Having walked the length of the short lead-in alley, he came to the entrance of the courtyard and surveyed the scene before him. Where once a pool table—more often than not used as a makeshift mattress for sexual debauchery—had been front and center, now there was a fountain. An honest-to-God motherfucking fountain, with tiers and the frigging fleur-de-lis at the top. Talk about a turnaround. It was hard to reconcile that this was the same place where the Deacons had once held church. Despite the fact that it looked nothing like it had in the club’s heyday, memories Travis had spent the last ten years trying to forget, to put behind him, came at him like gunshots.

Not all of them were bad, but that didn’t necessarily make them good, either. The Deacons had embraced him and welcomed him into their elite club, but all that had meant nothing in the end. If he’d learned one lesson early in life, it was that the only person you could count on was yourself. He was a lone player now, and that’s the way he intended to stay.

“G’day, can I help you?”

At the sound of the soft, chirpy, feminine voice, Travis blinked and shook his head, trying to shake the memories and bring himself back to the now. He’d been so lost in the past he hadn’t even noticed the piano playing stop. He turned his head to focus on the figure standing beside him and almost swallowed his tongue. Heated flooded his body as he looked his fill at the sexy little specimen in front of him.

Turned out the piano player he’d written off as an asshole looked nothing like one after all. And he was a she. A very curvaceous she, with a short, mussed-up blond bob that made him want to slide his fingers up into her hair and yank her mouth to his. And Australian, if her accent was anything to go by. Although she looked curiously at him, her glossy-lipped smile was brighter and more real than any he could ever recall. It stretched across her whole face, lighting up her deep blue eyes. Travis took a moment to lower his gaze, raking it over her body—magic tits that made the palms of his hands itch without even touching them, a slim waist and hips to die for. Even though she wore a flowery skirt so long it brushed the floor, he couldn’t help but imagine her legs wrapped around him. His dick tightened and he thought about how hot it would be to expel some of his anger and frustration inside her.

She cleared her throat and repeated herself. The smile was still as wide as ever, but the friendliness in her tone had gone down a notch. “Can I help you?” she asked again, pointing to a painting on the wall he hadn’t realized he’d been staring at. One of those weird rabbit/balloon ones. “Do you like that? The artist is a local and so incredibly talented. There’s a story behind each of his canvases.”

Travis raised an eyebrow. “How much?” he asked, out of curiosity. It’d be a cold day in hell before he’d spend even a couple of bucks on a piece of garbage like that. He’d worked his ass off to get where he was today and wasn’t about to throw his hard-earned cash away on crap. The sexy piece of skirt standing in front of him was much more in line with his taste.

“The artist likes to speak with potential buyers first.” The woman bit her lower lip and his cock tightened as he imagined biting it himself. “Get an idea of your situation and your passion.”

In other words, thought Travis, trying to focus on her words rather than her body, the artist was a money-hungry prick who liked to meet his buyers to work out how he could rip them off.

“Do you want me to call him for you?” she asked, her tone enthusiastic.

“That won’t be necessary.” He took another glance around. “I could go down to the local elementary school and get something more to my style.”

Shock flashed across her sweet face and then she opened her mouth as if to say something, but bored with talking shit, he cut in. “Where’s Billie?”

She blinked and then crossed her arms over her impressive rack. “Who wants to know?”

So the little flower child had a backbone. He liked a smart mouth on a woman. He liked a good body and a pretty face, too. All these things made for a more interesting lay. What he didn’t like was all this new-age crap and this girl was the fucking embodiment of that, from her long skirt and bare feet to the T-shirt with a painted mermaid on the front and the actual flower in her hair. She was probably one of the artists. No doubt she also read tarot cards. Real fucking shame.

“Travis Sinclair.”

“And who exactly is Travis Sinclair?” She perched her hands on her hips, which inadvertently thrust her tits upward. Nice. His mouth watered.

“The new landlord of this place.”

Her eyes widened and it looked like she might be choking. “Oh.”

“And you are?”

She took only a moment to recover, then sighed and rubbed her lips together before finally replying. “I’m Billie Taylor. The tenant.”

“You’re Billie?” It was his turn for shock. And he hated to be shocked.

Was this Sophie’s idea of a fucking joke? He’d told her his intentions to stay in a room at the old clubhouse and she’d let him believe Billie was a man. No way he was staying at The Priory with Ajax calling the shots. It was bad enough that Travis couldn’t walk away from all this shit, but that wasn’t an option.

He wished he had it in him just to give Sophie his share of the inheritance, ride out of this fucking city and never come back. None of them actually needed the real estate—he and Micah had enough money now to never want for anything and Leon had lived in a fucking bayou for the last decade. By choice. He wasn’t right in the head. And neither was Ajax, which was why giving Sophie his share wasn’t an option. Looked like she and Ajax were together now, which meant he’d be essentially giving his share to Ajax.

Not in this fucking lifetime.

“Yep. That’s me.” The blonde lifted her chin high and hit him with another smile, but this one wasn’t friendly at all.

Shit. When he’d checked out of his hotel on Canal Street a few hours ago he’d assumed their tenant was some burned-out, old artist dude. Having lived here most of his life, he knew there was plenty of that to go around. The idea of moving in with a hippie hadn’t filled him with butterflies and flowers, but he didn’t want to waste any more money on a hotel and it looked like he wasn’t going to be able to cut and run as fast as he’d hoped.

Fucking Ajax wanted to keep the joint, revive the damn club, embrace the old brotherhood, and Leon was all for it. They’d spent all night after the funeral downing bourbon, reliving “fond” memories and making plans, and had gotten progressively more obsessed. Only he and Micah could see that the best thing for all of them would be to sell off the buildings Priest had left them and get the fuck back out of town. Tallahassee might seem boring in comparison to New Orleans, but it was safe. This place still set him on edge; it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Travis knew the longer he stayed, the more likely he was to lose his shit with someone and end up in jail. Again.

Realizing she was still staring at him, he straightened and then gestured beyond them to the door that led inside. Despite her coolness, her paltry attempts at hostility did nothing to calm the fire rising within him. “Then you can show me to my room,” he told her, indecent suggestion dripping from his tone.

“Excuse me?”

Her outraged expression only wound the coil of heat inside him tighter. He turned and headed over to where he’d dumped his bag on the floor. Billie wasn’t wearing any shoes so he didn’t hear her stalking after him, but he felt her. She was following him and if he played his cards right, he could turn what had been a shitty day into one that would blow both their minds. Leaning over, he hitched his pack over his shoulder and then turned, expecting to come face to face with her alluring anger, but almost tripping over a little gray dog instead.