Obsession (Southern Comfort) (25 page)

It didn’t particularly make sense.

Not that she expected logic to be the governing principal of anyone’s behavior, as her decade on the force had shown her that humans were, more often than not, unpredictable and highly irrational.

For example, Kathleen should logically have waited until Anthony got the results of that paint sample back from the lab, because it was entirely possible Shelley Kinson had been involved in a minor car accident that had nothing whatsoever to do with Kathleen.  Which meant that Kathleen was wasting her time.

And even if Ms. Kinson had been the one to run Kathleen off the road, the chances of that incident being significant beyond the scope of your basic rage-driven traffic altercation – let alone tied to the threat which had been made in the form of the bloody doll – were slim, to say the least.

Yet here Kathleen sat.

She’d followed the woman home after her shift at Murphy’s ended, noting that she obeyed all traffic laws – even consistently signaling when she changed lanes – and hadn’t once tailgated or attempted to run anyone into a tree.

Kathleen tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

She should probably go home.  It was late – well after midnight – and she had to work tomorrow.  Ms. Kinson’s bedroom light had gone off fifteen minutes ago, and it was highly unlikely that she was coming back out.  Staking out her apartment wasn’t actually accomplishing much of anything, other than ensuring that Kathleen would be tired and grumpy tomorrow.  She’d barely slept in the past thirty-six hours.

Which explained why she
didn’t notice anyone approaching the car.

“Shit.”
She jumped at the sharp rap on her window.

And sighed in resignation when she looked through the glass at Anthony’s exasperated face.

She jerked her head, and he walked around to the passenger side, all the while shaking his head.

Kathleen popped the lock, and he slid in.

“See, when one hires a private investigator,” he lectured her congenially “that generally means that they leave the investigating up to him.”

“I hired you to run some tags and take a paint sample.”

“Like I’m really going to leave it at that?  Come on, Kathleen.  And you’re in no shape to be staking out anything right now, other than your bed.  You didn’t see me walking up to the car, and I wasn’t even
trying
to be stealthy.”

She slid a little lower in the seat.

“Go home,” he told her.

Irritation wanted to crawl up her back, but the fact was, Kathleen was exhausted.  “Yeah, okay.” She tapped her fingers on the wheel again, and then looked his way.  “Thanks.  For following up, I mean.”

“Hey, I want to get paid, I better make sure my client doesn’t get herself killed due to stubbornness and
/or stupidity.”

She glared, but when he only lifted an eyebrow in response, Kathleen was forced to admit that she was probably being a little hardheaded
about the entire situation.  It was difficult not to, when her family was involved. She wasn’t being stupid, though.  The chances of her being killed while sitting in a nondescript rental car outside the home of a sleeping waitress – who may or may not have run Kathleen off the road – probably weren’t worth mentioning.

“
Go home,” he repeated as he climbed out of the car.

Anthony waited until she’d started the engine, then he gave a little wave and strolled off toward wherever he’d left his vehicle.

Kathleen wondered how she was supposed to feel about the fact that Anthony was treating her almost as he would a partner.  Aside from him taking a swing at Justin – which Kathleen thought had more to do with ego than with any deep feelings toward her – he’d been remarkably… blasé about the entire thing. 

B
ut when she thought it over, she realized that they’d been almost like partners all along.  They’d been close without being too intimate, had each other’s backs while remaining firmly independent.  They’d both been up front and hadn’t played games, because the emotional stakes had been negligible. Take away the sex – which, if she were being honest, they hadn’t actually engaged in much of late – and it wasn’t too different from her relationships with Mac and with Josh.  

She guessed it made sense that Anthony hadn’t taken their breakup more to heart. 
It simply hadn’t meant enough to do so. And that, she was forced to admit, was an ego blow roughly equivalent to the one she’d dealt him this morning.

At least she didn’t feel the need to punch anything.

Yawning, Kathleen navigated the mostly deserted streets of the city and then pulled into the parking lot behind her building.  Since Maureen had moved out of the second floor apartment when she’d married, Kathleen was the only one who lived on the premises.  The pharmacy would be locked down tight – they closed at midnight – and because Kathleen didn’t feel like messing with the alarm, she headed up the exterior stairs.

And paused when she sensed more than saw the figure waiting on the landing outside her door.

Drawing her weapon, she flattened her back to the wall and eased up the last flight of stairs.

“Police,” she said, her tone authoritative
, even as her heart knocked in her chest. 

“Physician,” came the reply.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t shoot me, though, as I don’t relish the prospect of removing a bullet from my own flesh.”

“Justin.”
He must have driven his brother’s car, otherwise she would have noticed his truck in the nearly empty parking lot.  Kathleen holstered her sidearm before ascending the final few steps.  The illuminated pool cast by her outside light showed him sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. His arms rested on his bent knees, hands dangling between them.  His gray eyes gleamed in the shadows.

Her
heart gave another little kick, entirely different in nature.

“What are you doing here?”

“That’s the question.”  He ran his hand through his hair, and when he winced, Kathleen noticed his scraped knuckles. 

Instant concern
– and anger – had her crouching down next to him, taking his hand.  “What happened.  Did Anthony –”

“No.  Anthony gets credit for the black eye, but I’m afraid I bear sole responsibility
for this particular stupidity.”  He sighed, flexed his fingers.  “At least they’re not swollen.”

“Justin.” She searched his eyes.  If he’d somehow been goaded into hitting something – or someone – she knew it had to be pretty serious.  As a surgeon, he was understandably protective of his hands.  “What happened?”

He waited a beat.  “James found a camera earlier this evening.  In the house.  The wireless spycam sort of thing.”  

Her anger found a new target.  “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.  I also wish I were kidding about the three other cameras we found planted in various spots around the house, including my workout room, my bedroom. And a really cleverly disguised one in my shower.”

The scope of the privacy invasion struck Kathleen like a fist.

Obviously, it had hit Justin the same way, which is why he’d struck back.

“Did you punch an inanimate object, or someone’s face? And please note that, asking as a woman who cares about you and not as a cop, I’m sort of hoping it was the face.”

A smile ghosted around his lips.  “The bathroom door.  Although I have to admit, I was picturing the face when I punched it.”

The cop in her wanted to ask questions, but she sensed that he was at the end of a very short and slippery rope.
The eye that wasn’t blackened was shadowed, and despite the fact that his nose had reddened in the chill wind, he looked far paler than usual.  Tenderness, the urge to
take care
of him, surprised her with its intensity.

“Come inside, Justin.”

Hesitation flitted across his face.  “I didn’t come here to dump on you.  Or to put moves on you.  I should have left before you came back. I just… didn’t want to be in my house tonight.”

The fact th
at he’d come to her as a refuge of sorts added a glow to the tenderness.  Justin didn’t often lean.  It was nice that he thought she was strong enough to support him when he did.

“Come inside,” she said again.
  “You were there for me last night.  Let me return the favor.”

His gaze drifted to her mouth.  “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“No, you will not.  We’re adults, and we both need a good night’s sleep.  My bed’s big enough for two.”

Color flooded the cheeks that had been so pale only a moment ago.  “Kathleen…”

“I’ll cuff you to the headboard if you’re worried that you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Somehow that’s not quite the deterrent you might imagine.”

She smiled, and brushed her finger over his bruised cheek.  “Come inside.”

He laid his hand in the one she extended.

CHAPTER TWENTY

JUSTIN
gritted his teeth as he tried desperately to ignore his morning erection.  He solved increasingly complex mathematical equations, ran through the Latin terms for the various parts of the human body, and even tried thinking about Mandy as a way to put his mind off sex.

His
phallos
didn’t get the memo.

Kathleen lay roughly twelve inches away from him, basically swaddled in flannel and an ancient Murphy’s sweatshirt.  Her hair was a fiery tangle about her head.  She was snoring, very softly.  It shouldn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, be sexy.

It was.

The first weak light of dawn cast shadowy fingers across the bed, seeming to pin Justin in place.  He should get up.  Gather his sweater and shoes from the chair
in the corner – he’d insisted upon sleeping in his jeans– and exit the premises as hastily as possible.

Not that he didn’t fully intend on being in this position –
and very soon – with Kathleen, but after three years, he had more in mind for their first time than a morning quickie.

Because a quickie would be all they had time for.

They both had to be at work.

Sweat beaded on his forehead with the effort it took to keep himself in check.  Which was embarrassing, really.  He wasn’t nineteen, for God’s sake.

He stared at the ceiling, determined that by the time he counted to ten, he would climb out of this bed.  Without touching her.  He was a man of science, of reason.  His intellect had almost always ruled the baser urges of his body.  He hadn’t been perfect, sure, but – aside from a couple of boneheaded incidents in his teens and the inescapable, glaring mistake of becoming involved with the disaster that was Mandy – he’d never been one to be led about by his dick.  There was no reason, as a man past thirty, that he should lose control now.

Kathleen muttered something, and rolled onto her side. 
Her leg stretched up to hug his thigh.

And okay.  Reason was quickly losing the battle.  It was pretty much armed with a
pointy stick, while his penis had both shield and sword.

Or maybe a lance. 
A really big lance.  At this point, it certainly felt like it.

Kathleen snuggled closer, her arm flinging across his chest, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.  When her hand flexed, fingers brushing across his nipple, the lance reduced the stick to kindling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rolling her over, pinning her beneath him.  Shit, shit this was a bad idea.  But his hand, operating with a mind of its own, streaked beneath her sweatshirt to close around the plump softness of her breast.  He buried his lips in the curve of her neck, began to feast like a starving man.

“Mmm.” Awake now, Kathleen’s foot slid up the back of his leg, her thighs shifting further apart so that he settled more firmly between them.  “Well.  Good morning to you, too.”

“If you want me to stop,” he panted against her skin.  “Please tell me immediately.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she told him.

Moving with a speed of which he might have previously judged himself incapable, Justin rose to his knees and clasped the waistband of her flannel bottoms. Ripping them down her legs, he tossed them over his shoulder, shuddering when he saw that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath.

His gaze, blazing a trail up her body, practically sizzled
as it connected with hers.

Her fingers stretched out, fanning through the dusting of hair on his chest, before sliding down to manipulate his fly.  “Why don’t you take these off?”

“Why don’t I?”

Shucking his jeans, they joined her pants over his shoulder, even as she
hastily removed her sweatshirt and dropped it to the floor.  She leaned up, so that they were torso to torso, skin to skin on the bed, and lightly nipped his jaw.

Whatever slender thread of control Justin had
held onto snapped like a broken rubber band.

Grabbing her hips, he eased back, and pulled her down astride him.  Entering her fully with a single, hard thrust, he clenched his jaw to keep from losing it there and then.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Kathleen’s head dropped back, the long line of her throat providing the perfect place for him to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses.

He rocked into her, and the moan she let out vibrated along his lips.

“Oh,
yes,”
she told him, the words almost strangled as they emerged.  “Right there. 
Justin.”

The sound of his name, in just that tone of voice, caused his hips to pump, harder, faster
.  His hands gripped her cheeks, holding her tight as he ground into her, and hers rose from his shoulders to tangle in the thickness of his hair.  When his mouth closed around her breast, wet and hungry, Kathleen clenched her internal muscles, causing a burst of pleasure so hot, so intense that his eyes rolled back in his head.

He tried to focus, tried to keep his head in the game so that he could remember every move, every whisper, every groan
, but when she said
“more,”
his body completely took over.  He pushed Kathleen onto her back, hooking his arms beneath her knees, stretching those glorious legs wide as he hammered himself into her.  There was no reason any more, only instinct.  No thought, only the primal drive to mate.  Sweat sheened their skin, causing them to slide against each other, increasing the friction, and Kathleen’s nails clawed his back, mixing pleasure with a tantalizing hint of pain. 

When she cried out, pulsing around him, Justin
finally gave himself up to his own release.  

The aftermath left him weak as a
newborn baby. 

He didn’t want to crush her, but he couldn’
t seem to move.  He wasn’t entirely sure that he still retained the use of his legs.