Rich Bitch: Everything's Going to the Dogs by Nancy Warren Page B

of faded navy cotton boxer shorts?
Mon Dieu.
He was tall and broad; that much she’d known with his clothes on. What she hadn’t known was that one look at his chest would make her want to bury her face in the triangle of brown, silky-looking hair and sink her teeth not entirely gently into his nipples.
    She hadn’t imagined his belly would be rock hard and ridged with muscle, or that his legs would be elegant in spite of the big muscles.
    She hadn’t imagined she could want a man so much when she knew so little about him. Yes, he was right, on the most personal level, she should run back into her bedroom and slam the door.
    But what if she and her oh-so-American baseball bat were needed?
    For a tense moment they stayed that way. She with her bat raised, heat from her nervous palm making the handle slippery, Vince with a calm expression of concentration on his face as he pointed his awful gun at the door, and Mimi, all animation and aggression, doing her best to imitate a canine army.
    The last roommate to wander into the melee was the Doberman. He yawned, padded on long legs to the door, sniffed, and looked down at Mimi from his superior height, as though to say, “Why the hysterics?”
    Down the hall, a door shut. Someone had come home late.
    Mimi, seeming to bow to Sir Galahad’s superior guard dog instincts, tried to explain her error with little yaps, some pawing of the air, and a general batting of eyelashes and tossing of fluffy head.
    Sir Galahad sat and scratched his ear. She rose to her hind legs and twirled. Sophie had to smile.
    The Doberman was more severe. He sniffed under the door, snorted, gave one deep-throated woof and padded back to bed, Mimi, still explaining, following him on short, exquisitely coiffed legs.
    Vince was taking no chances, Sophie realized, when he approached the door, checked the peephole, applied the chain, and opened the door.
    “Nothing,” he said in his deep, slow voice as he closed and locked the door once again. “Damn dog.”
    “She’s on edge. We all are,” Sophie said, eager to justify Mimi’s actions.
    “Maybe,” Vince said, and clicking the safety on his gun, walked slowly toward her.
    Sophie refused to back up as he advanced on her in nothing but a pair of boxers that really didn’t hide all that much. But she couldn’t stop her heart picking up speed or her skin growing hot as Vince closed in on her. He was all drowsy masculinity and awakening sexuality.
    Her own desire bumped to life as he stopped in front of her, looking down into her eyes with sleepy amusement and carnal intent flickering. “Unless you’re trying to get a game of scrub going, I think we can dispense with the baseball bat.”
    She allowed him to take it from her and prop it against the wall. He approached her once again, awfully light-footed for such a big man.
    “Unless you’re planning on playing Russian roulette?” She indicated the gun still in his hand.
    He glanced at it as though he’d forgotten it was there and said, “I’ll put this back in my bedroom.”
    “I’ll say good night, then,” she said, taking a step backward.
    He eyed her, a warm, devilish glint in his eyes making her aware of how short her gown was and that the excitement or change of temperature perhaps had caused her nipples to pop out and see what was going on.
    The air tingled with possibilities.
 He said, “You got out here pretty fast. Weren’t you asleep?”
    She’d been lying there listening to the Doberman snore, her body on fire for the man in the other room. No, she hadn’t been sleeping. She shook her head, realizing he’d roared into the hall almost at the same moment she had. And he hadn’t looked like a man woken from deep sleep, either.
    She sent him a questioning look.
 Got back a rueful grin. “This is crazy. If we both can’t sleep, I can think of something else I’d rather be doing.”
    Her heart, which had barely calmed after the recent scare, began to race again. “And what is