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

surface, and her mother’s words seemed to release them from their dam.  The shock of seeing a trusted adult defiling one of her peers.  The fear, revulsion, and even guilt she’d felt during Donald Logan’s trial.  The nightmares she’d lived with for years afterward.   And more recently, her struggle with over-protectiveness toward her own child.

Feeling unbalanced, Tate braced her hand against the wall.

“Are you alright?” Maggie asked, laying her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she lied, not wanting her mother to worry.  And faintly embarrassed, turned her forced smile toward their guest.  “Let’s get you checked in, shall we?”  She bent to grab the valise.

“Oh no, dear.”  Alma stepped forward, nudging Tate with her hip, and took the valise from her hand.  “I’m not so old that I can’t pull my own weight.”  And indeed, she hefted the large piece of Samsonite as if it weighed nothing at all.

“If you’re sure –”

“I’m sure.”

Okay then. “Well, why don’t you follow me to the office?  We’ll get the paperwork taken care of and then I’ll show you to your room.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Tate’s cell phone rang in her pocket.  She would have ignored it except for the fact that she hadn’t heard from Clay since that morning.  Considering the awkward circumstances, and the fact that he’d all but burned a hole in the floor in his hurry to leave, she couldn’t help but feel the pinch of worry that he’d decided this gig wasn’t for him.  So quietly slipping the phone from her pocket, she couldn’t stop the small smile when she saw his number.

Seeing her daughter’s expression, Maggie grasped Alma’s elbow.  “Tate, why don’t you take that call, and I’ll go ahead and get Ms. Walker settled.”

“Excuse me,” Tate apologized to their guest, and moved toward the privacy of the parlor.  “But this is a call I’ve been waiting for all day.”  And how pathetic was that?  She felt worse than a lovesick teenager.

Closing the doors behind her, she walked over toward the settee, which seemed rather ironic as that was where she and Clay had first…

Okay.  Not good.  She chose a wingback chair instead.

“Hello?”

“Tate?”  Clay’s voice crackled.

“Where are you?” she asked automatically.  “You’re not getting very good reception.”

“…Beaufort… storm knocked out… tower.  I’ve been trying to call you… hours.  This is the first… get through.”

It was completely garbled, but she gathered that he’d gone to Beaufort, and a storm had knocked out a cell tower.  And – hip, hip hooray! – he had a good reason for not calling.  Not that she’d been worried, or anything.

“What are you doing in Beaufort?” she wondered, as that town was more than an hour south of Charleston.

“There’s been… development.   …going to be here awhile.  It’s going… late when I get in.  …wondering if you’d prefer… to Justin’s.”

Tate held her breath.  He was calling to tell her he was going to be late coming home.  That was sweet.  God, that was sweet.  “You’re welcome to stay here.  No, scratch that.  I would like for you to stay here.  Love for you to stay here.  I’ve gotten kind of used to you hogging all the covers.”

His laughter was clear on the other end of the line.  “I guess if you want the covers, you’ll have to sleep on top of me.”

Funny that that statement was the only one that came out intact.

“I’ll be awake until about eleven, but if you get in past that I’ll leave the alarm off and the back door key under the mat.”

“No!”  Their connection had grown stronger.  And the note of censure in his voice was perfectly clear.   “Under the mat is burglar code for easy targets live here.  Engage the alarm, give me the code, and I’ll let myself in.  And remind me that we need to talk about security.”

Rolling her eyes, Tate realized this was a downside she hadn’t foreseen. “I guess you’re going to use some of your FBI voodoo to open the door?”

“I never give away my secrets. I have to go, sugar, but I’ll try to make it back before you’re asleep.  If not, I’ll be the strange man climbing into your bed.”

Tate laughed, a warm sound filled with happiness.  “And I’ll be the woman wallowing in the temporary luxury of covers.  Anyway, take care and I’ll see you tonight.”

CLAY snapped his phone shut with a click, thinking that a little blanket tug-of-war sounded like a damn good idea.

Winner gets naked.

Or maybe the loser gets naked.

Hell, they should both get naked and forgo the blankets altogether.  They’d been generating enough body heat the past couple of nights to incite some kind of nuclear reaction anyway, so nighttime chills shouldn’t even be a factor.

Grinning, he realized that having Tate waiting for him in bed made the end of the work day a hundred times more appealing than it ever had been before.

He turned to find Kim, standing way too far inside his personal space.  She grinned.

“So am I ever going to get to meet this woman who’s put a smile on your ugly mug?”

“Now why would I want to scare her like that?”  He slid his phone into his pocket.  “Was there some specific reason you’re hovering, or just your all-around need to be obnoxious?”

She pulled a handkerchief out of the inside pocket of her jacket – dear, sweet Lord, the woman actually carried a handkerchief – and wiped the delicate sheen of sweat that had dared to gather on her brow.

He, meanwhile, stood by looking like he’d run under somebody’s sprinklers.

“They’re getting ready to start bagging and tagging the evidence.” She gestured over her shoulder toward the open apartment door behind her.  “Is there anything else you wanted to look at again before they take it away?”

Clay shook his head.  The evidence amounted to jack, because even though the weightlifting pills and powders, impressive collection of workout equipment, equally impressive but not so innocent collection of homemade pornography, fake ID’s, professional level costuming equipment, bottles of Insta-Tan,