Stripped Bounty

by Dorothy F. Shaw

  He watched. She danced.

  And she did it knowing his eyes were on her the whole time.

  Although Rosie had grown accustomed to his gaze on her, she had no clue why he watched her. But she’d be a liar if she said she didn’t like it. She did. Badger’s eyes on her were as good as if he was touching her…his gaze was that penetrating. And she’d begun to crave the feel of his stare on her body. Because of that, she’d also be a liar if she said she didn’t sometimes, if not all the time, dance just for him now.

  In the beginning, Rosie felt like she had something to prove to him—to show him she was different, especially after realizing the reason he didn’t like her was likely because she was a stripper. So completely unfair. She wasn’t just a stripper. Rosie was so much more than that.

  And at that moment, she was a stripper who’d just… Made. It. Rain!

  Rosie turned to gather the rest of her money off the stage. Her eyes went wide at what lay before her. The stage was covered, absolutely coated in various bills. Movement to her right caught her attention, and suddenly Badger was on the stage.

  With her.

  Oh God.

  Quickly, she scanned the floor of the stage, locating the bra top of her costume. As she grabbed it, desperate to cover her body in front of him—which made absolutely not one bit of sense—she felt her cloak cover her shoulders.

  “Givin’ you a hand.”

  A shiver ran down her spine at the low rumble of his voice at her ear. Cursing her body, she glanced over her shoulder at him. His offer to help, as well as cover her with her cloak, both shocked and touched her, but also confused her. Rosie nodded. “Thanks.”

  He jerked his chin once and then set to gathering her money. Rosie quickly fastened her top, and instead used the cloak to pile money into. When they’d finally gotten it all, Badger gathered up the cloak, took her by the back of the arm and escorted her off the stage.

  The deejay announced the next dancer just as Badger rounded the corner of the hall, his fingers still wrapped tight around her upper arm. Maybe he was worried someone would try and grab her money? His strides were so long in comparison to hers…for every step he took, Rosie took three in order to keep up. Was he rushing? Was he annoyed?

  She glanced at his profile. Eyes straight ahead, lips pressed in a hard line, jaw set firm, so much so that a muscle ticked in his cheek. Jesus Christ she still couldn’t read this scary, beautiful man. But she wanted to.

  Especially because in a matter of a few minutes he’d successfully knocked her off her high “look at me and how kickass I am” horse. She felt her face get hot as foolishness settled like a rock in her stomach. Rosie went to move into the dressing room, but Badger kept hold of her and continued down the hall. She faltered but caught her footing, thank God. “Hey, uhhmm…where we going?”

  “Office.”

  Shit. He practically growled the word at her. No way she’d done anything wrong. No reason for him to be so harsh in his tone to her, either. So, fine. Whatever. Maybe her ego had gotten a little bigger than necessary. There was no reason to be such a dick to her. And frankly, she’d had it with him. Rosie scowled, ready to lay into him. “Why? Did I—”

  “Too much cash. It’ll be safer in the office.”

  What? Safer? Oookay, that was unexpected. She frowned. “Oh… Uhmm.” It was pretty damn smart of him, actually. Rosie hadn’t even thought about it. “Thanks.”

  Badger stayed silent as he stepped into the office. Pulling her with him, he shut the door. After letting go of her arm, he crouched low next to the far side of the desk. Rosie watched, shifting her weight on her stripper heels, as nervous energy boomeranged through her body.

  She glanced down. Clad in only her G-string and the bra top, the rest of her body suit still up on the stage, and she suddenly felt very…naked. Which was just as stupid as her thoughts on stage because, hello, she’d been naked in front of him a million times and he’d watched her damn near every one of those times.

  Rosie glanced away from him, and whatever he was doing that she couldn’t see. The difference was being alone with him, she felt completely bare—naked at a soul-deep level.

  Swallowing past the knot that’d formed in her throat, she crossed her arms over her stomach, wanting nothing more than to shield herself. A loud thud in the room brought her focus back to him.

  Badger got to his feet and smoothed his palms down his denim-clad thighs. “All locked up. You can get it end of night.” He moved for the door—the very one she was blocking. “’Scuse me.”

  “Sorry.” She froze for what felt like forever, wanting to say something, anything to him. He just waited. Staring. Nearly expressionless. Forcing herself to move, Rosie stepped aside and he opened the door. Desperation kicked in and she said the only thing she could think of. “I… I left my costume on the stage.”

  Badger glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’ll grab it.”

  “All ri—”

  And then he just walked away.

  “He watches me, but he hates me. Like, really hates me.” Rosie blew out a breath and stepped into the hall. She wasn’t a woman who ever gave a shit if someone liked her or not. Badger didn’t like her, big deal. But hate? Jesus. That stung.

  She shouldn’t give a shit. He was no one to her.

  But she did.

  She really fucking did.

  And that sucked.

  Chapter Six

  With her small, off-white purse tucked under her arm, Rosie managed to get the back door to Deuce’s open. But it wasn’t easy. She held a homemade lattice-top apple pie tight in her hands, along with a grocery bag filled with Cool Whip, a bottle of something special, and fresh strawberries to go with the something special, hanging from her wrist.

  The simple high-heeled sandals she wore echoed on the linoleum floor of the long back corridor leading to the main bar. As she neared the end of the hall, the soulful sound of Kenny Wayne Shepherd’s “Live On” filled her ears. When she emerged, Rosie was beyond surprised and stopped short, completely in awe of what she saw.

  Deuce’s Cabaret had been turned into a beautiful dining hall. Four long tables set in a square formation, took up the main area, all draped in white table clothes. Each had centerpieces filled with candles and flowers as well as place settings at each seat. Along the wall, opposite the bar, were two more tables covered in an array of dishes for their feast. Above the bar hung a sign proclaiming “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  One of the other dancers, Sabrina, came over. “Hey, girlie. Wow, you look pretty! Then again, you always do. Let me take that for you.” She bent and gave Rosie a peck on the cheek before grabbing the pie from Rosie’s hands.

  “Thanks. So do you.” Rosie smiled and followed her to the food tables. Sabrina was one of the few girls Rosie had gotten friendly with since starting at the bar a few months ago. Mostly because Sabrina had always been sweet to her. Rosie set the bag down and removed its contents. “This is incredible. Do they do this every year?”

  “I guess so, yeah. I was here last year and it was the same. Wait ’til Christmas. Evie goes all out.” Sabrina pulled the foil off Rosie’s pie and set it near the other desserts. “Holy crap, that pie looks deelish!”

  “Thanks. My grandmother’s recipe. It’s to die for, provided it came out right.” With a smile, Rosie smoothed the front of her dark green wrap dress. “I’ve never known bar owners like Deuce and Evie before. Well, not any that owned a strip club anyway.”

  “I know, me either. It’s cool that those of us who are otherwise unattached have a place to go for the holidays. I guess Evie takes in strays, too. But don’t tell anyone I said that.” Sabrina winked. “Ready for a drink— Oh, wait, you brought something, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s no big deal, just being polite.”

  Sabrina laughed. “Definitely polite. I never would’ve thought to do that.” She took Rosie’s hand and led her to the bar. “Cute sandals, by the way. You do realize it’s winter, right?”


  “Winter? Sabby, this isn’t winter. In fact, I wake up every day and look out the sliding glass door in my little apartment and think, ‘oh look, another sunny day.’ I plan on wearing sandals as much and as often as I can.”

  “I give it a year and your blood will thin out. You’ll be wearing boots and a turtleneck this time next year, talking about how cold out it is.”

  “Never gonna happen.” Rosie shook her head with a laugh and set the bottle of Verdi Spumanti on the bar along with the strawberries.

  “If you say so. Just mark my words so I can say I told you so.” Sabrina turned and knocked on the bar. “Hey, sweetness. How about getting two pretty ladies a drink?”

  Rig, the newest of the bouncers, looked over from behind the bar. “Absolutely!” With a wink, he strode in their direction. “By the way, pretty’s an understatement. What can I get you two beauties?”

  “Aw, you’re so sweet.” Sabby leaned over the bar and pinched his cheek. “Give me a shot of Jose and I’ll chase it with a vodka cranberry.” She turned to Rosie. “You?”

  “How about a glass for this?” She held up the bottle. “And your small cutting board and paring knife for these, please?” She smiled.

  Rig flipped the white bar rag he held over his shoulder and smiled at Rosie. “How ’bout instead, I cut up the berries and take the bottle and stick it on ice for you, ma’am?” He grabbed the bottle and held it out in front of him, eyeing the label. “Wow, looks fancy. Verdi…Spoo-what?”

  “Spumanti.” Rosie laughed. “It’s just sparkling wine. Not all that fancy, really.”

  “Looks pretty fancy to me.” He smiled and walked to the other end of the bar.

  Rosie dug in her clutch for some money. By the time she’d separated a twenty, Rig was back with Sabrina’s drink. Rosie went to hand him the cash. “Let me get Sabrina’s.”

  “No, ma’am. These are on Deuce and Evie.” He smiled.

  “Oh. Well, okay. At least let me tip you.” She slid the twenty his way.

  He slid it back and winked. “Respectfully decline. No tips, either.”

  “Jeez.” She smiled. “How about a thank you then?”

  “Seeing you all dressed up is thank you enough, Miss Rosie.” He winked and stepped away.

  “Ooooh! Someone’s got a crush. Lucky you.” Sabrina bumped Rosie’s shoulder with her own.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got at least ten years on that kid, maybe even fifteen.” Rosie laughed and watched while Rig sliced up the strawberries.

  “First of all, you’re not that old. Second, young is fun! Or so I hear. Plus, he’s a country boy. I bet you could corrupt the hell out of him.” Sabrina grinned before tossing back her shot of tequila.

  “Miss Rosie, what’m I supposed to do with the berries?” Rig called to her.

  Rosie shook her head at Sabby before focusing on Rig. “Toss a few in my glass and set the rest on ice in the container.”

  “Toss a few in the sparklin’ spoo stuff?”

  “Yes. With the spoo stuff.” She giggled. Lord, he seriously was entirely too cute with his Southern accent.

  Rig walked her wine glass filled with the sparkling wine, strawberries floating at the top, over to her. He smiled his bright smile. “Here you go, Miss Rosie.”

  “Why thank you, sir.” Rosie took the glass from him and looked to Sabby. “Shall we toa—”

  “Woman, only you’d wear a dress like that and be holding a wine glass with fruit floating in it.”

  Rosie froze at the sound of his voice and a shiver raced down her spine. Dammit would she ever stop reacting that way to him? With great effort, she put a lid on her ass-backward physical response. He’d never said so many words to her in one sentence, but worse, when he did speak to her his words always carried such a harsh undertone. Now was no different.

  Gathering her courage, Rosie twisted around to face him.

  Badger’s eyes locked directly on to hers…like a predator who’d found its prey. Another shiver skittered down Rosie’s spine and then sped through her body. She cleared her throat and quickly avoided his sharp gaze. But instead of looking away, her traitorous eyes landed on his body. God help her.

  Of course, he was dressed different from his usual T-shirt and jeans, and Rosie bit her lip at the sight of him. Sage-green button-up shirt, which hugged his broad chest and narrow waist to perfection. Black jeans and black motorcycle boots.

  Why the hell had she picked this color of dress from all the others in her small closet? Christ, they looked like a matching set. “Sorry you don’t like it.” Rosie blew out a breath and turned back around to face the bar.

  Happy fucking Thanksgiving!

  She tilted her glass to her lips and took a long swallow. Could she just run now and save herself the humiliation?

  “Didn’t say that.” Badger stepped beside Rosie and rested his forearms on the bar. She was always so goddamn skittish around him, and pretty much never met his eyes. He didn’t know what to make of it, except that he didn’t like it and he sure as shit didn’t trust it. When a person couldn’t meet another’s gaze, it usually meant they had something to hide. That something usually being past baggage. In any and every form, and none of it being good.

  She sure was pretty, though. Too goddamn pretty. He shook his head. So different. All the other strippers came to these shindigs in what they considered their best attire. Translation: A flashy short dress that was better suited for clubbing and not a holiday dinner, paired with the same damn platform heels they wore onstage.

  But not Rosie. No, she wore a dark green dress. Not slutty, not flashy, and definitely not club-ready. Just simple, classy, and pretty. On her feet was a pair of high-heeled sandals of the elegant variety—as in, minus the platform.

  She sipped her drink and Badger watched, smoothing his palm over his beard. “What are you drinking exactly?”

  She set her glass down and briefly glanced at him. “It’s just spumanti.” She looked down and brushed something invisible off her lap. “With strawberries in it.”

  “You want a shot, boss?” Rig asked.

  “That’ll do.” He shifted and faced her. “Spumanti, huh? Not sure I’m familiar.” He lifted the glass from her palm. “Mind if I take a sip?” Before he had the edge to his lips, her eyes were on him. Perfect. Though she wore a bit of a scowl. Holding her gaze, Badger tilted the glass and took a small sample. The sweet flavor spread over his tongue and he swallowed. Resisting the urge to drink more, he set the glass down. “Not what I expected.”

  She blinked. “Nothing ever is.”

  He quirked one brow. “Cynical much?”

  “Maybe.” She set the glass down. “Did you like it?”

  He did. A lot actually. “It’s all right. A bit fancy for my tastes.”

  “Suit yourself.” She shrugged and took another sip.

  Badger watched her full pink lips close over the edge of the glass and his dick thickened behind his zipper. The small rumble of a growl escaped before he had a chance to catch it, and he covered it by clearing his throat.

  A vision of what they would look like wrapped around his cock had every inch of his skin tight. Blowing out a breath, he jerked his chin to Rig, who was busy talking to one of the dancers. “Rig, you forget something?”

  “Huh? Oh! Shit. Yeah. Sorry, boss.” Rig moved like a fire was under his ass and set a shot glass down in front of Badger and filled it.

  “Leave the bottle.”

  Rig nodded and stepped away. Badger tossed the shot back and refilled the glass.

  As he was about to toss back the second, Rosie shifted off the barstool and smoothed the front of her dress. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Without giving himself permission, Badger reached out and circled her upper arm with his fingers. “Hey.” She turned, glanced down at his hand and then to his face. The expression she wore looked a whole lot like “get your fucking hands off me,” but Badger ignored it. “Your dress?”

  Rosie shifted her weight. “What a
bout it?”

  Badger glanced down her body. Her nipples were hard. The tight points making their presence known through the thin fabric. Jesus fucking Christ, she was killing him. He grunted, trying to get his mind back on track. “Go easy, woman. It’s pretty. You look real pretty, Rosie. Beautiful even. That’s all I meant.”

  He let go of her arm, faced the bar and downed the shot. He’d meant what he said. Every woman deserved to be told they were beautiful. Especially when it was true. But that was about all she’d get from him. Anything more was too risky. Especially with those precious nips of hers calling his name.

  God, what he’d do to those perfect handfuls. He’d never really been a breast man, which meant the bigger variety never did much for him. But he sure as hell was a nipple guy—especially small areolas, tipped with nipples the size of raspberries. Perfect for biting. Badger let out another grunt as he cleared his throat.

  “Thanks. I think.”

  He glanced at her as he poured another shot. “You think?”

  “I don’t know. I just…I can’t read you, Badger. Frankly, it’s confusing. But it’s very clear you don’t like me, I just don’t know why.” She shrugged.

  He let out a small chuckle and tried his damnedest to block out the sadness radiating from her eyes. “Never said I didn’t like you. And not many can read me. Don’t stress yourself trying.”

  “Ooohkay. Never mind then.” She stepped away.

  Badger lifted the shot glass and sipped. He was not going to turn around to see where she went.

  Was not.

  He didn’t care.

  Fuck! Dammit. Yeah, he did.

  Which wasn’t good.

  Badger spun on the stool and glanced around the bar. She was nowhere in sight. Sonofabitch, did she leave? He stood, and moved toward the back hall.

  “Lose something?”

  Badger stopped and looked at Deuce. “Not last time I checked.”

  His boss stroked his hand down his long beard. “Maybe you should check again.”

  “Deuce, the fuck are you talking about?” A beat of annoyance rolled through him and Badger crossed his arms.