Deception (Southern Comfort) (3 page)

In her opinion, the damn groom should have gotten the boot as well.

Hoping that this particular bachelor had higher morals than a snake, Sam attempted another smile, which – thank God – at least looked half-assed as opposed to painful. Then she slipped out of her coat, gave her lips one final coat of gloss and let out her pent-up breath. 

“Okay, Sam.”  She straightened her shoulders, tucked the riot of red curls under the uniform’s hat.  “Show time.”

CHAPTER TWO

“HEY.”
  Josh stuck out his hand toward Clay’s best man, a tall athletic-looking guy by the name of Jesse Wellington, who was a friend of Clay’s through the Bureau.  “I’m Josh.”

“Ah.” The man’s intense blue eyes glittered with alcohol-induced happiness as he pumped Josh’s hand.  Ouch.  He had an incredibly strong grip.  “The infamous Josh Harding – the cop who took three bullets and still managed to put in a call to the FBI, saving a couple of kids and scoring a wicked new hairstyle while he was at it.”  He slung a thick arm over Josh’s shoulder with the friendly familiarity of the seriously drunk, then parted Josh’s hair to get a look at the scar he’d incurred from a bullet grazing his head.  “It’s nice to meet you, Josh.  Clay told me you tried to steal his woman.”

Shaking his head over the confusing verbal onslaught while surreptitiously flexing his crushed fingers, Josh laughed and stepped away from the bigger man, who currently had no concept of personal space.  “Yeah, well, I think that steal is a bit of an exaggeration.”  He’d found Tate – Clay’s intended – to be quite attractive, it was true, but he’d only harbored licentious thoughts until he’d gotten to know Copeland.  

“That’s good,” the best man said agreeably.  “It’d be a shame to have to kick your ass.”

Under normal circumstances, Josh had to confess that might be a possibility.  Wellington had about four or five inches and a good forty pounds on him, most of it solid muscle, and he was federally trained in unarmed combat.  And while Josh was in pretty darn good shape, if he did say so himself, the truth of the matter was that his recent convalescence had sapped some of his strength.  It would probably be a little while yet before he was up to his fighting weight.

But as it stood, he could probably knock down half of the men present with no more than a stiff finger.  Most of them, present company included, were barely standing as it was.

“You know, I have a war wound, too.”  Wellington had inched past that personal space cushion again, gesturing to his own shoulder.  “Wanna see?”  He made to take off his shirt.

“Actually, I really don’t.”  Josh swallowed a laugh and looked for an easy exit.  He didn’t know Clay’s friend well enough to be comfortable with the shedding of clothing.  And he still hadn’t made it over to offer his hellos to Clay.  He was just about to excuse himself to take care of that little social nicety when a shrill whistle pierced the steady din of drunken conversation.

“Looks like the entertainment’s arrived.”

That comment came from Declan Murphy, Rogan’s identical twin brother, who’d materialized behind Josh while he’d been otherwise occupied trying to convince the best man to keep his clothes on.  The hackles on Josh’s neck rose.  As much as he liked Rogan, there was just something about the brother that seemed to set Josh off.  He didn’t want to say the guy was an asshole, but… well, the guy was an asshole.  He was an agitator – going about his business in an entitled manner, seemingly unconcerned by the amount of shit he stirred up.  He was cocky as hell and from what Josh could tell, like rubber.  No matter what happened, things just seemed to bounce right off him. He did whatever he wanted and to hell with the consequences.  But before Josh could move out of range of Declan’s unwanted company, the crowd pressed into them as men parted to create access to Clay.  Then like everyone else, Josh’s gaze shifted toward the stairs.

Standing at the top of the steps, whistle dangling between her slick red lips, was a reason for every man between the ages of eighteen and eighty to commit a misdemeanor just so they could resist arrest.  It was a good thing none of his co-workers actually looked like that in a uniform, or the city would be experiencing a crime wave the likes of which it’d never seen.  Josh laughed, peeling his gaze away from the vision in blue long enough to check out Clay’s reaction.  Even three sheets to the wind, a little color seemed to have returned to his cheeks.

“Damn.  She can cuff me any time she wants.”

For once, Josh had to agree with Declan on something.  He couldn’t really see the woman’s face, given the hat and the red curls bouncing beneath it, but her body was something else.  Then she moved, walking with a purposeful, hip-rolling gait that caused every pair of male eyes present to cross. She made her way over to Clay, who was currently stunned into insensibility, his mouth gaping open in surprise.  Then his eyes narrowed and darted toward Declan, who raised his pint toward the other man in toast.  Apparently the Murphy brothers had neglected to inform their new cousin about this portion of the night’s entertainment.

“Enjoy!” Dec called out, and then murmured something about himself and sloppy seconds. As Josh was sort of partial to the man’s cousin and thought she might deserve a little more respect than that, he executed a half turn and glared at Declan.  “You’re not actually encouraging him to have sex with the stripper, are you?  Because last I checked, the man was engaged.  To your cousin.”  Off to the side, Josh could hear the curvaceous cop prattling off some spiel designed to lead Clay to believe he was under arrest.

Declan’s left eyebrow kicked up in condescension.  “So what?  It’s not like I’m going to tell her.”

Josh studied him,
and decided he wasn’t kidding.  He really was a sonofabitch.

Correctly interpreting the look, Declan snorted and then shook his head in disgust.  “You know, I always thought the whole Andy Griffith thing you have going was just a ruse, but I guess you really are a Boy Scout aren’t you, Harding?”  He snapped off a mock salute.  “So tell me, if Clay looks but doesn’t touch, are you going to give him a fidelity merit badge?”     

Dude was begging to get popped.  But seeing as how starting a brawl was bad form given his occupation, not to mention the fact that this was supposed to be a celebration, Josh merely stared at the other man and kept his tone no harm, no foul.  “You’re an asshole, Murphy.”

“You just now figuring that out?”  Declan reached out and grabbed Josh’s bad shoulder, hard enough to make Josh bite back a grimace and wonder if the other man hadn’t done it on purpose.  “Now turn around and enjoy the show, Joshie.  It’ll give you something to think about when you’re alone in your pup tent tonight.”

Irritation might possibly have overridden common sense, causing Josh to offer a five-fingered retort, if he hadn’t been struck so completely and utterly dumb by the sight that met his eyes as he wheeled around.  A low, classic striptease song had begun to play, replacing the hard-driving rock which had been strangled when the “cop” made her appearance.  All around him the crush of sweaty, liquored-up males grew thick as they edged closer to the action, encouragement and boisterous, off-color advice bouncing around amidst the smoke which hovered overhead in a thin blue cloud.  And in the midst of it all sat Clay – official looking uniform hat now perched at a jaunty angle on his head, a token from the stripper – hovering between profound embarrassment and reluctant appreciation as the woman continued the act.

Her now freely-flowing red curls – a wig, no doubt, but a good one – spilled riotously down her shapely back, but what struck Josh was the way she moved. There was something familiar about the thrust of hip, the way she looked teasingly over her shoulder as her fingers moved deftly down the buttons of her shirt…

Something in her smile – tremulous and a little uncertain before morphing into a more professional grin.

The line of her jaw…

Her upturned nose…

“Show us the goods!” Declan bellowed in good humor, and the stripper glanced his direction before blowing him a kiss.  He caught it, pretending to tuck it into his pocket.  “Yeah, I’ll just put that to good use later.”

Everyone laughed, including the woman, but Josh had seen something else, something decidedly uneasy, flit briefly behind her eyes before she’d masked it.  She stopped with the buttons, left the shirt open just enough to allow a hint of magnificent cleavage, before stepping behind Clay’s chair to run her hands playfully down his chest.  It was all in good fun – the stripper stopped shy of touching Clay in what might be considered an inappropriate manner – but there was something about this that just seemed wrong. 

He must truly be turning into a damned Boy Scout, because for reasons he couldn’t explain he wanted the woman to button up that shirt and get out of there.  And what the hell did that say?  Because any red-blooded man not dead and buried wouldn’t pass up the chance to see –

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

Josh wasn’t sure whether Declan was cursing or praying, but yes, the sight of what had been hidden by the woman’s shirt was certainly one of God’s finer creations.  She’d dropped the uniform top on Clay’s lap before walking back around so that she faced him, and the little scraps of black lace that now struggled to contain her bountiful breasts looked like they’d been put through the dryer on high one too many times. 

Maybe they didn’t make sexy little bras in industrial size.

Feeling rotten, although he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, Josh ogled along with the others.  The catcalls had grown deafening, the tension in the room high, as everyone waited to see what would come off next.  He called himself a pervert, but Josh wondered if she was wearing anything beneath that skirt.

“Damn, I might need a bib,” one man near Josh muttered, indicating the drool that was running down his chin.

“Got a hanky in my pocket,” Declan offered with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t touch anything that had been in your pocket with a ten foot pole, Murphy.”

“That’s a ten inch pole in my pocket,” Dec corrected.  “And I’ve got our girl here lined up for that job, thanks.”

The man laughed, and Josh felt his blood heat, eyebrows slamming together as he glared at Declan.

“What,” Murphy asked, all innocence.  “Hell, Harding, I’m not getting married.  Don’t tell me you’re opposed to everyone getting lucky?”

“What makes you think that woman would consider it lucky to have men just assume she wants to have sex with them?”  The wolf whistles echoed shrilly around the room as the stripper turned her back and knelt so that Clay could help her with the skirt’s zipper.

One eye on the action, one eye on Josh, Declan rubbed his finger around in his ear as if to clear it.  “Either my hearing’s gone bad, or you’re starting to take your serve and protect oath way too seriously, Harding.  Didn’t any of those bullets knock the stick out of your ass?  She’s a stripper, Josh.  Not some paragon of virtue you need to defend.”

One small part of Josh’s brain told him that Declan was at least partially right, but another, entirely irrational section made his testosterone seem to gather in his fists.  There must have been something in the air tonight, because he wanted desperately to lay the man out.  There’d been some low-level contention between them ever since they’d met, but for whatever reason it was coming to a head right now.  And damned if he knew why, but the catalyst seemed to be the stripper.  Calling himself all kinds of fool, Josh sucked back his anger and tried to be reasonable.  He didn’t know this woman, had no right to feel… what the hell was he feeling?  Protective?  Jealous?  The whole thing made no sense.  In fact, he was tempted to apologize to Murphy when the woman in question stood up and playfully slid out of her skirt. 

Stepping out of the garment, she bent over at the waist to pick it up with one finger, twirling it around overhead before flinging it onto Clay’s lap.  Then she reached behind her, unhooked the clasp of the ineffective bra, and draped the garment over the hat on Clay’s head.  Laughing good naturedly, Clay applauded the woman’s efforts as she did a little shimmy in front of him when the music’s crescendo indicated the end to her routine.  She was left wearing only her boots, a tiny little sequined G-string and a couple of tasseled pasties. As she executed a three-sixty Josh got his first really good look at her unclothed body.  Without a doubt, it was the most perfect body he’d ever seen.  In fact, he’d only ever seen one body that even came close.

Sucking in a breath, heat washed over Josh in a rush, causing sweat to break out all over his body. His eyes darted to the area just above the woman’s left hip.  From this distance he couldn’t be entirely sure, but he thought he spied…

She turned and he got a much better view, leaving no doubt about it.

There was a small butterfly tattooed on her left hip.

“Damn, that is just about the finest piece of ass I’ve ever –”

Josh’s fist flew out before he knew what he was doing.

“Harding.  What the hell?”  Declan was on his ass, rubbing his jaw, staring at Josh with first confusion and then a growing lust for blood.  Josh saw it through the red haze which had formed in front of his own eyes, as behind him he heard a feminine shriek and then some very male cursing.  The men gathered near him and Declan were watching them both with confusion, and as Declan gained his feet and made a move for Josh, several scrambled out of the way.  A couple of guys – toasted past reason – started chanting “fight, fight, fight” like this was some junior high schoolyard and they were the lunchtime entertainment, but luckily a few others had more sense and stepped in to intervene.  The best man put himself in front of Declan before the man could launch himself forward, and Josh’s arms were suddenly pinned from behind as Clay made a surprisingly quick and agile move considering the amount of alcohol in his bloodstream.