Blackstone Ranger Chief

the right of the mirror, while a bar of soap sat on a dish beside the faucet. She reached for the drawers, only hesitating because she didn’t want to invade his privacy since that’s where most people kept their personal items. When she pulled one open, she was surprised to see that inside was neat and everything in its place—extra toothbrushes lined up in a row, a package of floss in the corner, new razors beside it. There had to be something here … there! A pair of scissors glinted when she pulled the drawer out further.
With a deep sigh, she positioned the scissors in the middle of the sweetheart neckline. How ironic. Her teeth ground together as she sliced down the middle, and suddenly, she could breathe again. She was finally free. Literally and figuratively.
Shrugging the rest of the gown off, she grabbed the hand towel and gave herself a quick sponge bath, then rinsed her mouth out multiple times with water from the tap. That deep tub in the corner looked tempting, but she was pretty sure the man who owned this house would mind very much if she took a bubble bath.
Her fingers massaged the bridge of her nose. I don’t even know his name.
Marching out of the bathroom with the remains of the dress, she spotted a large paper bag, and inside were the clothes he mentioned. They consisted of a pair of leggings, a heavy sweater, and thick socks. As she put them on, it dawned on her where these clothes could have come from. Oh God, he has a girlfriend. Or a wife.
Somehow, the thought of that made her chest seize up; why, she didn’t know. However, looking around, there were no signs of a feminine hand anywhere. Much like the bathroom, the bedroom was utilitarian—the only furniture was the bed, side table, and a dresser. There were no knickknacks anywhere, no clothes piled in the corner or surfaces, and everything was clean as a whistle. Maybe these clothes were left by an ex. Or a one-night stand. None of those thoughts comforted her, so she pushed them aside.
Now somewhat presentable, she could go downstairs, but there was the matter of the dress. It would be rude to just leave it here for him to discard, so she balled it up as tightly as possible and shoved it into the empty bag.
He had said to come downstairs. Now, she wasn’t dumb; he was a stranger and she was in his house, so the smart thing to do would be to sneak out while she could. However, the rational part of her said that if he wanted to harm her, he’d have done it by now or while she was sleeping. Perhaps there were still some really good Samaritans in the world.
In any case, maybe he could give her a ride back to her car. That damned dress didn’t have any pockets, so she left her purse inside and only took some cash and her keys. Hopefully she’d dropped her keys in the bar, but if not, maybe she could call a locksmith, at least to get her purse and figure out what to do next.
Padding out of the room, she headed toward the stairs, paper bag in her hand. The smell of coffee, toast, and bacon filled her nostrils. Her stomach gurgled embarrassingly, but grease and caffeine were exactly what her hungover-self needed right now.
As she descended the stairs, she walked past the living room and into the kitchen. Her eyes immediately went to the tall, dark-haired man hunched over the stove, and her stomach did that flippy thing again. Oh jeez, the back view was just as spectacular as the front.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
The voice made her start. To her surprise, there was another man sitting at the breakfast nook, someone she’d never seen before.
In all her twenty-five years on this earth, she’d been around a lot of good-looking men before but this guy … he wasn’t just handsome, he was actually beautiful. His features were refined, almost angelic. And, as if to emphasize that point, the dark golden mane of hair around him lit up like a halo. Blue eyes twinkled with amusement when their gazes met.
“Uh, good morning,” she managed to say.
“I have to say, I was so surprised when Damon asked me to come here and bring some clothes that I just had to stay and find out for whom.” His perfect, bow-shaped mouth quirked up into a smile. “I wondered where he went when he disappeared last night. Never thought I’d see that day. Why, he’s practically a monk—”
“Gabriel.” The man—Damon, apparently—had turned around, a fierce scowl marring his face. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”
“You mean, after I drove all the way out here to do you a favor?” He quirked a golden brow at her. “But I can see why you’d want me out as soon as possible.” Hopping off the stool, he stalked toward her, his movements lithe and graceful. He was tall, like Damon, though built differently. Whereas the dark-haired man was built like a linebacker, this man had the body of a dancer—long limbed and lean, though with a power underneath that shouldn’t be underestimated. “Gabriel Russel, at your service.” He held out his hand, but when Damon let out a strange rumbling sound, he quickly retracted it.
“Anna Victoria Hall.” She gestured to the clothes. “Uh, these yours?”
“Nah, they’re my sister Ginny’s.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “Or maybe Giselle’s. Could also be Gwen’s.”
How many sisters did this man have? “I’m sorry to have troubled her. And you.” The idea that the clothing wasn’t a wife or girlfriend or one-night stand’s made her sigh in relief.
“No trouble at all. My sisters leave their shit around my apartment all the time.”
“Eat.” Damon had placed a plate and a mug of coffee on the breakfast nook, on the end farthest away from Gabriel. “It’ll help with the hangover. You were pretty drunk last night,