and eyeballed the feminine underthings and the skimpy little panties that went with them, she couldn’t be too bothered by the fact that she’d apparently turned shameless.

  Remembering what had followed that hungry look, namely his tongue, hot and wet and oh-so thorough, lapping against those skimpy little panties, Kathleen decided that she needed to be shameless more often.

  She shivered again.

  “Sorry that took so long,” Justin said as he came through the framed doorway, holding out a large chocolate brown towel, clearly having seen her trembling and misattributing the cause.

  He passed her the towel, and when their fingers brushed, he jerked his hand back quickly.

  Bemused, Kathleen blinked. “Is there a problem?”

  “No.” As if to prove his point, Justin turned slightly away, and began rubbing his own towel over his dripping hair.

  Regaining some of her senses, Kathleen tilted her head to watch him. Big, dark, and hot as hell just a matter of minutes ago, he was now acting like their relationship hadn’t just entered uncharted territory. Hell, like it hadn’t been blown clear off the map.

  He’d gone from Mr. Grabby Hands to Dr. Cucumber.

  Curious, and feeling just a little put out, Kathleen eased forward.

  Justin lowered the towel from in front of his face, saw her standing right in front of him, and practically tripped over a chair in his haste
to move backwards.

  “Okay.” Holding up a hand, Kathleen threw her towel on the back of the chair over which he’d stumbled, not particularly caring that she was still soaked to the skin. This was the second time he’d kissed her and then scurried away afterward like he just remembered she was a leper. The first time, she’d been more confused and surprised – and intrigued – than anything else. This time, she was annoyed.

  Probably because she’d never been so aroused and subsequently frustrated in her life.

  “You want to tell me why you’re suddenly acting like I have cooties?”

  Justin’s mouth opened, then snapped closed. He laughed, though it lacked any semblance of humor.

  When he lifted his head, his eyes were burning as they met hers.

  “Because if you touch me right now, I’m going to have you beneath me on the closest available flat surface in about point two seconds. Seeing as that flat surface is the kitchen table, and I’m not sure where my brother is or when he might come strolling in, I thought it might be prudent to avoid contact.”

  This time it was Kathleen’s mouth that dropped open. If it were any other situation, any other man, she probably would have laughed. Not only was she trained to physically block such a move if she wished to avoid it, but she worked with men, hung out with men, spent enough time with men that such statements of bravado tended to amuse her rather than turn her on.

  She was turned on to her eye teeth now.

  Because Justin wasn’t the type to make boasts. And because she’d seen, quite recently, just how easily he could turn her into a quivering pile of hormonal mush.

  “Fair enough,” she said, though her voice shook a little. As casually as possible, she snagged the towel back off the chair, started soaking up the worst of the dampness from her hair. “Of course, there are other flat surfaces available. In less conspicuous locations.”

  After staring at her for a long moment, Justin’s head dropped back on his shoulders. His chest rose and fell in rapid bursts beneath the wet, clinging fabric of his navy sweatshirt. Even more casually than she’d handled her own towel, he maneuvered his until it covered his groin.