His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,68

would go nowhere if he rose to the bait.

“Teague, becoming Taylor’s lover was crazy and impetuous and I don’t expect you to understand why we did it the way we did. But understand this…” He lifted a hand, touching his chest just over his heart in a signal used by his Marine buddies to signal their commitment to the cause and to each other: semper fi—always faithful. “I love your sister. I’m all in with my heart, my body, my geographic location, all my worldly goods. The one thing I will do above anything else is make sure she knows it every second, every minute, every fucking hour of her life. It’s what I’m meant to do.”

“Love? That’s not what it looked like to me when you dragged her into the mess with Bodean Taggert and that asshole from Roanoke.” Teague shook his head. “I’d hate to see what happens when you hate someone.”

The seconds clicked by, marked by the tick of the grandfather clock in the office waiting room. He was done explaining. All that mattered was how he felt about Taylor and he’d made that pretty fucking clear.

“I laid myself out here, and if you don’t want to believe me, then that’s your problem.” He pointed a finger at Teague, nudging him out of his face with a light shove to the chest. “Right now, I need you to help me get my money so that I can go get her and bring her home.”

They stared for a few seconds longer until Teague sighed, his head dipping as he eased off his glasses and tossed them onto the desk. “So, what do you need me to do?”

“I need your help to get my money to me in a few hours. That’s all I’ve got,” Lucky said.

“You’re going to give your money—the money to buy the farm—to Eddie Wilkes? What about staying here?”

“It’s only money, and it won’t matter since I’m going to Hawaii with Taylor.” He swallowed hard, his mind straying into dark possibilities of how this could end if he didn’t get that cash. “If she’ll have me.” Lucky withdrew a piece of paper from his jeans and handed it over to Teague. “This is my bank account information for the transfer. I know there’s tons of red tape and shit we don’t have time for. Can you make this happen?”

Teague took the paper, nodding his agreement. “Is this all of your settlement?”

“Most of it.” He inched toward the door. He had a few things to take care of before he needed to be at the Jolly Gent.

Teague followed him, grabbing his arm, stopping him when they were nose to nose.

“You make her safe. I don’t care what you have to do to make it happen.”

Lucky answered with the only acceptable option. “I will.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Taylor was not going to give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing her breakdown.

She sat up on the narrow cot shoved into the former dressing room of the Jolly Gent eyeing Mr. Clean warily. His outstretched hand offered her coffee and a breakfast burrito. This simple act of kindness—if that is what you could call it when given by a man who kidnapped you at gunpoint—brought tears to her eyes. She was tired. She was scared.

This shit was real, and she had no idea what terrified her more. Eddie might kill her—he’d threatened it long and loud last night—but he also wanted to hurt Lucky. Specifically, he wanted Lucky to hurt for some imagined slight to his pride, and the idea of Lucky walking into a trap took her to the brink of losing her mind.

“You need to eat,” Mr. Clean said as he laid the food on the table next to the cot and took a step back. “Your man should be here soon and this will all be over.”

“He’s not my man,” she murmured, wiping the hair off her face and wishing she had a toothbrush.

“Well, you better hope he thinks otherwise, because Mr. Wilkes expects him to show up with the two hundred grand today or you get hurt.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he regarded her carefully. “What did you do? Dump him?”

She decided to accept the food, praying it wasn’t poisoned as she let the hot, bitter brew slide down her throat and warm her from the inside out. She tested the breakfast burrito, barely biting back the satisfied groan at the taste.

“It wouldn’t have worked out.”

“Ah. You must not have loved him much