Page 23 of His Southern Temptation

“Oh my God.” Her throat burned with the effort to speak. She reached up with a hand and did a little victory dance when the palm of her hand connected with the side of his head. “Lucky, you’re an asshole. You scared me, you jerk. I thought you were the bald guy and I was done for.”

“What bald guy?”

“Sure, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Taylor, I’m sorry I scared you. What bald guy?”

Taylor relayed was happened in the dressing room. “He was creepy and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. All the girls shut up as soon as he came in, and Stacey was downright hostile.”

“And he was asking about Sarah Morgan?”

“Oh yeah. And he was seriously pissed off. I could tell by the way he was perfectly calm. If you’re trying that hard to look like you don’t care, the opposite is usually true.” Taylor replayed the conversation in her mind, making sure she didn’t leave anything out. Lucky was in a better position to know if it was important. “He said she took something from him, but Stacey thinks he’s wrong. She says if Sarah had it, she would’ve bragged about it, and none of them heard a peep.”

“And you’re okay?” Lucky moved in closer, his hands carefully running over her body.

“I’m fine, but I think you need to make it up to me for scaring me half to death.” Taylor rested her back against the wall, tugging him with her until they were aligned against each other for optimal contact. He was warm, his muscles rippling under her seeking hands. Her breath picked up when his mouth settled on the spot where the curve of her neck met her collarbone and pressed a moist kiss against her skin.

“We do not have time for the shit I need to do to you,” Lucky growled against her throat, the nip of teeth emphasizing the sexual frustration straining his words.

“Want or need?”

“Baby, it’s a need. Don’t you ever doubt it.”

“Damn.” Her brain spun, the gears whirring like gerbils on one of those stupid wheels—at top speed but going nowhere. Taylor dug deep and found the power to pull herself away from all of the temptation he offered. “I’ve gotta go. It wouldn’t help if I got fired.”

“Fine. Yes. You have to go.” Lucky stroked a hand down her arm, his desire and his worry the perfect mixture to make the gesture tender. “You stay away from Mr. Clean. I’ll figure out who he is. You got it?’

“Yeah. I got it.” She cracked the door open and took a quick glance down the hallway. “Make sure you get a good seat. If you like what you see, I’ll give you a private show later.”

Chapter Eight

If William Teague Elliott IV knew his baby sister was working the pole at the Jolly Gent, he would castrate Lucky and enjoy doing it.

Lucky knew this, just as he knew that someone was running drugs out of the back room, that he was drinking substandard watered-down whiskey, and that he was going to hell for thinking that Taylor’s tiny G-string bikini was the sexiest damn thing he’d ever seen.

Adjusting to accommodate the hardening in his jeans, he leaned back in his chair, stretching out muscles sore from the past few weeks of unaccustomed farm work. The life of a Marine wasn’t one of a desk jockey, but making a living out of the land was entirely different. His father made Lucky’s former drill sergeant look like a sweet little kindergarten teacher.

“Whoo hoo! Shake it Bambi!” A guy up front yelled out Taylor’s ridiculous stage name and shook his overly large gut and matching ass. The guy was harmless, not even trying to offer her a tip, so Lucky eased back in his chair. He shifted the brim of his ball cap down a little lower in an effort to hide the movement of his eyes as he switched between watching Taylor, the bar where they were serving underage patrons, and numerous pervs drooling over the dancers. Didn’t anyone watch porn in the privacy of their own homes anymore?

He scanned the room again in search of the bald guy. No sign of him, but if he was looking for Sarah then he likely hadn’t left. So far, the only leads on Sarah led straight back to this club.

He looked at Taylor, wishing this was the private show she promised and not in a room full of losers. As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, she made eye contact with him from across the room, flashed a sinful smile, and put a little extra shimmy in her shake. Heat shot up his spine, then down again, and settled in a pool of heat in his groin. Her smile turned smug—she knew what she was doing to him and the glare he shot in her direction told her she’d pay for that later.

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