A Perfect Storm

by Lori Foster

  “Yeah.” This time when she put her hand on his chest, Spencer suspected it was just to have contact. “You’d think it would spook me some, huh?”

  Grateful that he had her with him, Spencer covered her hand with his own. Despite all her brass, she was small-boned and delicate. “Will it?”

  She laughed. “You know what I always think of during stormy weather? How Jackson saved me that night. Up until then, life was something I had to bear. But after that, everything turned around for me.” She stroked him once and dropped her hand. “Truthfully, I love storms.”

  Jackson had given her a new lease on life, and yet, she still wasn’t comfortable with that life. Given half a chance she’d take on the world and to hell with the consequences. She recognized that Jackson put value on her life—but she didn’t share that sentiment…yet.

  One way or another, he planned to turn that around.

  With more resolve than ever, Spencer moved her away from the door. “Sorry, honey, but I’m a gentleman. I’ll get your things, end of conversation.”

  For several seconds, he watched as she considered fighting him over it. He knew the second she relented. “Fine, you want to get soaked? Suit yourself.” She handed him her keys. “Everything is in the trunk. Blue duffel and a canvas laptop case. But don’t you dare touch anything else.” She turned and headed for the hall.

  Now anxious to see what else she had in the trunk, Spencer dashed out the door. He was soaked within seconds of leaving the porch. Rather than cleansing the air, the rain thickened the existing hot September humidity. Steam rose from the blacktop roads, occasionally disrupted by battering winds.

  Scanning the area but seeing no one and nothing amiss, Spencer unlocked the trunk.

  Disbelief locked his knees; he became oblivious to the stinging rain. Among the array of survival items—water, blanket, first aid kit—neatly arranged in the trunk space, he noted a sniper rifle, night-vision binoculars, machete, bulletproof vest…shovel. In every nook and cranny she’d neatly stored weapons both common and unconventional.

  Jesus. What the hell did she have planned? Or did she consider those things everyday necessities?

  For fear that anyone else might see, he grabbed the duffel tucked in next to other overnight bags and the canvas case half hidden behind everything else, and slammed the trunk. Did Jackson know she carried around an arsenal? Did Trace and Dare know?

  One of them could have clued him in!

  Keeping both bags close to his body to protect them as much as he could from the storm, Spencer ran back up his walkway, up the porch steps and to the front door. The rain blew nearly horizontal, still hitting his back but not beating down on his head like needles.

  He pried off his boots, stripped off his sodden shirt and stepped in on the foyer rug.

  Arizona stood there. As she fixated on his chest, her cocky smiled faded away.

  Ah, hell. He knew that look and what it meant.

  Arizona might not realize it yet, but she was aware of him as a man. And damn if that didn’t spark his own heated awareness.

  Spencer set her things on the floor and dropped his shoes on the rug. When he straightened again, rain dripped over his temple, down his shoulder and into his chest hair.

  She stared so hard, her expression almost tactile, that he felt himself stir. He forgot his disgruntlement over her store of weapons.

  Palms itching with the need to touch her, Spencer shifted. “Do you realize how you’re affecting me?”

  Lashes lifting, Arizona met his gaze—and cracked a wry smile. “Sorry about that.” Though dusky color tinted her cheeks, she thrust out a towel and spoke as naturally as ever. “Thought you might want to dry off.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her gaze flipped back to his chest.

  “Arizona?”

  “You’re so darned big, and you have a really awesome bod.”

  With her staring like that, he was bound to get bigger by the second. Spencer touched her chin to raise her gaze. “I think your body is appealing, too.”

  Snorting, she said, “I’m not running around wet and topless.”

  Thank God. Fighting a smile at his own discomfort, Spencer said, “You could give it a try—”

  “Ha!” She snatched up her duffel and turned away. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to make use of your shower before the electricity goes out.”

  Arizona. In his shower. Naked and soap slick…

  “Make it quick,” he said to her retreating back. “It’s not safe with all the lightning—”

  His bathroom door closed while he was still midsentence.

  Well, hell.

  With no more reason for modesty, Spencer stripped off his jeans there in the foyer and carried everything into the laundry room, where he also peeled off his boxers and socks. Wrapped in the towel, he went to the more private bath in his bedroom. His shower would be cold, and then maybe, after he’d gotten his libido under control, he and Arizona could go over their plans for tomorrow.

  And with any luck, she’d trust him enough to explain the weapons in her trunk and the forbidding inclusion of a shovel.

  * * *

  AFTER A DRAWN-OUT SHOWER that did nothing to ease her growing tension, Arizona brushed her teeth, blow-dried her hair and dressed in a big gray T-shirt with loose-legged, pull-on shorts. Normally she slept in just a T-shirt and panties, but since she’d be sharing this night with Spencer, she made a concession for modesty.

  She tidied up the bathroom again, storing her discarded clothing back in her duffel and leaving no sign that she’d been in there. Spencer wasn’t neat to the point of annoying, but he did keep things clean and uncluttered.

  She loved his house, and the bathroom was especially cool with the vintage-looking black-and-white tiles. The towels matched the shower curtain matched the window covering matched the decorative pictures and knickknacks.

  His wife must’ve been a real homebody. Arizona imagined her in an apron, baking cookies with a sweet smile.

  No wonder Spencer loved her. No wonder, even after three years, he couldn’t get over losing her.

  Knowing she’d taken up as much time as she could, Arizona stopped avoiding the inevitable and opened the bathroom door.

  Barefoot, she went in search of Spencer and found him sprawled back on the couch in the living room, watching TV and drinking a longneck beer. At the sound of her approach he turned his head—and went still in that way men did while appreciating the sight of a woman.

  He fought it, but his attention went over her, snagging on her legs for several heart-stopping seconds before coming back to her face.

  It should have made her uncomfortable to be looked at like that. Before Spencer, it always had.

  Now…now she didn’t know what she felt, but it definitely wasn’t discomfort. Spencer wasn’t like other men she’d known. He wasn’t a disgusting creep like the animals who’d taken her, or those who’d paid for her time. But he didn’t deny her sexuality, either, as Jackson, Dare and Trace tried to do.

  Mostly…he just seemed to accept her. And like her.

  “Hey.” She strode past him, going around the coffee table to put her duffel by the front door where he’d left her laptop case
. With Spencer still watching her, she came back to plop down on the other end of the couch.

  He stared toward where she’d dropped off the bag, then back to her with a question in his eyes.

  Propping her feet on the edge of the table, Arizona controlled her smile and stared at the television. “So what are we watching?”

  Silence tripped by. She could feel his rapt attention touching on her, all over her.

  She made herself look at him with a raised brow. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Shaking his head, he again glanced at her bag but apparently decided not to ask why she’d put it near the door. “Sorry.” A slight frown in place, he half turned toward her. “Want a beer?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No. My father used to swill those things like crazy.”

  “It bothers you?” He sat forward as if to take the bottle away.

  Arizona stopped him. “It doesn’t. Actually, I kind of like the smell, just not the taste.”

  After gauging the truth in her words, he nodded. “Something else, then?”

  “No, thanks. I already cleaned my teeth.” Brushing a hand over the soft material of his couch, she said, “Am I sleeping here?”

  Seconds ticked by again. He sounded hoarse when he said, “Here at my house, yes.”

  “I meant here, on the couch.”

  “I have a guest room you can use. I would have put the laptop there, but the case was wet. I can move your things in there now, if you want.”

  The idea of using the guest room didn’t appeal to her. She wasn’t really a guest so much as an intrusion. And the idea of being closed up…she fought off a shiver.

  Before she could figure out how to explain her reservations, he glanced at his watch. “You ready to turn in already?”

  “Not really.” Dragging a throw off the back of his couch, she slouched down against the arm and stretched her legs out toward him. She stopped short of letting her feet bump his hip. “Mind if I just get comfortable here for now?”

  “Not at all.” He handed her a plump throw pillow. “Make yourself at home.” After a long hesitation, Spencer tucked the throw up and over her feet. “I mean that, Arizona. Help yourself to anything you need or want.”

  “Thanks.” She bunched the pillow up at her side. “So what’s on the boob tube?”

  Bemused, he glanced at the TV and then back to her. “Old MMA highlights. Did you want me to change it to something else?”

  “This is good. I like the fights.” Mixed martial arts fascinated her.

  Sounding more like himself, he asked, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “Because you already know me, that’s why.” She watched for a moment and became curious about his interest in the sport. “Do you have a favorite fighter?”

  “A few.” His big hand came to rest casually on her foot. “If you’re in a talkative mood…”

  Heart racing from his touch—on her foot, for crying out loud—Arizona shrugged. “Sure.”

  He turned down the volume on the television. “Then let’s talk about our plans for tomorrow.”

  What a buzzkill. She groaned. “I guess you’re going to insist?”

  He hesitated. “You know we need to coordinate.”

  Yeah, they did. To get comfortable, she turned to her back with her knees bent under the throw, her head on the pillow, and peered down the length of the couch at him. “We’ll arrive separately, you in your truck, me by bus so that we can leave together in one vehicle afterward.” She cautioned him, “Make sure you park away from the entrance, so no one will see us together afterward.”

  Deadpan, he said, “Naturally.”

  “I’ll go in first and grab a seat at the bar. Say, five or ten minutes later, you can come in and sit at a table.”

  “Why don’t I sit at the bar?”

  “Because I’ve already scoped out the place, and that’s where I sat before.” She rolled her shoulder. “It’s where I need to be to draw their attention. You can watch over things more easily, without being noticed, from the eating area.”

  He didn’t look happy about it, but he agreed. “I’m not going to wait that long before coming in, though.”

  Why did he sound annoyed already? “So come in earlier, then. Just be discreet.”

  His thumb moved over the arch of her foot, nearly stopping her heart. “This isn’t my first rodeo, honey.”

  She wasn’t his honey, but… “What are you doing?”

  “What?”

  She nodded at her feet.

  As if he hadn’t been aware of the touch himself, he looked down at his hand and then stroked with his thumb again. “This?” He drew both her feet up to his thigh. “You’re tense.”

  She was, but she thought she’d hidden it. “Yeah, well…”

  “You don’t like it?” He pressed, rubbed, worked her arches in a deep, firm massage.

  And she wanted to melt. Felt like parts of her did melt. “Mmm. I like it.”

  Spencer stilled again, his gaze piercing, hot. “Never had a foot-rub before?”

  “That’s a joke, right?”

  “So relax and enjoy.”

  It was a bit too personal, but she liked it too much to make him quit. “Knock yourself out.” She drew a breath and tried to get them back on track. “Okay, so you know to ignore me when you come into the place, right?”

  “If I did that, they’d suspect something.” Setting aside the beer, he half turned toward her and, keeping his gaze on her face, worked over her feet more thoroughly.

  Bone-melting pleasure stole her breath.

  Watching her, Spencer said softly, “No red-blooded man is going to miss noticing you, Arizona, so forget that idea. I’ll give you the same attention every other guy in the place will be doling out. Think you can handle that?”

  With her heavy eyelids at half-mast, she snuggled farther into his couch. “Sure.”

  He half smiled. “Just so you know, I might have to pretend interest in other women, too.”

  That brought her out of her slumberous trance. “Why?”

  “Because if the place is what we think it is, they’re liable to parade out the wares. If I’m not picking up the cues, they’ll pull back and we’ll lose an opportunity.”

  He was right, damn him. She wouldn’t think about it now, and tomorrow…she’d deal with it. “Fine, whatever.” Her toes curled at his renewed touch. “Once you’re in the bar for backup, I’ll drop a few casual questions, maybe flirt a little, go for the helpless look. You know, all in all I’ll make myself seem like easy pickings.”

  “You’ve done that before?”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah. Plenty of times. It works to draw out the unscrupulous scumbags.”

  His hands moved up to her ankles, kneading, soothing, then back down over her feet. So nice.

  “And when the scumbags show themselves?”

  “You and I can kick their…butts.” She’d swallowed back the curse word just in time, which robbed the description of any real punch.

  This business of curbing her language was a little harder than she’d expected.

  “A near miss.” Spencer’s hands stilled, tightened. “But I don’t like that part of the plan.
”

  “So what’d you want to do? Sweet-talk them into falling off the face of the earth?”

  “I want you to stay out of harm’s way and let me handle it.”

  She stared at him. “Poor Spencer. Did you think the massage would make me more agreeable?” Was that why he did it? “Fat chance.”

  Planting one hand on the back of the couch, another near her knee, he leaned over her.

  And that did alarm her a little. She was nearly flat on her back. She had on minimal clothing. And a man of his size and strength could be imposing without malicious intent.

  She said, “Uh—” and considered bringing her knee up into his ribs.

  “Here’s what’ll happen, honey.” His tone was calm, even. “You’ll ask the right questions, be suitably naive, and if anyone bites, we withdraw.”

  “We?” She looked at his throat, at the flexing of muscles in his chest. Focus, Arizona. “So you’re not just cutting me out?”

  He shook his head. “For now, we’ll both play it cool to see how deep the operation goes.”

  Good idea. There were always more people involved than those most obvious. She swallowed and pressed one hand to his left pectoral. Solid. “And later?”

  “Once we know what we’re dealing with, all of it from the bottom up, then we’ll make a move. A well-thought-out move, with plenty of safeguards.” He looked at her mouth, and his voice lowered. “But not until then.” He straightened away again.

  Arizona hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she sucked in a giant gulp. And really, that wasn’t only fear she felt. She knew it, and that sort of rattled her, too.

  “You either give me your word on that,” Spencer said, regaining her attention, “or everything is off.”

  He sat there watching her, waiting, and for some absurd reason, Arizona felt like laughing. “Tell you what, Spence. After that wonderful foot massage, I’ll agree that if retreat is an option, I’m all for it.” Turning on her side again, she drew up her knees so that her feet no longer touched him, and she tucked her hands under her cheek. “But if anyone touches me, it’s on.”