Obsession (Southern Comfort) by Lisa Clark O'Neill Page B

volumes.  If she really wanted to get a bead on what the hell Justin had intended to signify with that text, she needed to see him in person.
    Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she turned down his palmetto and oak-shaded street. Her pulse kicked up a notch when she spotted the bright red bulk of Justin’s pickup.  “Like a flag before a bull,” she muttered, pulling in behind it.  Although why she was making a comparison between herself and an irate animal preparing to charge was something she’d have to think about later.
    Kathleen headed toward the wide expanse of front porch before the sound of hammering drew her attention.  She paused, determined it was coming from around back.
    Cursing the form-fitting skirt and high heels she’d worn for her court appearance, she followed the crushed oyster shell path around the corner of the small frame house – which Justin had recently painted a classic taupe with creamy trim, adding sage green, paneled shutters – wondering what he was working on this time.
    She stopped when she saw him, feeling like she’d run up against a brick wall.  A brick wall mortared with testosterone. Muscles bunched and rippled beneath a tight gray T-shirt as he hammered a new board onto the back steps.  If there was a female around who couldn’t appreciate the sight, Kathleen figured she was either a lesbian or blind.  Or dead.
    “Where’s that mistletoe when you need it?”
    She hadn’t intended to say that.  But what the hell.  If he laughed it off, she’d play right along and they’d be back on familiar footing.  No harm, no foul.  But if he grabbed her and pressed her up against all those lovely muscles – a flashback to the Christmas party caused her stomach to flutter…well.
    They’d just see what happened, wouldn’t they.
    Then he turned around, and the lovely little flutter lost its wings.  “Gee,” she said after a few beats.  “This is awkward.”
    The younger man – clearly not Justin, though the resemblance was strong enough to throw her – gave her a slow once-over, his gaze lingering on the not inconsiderable expanse of her exposed legs.  “Not from where I’m standing.”
    Then his eyes snapped back to hers, and he offered a playful grin.  “I don’t have any mistletoe handy, but there’s some Span ish moss over there on that oak.  Will that do?”
    “Ha.” Tamping down her discomfiture – she’d just had inadvertent lustful thoughts about Justin’s little brother, for God’s sake – Kathleen strode forward and stuck out her hand.
    “I’m Kathleen Murphy.  A friend of Justin’s.  You must be James.”
    “Good call.”  His palm was warm and calloused as it met hers.  “Murphy…” His voice trailed off.  “Your family owns the pub?”
    “My father and brothers, yes.”
    “Nice place.”
    “Thanks. ”
    He angled his head.  “So you’re the cop.”
    “I am.” Kathleen wondered what Justin had said about her, but because wondering made her feel like a total chick, she pulled out a smile and returned to the subject at hand. “Sorry about the mistaken identity. And while you’re awfully cute, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on your generous offer of Spanish moss substitution.”
    “Can’t blame a guy for trying.  I take it you’re looking for my brother.”
    “Provided he hasn’t been peering out the window, watching this all unfold.  In which case I may never be able to look at him again.”
    James chuckled, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.  For some reason, that little visible difference between him and his brother was a relief.  “You’re in luck.  Or not, depending on which way you look at it.  He went out a little bit ago to pick up some more wood for the porch.  He shouldn’t be gone too long, though, if you’d like to wait.”
    “Oh.” Kathleen’s brow’s knit .  “I saw his pickup in the drive.”
    “Yeah, he took my SUV.”   James’ smile slipped, and he turned his attention to