Sucking in a breath, I wrestled them back down. I thought time would help make things easier, but so far it hadn’t.

My old life was gone. My challenging, corporate job was gone. My cute apartment was gone. My parents were…

The shot of pain almost made me double over.

I lifted my chin, fighting back the tears. That life was over. Now, I was a bartender. I rubbed the throb growing in the side of my head.

Just pour the drinks, Mila.

I threw the cloth back in the sink, scootching out of the way as one of the male bartenders, Eli, brushed past me. Time to get my focus back on work.

One of the servers, Jules, arrived at the bar. “Mila, need a Jack and Coke, one flaming Hurricane, and one blazing Vieux Carre.”

“On it.” I grabbed some glasses and set to work. I turned to the wall of alcohol and tuned out everything else. Flaming drinks were a specialty at Ember, and the customers loved them—especially the tourists.

I quickly made the drinks, lit them up, and slid them across the bar. Jules smiled and loaded her tray.

A large group of customers entered, all laughing and looking to party. Soon, it was too busy for me to think. My hands didn’t stop. Glasses, ice, booze, slice of lemon, lighter to ignite the flames.

I spent the next hour slinging drinks. Some shifts I worked out on the floor—and let me tell you, carrying a tray loaded with drinks is nerve-wracking. I liked it much better behind the bar.

Suddenly, I felt a ripple go through the crowd, and my belly tightened. Without looking up, I knew what caused it.

Or rather, who.

Finally, I couldn’t stop myself from raising my head.

And there he was, sauntering through the crowd like he owned the place. Which he did.

Dante Fury. Owner of Ember.

My hand curled around a bottle of Jack Daniels.

He wore tailored, black pants, and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt showed off the corded muscles of his forearms and his olive-brown skin, and the fabric strained against his biceps. He had black ink on one arm. He moved in a powerful, supple way, his stride sure and measured. It made me think of a warrior…no, a king in his domain. His hair was black, thick, and tousled. Like he often ran a hand through it. A dark, sexy beard covered a strong jaw.

He cut through the crowd like some sort of midnight predator. My throat got tight every time I saw him. He had an aura about him that made it impossible to look away.

He had this lock of dark hair that always fell over his forehead, and my hand desperately wanted to push it away.

Dammit.

I made myself look away, and set the bottle back on the shelf.