“That night... Why did you leave?”

Her child’s father is back...and wants answers.

Nearly dying in the aftermath of a storm is shock enough for Vivi Donner. Waking to find her sexy one-night stand—and the father of her secret child—standing by her hospital bed? Heart-stopping. Now Camden McNeal is determined to know his daughter and the woman he never forgot. Will their explosive passion last more than one night this time?

JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa and, well, anywhere. She’s a wife, a mum to two teenagers and slave to two cats. After a career in local economic development, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.

Also by Joss Wood

His Ex’s Well-Kept Secret

One Night to Forever

The CEO’s Nanny Affair

Little Secrets: Unexpectedly Pregnant

Friendship on Fire

Hot Christmas Kisses

The Rival’s Heir

Lone Star Reunion

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

That Night in Texas

Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09229-6

THAT NIGHT IN TEXAS

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Rebecca Crowley—amazing writer and Jozi survivor—

thanks for sharing Houston with me.

And for introducing me to Mexican beer,

Colombian food and pumping your own gas.

It’ll be a trip I’ll always remember.

Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

About the Publisher

One

Vivi Donner gripped her steering wheel and leaned forward, hoping that the extra couple of inches would help her see better through the gray, dense fog. It was another awful day after a string of terrible days, and like the rest of the residents of Houston, Texas, she felt both battered and shattered. After the storm that had led to devastating flooding, a blast of sunshine would help. But a clear day would also force Houston to face the destruction that had been caused and to take stock of the extensive damage to homes and buildings. Vivi jerked her eyes off to the side and the fog cleared just enough for her to see the piles of debris, broken branches and ruined furniture on the sidewalks.

Thank God her house, and that of Clem’s sitter, Charlie, was undamaged. The same couldn’t be said for The Rollin’ Smoke, the famed barbecue restaurant where she worked as head chef.

According to Joe, the owner and her mentor, her beautiful, newly updated kitchen was ruined. The renovations to the restaurant had been finished just six weeks ago, and the new floor, booths, tables and chairs were all wrecked, as well. Garbage and debris still covered the floor, and all hands, including hers, were needed on deck.

As the head chef who answered only to Joe, she could wait until her staff did the heavy lifting and cleaning before she returned, but she wasn’t a prima donna. How could she be? She’d worked her way up the ladder at the restaurant—albeit in record time—from dishwasher to head chef, but she still knew how to get her hands dirty.

Joe’s name might be on the deeds to the eatery but The Rollin’ Smoke was hers, dammit, and Vivi wanted to be there to pick it up and dry it off.

Seeing that the road ahead was closed, Vivi turned down a side road. The fog was thicker here, and her visibility was rapidly decreasing. If it got much worse, she’d have to stop and wait it out, but that could take hours. Where was that damn sun? She lifted one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed her hand on her soft denims, trying to wipe away the perspiration. God, this was scary.

The ringing of her phone had her butt lifting two inches off her seat. Fumbling, she hit the screen to answer the call. “God, Joe, you scared me!”

“Are you in the car? Please tell me you’re not driving!” Joe’s voice rose in panic.

“Actually, I’m crawling along.” That way, nothing bad could happen.

“Turn around, go back home.”

Vivi fought the urge to do exactly that. She wanted to pick up Clem and take her back to their house, climb into bed and pull the covers over their heads and hide out from the world. But she’d done that for the first quarter century of her life and she refused to live like that again. Life was for living, dammit, and part of that living was accepting the good with the bad.

Having Clem and being her mom was not just good but stupendously awesome. On the flip side, a devastating storm and the resulting flood was bad—terrible—but it had happened, and she had to deal with it.

“I have a job to do and a restaurant to clean up so that our lives can return to normal as soon as possible. A little destruction won’t stop the ravenous appetites of Houston meat eaters,” Vivi told Joe, ignoring the sense that she was standing on a precipice. She had a feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.

Vivi shivered as a cold chill ran up and down her spine. Her mom would’ve said that a devil was dancing on her spine, but Vivi shook that thought away. Her mom’s superstitions and beliefs, a curious mix of religion and craziness, no longer had a place in her life.

She was just freaked out by the fog, the lack of streetlights, the whistling wind and the piles of debris she occasionally caught a glimpse of in her weak headlights. They all contributed to the spooky atmosphere.

“Just be careful, please,” Joe begged her before disconnecting the call.

Another shiver raised the hair on her arms and Vivi swore. Dropping her eyes, she looked down and located the temperature controls. She punched the button to warm the interior of the car. It was hot and humid outside, but her body had other ideas.

Grateful for the blast of warm air, Vivi checked her rearview mirror and saw a cop car on her tail, blue lights flashing. Vivi scanned the road ahead of her, cursing when she realized there was nowhere to pull over. He was close to her tail and she saw, in her rearview mirror, big hands fly up in obvious frustration. He needed to be somewhere else and she was in his way. Her only option was to speed up and hope a spot would soon appear where she could pull over.

Vivi flexed her fingers and took a deep breath. And as soon as she accelerated she saw the spooky outline of a tree in her path. She slammed the brakes, felt her car slide, then fishtail. She spun her wheel and tapped her accelerator to pull her out of the slide.

Her engine roared and her lungs constricted as the car scrambled for purchase on the slick surface. She heard the ping of gravel hitting her paint. Gravel was better than slick asphalt, she decided. She’d be out of this mess in a minute. Then she’d stop, restart her heart and go home and cuddle Clem.

She might even pull those blankets up around her head, just for a little while.

But those thoughts were short-lived when she felt the car bounce over some uneven ground right before she felt the nose of the car dipping. Her vehicle slid down an embankment, its underside scraping over rocks and debris, and she looked out her window onto a gully containing swiftly running, black water. Her veins iced up and panic closed her throat. She was heading for that cold, foul water. God, there had to be something she could do to save herself, but her brain refused to engage.

Clem’s beautiful face, those bright blue eyes and impish smile, swam across her vision as water covered her feet and soaked her jeans. As it crawled up her thighs, she felt Clem’s arms around her neck, her gentle breath on her face.

Open the damn window, woman.

The voice in her head was from the past, but his tone was hard and demanding. Vivi slapped her hand on the button and the window slid down. A hard wave of water rocked her sideways, but she felt a strong hand on her shoulder and a comforting presence.

You can do this. Just keep calm.

Why was she hearing Camden McNeal’s voice in her head? She looked to the passenger seat, almost expecting to see the sexy ex–oil rigger there, tall and broad and so damn sexy. Clem’s eyes in a masculine, tough face.

Take a deep breath...and another...

The water hit her chin and drops of dirt smacked her lips. Vivi took in another deep breath as water covered her head.

Hold on to the wheel and release your seat belt...

She pushed the lever and felt the seat belt drift away. Without it anchoring her to her seat, she felt buffeted by the water. Panic clawed at her stomach, twisting her brain. A twig scraped over her eyebrow and Vivi closed her eyes. What was the point of keeping them open? She couldn’t see a damn thing as it was.

Survival instinct kicked in and she banged the frame of the open window, fighting the urge to haul in a breath.

She had to live. She had a little girl to raise. Grabbing the frame, she fought the water, scrabbling as she placed her feet against the console and tried to push herself through the open window. But she felt like she was trying to push through a concrete wall.

Wait five seconds and try again...

I don’t have five damn seconds, Vivi mentally screamed.

Sure you do.

Vivi cursed him, her hands gripping the door frame. Five thousand one, five thousand two—God, she needed air—five thousand—

She couldn’t wait any longer. Completely convinced that she was about to die, Vivi pushed against the console, pulled against the window frame and shot out of the car. It was dark and cold and scary, but there was light above her. She’d head for that. Light was good, light was safety...

Light meant Clem.

She was so close—her fingers were an inch from the surface—but her lungs were about to burst. Another kick, another pull...

Vivi’s head broke the surface and she pulled in one life-affirming breath before darkness hauled her away.

* * *

Camden McNeal placed his palm on the window of his home office and looked out at the disappearing fog. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders and his back. He’d swallowed some painkillers a half hour ago, but the vise squeezing his brain had yet to release its claws. He felt like he was about to jump out of his skin.

Lifting his coffee mug to his lips, he took a large sip, enjoying the smooth taste of the expensive imported roast. He waited for the warmth to hit his stomach, but when it did, it burned rather than comforted. What the hell was wrong with him?

Yeah, the past few days hadn’t been fun. Houston had been slapped senseless by a devastating storm and there were many people out there who were in dire straits, although he wasn’t one of them. Not this time.

Count your blessings, McNeal...

Punching a number on his phone, he waited impatiently for Ryder to answer his call. “Cam, everything okay with you?”

His old boss and mentor had a way of making Cam feel steadier. Ryder was rock solid, as a colleague and a friend, and it never hurt to have someone like him standing in your corner. “My office is still under water and mud. All my computers are fried.”

“Nasty. Hope you backed up,” Ryder said.

All the time. “Yep, to a cloud server, so no information has been lost. But two of my guys have lost their houses and possessions.” He already had plans in place to get them back on their feet.

“I’ve closed the office and told my people to care for their homes and families,” Cam added.

“Yeah, I think that’s standard procedure at the moment. Money and business can wait. There’s more important work to do,” Ryder agreed. “I spent yesterday working at a shelter. Did you go out last night?”

“Yeah, I was in one of the worst affected areas of the city—and one of the poorest. It was a community search effort to find some missing children. Two of them were found, but the third, a teenage boy, is still missing,” Cam told Ryder.

Was that why he was so tense, so worried? He knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to be scared. Sure, he’d never been swept away in a flood, but he did have an idea how it felt to be poor, to live within a world that didn’t seem to give a damn about people at the bottom of the pile.

He understood what it felt like to have poverty as your constant companion and hope an emotion you no longer believed in.

Cam’s thoughts were pulled up short when Ryder spoke.

“Did you hear that a body was found at the construction site?”

Cam pushed his shoulders back, intrigued by Ryder’s statement. “Are you talking about the TCC construction site? Sterling Perry’s land?”

“Yes.”

The establishment of a Houston branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club and control of it was Ryder and Sterling Perry’s latest battle in a decades-old war. Both Stirling and Ryder believed that they were best suited to be the inaugural president of the new club, both wanted to be the first to create the vision of the first TCC in Houston. Neither suffered from a lack of self-confidence.

Cam knew that he’d be one of the first to be invited to join the exclusive club and the opportunity to do business with the other members, both in Houston and in Royal would be worth putting up with the politics and drama. And there seemed to be a lot of drama.

“What caused the accident?” Cam asked.

“A couple of bullets to the chest and a crushed skull.”

So, not an accident then.

After discussing the murder and more TCC business, Cam disconnected the call. Walking away from the window and the view of his foggy gardens, he slumped into his butter-soft leather office chair. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, the photograph of the missing kid flashing on the big screen behind his eyes. Dark hair, dark eyes, a sullen smile. Yeah, he recognized the look of despair in Rick Gaines’s eyes, the belief that life was constantly looking for a way to slap him sideways.

It was possible that within a year or two, without help or intervention, Rick would be breaking into cars, dealing, or perhaps even be in a gang. He’d be another lost boy, flirting with jail or addiction. Cam recognized him instantly. After all, wasn’t that exactly who he’d been?

Lost, lonely, confused. And Cam couldn’t help wondering if Rick was even missing. Nobody had seen him fall into the water; he was simply unaccounted for. There was always the possibility that he’d used the flood as an opportunity to run away from his crappy life. Cam understood. When you were struggling to survive, you used the breaks you received...

Your childhood is behind you. That isn’t your life anymore. You are now, and have been for a while, the master of your own destiny.

Cam swallowed the rest of his coffee, annoyed with himself. He didn’t have time to wallow around in the cesspool of his past. He still had a massive company to run. Pulling his keyboard toward him, Cam opened his email program and grimaced at the flood of messages. Yep, as he’d expected, the financial world hadn’t stopped turning. A couple of clients of his venture capital firm expressed their sympathy about the situation in Houston, but most didn’t bother. It didn’t affect them, so why waste the energy?

Cam was midway through typing a response to a Singaporean client when his ringing phone broke his concentration. He glanced at the display, didn’t recognize the number and considered ignoring the call. Then he remembered that he’d asked the search coordinator to inform him if they located Rick. This could be an update, so he needed to take the call. He hit the speaker button with an impatient finger. “McNeal.”

“Camden McNeal?”

“That’s me.”

“Excellent. You have been listed as the emergency contact number of a Vivianne Donner. I regret to inform you that Ms. Donner was admitted into the ER this morning after a car accident. When can we expect you?”

Cam pushed a hand through his hair, confused. “I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“I have your cell number, sir. You are Camden McNeal, owner of McNeal, Inc., and you live in River Oaks?”

“Yeah, that’s correct—”

“You might not know her, but she sure knows you. So, my question remains, how soon can we expect you?”

* * *

Cam paced into the lobby of the hospital, his long stride eating up the distance between the doors and the nurses station. He dodged a nurse pushing a pregnant woman in a wheelchair and noticed that the dad-to-be was on the verge of panic. Rather him than me, Cam thought. He was the product of two of the most dysfunctional people in the world and what he knew about parenting would fit on a pinhead.

His father had taught him how to steal, to hustle, to slip and slide through life, but mostly his parents had taught him that he could only ever rely on, and take care of, himself. He didn’t think he had it in him to put someone else’s needs and wants above his own. It wasn’t something he’d been shown how to do.

And the one time he’d tried, the only time he’d laid his heart at someone’s feet, ring in his hand, Emma had stomped all over it with her three-inch stilettos, her expression a mixture of genuine disbelief and pity.

Darling, you’re great in bed, but you’re not exactly someone to take into a ballroom. Or into a boardroom, or home to Daddy. You’re someone to screw, to keep in the shadows. Marry you? You’re ambitious, Cam, I’ll give you that, but I’m out of your league.

It had been ten years ago, but, despite her recently making it clear that she’d made a mistake by walking out on him, her little speech was imprinted on his brain, possibly because it closely resembled his father’s words of non-encouragement. “You’re a McNeal, you’ll never amount to much. None of us ever have and you won’t be the first.”

His bank statement and long lists of assets refuted that statement. But Cam was a realist: he might be good at business, but he’d make a lousy father and husband. Hell, judging by how fast that nameless girl in Tarrin left his bed three years ago, he wasn’t even that great at one-night stands. Sex, he was good at that, but not so much at the touchy feely stuff woman liked.

Cam slapped his hands on the counter and met the weary eyes of the nurse behind it. “I got a call about a woman who put my name down as an emergency contact. I’m Camden McNeal.”

“Patient name?”

Cam tried to recall his earlier conversation. “Dunbar? Dun...something?”

“Donner? Vivianne Donner?”

Cam shrugged. The name didn’t mean any more to him now than it had earlier. The nurse tapped her keyboard and nodded. “Room 302. She has severe concussion and she needs a ride home, and someone to take care of her when she gets there. Down the hall, turn right and she’ll be on your left.”

Cam looked at the long hallway and sighed. Well, it looked like he was about to meet Ms. Donner and maybe he’d find out why he was listed as her emergency contact. Come to think of it, who was listed as his emergency contact? Had he ever listed anyone? Not that he could recall.

Reaching the closed door to room 302, Cam knocked gently. And when he received no reply, he eased open the door. He glanced toward the bed and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

His first impressions were of a long, slim body topped by a cloud of curls the color of lightly toasted caramel. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten, as it had been a busy, physically draining twenty-four hours. He needed to talk to the woman, get her to take his name off her papers and get some food. Maybe then his headache would finally start to dissipate.

Cam flipped on the overhead light and it took a minute, maybe more, to realize that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, that his imagination wasn’t running riot. He rested his hands on the bed next to her thigh and ordered his racing heart to slow down, his lungs to pull in air. He closed his eyes, re-centered himself and then forced them open again.

Yep, she was still there.

Cam stared down at that stunning face, his heart pounding against his chest in a fight-or-flight reaction. It had been three years, give or take, since he’d seen her last, and damn, she looked, well, amazing. Sure, she had three stitches holding a cut together on a finely arched eyebrow, a bruise on her cheek and a scrape across her jaw, and a deep cut on her bottom lip, but her injuries didn’t take away from her drop-him-to-his-knees beauty. She’d lost weight and looked like a puff of wind would blow her away.

Turning, Cam saw the chair next to the bed. He hooked his foot around its legs and dragged it toward him. He dropped down into it and placed his forearms on his thighs, resisting the urge to shake her awake. What the hell game was she playing? She had to be playing one, because, let’s be honest, everyone did.

He wasn’t sure if she’d played him then, but he was certain she was playing him now. Cam stared at her as memories of that dive bar rolled over him. It had been a crap hole, little more than a shack serving watered-down drinks to the ranch hands and the refinery crews working in the area.

He’d been aware of her—Vivianne, he now had a name to go with the stunning face—the moment she stepped into the dive bar, as had every other man in the place. She’d looked so damn young and so very vulnerable with the shot glass in her hand, her eyes on the fiery liquid. He expected her to push it away, to turn tail and run, but she’d squared her shoulders and tossed the liquor back, blinking furiously as she swallowed. She’d banged her glass down, ordered another and slowly, oh so slowly, turned those brown-black eyes in his direction.

“One down, two more experiments to go.”

He’d lifted his beer bottle in her direction, noting her long legs in tight, faded denim and the way her white T-shirt hugged the curves of her breasts and skimmed a board-flat stomach.

She was older than he initially thought, somewhere in her midtwenties, yet while they might be close in age, he’d figured he’d lived a thousand more lifetimes—all of them harder and rougher than hers.

He should’ve ignored her, finished his beer and left, but he’d turned to face her and cocked his head. “You a scientist, sweetheart?”

She’d ignored him at first, taken the second shot and tossed it down her throat. He’d never managed to forget her answer. She’d wrinkled her nose as she decided how to answer. “Nope. Tonight I’m going to see what being normal feels like.”

“There are better bars in better places,” Cam had told her, hoping that she’d walk out and leave him to his beer and his loneliness. He knew how to handle his liquor and his solitude, but she had him wanting to drink less and talk more.

She’d plopped that spectacular butt down on the seat next to him, her knee brushing against the outside of his thigh. He’d felt a bolt of desire skitter up his thigh and lodge in his balls. He’d swelled and groaned. He wasn’t a kid, so why was he getting turned on by a light touch and a woman who looked like the girl next door and smelled like wildflowers?

“But I can’t get to those places and you look like fun.”

Cam had almost smiled at that. Him fun? She couldn’t be more wrong. He’d thought about leaving her there in the bar, about going back to his motel room with a six-pack, but he couldn’t leave her there alone. So he’d bought her a beer and then they’d moved on to a diner for burgers and ended the evening with fantastic sex in a motel room. No names, no expectations and, yeah, he’d had fun.

He’d liked her.

And now, after three years, she was back in his life, lying in a hospital room, dressed in a hospital gown, banged up and bruised. With his name as her emergency contact number. And like back then, his mouth was dry, his heart was thumping and his pants were tight against his crotch. Peachy.

What the hell was going on here?

Cam felt her leg jerk and his eyes shot to her face. Her eyelids flickered, and he waited for that burst of brown, braced himself for the sexual punch that was sure to follow. She groaned, half lifted her hand and then dropped it to the bed, as if the action required more energy than she was capable of. Those long eyelashes lifted and he watched as she took a moment to focus. Her mouth tilted at the corners and her expression softened.

“Camden?”

So she knew him, recognized him. Cam frowned when her eyes drifted closed again. Oh, no, he wasn’t going to sit next to her bed like a lovelorn admirer waiting for her to wake up. He was exhausted and hungry, dammit. Cam tapped her hand with his finger and slowly her eyelids lifted.

The tip of a pink tongue darted across her top lip and Cam ignored the bolt of lust as he remembered that tongue on his abs, going lower. She’d been inexperienced in that department but very enthusiastic...

Down, boy.

He rubbed his hand over his face, and when he dropped his hand again, the confusion in her eyes was replaced by panic. “Where am I? Where’s Clem? Is she okay?”

She started to push herself up, groaning as she sat up. She pushed the covers away and swung those sexy, bare legs to the side. Cam immediately realized that she was trying to climb out of bed. He shot up and placed a hand on her shoulder, pinning her to the pillow. She slapped his hand away and went for the IV, trying to pull the needle from her arm.

“I’ve got to get to Clem. Let me go, dammit!” Her breath hitched and panic made her words run together. “What’s the time? How late is it? Where’s my phone?”

Cam looked at his watch. “It’s shortly past eleven.”

“It’s still Friday morning?”

At his nod, her shoulders dropped three inches and the cords in her neck loosened. She slumped back against her pillow and closed her eyes. “Thank God.” She gripped the sheet and twisted the fabric between her fingers. When she spoke again, her voice was thin with pain and exhaustion. “I need to make a call. Can I borrow your phone?”

“Not until I get some answers,” Cam told her, stepping back and folding his arms against his chest.

Vivianne released a frustrated sigh. In her eyes he saw a solid streak of stubborn under the obvious exhaustion. “I understand that. But you’re not going to get another word out of me until I make a call.”

It wasn’t worth arguing about. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out his phone, tapped in the code and handed it to her.

She shook her head. “Sorry, the world is still a bit fuzzy. Can you dial for me?”

Cam punched in the number she gave him, and when it started to ring, he handed the phone over. Vivianne placed her fingers on her forehead before speaking. “Charlie? Is Clem okay?”

Evidently the response reassured her. Those sexy shoulders dropped and the hand gripping the sheet relaxed. Cam tipped his head to the side, thinking that watching her was like witnessing a balloon losing its air. Suddenly she looked paler, more fragile, ten times smaller. And a hundred times more vulnerable.

He stepped forward, realized he was about to pull her into his arms, to offer what comfort he could, and immediately stepped back. What the hell? He didn’t do comfort; he wasn’t the type.

Vivianne gnawed at her bottom lip, wincing when she encountered the cut she’d made earlier. “Thanks, Charlie. I’ll see you later this afternoon, maybe a little earlier if I can.”

As if. According to the nurse, she had a concussion and that normally meant an overnight stay. He’d be happy to watch her all night. But only because he wanted to know what she was up to. Not because she was freakin’ gorgeous. And not because he found her fascinating, or because he couldn’t imagine walking out of this room without knowing when he was going to see her again.

He was just tired. And hungry. That was why he was acting so out of character. Had to be.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

Cam jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and glowered at her. “Ready to start talking?”

Vivianne sighed. “I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.”

“Not really, no.”

“I’m Vivi Donner, by the way.”

Vivi suited her better than Vivianne. He rolled the name around his mind and could easily imagine himself whispering it as he kissed her, painting it on her skin as he tongued her. Sighing it as he slid into her hot, wet warmth. Cam gave himself a mental punch to the temple.

Yeah, he was still attracted to her but so what? He was frequently attracted to women. He was a guy and that was what guys did. It was simple biology. It didn’t mean anything.

“Let’s start off with you telling me how you ended up in a hospital with stitches and scrapes and more bruises than an MMA fighter.”

Vivi pushed back that heavy hair and he caught a whiff of citrus and dank water. “According to the nurse, who spoke to the responding EMT, I was driving and it was really foggy. I slid off the road into a gully filled with fast-moving water. I remember going into the water and nothing much after that. The next time I came around, I was in this bed.”

Every cell in his body iced over. Few people knew how to escape a car filled with water, yet she had. Thank God.

“A policeman saw me go off the road. The working theory is that I pushed myself out the window and swam to the surface. The cop saw me come up, but then I was hit by a branch and swept away. Luckily a rescue boat was downstream from me and they hauled me out. I don’t remember anything after my car hit the water.”

God, she’d been fantastically, ridiculously lucky. She obviously had a dozen angels sitting on her shoulder.

He desperately wanted to find out why she’d run out on him that night, why she’d insinuated herself back into his life now. She’d known him as a greasy rigger, solidly blue collar. He’d been good for a night, a roll in the sheets, and he hadn’t really been surprised when he’d turned over and she wasn’t there.

He was a ship in the night, here today and gone tomorrow, He only ever indulged in fun that lasted a few hours, max. He was not a guy someone like her—classy and warm—wanted to face over coffee in the morning.

Was she back only because his bank accounts were fat and his social standing solid? Because he was now apparently acceptable?

Cam felt the sharp burn beneath his rib cage and cursed. He cursed himself for caring what she thought and he cursed her for dropping back into his comfortable, and predictable, life. He’d never forgotten her and he hated her for that. He didn’t like connections, ties, memories.

Cam walked over to the window and stared out into the hospital parking lot. There, close to the entrance, was his luxury SUV, top of the line, ridiculously expensive. He lived in a big-ass house, had numerous, hefty bank accounts. He had, he reluctantly admitted, everything he’d ever wanted, yet this brown-eyed woman made him feel like his world was shifting, that something was changing.

Vivi’s reappearance in his life was going to rock him to the soles of his feet.

Cam sighed before turning around. “Why am I your emergency contact person, Vivianne?”

This time Vivi gripped the sheets with both hands, and whatever color was left in her face drained away. She stared at him, licking her lips, and he could see the turmoil in those eyes, the trembling of her bottom lip. “I have a daughter, Clementine. I call her Clem. She’s two years old and you are her father.”

Two

Telling a guy he had a child was a hell of a way to clear a room.

Vivi looked at the door Camden had slammed closed, half expecting him to reappear and start yelling. When twenty seconds passed, then thirty, then a minute, she finally released the breath she was holding. While she was better at confrontation now than she’d been years ago, she still didn’t like to argue. The same, so she’d heard, couldn’t be said for Camden McNeal. All her research—and she’d researched him to death—pointed to the fact that Cam McNeal, oil rigger turned venture capitalist, treated business like a boxing ring and went in swinging. He was tough, demanding and controlling, and he didn’t take any prisoners, ever.

Neither, it was reported, did he suffer fools. The business press called him a blizzard, cool and deadly, but Vivi thought they’d mischaracterized him. He wasn’t cold. Beneath that icy facade resided a passionate man. A man fully in control of his volatile emotions. But cold and unfeeling? Oh, hell, no.

Vivi pulled her knees up and groaned as every muscle in her body protested. She was exhausted both mentally and physically, but she was sure there was no chance of sleep anytime soon, since she knew she hadn’t seen the last of Cam this morning. Instinctively she understood that Cam had only left the room so that she wouldn’t witness his anger, disappointment or shock. Or all three. He obviously needed some time to regain his famous control. That was okay; she needed to regain hers, too.

Three years and he was still earth-shatteringly sexy.

Vivi heard the ding of an incoming message and looked at Cam’s smartphone, which she still held in her hand. Swiping her thumb across the screen, she saw the dial pad and impulsively dialed Joe’s number, needing to connect with the only person she considered family.

After a brief explanation to Joe about the accident, Vivi told him that she was fine and that he didn’t need to rush across town.

“But how are you going to get home? Pick up Clem?” Joe demanded.

“I have someone here,” Vivi admitted. When she’d made Camden Clem’s guardian and her emergency contact she’d never considered that he might actually need to be called. “Camden McNeal.”

Joe waited a beat before snapping out his question. “And why is Cam McNeal with you, Vivianne?”

Here came the hard part.

He’d been the first man she’d noticed on entering that hole-in-the-wall bar three blocks down from her mom’s house in Tarrin, a small town west of Houston. He was lounging on a bar stool, watching her with bright blue eyes. His light brown hair had been longer then, touching the collar, though now it was expensively cut. His tall, muscular body seemed harder now, as was his attitude.

“So, I’ve told you a little of my history with my parents,” she began.

“A little, mostly that you were fed a steady diet of anti-government and end-of-the-world BS from your father and you’re-going-to-fry-if-you-don’t-listen propaganda from your mother,” Joe said, always impatient with intolerance.

“I was an only child with ridiculously overprotective parents, so college was out of the question. Dating—unless it was arranged through my mother—was frowned upon, and socializing outside of their tight social circle was not acceptable. Drinking and dancing and sex? Hell, no.”

“And hell, as you were frequently told, was where you’d end up if you flirted with those vices.”

“I told you that my dad died and that the family money was placed into a trust, controlled by lawyers who were my dad’s friends, and every decision we made had to go through the lawyers. I was so angry.”

“I’m still not seeing the connection to Camden McNeal.”

“After leaving the lawyers and my mother after the funeral, I ended up in a bar, and later, in Cam McNeal’s bed. And with his baby in my belly.

“My mother was angry with me for embarrassing her on the day they buried my father, but she was incandescently furious when I told her I was pregnant. Basically, she disowned me,” Vivi explained.

“Can I track her down and give her a piece of my mind?”

Vivi smiled at Joe’s outrage. God, she loved this man.

“You must’ve been so scared, Viv.”

“I was, but I also felt empowered. And free.”

She’d faced a tough, uncertain future, but it was her future, one she’d created. “I thought about contacting Clem’s father but I didn’t know his surname and had no idea where he worked.”

But more than that, she hadn’t wanted to put herself under anyone’s control again. This was her life and she was responsible for herself and her baby. She’d made this bed and she was determined to show herself that she could sleep in it.

“I relied on public assistance and bounced from job to job, first juggling pregnancy and then a tiny baby as I tried to earn enough to support us both. Then I found work with you.”

Those first few months after Clem’s birth had been super tough, but life had improved when she found steady work as a dishwasher at The Rollin’ Smoke. She’d met Charlie, the widowed mother of one of the servers, who ran a childcare service from home. Finally, after placing Clem with someone who was both affordable and loving, her confidence had grown. She’d pestered Joe to both teach and promote her, and the result was that she’d risen through the ranks at a record pace. Line chef in three months, sous chef in six, head chef within the next year.

“And sometime, I’m guessing recently, you bumped into Cam again. Probably at the restaurant, since Ryder Currin introduced him to my place.”

Nail on head. “Three months ago, I was off duty but I went into Rollin’ with Clem at lunchtime to check on my kitchen. You grabbed Clem and took her into the restaurant to meet the customers.”

“She is the grandchild of my heart.”

Vivi felt the hard ball of emotion clog her throat. “I looked through the kitchen window and saw two men sitting at the coveted VIP table.” And just like earlier, she’d found her head swimming and her throat constricting. She’d looked into that hard, sexy face and realized that her baby’s dad was eating at her restaurant.

“I asked Gemma who he was.”

She still remembered the words from the waitress. “The younger hottie is Camden McNeal, venture capitalist. He’s one of those guys who went from rags to fabulous riches in a heartbeat.” Gemma had added, grinning, “So sexy.”

He was. And his sexiness was the reason for the little girl she loved more than life itself.

“Since then I’ve wrestled with whether to contact McNeal, whether he had the right to know that he had a daughter,” she told Joe. “One day I’d decide it was the right thing to do, and the next I was convinced that it was better to leave him in the dark.”

They’d met when they were both poor, both in different places in their lives. They’d moved on from the people they were then, thank goodness, and while she was proud of her achievements, his rise to success had been stratospheric. According to her research—Google, mostly—he routinely refused personal interviews; it was reported that he was cynical, controlling and suspicious, not one for making friends easily.

“I kept thinking that if I showed up on his doorstep with Clementine, he’d accuse me of being a gold digger trying to cash in on his wealth. Or he’d want to take control of the situation. And of Clementine.”

“Well, that’s a moot point now, isn’t it?” Joe said, as blunt as always.

Maybe, but neither option was remotely acceptable. She didn’t want his money. Nothing was more important to her than making it on her own, and she certainly wouldn’t give Camden McNeal any say over her or her daughter’s life. She’d lived under her parents’ control, and she wasn’t ever going back to that.

And then there was the little problem of her still being utterly, completely, ridiculously attracted to him. As much, or more, than she was three years ago. She just needed to see a photo of him online and her lungs constricted and heat rushed between her legs.

Not something she wanted to think about when she was having a conversation with the person who’d stepped into her father’s shoes.

“But at the end of the day, Camden is, apart from my mother, Clem’s only biological relative. I was so worried that, if something happened to me, Margaret would petition the courts for custody of Clem.”

“I’d would’ve fought her,” Joe assured her.

He would and she loved him for it. “But, because you are close to seventy, Joe, and my mom is only in her early fifties, and a woman, she would’ve won. Even if I gave Clem to you, and I wanted to do that, I was told it would be easily challenged given your age and the fact that we’re not related. On legal advice, I updated my will to give Cam custody and put him as my emergency contact number in case something bad happened.”

And it so very nearly had.

And now, Camden McNeal, that gorgeous, billionaire badass, was back in her life.

* * *

He was the one thing he’d never thought he’d be.

In the hallway outside Vivi’s room, Cam lifted his hand and saw his shakes. As a young kid, six or seven years old, when his dad left him alone, for days on end, his hand had never shaken. When he’d scaled buildings and crept past sleeping couples to steal wallets and jewelry, he’d shrugged off the nerves and kept his cool. The day he was arrested and heard that his father wouldn’t bail him out, his hands hadn’t trembled.

He was a dad, he had a kid...

Life had finally found the one thing, the only thing, that terrified him. Cam rested his head on the wall and fought the urge to slide down its smooth surface. Slapping his palms on the cool surface, he locked his knees and pulled in rhythmic breaths, desperately looking for control, for a measure of calm.

He had no idea how to be a father, a parent responsible for someone else. His father had only occasionally remembered to feed and clothe him. He’d taught him how to roll a cigarette, to spot a mark, to lift a wallet. He’d taught him to fight dirty, to run from cops and social workers, to distrust the system. He’d been more like a delinquent older brother than a father, and consequently all Cam knew about fatherhood was how not to be one. Had Vivi recognized that in him? Was that why she never informed him of his daughter? Clementine. Clem.

He had a daughter. Cam blinked furiously, annoyed at his moist eyes. Okay, she was only two, but he was no longer completely alone. There was another person in the world he was linked to. She was young and defenseless, but that link existed, it meant something.

Cam rubbed his hands over his face and pushed his fingers through his hair. What now? He couldn’t prop up this wall for the rest of the day. At some point he’d have to go in and face Vivi, deal with the situation he found himself in. Cam glanced at Vivi’s closed door and sighed. He also needed to deal with his instant, hot-as-hell attraction that was arcing between him and the mother of his child. Supposed mother of her child. Cam grabbed on to that cynical thought and held on with every fiber of his being. He just had her word that he was her kid’s dad. She could be scamming him, running a con. If he was sensible, he’d walk out of here right now and demand a paternity test. He should wait for scientific proof...

No, that wasn’t going to happen. He was upset, confused, utterly side-slapped by this news, but his gut instinct told him that she was telling the truth. He was a daddy.

God.

Cam watched a doctor and nurse walk toward him. They stopped at Vivi’s door and handed him a harried greeting. They entered her room and he followed them in, standing at the back of the room out of their way as they approached the bed. Over their heads he saw her resigned expression.

“I’m fine,” Vivi firmly stated, but Cam heard the tremor in her voice. “I need sleep and a couple of painkillers and I’ll be fine.”

“I went to med school and studied for a dozen years. Do you not think I should make that call?” the female doctor replied, amused. She jerked her head in his direction. “Someone you know?”

Vivi’s eyes collided with his and Cam felt the air leave his lungs. God, she was so damn beautiful. He’d thought so three years ago but there was a strength to her now, a maturity that had been missing in that girl he’d slept with so long ago. Back then she’d been a fun night, a diversion, a break from a hard job and constant loneliness. Lying in that hospital bed, she was now...what? He didn’t know.

“I know him,” Vivi said, resigned. “When can I get discharged?”

The doctor examined her eyes as the nurse wound a blood pressure cuff around her arm. The doctor pushed and prodded Vivi’s slim body before stepping back and folding her arms. “I will only discharge you if you promise not to drive.”

Frustration flashed in Vivi’s eyes. “My car is, I presume, waterlogged and at the bottom of a gully, so I won’t be driving anywhere. I’ll catch a cab or Uber.”

The thought of her being trapped in that car iced his veins and Cam placed his palm on the wall to anchor him. He couldn’t imagine a world, didn’t want to imagine a world, that didn’t have Vivi Donner in it. A surprising thought, given that he’d never expected to see her again.

Vivi released a small moan and Cam’s eyes flew back to her distressed face. He quickly moved to her side, placing his hand on her thigh. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“No car, no money, no phone.” Vivi bit her bottom lip and he saw fine dots of blood appear there because she’d reopened her cut.

“Stop biting your lip.” Her eyes flashed at his order and he noticed irritation replacing fear. Good, he could work with anger; he’d couldn’t cope with tears. “I have a car and money. I’ll get you home.” He ignored Vivi’s annoyed squawk and looked at the doctor. “Since she has a concussion, must I wake her up every couple of hours?”

The doctor shook her head. “Not necessary. I’d suggest rest and lots of it.” She directed a stern glance at Vivi. “You had a nasty experience, Miss Donner, but I also suspect that you’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately.”

Vivi wouldn’t meet her eyes, so Cam asked for an explanation.

“Ms. Donner is a bit thinner than I’d like, and those blue stripes under her eyes aren’t the result of the accident but nights without sleep. She’s also slightly anemic.”

Vivi looked like she wanted to roll her eyes. “I am the single mother of an energetic toddler who isn’t fond of sleep.”

And just like that, both the nurse and doctor turned sympathetic. The nurse rested a hand on Vivi’s shoulder and sighed. “Oh, honey.” Without doubt, she was a mother, too, Cam thought.

The doctor shook her head. “I have a three-year-old and a six-year-old and a husband, and all three exhaust me. I feel your pain.”

Cam thought they were laying it a little thick. How difficult could a two-year-old be? But Cam was bright enough to realize that if he disagreed, he might be verbally skewered by three mothers. Better to keep quiet. Safer, too.

“The point is,” he said, pulling them back to the matter at hand, “I will take Vivi home.”

Vivi looked mutinous. “That’s not going to work for me.”

“Well, it’s the only way you’re going to get discharged,” the doctor told her. “No driving for twenty-four hours, plenty of rest and no physical activity.”

Cam’s eyes met Vivi’s; her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a pretty pink. Sure, his thoughts kept wandering to the sex they’d shared, but because she’d suffered a smack to her head, he hadn’t figured hers had, too. But that blush, spreading down her neck and disappearing under her hospital gown, told him a completely different story. Well, good.

No! Hell. They didn’t need the complication of still being ridiculously attracted to each other. And acting on that attraction, which he really wanted to do, would just be stupid.

He’d made a point of not acting stupid, but damn, this time it was hard.

He saw confusion in her eyes, noticed her embarrassment. Cam hauled in a breath, saw that they were alone—when had the medical staff left?—and sat down on the edge of her bed. Unable to resist touching her, he allowed the tips of his fingers to trace the fine line of her jaw. “Hell of a day, huh?”

Vivi nodded. She started to pull her bottom lip between her teeth, but he tapped her lip and she let go. “You’ve really got to stop doing that.”

“I know.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” He shouldn’t be doing this, but he needed just one taste, one kiss. He needed to know whether she tasted as good as he remembered, or whether his imagination had played tricks on him for the past three years. One kiss couldn’t hurt...

Could it?

Under his lips, hers were soft and silky. Holding her jaw, Cam moved his lips across hers, breathing in her scent, sweet flowers touched by dark waters. Keeping his kiss gentle because of the cut on her lip, he inhaled her breath and tasted her essence. He remembered her as being hot and sexy, but this woman, this new version of the girl he’d met, held more depth, was a hundred times more interesting. Her lips parted, and his tongue slid past her teeth and he tasted sweetness and sin, vulnerability and strength. Determination and independence masking a ribbon of fear.

Fear? What was she scared of?

He pulled back, looked into her eyes and saw that same emotion reflected in her eyes. A second later it was gone, shut up and put away. Vivi Donner was almost as good at masking her emotions as he was. The realization both intrigued and fascinated him, and the fact that he was both intrigued and fascinated worried him.

Complications weren’t his thing.

Vivi swallowed and looked toward the door. “So, I guess if I want to get out of here, you’re my ride.”

Okay, she was ignoring the kiss, their crazy attraction. Maybe he should do the same. Yet his heart thumped when she picked up his wrist so that she could look at his watch. “If I can get home, I’d be able to sleep for a few hours before I need to collect Clem. Do you want to meet her?”

His heart bounced off his chest. He’d just found Vivi again and didn’t know if he was up to meeting his daughter today. He hadn’t had time to process any of this, and didn’t think he even could.

“It was just a suggestion, Cam. You don’t have to meet her if you don’t want to. I’m not asking anything from you...not your time or money or input. So, really, no hard feelings if you say no.”

Except that she would think that he was a wuss, that he wasn’t man enough to acknowledge his child. If he walked away and ignored the situation, Vivi would think he was weak and selfish and a bit of a man-child. And she’d be right.

Suck it up, McNeal. She’s had a near-death experience, escaped from a sinking car, got smacked around by river detritus and ended up in a hospital. If she can cope with all that, you can meet a two-year-old.

An ordinary two-year-old, maybe. His daughter? He wasn’t so sure.

Vivi tipped her head to the side. “Getting a bit too real, huh?”

He thought about laughing her statement away—he could be charming when he chose to be—but decided to tell the truth. “Too real. Utterly surreal.”

She twisted her lips and then her hands. “I suppose you want an explanation.”

“Do you not think I deserve one?”

Vivi lifted one shoulder, as if silently admitting that she had her doubts. Dammit, what did she want from him? He dealt in black-and-white; gray was his least favorite color in the world. Cam was about to demand that she start explaining, when he caught her touching the back of her head, trying hard to contain her wince. He skimmed his eyes over the bruises on her arms and stood up, gripping the edge of the sheet.

He looked at Vivi. “I just want to see what we’re dealing with. May I?”

At her nod, he pulled down the sheet. Her gown ended midthigh and she had a scrape on her thigh, a bruised knee and another bruise on her shin. God, she looked like she’d been hit by a tank.

Instead of protesting his examination of her body, Vivi just put her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. “I fell pregnant, but I didn’t know your name—”

She didn’t need to do this now. She shouldn’t have to do this now. Feeling suddenly protective of her, he realized her explanations could wait until she felt stronger. Or when she was, at the very least, pain free.

He bent down and surprised himself by placing his lips on her forehead. This crazy situation would still be there. “Not now, Viv. Let’s get you home.”

Vivi forced her eyes open. “I’d like to be home, clean and be cuddling with Clem.”

Cam nodded. “Lie there and rest and let me see if I can make that happen.”

He wanted to take her home to his place, not hers, a place where he knew he could protect her.

Cam rolled his shoulders, irritated with himself. The worst was over, what more could happen to her? Why was he so reluctant to leave her alone?

* * *

Press Release.

For Immediate Release.

Body Discovered at Texas Cattleman’s Club, Houston Construction Site.

Yesterday, at 7:40 a.m., members of the Houston Police Department and emergency medical responders responded to a report of a male victim found at the west Houston construction site of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, about two miles west of Highway 10. Upon the arrival of first responders, the male was pronounced deceased at the scene.

At this time the identity of the male is unknown. According to the medical examiner, the cause of death is due to a gunshot wounds to the chest. Houston Police Department detectives are investigating with the assistance of the district attorney’s office. Identification of the victim and an accurate time of death are still to come. A case of homicide has been opened and no further information is currently available.

If anyone has information regarding this incident they are asked to contact...

Glass-wall offices meant eyes were on me, so I skimmed over the media release. Nothing in my face or my demeanor reflected my inner turmoil or hinted at my racing heart. I looked at my fingers, pleased to see that they weren’t shaking. I pushed the paper to one side. Reading media releases has been a long-standing habit and one I am grateful for.

Reading the morning papers is another habit I’ve cultivated, and I pulled the pile toward me, and skimmed their pages for more information. Speculation was rampant but there was not much more to be gleaned. It was the same information, padded and puffed, but nothing new and nothing to link me to the murder at the Texas Cattleman’s Club building site.

Thank God.

Determined not to miss anything—the smallest bit of knowledge might be the difference between me meeting a needle while wearing prison orange or not—I skimmed the short article buried on page 3 of a local newspaper and frowned. Taking a breath, I read it again, slower this time.

The victim has not been identified and the time of death is unknown. Like so many other properties in the city, the construction site experienced extensive flooding thanks to the once-in-a-generation storm, making identification of the victim or forensics difficult.

That statement wasn’t accurate. I thought back to that morning, remembering the sharp snap of the pistol firing, the blood on a white shirt, his wide, terrified eyes as I stood over him, his life draining away. For insurance, I stared into his eyes and pulled the trigger again, sending another bullet into his already mutilated chest cavity. Fighting my panic, I acted fast and removed his wallet, his distinctive watch, the bracelets on his thick wrist, anything that might make identifying him easier. Dropping the concrete slab on his face had been added insurance, because the more time I put between his death and his identification, the better. I never imagined that I would get a helping hand from Mother Nature. The recent flood was a blessing in disguise. For me, at least.

I hid my smile and power-read through the rest of the article. Nobody working on the Perry Construction crew is talking; one worker hinted at a company gag order being in place.

At my suggestion, Sterling Perry sent an email to the construction foreman, telling him in no uncertain terms that any worker caught talking to the press would be summarily dismissed, and it pleased me that his orders were being obeyed. Excellent, since I wasn’t in the mood to follow up on the issue, mostly because my interest might raise suspicion and I needed to fly under the radar. Becoming a suspect would be intolerable and jail simply wouldn’t suit me.

After folding the newspaper into a perfect rectangle, I placed it on top of the pile of other precisely folded papers and leaned back in my chair. So far, so good. Nobody suspected me, nobody ever will. Thank God, because I still have a score, or three or four, to settle with Sterling Perry and his family. And with his archenemy Ryder Currin...

In my case, the enemy of my enemy was not my friend...

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