Read Online A Night of Southern Comfort by Robin Covington - Free Book Online

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.