Читать книгу Redeemed By The Cowgirl - Silver James - Страница 12

Five

“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 on her radar. Bricktown properties weren’t cheap, but this complex? It was one of the most expensive in the area—not that she was surprised. The Barrons were rolling in money. Still, this place was probably the largest unit, with its huge open living room flowing into a high-end chef’s kitchen and large dining area.

The floors were hardwood and Harley’s nails would leave scratch marks, if not gouges. Rugs were scattered under the furniture. The place looked like the set for an HGTV series. Cash had mentioned that the condo also had outdoor space, and she could just imagine what she’d find out there. The guy probably had a private lap pool. In addition to all the public space, the condo contained at least two bedrooms and baths. And every piece of furniture and artwork was designer unique. That all added up to expensive with a capital E.

This man was too rich for her blood. Not that Cash would give her a second look if her family hadn’t dragged her into whatever nefarious scheme they were working.

Roxie jumped when Cash touched her chin and closed her gaping mouth. He’d caught her gawking at her surroundings and daydreaming about the man himself. She couldn’t afford to lose focus like that. She had to keep her wits about her. Cash Barron did not like her, and had a real issue with her family. Okay, she took issue with her family, too, but that was different. They were hers. He was an outsider and he was pushy. A jerk. Aggravating. Exasperating. Sexy. Hot. Smelled like heaven.

“Earth to Roxanne.”

“What?” She reacted sharply, embarrassed that she’d floated off again.

“Your dog wants out.”

“You can’t walk across the room, open your door and let him out into your backyard?”

“Not my dog, buttercup.”

Muttering dark thoughts under her breath, Roxie snapped her fingers and marched over to the curtained door. She had to fumble through yards of material before she found the handles for the French doors hiding behind the draperies. The lock took concentration and more than a little finesse to open. Of course, it would. The man was president of a major security company. This entire place was probably wired for sound and video. She froze.

Harley, impatient to get out, used his 150 pounds to push her out of the way and she grabbed the curtain to keep from falling to the floor. Only the fabric ripped, and the whole wall of material cascaded to the floor, pooling around her where she sat on her tush.

* * *

Cash didn’t even try to hold in his laughter. All but slapping his knees, he was learning that a person could laugh so hard they cried. He had to wipe moisture from his eyes and every time he started to calm down, he’d look at Roxanne, and hilarity once again ensued. Once he convinced himself he was under control, he started across the room to help the girl up.

Harley charged through the back door and must have decided that finding his mistress sitting on the floor was a new game. The giant dog pounced, taking Roxanne down, slobbering all over her face. Her shrieks of protest only incited the mutt to more mayhem. The dog fell off Roxie, tangled his feet in the yards of silk fabric and proceeded to roll up in it.

There’d be no salvaging the curtains and Cash admitted to feeling a sense of relief. The condo had been decorated by one of his father’s mistresses and she’d used it as a showroom until Cash came home early from a trip to find her in bed with the guy who’d laid her tile. Glancing around, he discovered the place was sterile and stark. The walls were white, the furniture white, the rugs white. The only splashes of color came from the framed art photography on the walls. Most of the prints were black-and-whites but some had odd dashes of red—an umbrella in one rainy-day photo, lips on the pouting female model in another.

He contrasted his space with the one Roxanne had left behind. Her stuff was what some would call shabby chic, or thrift-store vogue. The place looked and felt lived-in—like the houses his older brothers all shared with their wives. Different styles but the same sense of...home.

Jerking his thoughts away from that quagmire, Cash focused on the situation at hand. Roxanne still sat in the floor—either crying or laughing silently. He couldn’t tell. He edged around the large granite-topped dining table and stared at his houseguests. Harley pawed at Roxie with both front feet, paddling against her thigh. Her red-rimmed eyes didn’t bode well. He clicked his fingers. “Enough, Harley.”

The Newf stood up and shook. Hard. Silk curtains and slug slime flew. Cash refused to laugh, though he had to turn around for a long moment to regain his composure. Not that Roxanne noticed. She’d pulled some of the silk over her head.

“Just kill me now, okay?” Her mumbled words elicited a woof from Harley, then he danced around her, nosing through the material.

“Harley!” This time he barked out the dog’s name and the beast came to sit obediently beside him. Cash glanced down at the woman. She was glaring at the dog. “Need a hand?” he offered.

“No,” she snapped at him, pushed the material off and stood. She craned her head to look toward the ceiling where the valance and jalousies had once hung on a brass pole. She heaved a huge sigh. “Let me guess. Real silk, right?”

Cash lifted a negligent shoulder. “Probably.”

“Criminy. I’m going to owe you my firstborn at this rate.”

Everything stopped for a heartbeat and he stared at her. His rational brain insisted she was simply borrowing a figure of speech to describe her predicament. But that part deep inside he hid from everyone—from his brothers, his twin, even himself—wondered for that brief moment in time what it would be like to hold his child.

“Cash?”

Reality crashed back. “Don’t worry about the drapes, Roxanne.”

“Um...” She stretched a hesitant hand in his direction. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m fine.” Okay, he’d been a little short with her, but whatever. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t his houseguest. She was a suspect in an ongoing investigation. “I’ll help carry your junk to the guest room.”

He turned on his heel and headed back to the entry hall.

“What about this mess?”

“Leave it.” Yeah, definitely short.

“If you say so...” She didn’t quite put a period on the end of that sentence.

“I say so. It’s late. I have an early morning. That means you do, too.”

“Well, all righty then, Mr. Sociable.”

With Harley doing his best to trip him, Cash ferried the remainder of Roxanne’s belongings to her room. She managed one load, fell over the dog, then wisely waited in the bedroom to direct him where to put the bags, boxes and luggage. After the last load, he paused at the door. He should have said something to her but he wasn’t quite sure what.