Forbidden (Southern Comfort) Read Online Free PDF Page B

them toward the blonde.  “Yeah.  So what?  Maybe she’s just obnoxious.”
    “No.  She’s only become louder in the past few minutes.  Ever since she looked over here and saw you.  She’s trying to draw your attention away from the others by making herself stand out.  Sort of like a male peacock lifts his feathers to make himself appear larger when he’s attempting to entice a mate.”
    Justin flicked his gaze at the table of girls. Flipping her hair when she caught him looking, the blonde offered up a smile.  Justin turned and studied Clay. 
    “See? Peacock . ”
    “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
    “Would I make something like that up?”  When he saw Justin’s raised brow he held up a hand.  “Okay.  I might.  Yes, it’s entirely possible that would be something I might do.  But believe me when I say that I’m shitting you not.  That lovely lady has shown numerous behavioral indications that she’s hot for you.  If you’re looking to pull yourself out of your sexual rut, she’s your best bet.”  Eying the dubious look on Justin’s face, he grinned and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.  “Ten bucks says she comes over here within the next twenty minutes.”
    Justin looked at the money lying on the table with a great deal of skepticism, but put his own President Hamilton on top of Clay’s.  “You’re on.”
    Eighteen minutes later, Clay left the table ten dollars richer.  They’d no sooner polished off their shrimp and ordered a second round of Killian’s when the blonde made her move.  It turned out she was a pediatric nurse who worked at MUSC and had seen Justin around the hospital.  Palming the money, shooting Justin a superior smirk, Clay excused himself to go mingle. 
    The crowd had grown thick as evening gave way to night, and he wound his way through it to find a spot closer to the band.  Smoke rose in a thin blue cloud, dispelled occasionally by the salty breeze drifting in from the open windows.  Patrons wandered in and out from the patio to the bar, and well-fed diners descended the worn stairs to mix with the crowd.  Clay leaned against a rough-hewn support beam and watched them come and go, amazed, as always, at the way body language spoke volumes.
    And his own body started screaming in his ear when a pair of long, tanned legs became visible as they descended from the second floor.  The staircase was angled in such a way that he got an up close and personal view of those mile-long beauties before a torso or head came into view.  Black sandals encased slim feet, a short black skirt hit deliciously at mid-thigh.  The legs paused, one resting a step higher than the other, and Clay felt his body stir.  If the rest of the package lived up to the preview, he was going to be on this particular woman like a flea on a junkyard dog.  He had the overwhelming urge to just wade over and take a bite. 
    He took a sip of beer, instead, and waited for the follow through.
    A green Murphy’s shirt made an appearance, followed by a hand holding an empty tray.
    Staff, Clay assessed.  He wondered what time she got off.
    Her other hand rubbed down a thigh as she seemed to be responding to a comment from someone on the stairs above her. The overwhelming jolt of lust he felt caused Clay to choke on his beer. 
    Wait for it, wait for it…
    After another nail-biting moment, the legs made their final descent.
    Clay blinked twice, to assure himself he wasn’t seeing things.  Then he began to curse the psychological gods again, for messing with his head.
    “Nice tan,” he murmured as Tate nearly passed him by.
    It was loud so close to the band, but Tate heard him and wheeled around. “Clay,” she said, his name falling naturally from her lips.  Then she assimilated his comment, and blasted him with a frown.  “Are you making fun of me?”
    “Never,” he assured her companionably. Her rich ebony hair hung thick and loose, making him want t o wrap it around his