Strip You Bare Read Free

my charm.”
    Not classic southern charm, certainly. There was nothing smooth or practiced about him. Yes, he was wearing a suit, but dark ink bled out from beneath the sleeves of his shirt, evidence of tattoos beneath the perfectly tailored façade. And more than that, there was something about him that simply seemed wild. You could put a collar on a tiger, but it was still a tiger.
    Suit or not, this man was a tiger.
    And much like a tiger, the sleek beauty he possessed almost enticed an observer to try to touch him. There was something about that kind of strength, that kind of leashed danger; it was terrifying and irresistible all at the same time.
    You know, to other people. Not so much to her.
    “Well, your charm isn’t that great a concern of mine. I just want some facts.”
    “If you don’t know who the Deacons are, I’m assuming we were from before your time, little girl.”
    “If so, you look very good for your age.” She dealt out the two-sided statement with ease.
    “You think I look good?” He smiled at her, and it felt very much like the predator showing his teeth. A little shiver worked its way down through her body, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Which was concerning.
    She cleared her throat. “I think you look like a stranger in my house.”
    “Then let’s get to know each other a little bit better, shall we?” His accent had taken on a slightly more upper-crust drawl, a mockery of her own, she had a feeling. “I suppose I’m not really that surprised you don’t know about the Deacons. Nice girls like you should not associate with men like us.”
    “I would be more impressed if I had any idea what sort of man you are.”
    He said nothing for a moment, a half smile curling his lips, as he unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and rolled one sleeve up to his elbow. He then focused his attention on the other cuff, unbuttoning it with a maddening slowness that made her stomach turn over. Then he rolled that sleeve up to his elbow.
    Exposing his forearms revealed the ink he’d been hiding. Dark, twisting shapes ran from his wrists up past the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. And beneath the ink, there were some very well-defined muscles that were worthy of note.
    “My brothers and I are the Deacons of Bourbon Street, just your friendly local motorcycle club. We’re the ones who own your former property. The ones who used to own the whole fucking Quarter.” He leaned forward, hands planted on his thighs, dark eyes burning into hers. “And we’re home now.”

Chapter 2
    “You into frightening sweet little girls now, Ajax?”
    Micah walked into the Priory, kicking a wooden chair to the side as he crossed the sticky tile floor. The evidence of last night’s Bourbon Street revelry was still thick on the sidewalks, and it wasn’t much better in here. Drinks that had seemed like a good idea until they’d resurfaced again twenty minutes later splattered across the cracked concrete. Confetti, vomit, and Mardi Gras beads everywhere you looked. Typical Thursday morning in NOLA.
    The air smelled like day-old booze and cigarette smoke, and he hated that part of himself that still craved a drink and a cigarette when that smell hit his face.
    His taste ran to more expensive alcohol these days. Quality over quantity. And he didn’t smoke at all. There was no point in San Francisco. No smoking allowed in restaurants, not in bars, not in office buildings. A man could barely smoke in his own car.
    No point in going on a cigarette break to bond with potential investors. You were better off training for marathons and bringing in kale from your garden if you wanted to do that.
    Micah did neither, thank you. But he’d also quit smoking.
    Not picking up a cigarette again had become a personal challenge. New Orleans made him crave them. And New Orleans didn’t own him. Neither did Ajax.
    But you would never know it by the way the prick acted.
    Leon and Travis, more commonly known as Blue and Cash, were