I reached for the bottle of Patrón in front of me and poured a shot as the dull roar of the bar kicked up another notch.

It took me all of three days to find someplace I could sit and be pissed off without anyone looking twice at me. In my battered Mets cap, plain white T-shirt, and ripped jeans, no one gave a single shit who I was at Mo’s. It was basically a shack favored by bikers heading up into the mountains. It was on the opposite fork of the road that headed to the family estate, a place I couldn’t wait to escape the second I crossed the threshold. The estate was nothing but a reminder of family responsibility dictating the course of the rest of my life.

I was my own man, but with my grandfather calling the shots now, I was frustrated as hell.

Mo’s was the perfect hideaway, and tonight I wanted to drink in peace while I tried to settle into the idea of accepting my fate. That would take a hell of a lot more tequila.

I was thinking about tossing back the liquor in front of me when the door opened and a gust of wind dragged everyone’s attention toward the door, including mine.

Ho. Ly. Fuck.

Hair as black as the night. Lips as red as sin. A body built for a man’s hands.

Jesus. Fuck.

I wasn’t drunk, but the whole world seemed to slow down as her hair blew around her shoulders as she strode inside. It was like a goddamned photo-shoot pose—but she was completely oblivious to the accidental effect.

The dull roar of the bar quieted as every man inside seemed to drop his jaw at her arrival. It was like we were all waiting in anticipation for her to lift her head. She shoved something in her purse and looked up.

Are you fucking serious?

Her vivid blue eyes kicked me in the gut, followed by a sucker punch from the way she pursed her lips as she surveyed the bar like it was her kingdom. She personified the saying walk in like you own the place. With her shoulders back, tits out, and chin pointed up, she walked toward the bar with her disinterested stare firmly in place as she ignored every single man in the room.

A woman on a mission. Fuck, that’s hot.

Confidence rolled off her as she took the seat two stools down from me and slapped a twenty on the bar. “Tequila. Straight up. ASAP.”

I was right about the woman-on-a-mission part. Some poor fuck must have pissed her off, and the fire barely banked beneath all that smooth skin was the most tempting thing I’d experienced in ages. The punch of lust that hit me made my dick shift in my jeans, and I sat forward. I’d never been the kind of man who would let an opportunity like her pass me by.

I slid the bottle of Patrón down the bar toward her. “Here you go.”