Page 24 of His Southern Temptation

The guy next to him, underage and wasted, nudged him out of his thoughts. Mr. Too-Young-To-Be-Here leaned over, his rancid, tequila-scented breath turning Lucky off that particular drink forever. “I don’t know where Bodean got her, but he needs to go back and get more. I’d love to peel off those clothes and fu—”

“Fuck off, I’m watching the show.” The little punk scurried off, tripping over his own feet, and narrowly missing a table full of redneck drunks who’d eat him for breakfast if he spilled a drop of their drinks.

Lucky swiveled back to face the stage, immediately noticing that Mr. Fat-Ass had inched closer to the stage and was close enough to grab Taylor’s ankle. He glanced at the one bouncer, a pathetic excuse for security, dressed in a Jolly Gent emblazoned T-shirt and currently looking at something on his cell phone. Are you fucking kidding me?

Lucky stood, forcing his steps to remain measured and smooth, apprehension of what could happen coiled in his gut. Always keeping Fat-Ass in his line of sight, he weaved between the tables, skirting clumps of men who were in his way. The bouncer was oblivious. If anything happened to Taylor, Lucky was going to shove the phone up his ass.

Taylor searched the crowd, relief spreading across her face when she saw him, but it was quickly replaced by concern when her admirer reached out again and barely missed grabbing her ankle. Lucky pushed through the group, tighter and more crowded at the front, motioning for Taylor to step back from the edge of the stage. She dodged the grabby hands, artfully integrating the side step into her stage show, but teetering on the three-inch shoes required by every self-respecting stripper.

Taylor’s movement had the opposite effect on Fat-Ass—instead of discouraging him from getting up close and personal, it sent him off in her direction like a greyhound chasing the fake rabbit. Lucky watched as the guy tried to hoist himself up on the stage, not a pretty sight, but one that pushed Taylor perilously close to the opposite edge of the platform. This situation had all the earmarks of a quintessential Lucky moment, complete with a dumbass disrupting all of his best-laid plans and a lot of explaining in his future. In the language of his beloved Marines it was FUBAR—fucked up beyond all repair.

What he couldn’t believe was why he’d allowed himself to put Taylor right in the middle of the mess. He should have let her threaten him, pitch a fit, even go to Teague if she wanted, but he was beyond stupid to let a woman like Taylor anywhere near a place like this. One day he’d learn his lesson.

Forgoing finesse for speed, Lucky power-pulled off a couple of the guys in the front row and launched himself at the stage. At the moment the guy hauled his butt on the dance platform, Lucky landed right behind him, grabbed his belt, and gave him a big yank. It would have worked perfectly, except that Fat-Ass whipped round, nailed a beefy guy in the jaw and sent him flying backward into a crowd of drunks.

Lucky had been in many fights over the years, and this one was no different. Time slowed down and everything shone with perfect clarity. A bar full of drunk rednecks was a powder keg with a short fuse. Add to it the heightened testosterone due to half-naked females being nearby and the first beer bottle flying across the room was inevitable. Before he could blink, clumps of bodies traded blows, chairs went flying, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the piece of shit bouncer headed out of the side door.

Over the crowd, he could see Taylor still up on stage, the expression on her face strange, focused, but nowhere near the fear that should have been taking over her features. Crazy woman. When she should have been hauling butt toward the backstage area, she was busy watching the new floor show. He broke eye contact, following the path of her gaze, and instantly knew what had her so mesmerized—the bald guy was standing next to the open door and watching Taylor with avid interest. Lucky knew he was going to kick the guy’s ass for looking at her that way. That was a guarantee.

He was just as Taylor described him, and Lucky recognized his face. He knew this guy and racked his brain for context but came up with nothing. A loud yell erupted from the direction of the stage and Lucky turned to see the fight escalating and Taylor smack-dab in the middle of it. He looked back toward baldie just in time to see him slip outside. Damn. He’d have to wait.

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