Redeemed By The Cowgirl. Silver James
her chin, Roxanne leveled what he supposed was an insulted glare on him. “Good.” She turned away and muttered under her breath, “Oh, yeah? I bet you aren’t housebroken, Chase Barron.”
For the next hour, Cash sat on the couch with the massive furball. The dog sprawled next to him, huge head on his thigh. Roxanne puttered around, packing suitcases and grocery bags full of dog food, toys, brushes and other pet paraphernalia. He was far too amused by her, discovering he was smiling at odd times.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Cash checked her over. Roxanne had tucked her hair up into a messy ponytail and stood in the midst of a pile of stuff. He stared at her, then stared pointedly at the boxes and suitcases around her feet. “Should I call a moving van? We can load up your furniture, too.”
“Ha-ha. Not funny. I’m trying to be nice in a difficult situation.”
He eyed all the gear. “Nice?”
“Yes. I figured you wouldn’t want to be running back and forth between your place and mi—”
Cash’s cell rang, cutting her off. He shoved the dog away and stood, phone to his ear. He listened to Bridger without giving away the gist of their conversation, his gaze glued on Roxanne.
“Otto Baer is a whale, according to Tucker. He’s never stayed at any of the Barron casinos before the incident with the Rowlands.”
He considered that information. A whale, also referred to as a high roller, bet large amounts of money. Casinos offered them lavish “comps,” such as free private jet transfers, limousine access and use of the casinos’ best suites, to lure them onto the gambling floors.
“What was the deal?” Cash asked the question with careful words.
“That’s what’s really weird, coz. Tuck checked with Chase and with their concierge. They didn’t even know the guy was there.”
“Interesting.”
“I thought so. He stayed two days, lost some money but not a huge amount, won a little of it back and then took off for Tahoe.” Harley bellowed out a bark, and a startled Bridger added, “What the hell was that?”
“One of my new houseguests.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not. See what else you can find out. I’m headed to my place as soon as I can get all of Roxanne’s stuff loaded in the Rover.”
“Roxanne’s stuff. Loaded in the Rover. Uh...huh. Care to explain?”
“Executive decision.”
“Oh, boy. Can’t wait to hear this story. Will I see you at the office in the morning?”
“Yes.” Cash clicked off the call before Bridger could ask any further irritating questions. He centered himself and said, “Let’s go.”
Ignoring the huge wet spot staining his slacks—a splotch that resembled slug slime—he gathered up an armful of boxes and a suitcase. It took them two trips each to stow all of her odds and ends in the cargo area. When it came time to load Harley in the backseat, Cash balked.
“Those are leather seats. Claws and drool do not mix with leather.”
Roxanne harrumphed and rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She marched back inside and returned quickly with a blanket. “Here, Mr. Fuddy-Duddy.”
He was not a fuddy-duddy. He just appreciated fine things, and that included leather seats in his vehicles. “You already owe me a cleaning bill for these slacks. I figured you wouldn’t want to add replacement seats to your tab.”
“Replacement—” Roxanne’s jaw snapped shut and her golden eyes sparked.
Cash had a perverse streak, obviously. Pushing this woman’s buttons was far too much fun. He watched her avidly while she bent over, reaching into the vehicle to smooth the blanket over the backseats. He caught a few of her muttered imprecations.
“...made of Corinthian leather...male-chauvinist moron...cheapskate...cars that cost more than some people’s houses...hates my dog.”
He glanced down at the huge black dog sitting beside him. “Does she always talk to herself?” The animal gazed up with solemn brown eyes and sighed. Cash tilted his head to get a better look at Roxanne’s very lovely butt. She backed out of the vehicle and whirled, catching him in the act.
“Really?” she demanded, then muttered, “Add jerkface to the list.”
Biting his lips to stifle a burst of laughter, Cash snapped his fingers at the dog. “Get in the car, mutt.”
“He is not a mutt. Harley is a full-blooded, pedigreed Newfoundland.”
He figured the inside of his mouth would be bloody before they got to his place. “Fine.” He snapped his fingers again. “Get in the car, full-blooded, pedigreed Newfoundland mutt.”
Harley bounded into the backseat, apparently unconcerned that Cash was dissing him. Roxanne threw her arms up as her anger simmered. She clambered into the front seat and slammed the door. Cash could no longer hold back his laughter. She was cute and feisty and he was far more turned on by that than he should be, given their circumstances. He just managed to choke off his laughter as he got into the driver’s seat.
“It’s not funny,” Roxanne huffed.
“It is from where I’m sitting.”
“You have white furniture?” Roxie’s voice squeaked. What man in his right mind would have white furniture—white leather furniture? Harley took one look at the big couch, jerked so hard she let go of his leash, and leaped. He romped all over it, snuffling, and then finally settled on one end. He sat there as proud as punch.
She glanced over her shoulder. Cash had put down his load and returned to the car for a second one. Snatching the moment of privacy, she waggled her finger at the Newfie. “Harley, get down. Bad dog. Bad, bad dog!” The big goof rolled over on his back and offered his belly for rubs. “You are going to cost me a fortune,” she groused, but obediently petted the beguiling animal.
“I’ll put the damage on your tab.”
She whirled to face the other half of her torment. “It’s not my fault that you live in a sterile environment, and I will remind you, you are the one who insisted on this arrangement.”
His dark brown eyes glinted and she was reminded of dark ale in a glass. “You’re laughing at me.”
He arched one devilish brow and said, “Am I?”
After nailing him with her most fierce glare, she gestured to the stuff piled in the entry. “Where am I supposed to put all this?”
Roxie could almost see the thoughts whipping through Cash’s mind as he glanced down a hallway. She’d bet that way led to danger—in the form of the master bedroom. When she drew her gaze back from that precipice, her eyes collided with his. Her whole body ignited from the half-lidded look and sexy grin he lavished on her. She was far too young for hot flashes, but darn if this man didn’t make her want to peel out of her clothes and dance in the sprinklers to cool off.
“Your room—” Cash cleared his throat and she wondered why he’d need to “—is that way.” He pointed to an arch next to the kitchen. “Guest bedroom. Attached bath.” He pointed to a curtain beyond the open dining room area. “Doors to the patio. There’s a little grass. You’re responsible for picking up after the dog. The kitchen is tiled. Leave his food and water bowls there. There’s a walk-in pantry to store the rest of his stuff.”
She nodded at each instruction, half listening while she perused the room. Roxie wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected but this condo hadn’t even been a faint blip