His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,16

and trailing over one shoulder, and a larger one spanning upward along his side that depicted a Joshua tree. His skin was sleek, smooth, and supple except for the battle scars—mostly old and healed over—that caused her touch to drag a little.

“Does that hurt?” she asked as her fingers coasted over a large scar.

“No.” His voice muffled in the cradle of his arms.

“Where did you get them?” She realized she’d never asked before. They weren’t usually about getting involved in each other’s real lives. There were all about fun, good times, and escape.

“Here and there. Long story.” Lucky shifted slightly so his voice was clearer.

“An interesting story?”

“No. Just a long one.”

“Are all these from the Marines?”

He hesitated, the tension easing back into some of his muscles, and she regretted being so nosy. Truth be told, she probably didn’t want to know.

“From government service,” he said.

“So, not just the Marines.” He made no move, gave zero indication that he heard her at all. Obviously, he wasn’t going to answer. “Are you ever going back to them?”

Taylor slid her hands along his shoulders, using repetitive strokes to coax the muscles back into relaxation.

“No.” Lucky moved his head, making eye contact with her over his shoulder. She resisted the urge to move his head back into alignment. The serious expression on his face told her he needed to look at her while he answered the question. “I was serious about staying here. I’m going to buy Promised Land and farm. It’s overextended and I have the money to bail it out, so…”

Shock stilled her hands on his back. Lucky staying here to farm? It just didn’t compute with the image she had of the man—restless, craving travel, excitement, and danger. Growing up, he’d been hell-bent on getting out of Elliott as soon as he could, and now he wanted to tie himself to the land?

The thought that she didn’t know him at all in spite of their history made her uncomfortable. Nodding in a gesture of understanding she really didn’t possess, she turned her attention back to the task at hand.

“I surprised you.” His voice was muffled again as he moved his head to the cradle of his arms.

“A little. I figured you’d go into business with Jack Cantrell or something like that.”

“I’ll help out. Like the current missing persons case. I’ll find Sarah, and Jack is free to help paying clients.” He shifted slightly, his body elongating as he relaxed. “I’m having a hard time finding a woman to work the case. No one has the time, and I think it’s the best way to get the information I need. The girls know where she went. I can just feel it.”

“I told you I’d go in and talk to the girls.”

“And I told you I didn’t have a death wish. Your brother would kill me. Besides, that place is full of scumbags, and I think there’s a lot more going on there than just girls dancing in their underwear.”

“But I can help.”

“Tay, I appreciate it and you’re sexy as hell, but I don’t think you have the skill set to blend in.”

“I’ve worked the pole a few times.”

His sudden rotation over onto his back caused her to stumble back slightly, her movement halted by his grabbing her, pulling her close. Lucky’s hands grasped her waist, the heat of his touch searing her through the flimsy cotton of her dress and matching the flare that transformed his eyes to an intense blue.

“What did you say?” Expecting him to be shocked, she was taken aback by the edge of sexual interest in his question. His pupils were now dilated, dominating his baby blues and doing nothing to hide his arousal at her words. He liked it—the idea of her stripping turned him on. Okay, if he wanted to hear it, she’d give him all the details. All the details except the one about the Jolly Gent costume sitting in a drawer upstairs ready for her first night on the stage.

“I told you the other night I’ve worked the pole. Stripped. Not all the way, but down to a G-string. It was good money when I needed it.” Taylor dropped her voice to a low tone, her hands stroking his chest, tracing his obliques. The trail of hair tickled her fingers as she followed the path to the edge of his sweatpants. “Maybe I can give you a private show?”

He groaned, his body sending a mixed message as it arched into her touch and also