His Southern Temptation

chapter Seven


“Hey girl, your fan club is right up front waiting for you to go on.”

Taylor paused in her application of the heavy eye makeup necessary to show up behind the Mardi Gras mask and smiled at the fellow dancer. Stacey was friendly and open, just like all the dancers at the Gent. They’d taken her under their wing, and she felt bad for lying to them about who she was.

She laughed, returning her gaze to the mirror. “Great. I hope they brought lots of cash tonight.”

“Honey, it’s payday. They’ve got money to burn and not a lick of sense in the whole group. I predict lots of tips tonight!” Stacey laughed, her alto voice as beautiful as the rest of her. Her stage name, Ebony, fit perfectly with the glossy black of her hair. She was young, a single mother, and trying to save up for community college.

“Sounds good to me.” Taylor placed the mask on her face, making sure the elastic didn’t flatten her hairstyle. Preening in the mirror, she asked, “I look all right?”

“Honey, you look great.” Stacey reached over and adjusted the back of her G-string bottom, looking her up and down with a practiced eye.

The door behind them opened, and a man, tall and broadly built with a bald head, stepped into the room. He looked around, scanning the crowd with a blank expression that didn’t quite mask the curiosity in his eyes. He was looking for someone, or something, and the severe set of his mouth told her he wasn’t happy that he didn’t find it.

“Can I hel—” Taylor was cut off by the tightening of Stacey’s fingers on her arm and when she glanced down, the slight shake of her head.

“Any of you girls seen Sarah Morgan lately?” The stranger may have phrased the question openly, but he was looking at Taylor. A prickle of unease coasted across her skin. She had a feeling this was a guy she didn’t want remembering who she was.

“No. We told you already.” Stacey’s expression echoed the challenge in her voice. “She’s gone. You know anything about that?”

The other dancers gasped at her bold question, and Taylor grasped her shoulder, trying desperately to transfer her warning through her touch. Everything about this man said “don’t f*ck with me,” and she bet he could back it up.

The guy barked out a humorless laugh, the sound cracking out in the relative quiet of the room. He walked farther into the room, his shoes silent on the linoleum floor, eyes hard-locked on Stacey. The stranger stopped right in front her, close but not touching, as he maintained his cold assessment. When he spoke it was like a thunderclap into the hush, his hand shooting out to grasp Stacey’s chin in a painful-looking grip. Taylor started to move forward, but one of the other dancers grabbed her arm, holding her back. “You’ve got a mouth on you, little girl. I suggest you use it to tell Sarah that Bruce is looking for her and that she’d be real smart to get in touch with me. She took something and I want it back.”

Stacey wrenched out of his grasp, her expression murderous, but the tremor in her hands gave her away—she was as scared as the rest of them. “You better get the hell out of here before I scream down the place and have the cops all over you.”

“Whatever, bitch. Just remember what I said.”

Having delivered his message, he turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him. He was gone, but the meaning of his words hung in the air.

“Are you okay?” Taylor asked, pulling Stacey into a hug. “Who was that?”

“You just stay away from him.” Stacey clung to her for a moment, but quickly pulled out of her embrace. She visibly straightened her posture, her voice taking on the “mama bear” tone she adopted with all the girls. She wasn’t going to let anyone see her sweat, and Taylor admired her spunk. With a baby daughter at home, Stacey was as strong as they came. “That man doesn’t bring nothing but trouble.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. He freaked me out,” Taylor said, not having to fake the shiver that coursed through her. “Who’s Sarah Morgan?”

“She’s a girl who didn’t take my advice.”

“What do you think she took from him?”

“I don’t think Sarah’s got whatever he’s looking for. That girl couldn’t shut up about the stupid stuff the guys she was screwing gave to her. If she’d hit the jackpot she would have run her mouth off about it before she took off.” Stacey pushed her forward, her tone communicating she wasn’t saying anymore. “You better go and get ready to dance.”

Taylor faked a smile and made a big show of waving her off. She was dying to push for answers, but something told her now was not the time. Stacey knew what was going on, and patience would result in getting the answers she wanted. “I’m going, Miss Bossy Pants. See you later.”

Taylor stepped out into the dingy, dark hallway and checked to see if the bald guy was lurking in the shadows. She didn’t know exactly who he was, but she wasn’t faking her reaction. He gave her the serious willies, and she was going to steer clear of him.

The music was loud as it pulsed into the backstage area, but it didn’t mask the roar created by a bunch of loud, drunk, horny patrons. It was her biggest night so far, and the whisper of nerves surprised her. This wasn’t a real job, but Lucky would be watching, and his opinion mattered. She wanted him blown away, ready to explode when they went home tonight. The night on the couch seemed like a lifetime ago, and she ached for him.

The soundtrack for the girl currently performing was reaching its midway point and Taylor made her way down the deserted hallways toward the backstage. She was alert for the creepy guy, but the hands grasping her upper arm and covering her mouth surprised her as she was pulled into the maintenance closet and the door was clicked shut behind her. Panic rose in her throat, and she instinctively began the series of moves learned in a self-defense class years ago. She struggled, holding him off, but it was difficult with so little room to move and the lack of real light. She needed to get out of here before the adrenaline wore off and the fatigue wore her down.

“Hey. Tay. It’s me. Stop,” Lucky hissed in a low whisper, his breath hot and harsh against her neck. Relief swept through her and her knees wobbled like Jell-O.

“Oh my God.” Her throat burned with the effort to speak. She reached up with a hand and did a little victory dance when the palm of her hand connected with the side of his head. “Lucky, you’re an a*shole. You scared me, you jerk. I thought you were the bald guy and I was done for.”

“What bald guy?”

“Sure, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Taylor, I’m sorry I scared you. What bald guy?”

Taylor relayed was happened in the dressing room. “He was creepy and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. All the girls shut up as soon as he came in, and Stacey was downright hostile.”

“And he was asking about Sarah Morgan?”

“Oh yeah. And he was seriously pissed off. I could tell by the way he was perfectly calm. If you’re trying that hard to look like you don’t care, the opposite is usually true.” Taylor replayed the conversation in her mind, making sure she didn’t leave anything out. Lucky was in a better position to know if it was important. “He said she took something from him, but Stacey thinks he’s wrong. She says if Sarah had it, she would’ve bragged about it, and none of them heard a peep.”

“And you’re okay?” Lucky moved in closer, his hands carefully running over her body.

“I’m fine, but I think you need to make it up to me for scaring me half to death.” Taylor rested her back against the wall, tugging him with her until they were aligned against each other for optimal contact. He was warm, his muscles rippling under her seeking hands. Her breath picked up when his mouth settled on the spot where the curve of her neck met her collarbone and pressed a moist kiss against her skin.

“We do not have time for the shit I need to do to you,” Lucky growled against her throat, the nip of teeth emphasizing the sexual frustration straining his words.

“Want or need?”

“Baby, it’s a need. Don’t you ever doubt it.”

“Damn.” Her brain spun, the gears whirring like gerbils on one of those stupid wheels—at top speed but going nowhere. Taylor dug deep and found the power to pull herself away from all of the temptation he offered. “I’ve gotta go. It wouldn’t help if I got fired.”

“Fine. Yes. You have to go.” Lucky stroked a hand down her arm, his desire and his worry the perfect mixture to make the gesture tender. “You stay away from Mr. Clean. I’ll figure out who he is. You got it?’

“Yeah. I got it.” She cracked the door open and took a quick glance down the hallway. “Make sure you get a good seat. If you like what you see, I’ll give you a private show later.”