A Night of Southern Comfort by Robin Covington Page A

worse, pity her.
    Just once, she wanted a normal life.
    “Those files only give me dates, facts, raw data. Not everything,” he said, quietly.
    Ashamed at her ungrateful thoughts, she touched his arm, waiting until he looked up. “We had a housekeeper who got tired of me just moping around her kitchen, so she put me to work helping her prepare the meals. In the middle of my indentured servitude, I realized that I liked it. It grounds me when things get a little…out of control.”
    “Mrs. Adkins.” His voice was thoughtful.
    “How did you—?” Michaela was stunned.
    “An educated guess.” Jackson wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed back from the bar. “She stayed the longest, even after she fell out with your father. She cared about you and it makes sense that she developed the attachment after sharing a common interest.”
    “Oh, you’re good.” Underneath that cool exterior was a mind that took everything apart like a puzzle. She was a little afraid of the answer to her next question. “What else do you know about me?”
    “Everything.” Jackson considered her soberly before adding, with a wry twist of his sensual lips, “Everything that can be found on the Internet, in a public record, or by a simple phone call.”
    “I see.” He’d done what he had to do. But it would have been nice if he’d found out about her the usual way people got to know each other. “I know nothing about you and you know everything about me.”
    “Not everything.”
    “All the good stuff.” She could hear the pout in her voice but couldn’t stop it. Her disappointment at this development in their relationship cut deep. “The stuff you discover on the first few dates.”
    Jackson’s expression softened. He bent forward on the stool and tugged her closer until his long, muscular legs bracketed hers. Michaela leaned forward, unable to do anything but respond to his touch and the look that made her ache. She knew their chemistry wasn’t a fluke but it surprised her every time. Just for one moment, she wanted to forget everything and indulge in her denial—and in Jackson.
    His calloused hand cradled her face and his thumb traced lightly over her lips. She darted her tongue out to taste him, an electric shock placing her entire body on red alert. Jackson’s skin darkened with desire.
    Michaela shivered as he nuzzled his nose along her jaw. His voice was husky. “I don’t know your favorite color or where you like to go on vacation. I don’t know if you’re a cat or dog person or if you fought with your brother when you grew up.” His mouth blazed a trail of fire along her throat that ended in a soft kiss over the pulse point fluttering just under her skin. The combination made her light-headed. “I don’t know what you look like in the morning after a night of making love.”
    Michaela sighed. His words stirred her longing to know someone, to belong to someone, to build something that was greater than what you could have on your own.
    “Jackson.” She barely whispered his name before his mouth covered hers in a gentle kiss. His lips were soft and moist, his breath hot as he coaxed, caressed and lured her deeper into passion. Jackson wove his long fingers into her hair, tugging lightly until she lolled her head back and exposed her neck. The onslaught of his lips, tongue, and teeth caused a moan of desire to rumble low in her throat. His answering groan was lost in the rejoining of their mouths, now wet, open, and desperate to claim each other.
    Michaela slid off the stool and into the open cradle created by Jackson’s strong muscular thighs. She traced the denim of his jeans, fingernails raking over the hardness of his erection, cupping him as he thrust gently into her palm. Her body was hot and aching, the pressure of her building arousal overshadowing everything but the delicious sensation of pleasure mixed with pain.
    Jackson cupped her ass, pulling her roughly against him. He read her mind. She sought