Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📕

aside a tube of hand lotion with his finger and found a bottle of Visine.  Dropping the liquid in his eyes, he blinked heavily while Kim wound down her tirade.  He swished a little mouthwash around, trying to dispel the Godzilla breath he had to be harboring, and winced as the potent liquid stung his lip.

He’d opened up that damn cut again, no doubt from overenthusiastically sucking Tate’s various body parts last night.

A toe here.  A breast there…

But, damn, it had sure as hell been worth it.

“So how long do you need before you can meet me at the sheriff’s office?” she wanted to know.  “It would probably be politic of me to let you make the introductions, since you’re the invited party guest and I’m the crasher.”

One thing that Clay had to give Kim, she never threw her federal weight around unless circumstances forced her to do so.  “This is one party that I’m sure Sheriff Callahan doesn’t mind you crashing, but if you’ll give me an hour to, uh…”  Say goodbye to Tate, run back to Justin’s to shower and change, try to figure out what the hell he was going to say to Tate’s mother this morning…

Morning, ma’am.  Hope my shagging your daughter all through the night didn’t disturb your sleep.  God.  What exactly was the protocol for this type of situation?

“… get ready, then I’ll do you one better than meeting you.  Tell me where you’re staying, and I’ll pick you up.”  She did, and Clay plugged the address into his phone.  “Got it.  We’ll look the footage over with the locals, and then decide where to go from there.”

Clay ended the call, splashed some water on his face and finger combed his hair.  He looked exactly what he was – hung-over, sleep deprived, and gluttonously sated – but as time was of the essence there wasn’t much he could do.

He went back to Tate’s room in search of the rest of his clothing.

He dressed – man he really couldn’t believe he’d had any success with Tate last night, because his clothes smelled truly awful – and then steeled himself for facing whatever scene he was going to walk into downstairs.

Not only with regards to Tate’s mother, and Max, but also with Tate herself.  Things had been said and done and implied last night that he had no business saying or doing or implying.  As crazy as he was about this woman – and facing facts honestly, he was pretty much totally gone – it still didn’t change the fact that she lived here and he did not.

He’d do whatever it took to see her again, and work it out, but before everything was said and done he’d probably hurt her.  Not so much by commission as by omission.

Such as why haven’t you bothered to come see me for the past six weeks?

Yeah, he was pretty sure she might notice he was never around.  And that the weekends they planned got cut short when he had to fly out of town, and that he was spending her birthday in Santa Monica with Ted Bundy Junior, instead of her.

Yup.  He was prime relationship material, all right.

Grade A, USDA choice.

His presence in her life would be kind of like an F5 tornado: rare, and almost impossible to predict.

And it would probably do just as much damage.

He was chewing over that unhappy thought as he started down the stairs to the second floor.

And wouldn’t you know it?  He caught Mrs. H on the ascent.

She halted, mid-stride, but smiled before too much awkwardness ensued.  “Good morning, Clay.  I was actually on my way up to see if there was anything you needed.”

Like fresh towels, Clay wondered.  Maybe a smack upside the head…

“Uh…” Which was a brilliant comeback.  And no less mortifying than when she’d seen him naked the other morning.  “I’m, um, fine.  Thanks.”  He glanced down at his soiled clothes.  “I figured it would be easier if I showered when I got to Justin’s.  You know.  Since my, um, clean clothes are there.”

He was a highly respected FBI agent.  A PhD, for God’s sake.  And yet in the presence of Tate’s mother, he’d regressed to possibly seventh grade.

Maggie smiled.  “You’ll be working, then, again today?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I’ve a colleague coming into town.  I’ll be assisting with the investigation until she no longer needs me.”

“Very well, then.  I’d better not keep you.”  She moved aside so he could pass.  But when he drew even with her, she stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.  “You’re a fine man, Clay.”

Well, hell.  If that wasn’t the strangest compliment he’d ever received.  Not so much the sentiment, as the circumstances under which it was given.

He’d just been caught leaving her daughter’s bedroom, and Mrs. Hennessy called him fine.

Why couldn’t this kind of shit have happened to him when he was seventeen?  Adulthood really did have its notable benefits.

“Thank you, ma’am.”  But how much longer would she feel that way?  He found himself regretting things that hadn’t even happened.  “And just for the record, you’ve raised a really fine daughter.  I… Well, she’s really… very fine.”  He forced a smile.  “It’s important to me that you know that.”

Maggie patted the shoulder under her hand.  “I believe you’re right.  Now run along, dear, and grab a cup of coffee and a muffin on your way out the door.  Tate can pack you something for the road, since you’re in a hurry.”

He was no stranger to hospitality – it was the southern way – but this humbled him.  It had been a very long time since he’d been mothered.  “I’ll do that. Thank you.”  He watched Maggie go up the stairs.

And then continued down toward Tate.

She was in the kitchen, humming as she moved around, and he took a moment to simply appreciate that particular sight.  There was something ridiculously pleasing to a man about finding the woman you’d spent the night loving glowing with satisfaction while she prepared food.

God save him if any