Four

      Evil. He was just pure evil. Roxie’s temper flared even as a wave of unadulterated lust surged through her insides. It had nothing to do with being tied to Cash Barron’s bed and everything to do with the man himself. And she needed to murder her girlish fantasies immediately or she’d never survive this debacle intact. She chanced a look in his direction. His expression remained resolute but was that a twinkle of mischief in his eyes?

      “Let’s go.”

      “I’m not going anywhere with you. My car is in the parking lot.”

      “I’ll have security drive it home for you.”

      “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

      “You’re riding with me. We’ll go by your apartment, you can pack, then we’ll head to my place.”

      “What part of no do you not understand? I have responsibilities. I—” She felt her eyes widen. “I have someone waiting at home for me.”

      “Who?”

      “Um... Harley.”

      “Who’s that?”

      Cash’s gaze narrowed, and did he sound suspicious or was it something else? Something...intriguing. Like jealousy? Ha. Roxie was just a means to an end. Jealous was not a word she would ever associate with Cash. “He’s my...roommate.” Well, technically speaking, that was true. Harley lived with her. “And I sort of have to take care of him.”

      Cash leaned closer and peered at her, his gaze sharp and assessing. “What’s that mean—you have to take care of him?”

      Roxie forced herself to meet his gaze despite the jitters skipping through her. “He’s...um...immature. He can’t really look after himself.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      He totally was not convinced. But there was no way she could leave Harley home alone. “I’m telling the truth, Mr. Barron.”

      “Uh-huh. C’mon. Let’s go meet this guy and see what he has to say about all this.”

      He latched on to her hand and tugged her along after him. Roxie was suddenly reminded of what walking with Harley was like. She tried to plant her feet, but the leather soles of her boots skidded over the smooth flooring. She attempted to jerk her hand free, but Cash simply tightened his grip and kept walking. She finally gave up and trotted to keep up with his long-legged stride.

      When they reached the entrance, there was a dark gray Range Rover waiting, and a man in a black suit, starched white shirt and black tie held the passenger-side door open. He tucked his chin as he extended a hand palm-up and said, “Ma’am, we’ll need your keys.”

      “No, you don’t. I’m driving myself home.”

      The security guard quickly turned his attention to Cash, looking for guidance.

      “Give him your keys, Red.”

      “Gah! No. Get it through your thick head, Mr. Barron. Just because I agreed to help you does not mean you can tell me what to do.”

      Cash stalked around the vehicle toward her and she stepped back, right into the bulk of the security guard—who didn’t give an inch. “Give the nice man your car keys, Roxanne, and get into the Rover.”

      He glared daggers at her and his mouth was a tight line. This guy definitely meant business. She’d been an idiot to call him. Still, if she ever wanted control of her life back, she needed him. Darn it. She huffed out a breath, dug in her purse and pulled out her key chain.

      * * *

      Cash watched as Roxanne meticulously removed a key from the jumble of metal consisting of more keys, a flashlight, at least ten plastic loyalty tags for various restaurants and stores, and other dangly things like weird jewelry. She passed the key to the guard, then that mess of a key chain disappeared back into the bag hitched over her shoulder.

      “Get in the car, Roxanne.”

      She stuck out her tongue but settled into the front seat. He closed the door and gestured for security to remain there so she couldn’t escape. Once he was behind the wheel, he glanced at her.

      “Buckle up, buttercup.”

      Her upper lip curled into a kittenish snarl and he almost laughed. Roxanne Rowland was turning into something totally unexpected. Deep down, Cash wondered if he was getting played. The woman dressed in comfortable clothes and wearing no makeup with a sprinkling of freckles was not the woman he’d watched on the security monitors in Vegas.

      The trip from the south end of the metro to the northwest side was made in silence. If she was surprised when they turned into her apartment complex, she didn’t show it. He couldn’t wait to meet this imaginary roommate. Bridger had checked with the complex’s management. Roxanne had a one-bedroom studio and was the only one listed on the lease. If she’d sneaked in a boyfriend, she was in violation.

      He parked in a slot near her ground-floor apartment and watched her. She appeared irritated rather than nervous. “Getting out?”

      “I was waiting for you to open my door, but you obviously aren’t a gentleman.” With that, she popped her door open and started to get out—only she was snagged by the seat belt.

      Pressing his lips together to keep from laughing, Cash hit the release button to free her. Was she really this klutzy, or was it all an act meant to disarm him? Act or not, she was doing just that.

      Stomping up the walkway to her apartment, she inserted her key, pushed the door open and stepped to the side. Cash had about five seconds to prepare for the hairy monster launching in his direction. He braced himself, one foot forward, shoulders lowered, and found his arms full of furry energy intent on slobbering all over his face. He muscled the gigantic dog to the ground and glared at Roxanne. She was doubled over, laughing.

      “Thanks for the warning. I’m assuming this is Harley?”

      She inhaled deeply and bit her lips for a long moment while she regained her composure. “Yes.”

      “I’ll make arrangements to have him boarded.” He recognized his tactical error a second too late. Both woman and dog turned on him.

      “Harley is not going to some smelly old kennel! He goes where I go!” The dog barked, an echoing woof that rattled windows.

      “Oh? What did you do with