Burn For You (Boys of the South) (3 page)

Before I know it, time’s up and I have to make my way up two flights of stairs. When I get to Room Four, it’s already occupied and Layla is serving drinks. One of the guys palms her butt. She playfully swats at the hand and then heads my way, rolling her eyes.

“Watch out for Mr. Big Shot in there, if you don’t want to play,” she whispers into my ear before kissing my cheek. “But he is a big tipper and from what Jasmine said, big in other places, too. So, let me know if you have dibs, and I’ll back off.” She smacks my tail, and I paste on a brilliant smile.

“He’s all yours,” I say through my teeth.

A round of catcalls greets me as I walk in.
Great.
They’re turned on by the lipstick lesbian act. 

“Excuse me, miss?” I turn my attention to the opposite side of the room. On the plush, leather sofa sits one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen. Dark blond hair, light eyes, and a mouth made for sinning greets me.  But that’s not all... oh no, he has sort of a playboy businessman thing going, wearing dark slacks and a light blue, button-down shirt, with the cuffs turned up to reveal muscled forearms.

I swallow.
Down, Landry
. He’s just another customer after all. Nothing to write home about. Besides, I have a job to do, and money to make.

I sashay over to him. “What can I get you?”

He lifts his eyes to mine, and I want to groan. It’s not fair for a man to have such pretty features.  His eyes are gray and framed by lashes so thick and long that they should be on a contestant in a beauty pageant. That gaze of his stays right on my face—something unexpected in a bar and especially in a private room.

“What’s your name?” he asks, in a slow drawl that makes me think of hot summer nights and skinny-dipping.

Since we don’t have to give out our real names, I give him my fake one. “Lisa.”

He grunts, one corner of his luscious mouth pulling up. Yes, I said it.
Luscious
. A word normally reserved for a woman, but those lips, all full and plump, are exactly that.

“You don’t look like a Lisa,” he says, his head tilting to one side.

“Well,
you
look like you’re thirsty. Would you like tonight’s special?” I ask, trying to distract him. I bend at the waist a little. Boobs always distract the straight ones. Sometimes the gay ones, too. For some reason, every gay man I know loves boobs.

“How long have you worked here?”

The question throws me off guard. Shouldn’t he be hitting on me right now? “Long enough.”

“Are you a student?”

“Until I graduate.” The less information I give, the better. I don’t need some psycho rich guy stalking me, like one had Justine. It had taken a restraining order and then jail time to keep that asshole from messing with her ever again. “You?”

He shakes his head. “College is not for me.”

For a moment I let my guard down and study him objectively. He can’t be older than twenty-five or twenty-six.  “How old are you?”

He smiles, and I feel my knees get all weak. “Old enough.”

“Touché, pussycat.” My eyes round, and I want to die. I did not just say
that
. The phrase is something my family says when we play board games and whip up on each other. Nervous laughter bubbles up before I can stop myself. I wince and bite my lip.

“Laughing not allowed?”

“Sometimes it gives the wrong impression.

He raises his brows. “I don’t know about that.”

“You’re supposed to get her number, not her fucking life story,” a guy calls out.

My face heats, like I’ve just been caught making out on the couch by my parents. Mr. Big Shot flashes a look of annoyance at the guy behind me and then shakes his head. “Ignore my brother.”

“Half brother, bitch.”

Before I can give the half brother asshole a piece of my mind, Mr. Big Shot beats me to it. “Language, Walker. Lisa’s a lady.” He flashes me an apologetic smile.

“Fuck off, Beau.”

Mr. Big Shot’s name is Beau Montgomery? The name sounds familiar to me, but I can’t place it, other than brother to Chase Montgomery, the owner. “Drink?”

“Two bottles of VOSS.”

Water? I force my expression back to full on sexy and friendly. I practice this look in front of the mirror every time I come to work and can make it in my sleep
Seriously
. Meagan took a picture of me doing it.

“Anything else?” I step back and angle my hip in such a way to let him know that drinks are the
only
thing I’m offering. Just in case he decides his half brother is right.

“Yeah.” He gently grabs my wrist and pulls me closers. Heat arcs between us, from that spot we’re touching, straight to parts of me I’ve neglected over the years. I’m not alone. His gray eyes widen for a fraction of a second before growing heavy lidded. He leans forward, and my body tightens with anticipation. 

“Make sure you serve me and not Walker,” he says, his lips touching my hair. “Hell, flirt with me and sit on my lap every now and then to make it look legit.”

I shiver and turn toward him. “I’m not... I’m not looking to do anything more than make sure you have something to drink or even eat while y’all are here.”

Our gazes meet. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m not looking to do anything more than make sure you don’t get any unwanted attention.”

“John will protect me.”

“The bouncer?” Somehow, Beau manages to sit me on his thigh. He wraps an arm around my waist, his fingers possessive as they touch me. “Baby girl, the door’s been closed for the past five minutes.”

My gaze bounces from Beau, to the group of guys across the room, and then to the door. “I need to get out of here.”

“Hey,” he says, cupping my jaw and turning me toward him. “No one here will do anything to you. I just figured you didn’t want the extra attention. My brother’s an uncouth asshole, but he’s not the type to assault a woman.”

I let that knowledge settle in, even as I grow comfortable sitting on some strange guy’s leg. “Can I get your water now?”

He immediately lets go of me and I wobble, falling forward and placing my hands on his chest. It’s broad and warm under his shirt. My pinky finger inches out, close to where it could slide under the placket of buttons and touch the bare skin underneath. Never in my life have I wanted to touch someone so bad.

“You don’t have to ask for permission.” Then he bites his lip on one side and worries it, like it’s a habit. This close I just can make out a small hole in his bottom lip. He has a piercing? “But it’s damn sexy if you do.”  His hands cover mine as if he’s going to push me away. But that doesn’t happen, not at all.

Instead, we lean into one another, like planets tilting toward a shared sun. Heat pools low, a sort of slow burn that starts between my thighs and works its way up my stomach, sliding over my breasts and further still, until even my shoulders are tingling.  It’s like he’s the one touching me. I want him to touch me. I want him to follow the path of the heat he’s ignited, until we’re both hot and sweaty.

The scent of him drifts to me, all expensive cologne with an underlying of pure male.

“I... that is...” I lick my lips, and his steel-colored eyes follow the movement. His mouth is so close now that if I were the type to just go for it, I would nibble on his lip like he’d just been doing.

“Lisa...” His voice is husky. Mesmerizing. “Lisa?”

Oh, crap.
“Yes?”

“I’d like that drink.” Beau’s all business now. He clears his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

My cheeks flame while my body turns cold. What’s wrong with me? I never hit on a patron, and I sure as heck wouldn’t hit on the owner’s brother. I practically shove away from him and jump up.

“No, not at all.”  I flash a smile in his general direction. “Be right back.”

“You picked the wrong brother, baby,” Walker laughs as I hightail it out of there.

I yank open the door and fall against the wall, letting the breeze cool me off and my heart find a natural beat. What had Walker meant by the wrong brother?  And why in the world had I let Beau get to me like that?

Leather creaks, announcing John’s arrival. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him, only he’s not alone. A gorgeous redhead wearing a blue and gold bustier with a pair of shorts that leave nothing to the imagination smiles at me. It’s nice and friendly, just like always.

My heart tumbles to my feet, despite my best intentions to keep it in place.

“Hey, Jasmine.”

John gives me a smile. “You’re off the hook, kid. I brought the cavalry.”

“You can go back to your usual while Layla and I take care of King’s most annoying guests,” Jasmine says, already twisting the knob. “You’re too sweet to be around these guys.”

Sweet. Punctual. Non-flirty.  What every girl wants to be known for. She might as well say: Boring.
Boring-er
.
Boring-est
. “Beau, I mean Mr. Montgomery needs two bottles of VOSS.”

Jasmine’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows raise in surprise. “
He’s
here?”

“And Walker.”

She makes a little noise. “Walker I expected, but the other one. I can’t remember the last time he took advantage of King’s... hospitality.”

I can only imagine the hospitality he was shown. Not that I care, of course.

The door to Room Four suddenly opens, and Beau Montgomery walks out, phone to his ear. My jaw drops, because seeing him lounging like a playboy is nothing like seeing him in motion. He’s purposeful and determined. The sleeve of his shirt brushes against my chest, and I get goose bumps everywhere.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He turns, his gray eyes burning into mine as he ends his call and pockets the phone. “Don’t worry about the water; I have to leave. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t go back in there.”

More than a little annoyed, I snap, “Can’t get paid if I don’t work.” I can’t help it. Jasmine’s comment, though not an insult, about my sweetness combined with Beau’s insistence I not breathe the same air as his brother and friends makes me irritated as hell.

Mouth flattening, he digs into his pocket and hands me a few folded-up bills. “Five hundred enough?”

Holy crap!
“Whatever.” I take the money and slide it inside the top portion of my bustier like some old-school hooker. His brows crash together, and I swear his mouth thins even more.

“Don’t be like that,” he says.

I tip up my chin. “Like what?”

His jaw works, as if he’s about to say something, but then he shakes his head. “Do whatever you want, Lisa. I’m through playing hero to females who don’t want to be saved.”

Astonishment courses through me, but before I can apologize for my rudeness or even say I don’t need saving from anything—except boredom, he strides away.

“God, baby doll, don’t you have all the luck,” Jasmine says. “Five hundred for less than fifteen minutes is a record.”

I turn my attention to her, feeling dazed and a little confused. “But I didn’t do anything but take his order.”

Jasmine laughs. “You’ll have to teach me how to take an order like you did, then.” She winks at John. “It’s always the sweet, quiet ones you have to watch out for, huh?”

John narrows his eyes at me.

I hold up my hands. “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

But my defense only makes Jasmine laugh harder. She goes inside the private room, leaving me with a disapproving John and an empty hallway.

“You believe me, right?” I do not want to be classified like the other girls. I want the boring rooms, where the most action I’ll see is a drunk dude trying to cop a feel or inflicting me with his worst pick-up line.

“I think you need to go home,” John says, disappointment shining in his dark eyes. “You don’t have to do what those others girls do, you know.”

My face burns. “I didn’t do anything, except sit in his lap and—”

John’s brows rise. “Go home, kid.” He has the authority to tell me what to do when it comes to my schedule, and all I can do is listen or get fired.

Furious, I stomp away and head to the dressing room to change and wash my face. I can’t believe John told me to go home. I can’t believe he thinks the worst of me. The folded-up bills fall out of my bustier as I lean down to roll off my fishnet stockings.

They land on the floor, in an accusatory angle.

Sighing, I plop down on the bench and pick them up. Benjamin Franklin frowns at me.  Great, now even inanimate objects think I’m a prostitute. 

A couple of new girls come in the dressing room. They give me a wide berth and knowing smiles.

“Heard you took it to the next level, Lisa,” one of them coos as she slathers on lip gloss.

“We expect a full report tomorrow on how to earn that much in ten minutes.” This from a blonde who makes obscene gestures with her hand and mouth at me.

They all laugh.

“But I thought you were going to share how you made  fifty bucks in less than five minutes out by the dumpster,” I say sweetly.

There are gasps and mutters—mostly of words like bitch, slut, and whore.  Nothing like working with women. It’s a total empowerment and a Rah-Rah sisterhood atmosphere here.

As they leave, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m pale as a ghost, the crimson lipstick on my mouth like a smear of blood. Or a scarlet letter A.

Either way, I need to find a new job. A respectable one, where the most gossip will be about not following the lesson plan.

Guess I’ll make that call to Meagan’s aunt after all.

I
rush
into Mia’s room. The drive home only took twelve minutes instead of twenty, mostly because I violated about a dozen traffic laws along the way.

“Is she okay?” I ask, ready to whisk Mia to the emergency room.

Judith Montgomery, my stepmother for lack of a better term, is standing there, holding my baby girl, and humming. “She’s just fine. A little fever, is all. I already called the nurse hotline and followed her instructions. She said to call back if her temperature rises above 103.”

“And the cough?”

Judith gently places Mia into my arms. “Nothing a little steam won’t cure. If she starts coughing again, turn the shower to the hottest setting and—”