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  "What the hell?" she bellowed. "I mean, seriously? What the ridiculous stupid hell do you think you're doing?"

  He heard the light tap on the doorframe, then turned to see Brent. "Everything okay in here?" His eyes cut to Elena. "I heard shouting."

  "We're fine," Tyree said, the words coming out sharp despite his best efforts to chill the fuck out.

  Brent's attention shifted to Elena. "It's all good?"

  She nodded. "It's fine. Thanks for checking."

  Brent nodded slowly, and Tyree could practically see the questions and calculations zipping across his face. "I'm the one who sent Ms. Anderson back," he said. "Sorry if that was a bad call, but she said she was a friend of the family and Elena's mother."

  Tyree's glance cut between Brent and Elena. "You two know each other?"

  "We met in the bar earlier," Brent said.

  "Huh." Tyree turned to Elena, lifted a brow in question, just the same as he did when he wanted Elijah to spill all.

  She rolled her eyes. "I have a place to stay here, but I'm fond of eating, and I'll burn through my savings pretty quick. So I was asking about a job."

  "Here?" Tyree asked.

  "Well, yeah. But I didn't want to ask you because I thought it would be weird."

  He ran a hand over his shaved head and sighed. If nothing else, at least the raging fire of his temper had burned itself out. "We can talk about that later," he said to Elena. To Brent he said, "It's all good. And shut the door on your way out."

  To Tyree's irritation, Brent glanced toward Elena, as if requesting confirmation of the order. Did Tyree look or sound that rabid?

  But it didn't matter. Elena nodded, and Brent backed out. And Tyree realized that he really was tight and stiff. But damned if he didn't have a good reason.

  He'd lost a daughter.

  No. Eva had stolen his daughter from him.

  He thought of all the moments he'd shared with Eli through the years. The kind of moments he'd never experience with Elena. First steps. First birthdays. First day at school.

  He looked at her, planning to tell her that he was sorry he'd missed that. Sorry that her mother had kept those moments from both of them.

  He didn't expect--though he probably should have--the glint of steel in her eyes as she lashed right back into him again. "Just what the hell is wrong with you? My mother spent the last twenty-three years thinking you were dead, and you go off on her as if she was playing games?"

  The anger Tyree understood. But the words weren't making any sense.

  "Wait, hold on. Slow down." He frowned. "You said she told you I was dead. Hell, she said the same thing."

  "Maybe you should have let her finish. She would have explained, you know. But I guess that didn't occur to you." Her voice was clipped, dripping with sarcasm.

  "You explain." He sank back into his chair, suddenly unbelievably tired.

  "She told me you were dead, because she believed it. Because my grandfather was an asshole. All Mom ever said was how amazing you were. Like you'd been some fairy-tale prince who'd promised to come back and rescue her. Except you didn't come back because you didn't survive."

  "Leroy told her I was dead?"

  Elena nodded. "My grandfather. Yeah. And then she told me. She wanted to make sure I had a sense of you growing up. But I don't think I ever really believed it. That you were really dead, I mean."

  He frowned. "Why not?"

  A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. "Because then it wouldn't be a fairy tale, would it? If the prince gets eaten by the dragon? In a fairy tale, the prince has to slay the dragon."

  "Are you sure I'm the prince in this story? Maybe I'm the dragon."

  Her forehead crinkled. "Huh?"

  He thought of Eva, and the way he went off on her. The cold, closed-off expression on her face before she'd walked away. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think maybe I'm the dragon in this one."

  Chapter Six

  Eva's duffel bag slapped against her side as she hurried through the bar and toward the exit door.

  What had she been thinking? Seriously, what hellish demon with a twisted sense of humor had urged her to drop everything and jump on a plane? And why was she so ridiculously hurt that he didn't drop everything, swoop her into his arms and kiss her soundly?

  She stopped midway out the door, the impact of the last thought hitting her. Because, dammit, it was true. Clearly, she was either losing her mind or reading too many romance novels, because somewhere deep inside she'd been nursing the insidious fantasy he'd pull her into his arms, tell her he'd missed her, and then cast a loving look at Elena and tell her what a good job she'd done raising their girl.

  Idiot.

  And not just because she'd pictured the scenario so damn wrong. No, she was an idiot for even fantasizing about him in the first place. After all, he had a life here. A bar he owned. A family he obviously loved if the picture on his desk and the ring on his finger was any indication.

  And as for her, she had a thriving career back in San Diego. Austin was a diversion. She'd come to protect her daughter, not for herself. And the more firmly she kept that in her head, the better.

  The light changed and she crossed Austin's busy Sixth Street. It was past ten p.m. on a Wednesday now, but still the street was hopping. She'd been here once before, during college, and she'd liked the town then. She hoped when she returned home from this trip, the memories wouldn't be tainted.

  On the north side of the street, she turned left and walked the few short blocks to the stunning historic hotel that was tucked in among the modern buildings. She entered The Driskill through the main entrance on Brazos, nodding at the doorman who pulled open the glass door for her, then immediately relaxed. The place was stunning. A piece of late nineteenth century history with beautiful floors, tall ceilings, and every tiny detail seen to.

  She mostly did portrait photography these days, but she itched to pull out her camera and take a few shots. Instead, she went to the front desk, got her key, and headed up to the room after begging a complimentary toothbrush to replace the one she'd forgotten in her haste.

  On the way, she texted Elena her room number, and got a quick thumbs-up emoji in reply.

  By the time she reached her room on the third floor, some of her anger had dissipated. After all, the man had been blindsided, whereas she'd known for a month that he was alive. She'd had time to think about him and to plan what to say. Granted, today's trip was a whirlwind--she'd barely had time to run home and toss a few things into her duffel before rushing to the airport--but the fact remained that she'd known what was coming. He hadn't.

  So while his reaction had frustrated her--and, let's be honest, hurt her feelings--she kind of got it.

  Her departure tonight would give him some time to cool off and adjust. Plus, Elena was there, and she could explain the whole convoluted tale about how they'd believed Tyree was dead--and why.

  And it was best if that came from Elena, anyway. She was the one Tyree would want to see. Not Eva. Not when he already had a life with a wife and a son.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, wishing she didn't care that he was married. That she hadn't seen the photo on the desk and the gold band on his finger.

  But that was unfair, and she knew it. Time hadn't stood still for her; why on earth had she thought it would for him?

  Except she hadn't thought it. She hadn't let herself think anything at all. But then she'd seen him and everything had flooded back. Memories, hopes, dreams, regrets.

  She'd walked into his office and seen him. His heavy brow softened by the kindest eyes she'd ever seen. His broad shoulders. The strong arms that had held her so tight, keeping her safe and warm. His big hands, so gentle on her bare skin. And that wide, delicious mouth that had done such decadent things to her body.

  In her mind, he'd come to her. Held her. Closed his mouth over hers, and the world had fallen away.

  In reality, everything had blown up, including her fantasies.

  "You
're a fool, Eva Anderson. And you need to get over yourself."

  True enough, and to punctuate the thought she got undressed, found the fluffy hotel bathrobe in the closet, and settled down on the bed to find the stupidest, most mundane program she could. She'd let the power of bad television drain her mind and tomorrow when she saw Tyree again, they could both act like adults.

  Adults who'd moved on with their lives.

  Because that, of course, was who and what they were.

  She was just dozing off to a rerun of an eighties sitcom when a sharp rap at her door jolted her back to consciousness.

  Elena.

  Still half-asleep, she rolled out of bed, tiny prickles of trepidation urging her to hurry. Why on earth had she told Elena to come tomorrow? She should have insisted the girl come tonight. Anytime tonight. After all, her daughter had just met her father for the first time; of course she needed her mom now.

  With a quick tug to tighten her robe, she hurried to the door, and yanked it open.

  Then she froze. She just simply froze.

  Because it wasn't Elena standing there. It was Tyree.

  "Oh," she said, then wished she could surreptitiously pound her head against a wall. "I wasn't expecting you."

  Also another piece of conversational brilliance. Yeah, she was doing great tonight.

  Those kind eyes she'd seen in her fantasy were focused intently on her--on all of her--and she was suddenly acutely aware of exactly how much nothing she had on under her robe.

  She pulled it even tighter, and he cleared his throat, then shifted his eyes to her face. She blushed, and at the same time she desperately wished she'd known he was coming. The bathrobe was hardly flattering. If anything it accentuated the twenty pounds she'd put on over the years, most of which had gone straight to her hips.

  "I'm sorry to show up unannounced," he said in that low voice that flowed like honey. "I thought you wouldn't see me if I called first."

  A hint of a smile softened his words, but the truth was, he was right; she absolutely wouldn't have.

  She conjured a smile of her own, to let him know it was okay. Especially since she knew perfectly well who his cohort in crime had been. The Driskill was far too classy a hotel to randomly give out a guest's room number.

  "Can I come in?"

  She glanced down at her robe, then over her shoulder at the mussed bed. "That would be no."

  "I promise not to ravage you," he said, and though it was clear he meant the words innocently, the way they teased her senses was anything but. Her nipples peaked and her inner thighs tingled, and she wanted to kick herself for reacting like a hormonal teenager, but a year-long dry spell would do that to a woman.

  "Not to challenge your integrity, but I don't think it's a good idea. Besides, what would your wife think?"

  The moment the words were out, she knew she'd made a mistake. His smile faded and a shadow crossed his face, filling those wonderful eyes with sorrow.

  "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"

  "She passed away. Seven years ago."

  Eva swallowed, then had to forcibly fight the urge to invite him in after all so that she could comfort him. "I saw the picture. Your ring. I just assumed..."

  He looked down at his hand. "I didn't even realize."

  She cleared her throat. His loss hung between them, almost palpable. And for one horrible, hateful moment, Eva felt a stab of jealousy for the dead woman.

  What the devil was wrong with her?

  She hadn't been around Tyree for two decades. What right did she have to insert herself into his life in any way, even in her own fantasies?

  This time, Tyree cleared his throat. "Listen, I get the hesitancy to let me into your room. But I would like to talk. The bar downstairs is quiet. Have a drink with me? It's neutral ground."

  She glanced down at her robe. "I'm not exactly dressed for it."

  "I bet there's something stunning in that duffel bag of yours."

  She laughed out loud at that. "Yeah, I crammed some fabulous designer wear into that thing." She drew in a breath. "Listen, thanks for handling it well with Elena."

  He cocked his head as he grinned, the combination so familiar that her stomach did a flip-flop. "How do you know I did?"

  "She wouldn't have given you my room number if you'd been an ass."

  "I was an ass," he said. "But then I backtracked."

  This time she bit back the laugh before an unattractive snort emerged. "Glad to hear it." She licked her lips as she gathered her words, because it was important she got it right. And, frankly, it was hard to concentrate with him so close and her so naked under the robe.

  "The thing is," she began, "I know Elena's a grown woman now, but she has this image of you. You're practically a superhero. A romantic figure who went off to battle and was killed in action. You were her daddy, and everything she heard filtered through the lens of awesomeness."

  "And for you?"

  Her smile came easily. "I felt the same. But this isn't about me. I want you to understand her. She's smart, and she goes after what she wants. But there's still a young girl inside her who believes in fairy tale endings. And you coming back from the dead is just going to cement that."

  She wiped her palms on the robe, then nodded at a couple who walked past the room and the open door, their heads turned just enough to make clear they were curious about the conversation on the threshold.

  When they were gone, she continued. "I'm rambling, but the point is that whether you wanted her or not, she's yours. You don't have to love her. You don't have to want her. But please don't hurt her."

  Something hard flickered on his face. "Do you really think I would?"

  "Twenty years ago, no. Now?" She lifted a shoulder. "The truth is I don't know you at all."

  "Then get to know me again. Come downstairs. Give me a chance to apologize for being an ass earlier. And let me convince you that I won't hurt our daughter."

  Our daughter.

  The words curled around her, tempting her. But at the same time reminding her of her priorities. Elena might be 23, but where finding her daddy was concerned, she was still a little girl. Hell, she'd always be Eva's little girl, and that came first. That had to come first.

  And, honestly, Tyree needed time, too.

  Not that she expected that a drink in the bar would lead to a wild tryst. She didn't. As attracted to him as she might still be, there were too many years under the bridge.

  More than that, though, right now she needed to behave like a grownup, not like the nineteen-year-old she used to be, floating a foot off the ground because she was so full of love.

  "Maybe tomorrow," she said.

  "Tomorrow?" He did that delicious head tilt again, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "Is that a promise?"

  But she just smiled. "Goodnight, Tyree," she said, then closed the door.

  Sometimes it really sucked to be a grownup.

  Chapter Seven

  After Eva shut him down, Tyree knew he should head back to The Fix and put in a few more hours. He wasn't officially on the schedule tonight--Reece was the manager in charge through the rest of the week--but there was always work to be done, and most nights Tyree was eager to do it.

  Not tonight though. Tonight, he felt off.

  Tonight, he just wanted to wander.

  It had been a long time since he'd done that, actually. Just strolled along Sixth Street and checked out the restaurants, the bars, the theaters. Things had changed since he'd first moved to Austin, but not so much he didn't recognize the place. Sixth Street was always humming, and it was easy to get lost in the light and the noise, the smell and the rhythm.

  Right then, he wanted to get lost. Wanted the rhythm of the street to wash away the strange disappointment that was flowing through him. He shouldn't care so much that Eva had turned him down. He shouldn't want so much to sit with her across a table and watch her sip whiskey.

  She liked it neat, he remembered. She'd only been nineteen, but she'd
drunk her whiskey neat. Her father, she'd told him, had insisted she learn how to drink real liquor. No froufrou cocktails for her. Not on her Daddy's watch.

  He wondered what she'd think of his menu at The Fix. Of the fun cocktails like the Sparkling Pineapple and the Fizzy Watermelon. Hell, maybe he'd fix her and Elena a pitcher of his special sangria. Or some Candy Corn Jell-O Shots. Then they could see if Elena was more Eva's daughter or his.

  Thoughts of Eva and Elena filled his head as he walked east on Sixth, not stopping until he'd almost reached the highway. He crossed the street, his stomach growling when he breathed in the scent of yeast as he passed the Easy Tiger Bake Shop.

  As he got closer to The Fix, he realized that he'd had a destination in mind all along. Not his own place--his competition.

  Bodacious.

  There were other bars in the area, of course. And technically all of them competed. But Bodacious was particularly vile. A corporate bar with franchises all over the country, Bodacious was the kind of place that hired managers who made it their mission to suck the marrow from local establishments. And even in a town like Austin that thrived on the concept of local, a place like Bodacious with its deep pockets could reshape the face of a neighborhood.

  He paused in front of the glass and chrome entrance with the faux car parts and the scantily clad mannequins. Inside, the real waitresses wore even less. Shorts so short they were practically bikini bottoms. And T-shirts cut off so that the red lace of the servers' matching bras was impossible to miss.

  The hostess stand was unmanned, and he took a menu, then studied it, wrinkling his nose at the unimpressive array of drinks that he knew were more water than liquor.

  And yet this was the place that was grabbing his customers.

  Honestly, he wouldn't believe it. Except that he saw a few of his former regulars over in the corner, huddled over a bucket of fries, dollar beers in front of them, and ESPN blaring from the television mounted just a few feet away.

  "We give them what they want all the time," Steven Kane said, seeming to materialize at Tyree's side. Then again, Tyree had always thought that Kane was a vampire, sucking the life out of the community. So maybe he had formed out of dust and smoke.