Free The Barons of Texas: Jill by Fayrene Preston

extend his hand toward her. She took it, allowing him to help her out, but not happily. “Tell me something. Does a man’s ego really rise or fall on whether or not his date allows him to open the door for her?”
    He smiled down at her. “A man’s ego is a fragile thing, Jill.”
    “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’d bet money that yours isn’t. And I’m sure Des’s isn’t.”
    He put his hand on her back and guided her across the parking lot. “Let me put it this way. A man who truly likes and respects a woman enjoys doing things for her, such as opening doors. And usually it makes the woman in question feel honored that the man thinks enough of her to go out of his way to do things for her.”
    That idea had never even occurred to her, and reflecting on it, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
    When they reached the sidewalk, he took her hand. She barely managed to stop herself from pulling away. She couldn’t remember ever holding a man’s hand before. Odd, she supposed. Most couples held hands, but then, she had never been part of a couple.
    Deep Ellum was so named because it consisted of the blocks literally at the end of Elm Street, lying in the shadows of downtown Dallas and stopping at the gates of Fair Park. In its heyday, during the twenties and thirties, Deep Ellum became famous for its many blues clubs. All the greats had come there to play. Since that time, the street and the area had gone through many reincarnations, but always it had remained an alternative to the norm.
    Today the term had grown to incorporate 170 acres of previously run-down, deserted warehouses three blocks east of downtown Dallas. But now the warehouses were being turned into high-priced lofts for people who wanted to enjoy a different way of living, and the waiting list was long.
    But the main strip remained Elm, and its present-day clubs were the birthplace for many new cutting-edge bands and the home for trendsetting styles. Some of the old shops that had been there for fifty years or more still remained, but other shops now heldart galleries, fashion-forward jewelry and clothing boutiques, restaurants, coffee houses and more.
    With a firm grasp on her hand, Colin maneuvered them through a mixed crowd, where people seemed to be chatting and laughing with one another, oblivious to the fact that they were blocking pedestrian traffic.
    It was hard for her to find one person who didn’t have tattoos, or rings in either their noses, eyebrows, tongues or belly buttons, or a combination thereof. Their hairdos ran from bald to spiked, and the hair colors rainbowed from scarlet and orange to blue and gold. But finally she also saw more normal-looking people, even older couples coming out of restaurants or coffee houses.
    At one point Colin looked at her and laughed. “Fun, huh?”
    “Do you come down here a lot?”
    “Maybe not a lot, but whenever there’s something interesting going on, and there usually is, I try to come down. Don’t you own quite a few of the old warehouses down here that are being converted?”
    She nodded. “I bought up as many as were available, but I’ve never come down here at night.”
    “Maybe after this you’ll want to.”
    He angled them toward a black doorway. As soon as he opened the door, music sailed out. She hesitated only because the interior of the club was so dark, but Colin kept her hand in his and ushered her into the club.
    Inside, Colin stopped to talk with a big, burly man who had walked over to meet them as if he was an old friend of Colin’s. While the two men talked, hereyes gradually began to adjust so that she could see the stage.
    A young, white, skinny guy played the guitar. An older black man sat on a straight-back chair slightly to the right and behind him, playing another. There were also a drummer, a saxophonist and a pianist, but they might as well not have been there, as far as the two guitarists were concerned. They were each taking different parts of the