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Ashley Weisman stands across from me in her pencil skirt and oxford dress shirt with two too-many buttons undone to be here for professional reasons.

“You’ve been avoiding my phone calls,” she says evenly.

“Been busy.” Huffing out a breath, I place my hand gently on her elbow and attempt to steer her toward the exit.

Stilettos planted firmly on the liquor-sticky floor, she purses her full mouth at me and glares into my eyes. “You can’t ignore me forever. I’m your attorney. Besides, what’s the rush, Gavin? Not even going to offer me a drink? What kind of bartender are you?”

“One who doesn’t have time for this right now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I can’t explain it, but deep in my soul—if I have one that is—I know exactly who’s playing the piano behind me. I don’t know why she’s here, I don’t know if she knows I work here, and I sure as hell don’t know if she’ll want to see me. What I do know is that she and Ashley cannot cross paths right now. Not yet. Not before I’ve told her everything.

“I think I’ll take the drink now, thank you very much.” Twisting out of my reach, she hops up onto a barstool and steadily ignores the scowl on my face.

The music continues swirling around us and all I know is right now, I need to know who is playing that damn piano.

Clenching my fists, I walk around behind the bar and wait for her to tell me what she wants.

“I’ll have a screaming orgasm, please.” Her eyes gleam and I meet her interested gaze with a dispassionate one. “Multiples, actually.”

I barely suppress a loud sigh and grab the Bailey’s and a top shelf bottle of vodka. Once her drink is mixed I set it down in front of her.

“On the house. Feel free to take it and go.”

A frown mars her attractive face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in such a hurry to get rid of me. You have a hot date later?”

I can’t help it, I glance over toward the piano. The music speeds up and so does my heart rate. The notes call to me like a siren song and I know I won’t be able to keep myself from barreling over there for much longer.

“The piano player? I saw her when I came in. She’s pretty.”

“You done?” I nod to a newbie barback named Jake to come get her empty glass and he does.

“Oh, I see,” she says evenly, watching me carefully. “It’s her, isn’t it? The one you’re so eager to get your shit together for, huh?”

“I need to get my shit together regardless, Ashley. You know that. How about helping me do that instead of causing more trouble?”

Her lower lips thrusts out in a pout that irritates me. “But trouble is so much more fun.”

Closing my eyes, I inhale through my nose and exhale out my mouth like the meetings have taught me. “Then go find some.”

Cal walks by and I call out that I’m taking my break. Without waiting for his response or approval, I move out from behind the bar and make my way through the sea of bodies separating me from the girl behind the piano. Once I’ve navigated the treacherous waters, I see her. It’s smoky in here tonight and several women I’m not familiar with are surrounding her but I see her sitting there playing her heart out and all I can do is watch. She doesn’t make music, or create it. She is music. It flows through her as she plays and it’s an incredible sight to behold.

There she is. My beautiful bluebird.

My stomach tenses and my throat constricts.

She shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t be here.

Seeing me here will hurt her and there is nothing I wouldn’t give to prevent that.

Before I can even begin to formulate the words in my mind that I should say to make this okay, to make it somehow hurt her less, the music stops and she turns as if she can feel me standing there. Applause breaks out around us but it fades into background noise.

There isn’t a name for the emotion that crosses her face, darkening her eyes and causing the fire in them to flare at me. It’s part shock, part betrayal, and complete pain.

My jaw clenches and I force my eyes to remain on hers even though they’d prefer to close and block out the sight of her wounds deepening.

“Taking requests?” Ashley’s voice calls out from beside me as a hand snakes around my forearm.

Dixie Leigh Lark arches an eyebrow at her and then shoots me a scowl of pure disgust before answering with a short, “Not at the moment.”

“Too bad,” Ashley says, tracing my serpent tattoo with a sharp fingernail.

Jerking my arm out of her grasp, I step closer to Dixie just as she shoves the piano bench backward, scarping it across the hardwood floor. Before I can blink, we’re face to face and if looks could kill, someone would be performing CPR on me in a matter of seconds.

“Dixie, I—”

“Go to hell, Gavin,” is all that escapes her beautiful mouth. Her rage hits me with the force of a plate glass window shattering over me.

I turn to watch her storm out, feeling the heat of several angry glares from other women around me.

Ashley smirks from behind her glass as she polishes off another drink I didn’t realize she was holding. “Well that escalated quickly.”

I am so fucked.

About the Author

CAISEY QUINN lives in Birmingham, Alabama. She is the bestselling author of the Kylie Ryans series as well as several new adult and contemporary romance novels featuring Southern girls finding love in unexpected places. You can find her online at www.caiseyquinnwrites.com.

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Credits

Cover photograph © by Yuri Arcurs/Tetra Images/Corbis.

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

LOVING DALLAS. Copyright © 2015 by Caisey Quinn. Excerpt from Missing Dixie copyright © 2015 by Caisey Quinn. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.

HarperCollins books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. For information please e-mail the Special Markets Department at SPsales@harpercollins.com.

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-236683-2

EPub Edition JUNE 2015 ISBN: 9780062366849

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