One Unforgettable Kiss. A.C. Arthur

       Chapter 1

      “We have another bid! Going once. Going twice. Going...three times, and it’s gone! Sir, you’re our lucky winner!”

      Garrek heard the applause behind him and turned to see what was going on. The room wasn’t large—it included a dance floor in the center and a homemade bar setup in the corner, where he’d quickly found a seat. But Garrek was not comfortable at this moment, as he noticed the gaze of every person in the room was now on him.

      “Come on up here and claim your prize!” a short man with his hair parted and gelled down to the side announced into the microphone he was holding.

      The crowd clapped and cheered, stepping aside until a walkway had been formed, starting where Garrek sat at the bar and ending at the two steps that led to the stage.

      “Come on. Don’t be shy. Your prize is waiting!” the man continued.

      Garrek had no idea what he’d won, because he hadn’t entered any contest. All he’d done was follow the crowd that had been heading into this old building because they’d looked excited about coming in here. And when he’d seen the sign on the door that read Cash Bar, Garrek had felt a wave of relief. He’d needed a drink. He didn’t want one, because each time he swallowed his favorite rum, he remembered the night that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he needed it. That was a simple fact.

      It had been a long week, one he was still wondering how he’d survived. His career was on the line, and after two Cuba libres, his mouth was still dry. He’d just held up his hand to signal the bartender when the man on the stage began to speak.

      “He’s a handsome one, too,” a woman said. She had pushed through the crowd and stopped right in front of him. “Nice body and everything.”

      The last was said as she lifted small hands and pressed them firmly, front and center, on his chest.

      “Harper, you let me know if you need any help with this one.” The woman spoke over her shoulder, as her hands squeezed his pectorals.

      Garrek was wearing a white T-shirt that fit him snugly, a fact that the woman who looked to be in her midsixties seemed to enjoy.

      “I’m Connie, and I’d be happy to escort your fine self up to the stage.”

      Before Garrek could decline her offer, Connie, with her cap of silver hair and no more than five-foot stature, was right beside him, lacing her arm through his and holding on tight. She wore a pale-green-and-white polka-dot dress, and a huge white flower was pinned close to her left shoulder. Her grin was wide as she looked up at Garrek, and when he continued to stare down at her, she winked.

      Before Garrek could react, she was taking a step, and he found himself quickly slipping off the wobbly stool he’d been perched on to follow her lead. They moved down the path that reminded Garrek of the old Soul Train line, sans music. He hadn’t purchased anything but drinks since he’d arrived not even a half hour ago, so he doubted he’d won a raffle.

      The people on the outskirts clapped as they walked by, and Connie nodded as if she were in her element being the center of attention. When they came to the two steps that led up onto the stage, Garrek had to hold Connie steady as her knees wobbled with each step up. A quick flash of memory had him thinking back to his late teenage years in Pensacola, the years when his mother’s condition was getting worse.

      “Here we go,” the man said as he touched the younger woman standing next to him on the shoulder. “Now, you can thank us later, Harper. But this is what the lovely ladies of the Magnolia Guild wanted to give to you.”

      She looked frightened.

      That’s the first thought that came to Garrek’s mind as he gazed at the young woman standing next to the other man, who was doing all the talking.

      Garrek was a navy pilot, but he’d been trained as a pilot first. His instinct to protect was strong and quick.

      “That’s right, Beuford,” Connie said as she stepped away from Garrek to grab the microphone from the man’s hand.

      Beuford frowned down at her, but Connie didn’t notice, because she’d already turned her attention to the other woman.

      “Now, Harper, us ladies at the guild have known you since you were a little thing running around town with scraped knees and dirt smudges on your face. Haven’t we, ladies?” Connie asked and looked out to the crowd.

      A group of six women wearing the same white corsage as Connie stood close to the stage,