In numerology, the angel numbers 1133 mean a change. Two guardian angels, Lyle and Naarai, try to help their charge Aiden Morris find the rightful heir to the Hertfordshire’s duchy, Baron Foster, and bring him back home to England in time to continue his grandfather’s tradition of holding a Christmas festival for the children of Hertfordshire.
The last place Aiden ever expected to be found was in a strip joint in the French Quarter. But, he’d made a promise, and he always felt he was a man of his word. It was one of those typical strip clubs with bouncers out front trying to draw in patrons. The smell of sweat and draft beer hit him in the face as soon as he paid the cover charge and entered. There was a creepy looking guy in a suit directing people inside the seedy main ballroom. Inside the dimly-lit room were men and a few ladies seated at tables watching a male stripper on stage. Everything about the place seemed sordid and disreputable to him.
Duke Foster was probably rolling over in his grave to know that the heir to his family’s legacy was on stage shaking his God-given assets to a crowd of strange men. And what nice assets they were.
Aiden shook his head to clear his mind. That was not a part of his mission. He checked out the young man on stage. He appeared wearing a vest and cowboy chaps. He made short work of the vest, revealing a well-toned chest and flat abs. With one jerk, the Velcro pants were history, revealing a pair of briefs that also left nothing to the imagination. Whoa! Break away briefs. In just a male’s G-strap, he danced and shook his body uninhibitedly. If word of this ever got back to England, his grandfather’s crest would be tarnished.
The dance eventually came to an end with wolves throwing bills up on stage. The stripper went back stage.
Aiden called a waiter over and through him sent a message to Baron that he would like to meet with him. He sent a business card to introduce himself. He was quite surprised that Baron agreed to meet with him. The waiter took Aiden to the dressing room area. There were plenty of other dancers hanging out waiting for their turn on stage. Some were checking him out. Aiden wasn’t interested, though. He knocked at the door he was led to.
“Come in.”
Aiden turned the knob and entered. “Are you Baron Foster?”
“Yes. Why? Are you a bill collector or something?”
Ooh, what a voice. It was husky, yet as smooth as butter. And it did something strange to Aiden. It awakened his desire. “Didn’t you get my card?”
“Yes. Why would a British Earl want to see me? Wait, you were in the audience. Let me guess you are on vacation and came to the club to do things you can’t do in England.”
“No. My name is Aiden Morris and I sent here by your grandfather.”
Baron chuckled. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person. My mother’s father died many years ago when I was a child.”
“Not him. Your father’s father,” Aiden said.
“Have a seat.” Baron dashed behind a folded screen. “Excuse me. I need to change for my next number.”
Aiden sat down. He had a full side view of what Baron was doing. He wondered if Baron was aware of this.
Baron removed the robe he was wearing. He had nothing on beneath it.
Aiden’s body reacted, not to the nudity, but to the tiny wasp-like waist, the curve of his hips and the shapely thigh.
Baron stepped into a pair of black bikini underwear. “I still think you have the wrong person. My father died shortly after I was born. Or, at least, that is what I was told. My mother made no mention of a living grandfather.”
Aiden corrected his position on the chair to relieve the tightness in his briefs. “There is, I mean there was another grandfather. Unfortunately, he recently passed away.”
Baron put on a pair of gold breakaway pants and a beaded sleeveless vest. The vest had a lot of fringes on it. The peepshow ended. “But you said he sent you.”
“He and I spoke before he died.”
“Why didn’t I know about him?” Baron asked. “Or why didn’t I know my father was British?”
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