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grabbed the empty bottle and glasses and removed all three while he sent
another disapproving look at only Sara.
    Drunk, frustrated with being unable to accomplish the
rather easy task of pole dancing, she said the first thing coming to mind.
“Care to tell me why your pecker is so pathetically small, Mr. Griffen?”
    Lace hid her chuckle, but not before Casey turned icy eyes
to the other woman to force violent retraction of this undesirable reaction.
    “Well, Mecenna…,” he began with conviction, the ice in
his voice chilling Sara even more. “Since you haven’t had the pleasure of
seeing my pecker, how the hell do you know of its actual size?”
    He was baiting her. Unfortunately she was too drunk to
let any bait float downstream, undigested. “Then show it to me now, Big Boy.” A
slow lick of the lips was made to entice the man into action. “I’m in no
hurry.”
    Casey owned this strip club. He was also the bouncer.
Big, burly, mean…and so mouthwatering muscular, at six-feet-two and nearly two
hundred forty pounds, all of his height and muscle he put to good use over the
years.
    “Come a little closer and maybe I will,” he offered.
    Sara was ten feet away from him. Any closer and he
could’ve easily made a grab for her.
    Sara didn’t chance this. The last time Casey touched
her body it had taken her days for the nerve endings in her arm to get back to
normal. And since there were numerous moments in her daily routine where she
felt abnormal, fate need not be tempted its hand.
    Casey was hot. At one time in his life he’d been an
exotic dancer. He worked out and kept himself fit.
    Unfortunately, Sara wanted Casey in the worst possible
way—any way had—because she was lonely and horny. Yet, the last time she felt
this way about someone…a baby Boyd came out of the wrong woman’s body. She
would not be fooled twice. Besides, she had a goal. The pole was not to conquer
her. The wretched stripper’s pole had become her nemesis.
    Before she spoke something she might not be able to
take back, Lace grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her off the stage. “Come
on, Mecenna. We should probably get you home.”
    Sara yanked her arm out of her roommate’s steely grip.
For a slight woman, Lace was one tough broad. “No. Not until I get the pleasure
to see the size of Casey’s enormous pecker.”
    He’d moved behind the bar, caught up in what he was
doing, until she dared utter these words.
    His eyes rose, as did his smile. “You really asking
for trouble, Mecenna?” he warned crisply.
    “Trouble is my new middle name,” she reasoned.
    A smile to charm the pants off the man then sent his
way. Whatever it took to get him to show her the goods.
    Two seconds later, Casey rounded the bar. His
movements were quick; too quick for drunken Sara to react to, and just fast
enough for Lace to clear off the stage and move out of harm’s way. He grabbed
her wrist, pulled her hand down to the front of his jeans, then dragged her
knuckles over the huge bulge under the taut material and smiled.
    “You couldn’t handle all this heat, Sweetheart.”
Another second passed before he slowly let go of her wrist.
    Within this time, he’d told her all she need know
through the glare of his eyes. Deep, unsettling dark blue eyes were warning her
she was playing with fire.
    She might have been able to handle the size of him,
but Casey wasn’t offering. Moreover, smart as she was, Sara knew she should
never take any warning with a grain of salt. Then again, Tequila was running
this show.
    She dove headfirst into the fire and reacted as only
she could by the inducement of too much alcohol and the late hour that it was. The
tequila sloshing in her brain unfortunately claimed ‘salt be damned!’
    “Name the time and place, Big Boy, and prove you can
handle all this heat.” Her hand made a full sweep of her nude form. If
one was going to practice pole dancing while in a strip club on a Sunday night,
one must do so without