Stripped Bounty by Dorothy F. Shaw Page B

lot. At least he served as a decent distraction at that moment.
    He was just so fucking…alpha. There really wasn’t a better word for it.
    But what she hated more was the fact that she kinda liked it, too. A lot.
    As the garage closed down behind her, Rosie followed him through a door, which opened into a far too neat laundry room and beyond, into a kitchen. He flipped on a light and Rosie glanced around, grateful for yet another distraction. Three walls were lined with dark pine cabinets—old but in pristine condition. All the appliances were modern, stainless steel and a decent-sized, oval table, with four chairs around it, sat in the center, just past the cabinets.
    Terracotta tile spread along the floor and beyond into what appeared to be an open family room. From where she stood she saw a red leather couch, facing a huge stone fireplace with a rough cut dark wooden mantle. Mounted above it was an extremely large flat screen TV.
    “You want a beer?”
    Pulled from her appraisal of his home, Rosie turned to find Badger with his head stuck in the refrigerator. “This is your house?”
    He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Beer?”
    She sighed. “You have anything stronger?”
    He nodded and closed the fridge door. Reached above it, opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Strong enough?”
    “Perfect.” She glanced away and chewed her thumbnail. Good old Jack would get the job done and definitely take the sharp edges off the nerves poking around her insides; would get the residual shaking still wracking her body to stop, too. Jesus, what the hell was she going to do?
    Badger set two stout glasses down on the counter. “Ice?”
    “No. Straight, please.” She tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. “So, you have some sweats I can maybe borrow or something?”
    He shifted his eyes to hers, down her body to her legs before looking back to the glasses as he poured. “Not that’ll fit. But I’ll get you something else.”
    After handing Rosie her drink, he walked out of the kitchen and through the attached den. She stared at his back until he disappeared down a hall to the far left of the room. He’d looked at her legs, in almost a clinical way. And as though he really didn’t like what he saw. When he looked at her in that way, she felt more self-conscious than a teenager heading into puberty.
    Shaking off the thought, with glass in hand, she wandered into the living room. Rosie ran her palm over the soft leather of the back of the sofa. Before she had a chance to take more than one sip of her drink or do any further exploration of the room, Badger was back with a pair of boxer briefs and thick socks.
    “Here.” He placed the items on the back of the couch. “Bathroom’s first door on the right.”
    “Thanks.” She watched him as he brushed past her to a sliding glass door she hadn’t noticed yet. After opening it, he stepped outside. “Okay then.”
    Rosie turned on the toe of her shoe and found the bathroom. There was nothing special about it, really. Except that it was clean. More so than she’d have expected. Basic toilet. Older vanity made of the same wood the kitchen cabinets were. Formica counter top. Bathtub/shower combo. Clean towels hanging on the towel bar. Maybe this was the guest bath…she closed the door and made quick work taking off her shoes and G-string and pulling on the briefs and socks.
    Rosie took a moment and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was still caked with her stage makeup. She looked like a damn circus freak. Turning, she found a narrow linen closet and opened it in search of—bingo, a washcloth. After wetting it down, she grabbed the bar of soap by the sink, and lathered the cloth. And set to scrubbing her face clean. Somehow being makeup free in front of him, in his home, felt a whole lot better than all glamoured up like some sort of…well, like some sort of stripper.
    She still couldn’t quite figure out why he’d brought her there to