It was, Tyree thought, an entirely different vibe to be in the back bar waiting for his cue to strut than it was to be standing near the stage waiting for the contestants to start strutting.

All things being equal, he’d rather be in the audience. And for a moment, he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. After all, the owner of the bar holding the contest didn’t actually need to be in the contest. Surely that was some sort of horrible conflict of interest. Clearly, he’d been suffering from a particularly virulent form of insanity when he’d agreed.

Which, he supposed, was somewhat true. Because Eva did make him crazy, in the best possible way. And she was the one who’d roped him into this.

He fully intended to make her pay. In, of course, the best possible way. And detailed, sensual visions of the actual payment he planned to demand flitted through his mind in such vivid detail that he actually missed his cue to go on stage.

“Go!” Mina gave him a shove, and he stumbled forward as the emcee, Beverly, called to the crowd for a shout-out.

“Yes, folks, we finally did it! We finally convinced our very own Tyree Johnson to enter the contest. As you probably know, Tyree is your gracious host here at The Fix, and from what I understand, it took more than a little cajoling to get him on stage. But now it’s time for the real test,” she said, as a classic stripper tune started coming out of the speakers. “Come on, my friend, let’s see those pecs.”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, run, or find Eva and drag her up on the stage beside him. But he did find her in the crowd with Elena at her side, both of them looking ridiculously amused. Oh, yeah. There would most definitely be payment tonight.

The crowd started to urge him on, and what the hell, right? He could hardly ask dozens of men—including some of his own employees—to do what he didn’t have the balls to do. Besides, he worked out. He might be forty-six, but he wasn’t shabby.

With one quick motion, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, then tossed the T-shirt into the crowd, to a chorus of whoops and claps.

He struck a Mr. Universe-style pose, did a turn to show off his back, and then slid out of the spotlight to stand among the other tributes to the fires of insanity. Finally, he caught Eva’s eye in the crowd, then chuckled when she fanned her face, as if to suggest that he was just too hot. Beside her, Elena had her hand over her mouth, obviously holding in laughter.

He bit back his own grin, feeling a bit like a fool, but having a lot more fun than he’d anticipated.

There was only one contestant after him, so he didn’t have long to wait until all the men on the stage were released to mingle in the crowd. He searched for Eva, but realized that she’d disappeared in the crush. That was also the moment he realized that his spur of the moment decision to toss his shirt into the crowd had been a boneheaded move. Apparently, he was going to have to mingle half-naked with his customers.

Great.

“Hey there, stud.” Eva’s sultry voice teased him from behind. “I’ve got something for you.”

He turned to find her holding out a black The Fix on Sixth T-shirt for him.

“Have I told you how very incredibly wonderful you are?”

“Feel free to fill me in. Although this is more selfishness than awesomeness. It’s in my interest to cover you up, after all. It’s one thing on stage. Entirely another to be walking around in the wild where other women can ogle you.”

“Ogle? Hmm. Sounds kinky.” He stepped closer and put his arms around her waist. “Maybe later we can do some ogling.”

“Okay, you two,” Elena said as she approached. “Break it up.”

“Nothing doing,” Tyree said. And then, because he was still on his celebrity high, he pulled Eva to him and kissed her long and hard, not releasing her until he heard he sounds of cheers and applause from all around them.

When he did let her go, she laughed, a little breathless. “If that’s your definition of ogling, I’m all for a little more. But what—”

Her question was cut off by Beverly’s return to the stage. “After this, I’m taking you to the Driskill,” he whispered, causing Eva to turn in his arms.

“You better not mean just for a drink,” she said.

“Third floor. A lovely room. I’m assured by the front desk that it even has a bed.”

“In other words, all the amenities we need.”

“In other words,” he added, “no kids in second bedrooms.”

Beside them, one of the kids in question was jumping up and down, and it took Tyree a second to wrap is mind around what she was saying.

“You won! You won! Dad! Hello? Daddy! You won!”

And in that moment, he realized two things. First, that his chest was going to be plastered on the pages of his own damn calendar.

And second, that for the first time, his daughter had called him Dad.

---

He hadn’t been lying when he told her it was a lovely room. It was stunning. Well-appointed. Comfortable. Altogether fabulous.

And Tyree couldn’t care less.

All he wanted—all he needed—was Eva. She’d become the center of his world, the focal point of his days and his nights.

She was the mother of his daughter. His friend. His lover.

And, dammit, it was the last part that he intended to explore tonight. Had to. Because he’d been craving her all damn day. The simple, attractive T-shirt. The thin, summer skirt. The casual sandals. She looked like a picnic, and he wanted to devour her.

“Bed,” he said, the moment they entered the room.

She lifted her brows. “Bossy.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, then scooped her up and tossed her where he wanted her, making her squeal with laughter—a laughter he quickly turned into a sensual groan when he lifted her skirt and tugged down her panties, then dipped his head for a deliciously intimate taste.

“Oh, God,” she cried, her hands clutching his head, her hips bucking against his mouth. He’d planned on a soft, romantic night. Instead, this was hard and hot and wild—and he couldn’t deny that he liked it. The taste of her, the need. The hot, shameless way she demanded his fingers and tongue.

And, dear Lord, his cock liked it, too. He was hard. Painfully so. And he wanted so badly to sink inside of her.

He knew better, though. He didn’t want a repeat of the other night. All he wanted tonight was pleasure. All he wanted was to see her wild for him, to hear her cry his name. To make her shatter in his arms.

He teased her clit and her pussy mercilessly, and he could feel the tension building inside her, making her climb higher and higher. And it was him taking her there. The power of that humbled him, knowing that he was bringing her such pleasure. Knowing that they could share such incredibly intimacy.

And there it was.

He wanted that. The sharing. He wanted to feel her tighten around his cock. He wanted her to milk him, to go over the edge with him.

He wanted that—he did, dammit.

And before he could talk himself out of trying, he stripped off his jeans, then slid on top of her. His mouth found hers as he straddled her, pushing her knees up to open her even more too him.

“Tyree, are you sure?”

But he didn’t answer her with words. He just slid his fingers inside her, making sure she was wet enough for him, ready enough. And then he slowly thrust his cock into her. Just a little, just a test. But it was good—oh, Christ, it was good—then a little more and a little more until finally he was pistoning against her, their bodies slapping together, and she was crying out, telling him how good it felt, how deep he was, how she never wanted him to stop.

And he was close, so damn close. So was she, her muscles clenching around him, taking him further and further until finally his entire body shattered, the force of his orgasm ripping him apart as intense waves of joy shook him. Joy. Pleasure. Passion.

Eva.

It was all Eva. Every thought. Every feeling. Every wild sensation.

She filled him. Illuminated him. Made him whole.

He wanted her. Needed her.

For one short moment, he reveled in that simple truth. Then everything imploded, and reality hauled back and kicked him hard in the balls.

A shudder cut through him, and he pulled out of her as a tidal wave of heavy, potent guilt crashed over him, sweeping him away. Sweeping everything away. Until he was lost. So damn lost.

“Tyree?” She sat up, confusion flooding her voice. “Are you okay?”

Christ, he probably looked like he’d had a stroke. He held up a hand to stave off her touch. “Fine,” he said. “I’m—”

Lost? Guilty? Confused? Pitiful?

He didn’t know. Dear Lord, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he slid off the bed. It was all he could say.

It was the best he could do.

And though she begged him to stop, to stay, to explain, he just moved faster, hurrying into his clothes and then out the door into the Driskill’s abandoned hallway and the illusion that he’d gotten his shit under control.