A Night of Southern Comfort by Robin Covington Page B

the friction they craved but were unable to find while seated precariously on the barstool.
    With a groan, Michaela dragged him backward, intent on finding a better place for them to kiss, suck, touch, and thrust until this crazy passion was finally spent.
    The ringing of his cell phone caused them both to jump—their breaths came in harsh pants as they hung onto each other.
    Damn.
    Jackson released her and took a step back and reached for the phone chirping away on the dining table. He looked like a cage fighter trying to get his head into the game as he walked on to the mat, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders. His hand clasping the phone shook with the aftereffects of their passion.
    He might not want this, they sure as hell didn’t need this complication, but at least she wasn’t in it alone.
    “I’ve gotta take this.” His voice was detached and even, in direct contrast with the hard-on still pressing against the fly of his jeans.
    Her fingers itched to lower the zipper and see how quickly she could make him forget the phone call. Instead, she nodded and stumbled into the kitchen to clean up the supper dishes. Maybe if she stuck her head in the freezer for a couple of minutes, it would soothe her lust-frayed nerves.
    The sound of his boots on the hardwood floor drew her attention to Jackson’s retreating form as he headed toward the relative privacy of her balcony. His shirt stretched across the broad, muscled expanse of his back and was tucked into his well-worn jeans—jeans that showcased his killer ass and long muscular legs.
    Michaela walked over to the freezer, yanked the door open, and shoved her face inside.
    …
     
    “Cantrell.”
    Jack walked out onto the small balcony area and closed the door behind him. The air was nippy but he could handle the cold. If the caller was who he suspected, then things would be heating up pretty soon anyway.
    “What the hell are you doing, Cantrell?” Governor Eastland’s voice boomed through the air as Jack held the phone away from his ear.
    Bingo. It had only been a matter of time until Eastland called him to demand to know what was going on with his investigation.
    “Cantrell. Are you there?”
    “Governor. You never call. You never write. I was starting to think you didn’t care.” He was playing with the bull, but he couldn’t resist tugging on the horns just a little.
    “I’m not paying you to be a smart-ass.”
    “Actually, you aren’t paying me at all.”
    “I’ve bought you, Cantrell, and you know it.” Jack pictured Eastland’s face twisted into that nasty, feral grin of his. If only the voting public could see the little show. “And your price was pretty cheap by all accounts, so don’t act all high and mighty with me. Stop being a smart-ass and tell me why you didn’t stop my daughter from getting hurt today.”
    The double blow from the governor hit Jack square in the chest and he sucked in a harsh breath. Not only was he a cheap date, he’d failed Kayla. So much for performing well on the job.
    “It won’t happen again. I wasn’t sure until today that the threat was real.”
    “Oh. You finally figured it out today? You’re a genius , son.” Eastland’s laugh was brittle. “So, what have you found out so far?”
    This is where it was going to get tricky. Yeah, Jack could taunt him and refuse to be bullied—hell, the governor probably liked the little test of wills—but he still held the keys to Jack’s future in his hand and it wasn’t smart to push him too far.
    “I’m not discussing the details of my investigation with you. You’re still on my list of suspects.”
    He paused and waited for the fireworks. To his shock, the governor laughed into the line.
    “You’ve got balls, Cantrell, I’ll give you that.”
    Jack let out the breath he’d been holding. Then all humor left the governor’s tone. “You forget that I could make one call to the FBI and end any chance you have of getting your old job back. I could