Page 8 of His Southern Temptation

“Well, that explains the body glitter.” She laughed when he flipped her the bird, a grumpy look twisting his handsome features. “Must be tough having to get all up close and personal with a girl in a G-string.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Did you get what you needed?”

“No. The girls won’t talk to me or Jack.” He glanced over at her as they made their way upstairs, his smile a little self-conscious. “We decided the case needs a woman’s touch.”

“You mean a woman to make nice with the strippers and get them to talk?”

“Exactly.”

“I can do that.” She punched him on the arm when he made a face. He didn’t know everything about her, and her secret skills would blow his mind. “I’ve worked at a strip club before. No full frontal, but we did shimmy down to a G-string bikini. I could definitely pass as one of the girls.”

“No way. The Gent is a pit, Bodean Taggert is a scumbag, and I wouldn’t let him in the same zip code with you.”

“I’m just saying I could do it. I could get you the information you need.”

“No. Forget it. Not gonna happen.”

“You’re being a stubborn ass.” She didn’t even try to hide the irritation in her voice. He was being unreasonable and overprotective. This job sounded simple enough.

“You always said my ass was one of my better qualities.” Lucky nudged her with his shoulder, his sweeter tone clearly calculated to try to coax her out of any fight they were hurtling toward.

“Whatever.” Taylor took a breath and decided to let it go for now.

They reached the top of the stairs, the landing as big as the downstairs parlor and dimly lit by one solitary lamp on a side table. The house was old—built before the Civil War—and everything was fashioned on a large, gracious scale, and the low lighting gave it a romantic and intimate feel. As a kid, she loved to curl up on one of the comfortable sofas and listen to the endless stream of guests her parents hosted for parties. Occasionally, she would have to take off when a couple would wander up from the party to sneak in a make-out session in one of the secluded alcoves.

“So, I guess we need to discuss our sleeping arrangements,” she said.

She edged into his personal space, amused when he took a step backward. It looked as though her big, bad Marine was a little worried about her intentions. Smart man. She’d proven to herself the past seven years that she controlled her own life and her emotions. Sleeping with Lucky didn’t have to be anything but blowing off a little steam. She wouldn’t be here long enough to risk any of the unnecessary emotional entanglements that marred their last time together.

“I’ll take the guest room.” Avoiding eye contact with her, Lucky shifted the duffel bag toward the front of his body in an obvious attempt to keep some distance between the two of them. She bit back a laugh; pissing him off wouldn’t help her make her case. When he turned toward the direction of the guest room, she touched his forearm, instantly enjoying the warmth of his skin under the dusting of hair. His muscles jumped at her touch and the rapid pulse point in his wrist proved he wasn’t as cool as he looked.

“The guest room has no furniture in it. Mother took it when she left.” She motioned down to the opposite end of the hall. “Your options are Mother and Father’s roo—”

“There is no way in hell I’m sleeping in there.” Lucky looked at her then. The pure, unadulterated horror etched on his features was comical, and she made a halfhearted attempt to mask her own giggle at the sight.

“Yeah, I think I threw up a little when I said it.”

He barked out a laugh and relaxed his stance enough for her to brush his abdomen with the back of her hand. His T-shirt was warm, soft, and clinging to the hard muscle underneath. He stiffened at her touch, his jaw tightening into a firm edge, eyes narrowed to slits of darkest blue in the dim light. She could almost hear the voice in his head rehearsing the million reasons why he was going to tell her no.

Taylor took a half step closer, now able to fully explore the breadth of his chest with both hands. Lucky’s breath hitched when her fingernail grazed his nipple, and she almost took pity on him when his heartbeat kicked up another notch. She was faring no better—this proximity was making her hands shake, and the heat gathering in her belly was consuming her. Leaning up on tiptoe, she traced the line of his neck with her lips—not quite kissing, but enough pressure to leave goose bumps in her wake.

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