His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,23

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.

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