A Perfect Storm

by Lori Foster

  “Yeah, the one choosing it must be nuts.”

  “More likely desperate, but not always. The point is that a real man would never try to force himself on a woman, or participate in any way when someone else is forcing her. In fact, he’d do everything in his power to stop it.”

  That hadn’t been her experience; she’d known only men willing to turn a blind eye, willing to participate and willing to overlook the obvious. “Must be a lack of real men in the world.”

  “That’s a jaded view, honey, and sooner or later you’ll realize it.” To keep her from protesting that, he continued, “I do my best physically, hope I’m reading the woman right so that I go slowly when she wants me to, harder and faster when that’s what she needs, but it can still be a guessing game, and I sometimes fall short.”

  “You ever had a woman complain?”

  He smiled. “More often than not, I’m successful.”

  Yeah, she could believe that. “Braggart.”

  “Being honest, as I promised.”

  He’d told her a whole lot of nuanced stuff without any of the nitty-gritty mechanics. But for now—since she was a little too overheated herself—she decided to let it go. “Thanks for the education.” She slapped her hands to her bare knees. “It’s been great, but now I need to—”

  “Give me the kiss you owe me.”

  Her stomach bottomed out, her legs turned to noodles, and her backbone froze stiff. A feeling not unlike alarm, but probably more like anticipation, churned inside her.

  Spencer brought her face around to his. “You cursed.”

  “I didn’t.” Did she? “When?”

  “When I first got here. Twice actually, so I suppose if we’re accurate, you owe me two kisses.”

  What had she said? What had she…oh, yeah. She remembered her outburst, and her slipups. But that was partly his fault. “You took me by surprise.”

  “I know. And it’s bound to happen again, so you might as well get used to paying the piper.”

  Her pulse jumped. “I don’t know if I can.” God, she hated how small her voice sounded, how weak and silly. “Spencer—”

  “You haven’t had any pleasant kisses, either?”

  “No.” She amended that with, “I offered with Jackson, but you already know that.”

  He nodded. “And since you offered for the wrong reasons, he turned you down.”

  “He’d have turned me down anyway, no matter why I offered.” She shrugged. “Like I said, he feels sorry for me.”

  Spencer let that go to say, “It’s just a kiss. Why does that scare you?”

  Swallowing wasn’t easy. She shook her head, unwilling to spill her guts. He probably saw her as fearless; she tried hard enough to give that impression. But she knew the truth: she was a terrible coward.

  “I’ve been honest with you, Arizona. Can’t you give me the same courtesy?” He smoothed his hand up and down her arm. “Tell me. What are you so afraid of?”

  She stared at the bathroom door, at the carpet, at his hand on her arm. Fine, he wanted honesty? She met his gaze. “Sooner or later, you’ll snap.” He was in complete control now, but what if he lost control?

  Silence filled the room. She expected Spencer to deny that possibility. To maybe sweet-talk her. Maybe cajole.

  “Give me your hand.”

  Such a calm but firm command caused her fingers to curl into her palm. “But—”

  Gently, he said, “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

  Annoyance surfaced. He wanted to play this stupid game, fine, she’d play. She’d given her word, and by God, she’d abide by it.

  Face set and cold, fingers trembling, Arizona straightened her arm toward him.

  Oh-so-gently, Spencer enfolded her hand in his own. He was so much bigger, his hand twice the size of hers, rougher and thicker, too.

  And so warm.

  For a short time, he only held her, watching her, his thumb moving over her knuckles until her skin tingled, and the butterflies in her stomach rioted.

  “Relax.” He lifted her hand toward his mouth, looked at her palm, then pressed a kiss there.

  Firm. Lingering.

  Her pulse stuttered. Heat swelled inside her. His mouth was warm, his breath moist, his hold so incredibly tender.

  Ho boy.

  Suddenly he released her and stood to walk back to the window.

  She kept her arm extended for half a minute before she caught herself and snatched it back. “That’s it?”

  Hands on his hips, his head down and his shoulders rigid, he said, “This time, yeah.”

  This time? She held her closed hand up against her chest, but the impression of his mouth touching her sensitive skin, how he’d looked and how he’d breathed while doing it, kept a small thrill ricocheting inside her. “There won’t be a next time.”

  “You owe me one more.”

  A threat? Well, given how weak she became around him, how else could she look at it? Damn, but he left her confused!

  She shoved to her feet. “Then take it now, da…darn you.”

  Once again amused, he turned back to her. “No, not yet. Maybe later. For now, I need to talk to you about something else. And yes, you should probably get dressed first.”

  “Why?” She folded her arms. “Starting to get to you?”

  “I’ve got a boner, so lying would do me no good.”

  Her gaze dropped fast and hard to his lap, then stuck there. Well, well, well. Instead of distressing her, that gave her a dose of satisfaction. “Serves you right.”

  “Your pointed stare isn’t helping.”

  “Poor you.” But she should probably get it together. Still, it wasn’t totally scary that he wanted her. Really, she’d known all along that he did. He hadn’t hidden his attraction. So this was just—

  “Arizona.”

  On a huff, she dragged her gaze upward and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t move. I’ll be dressed in under three minutes.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE SECOND SHE DISAPPEARED into the bathroom, Spencer let out a breath.

  The girl packed a wallop of major proportions.

  After turning on her television for background noise, he sprawled out on the bed with a groan.

  He’d kissed her palm, that’s all. But he’d heard her accelerated breathing, felt her excited trembling, and he’d wanted so badly to devour her. Head to toes and—oh, God—everywhere in between.

  That skimpy little towel…what the hell was he thinking, to postpone her getting dressed? When had he become such a masochist?

  But he knew. Ever since first meeting Arizona, he’d put himself through hell, wanting to be with her but refusing to take advantage of her vulnerability by pushing for sexual satisfaction. If she was any other woman, he’d have already done his utmost to charm her into bed.

  She had such incredibly beautiful, shapely legs.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face, but still he saw those sleek muscles, her soft thighs and skin the color of rich honey.

  Even her feet looked sexy to him, being small and narrow with a high arch. And those adorable knees…God, he had it bad.

  Resisting her in shorts was one thing; at least last night she’d immediately covered up with the throw. Today, in the bright light of day, in a small room mostly dominated by a bed, ignoring the insubstantial covering of a small towel was impossible.

  Shit. He adjusted his jeans and concentrated on getting himself under control. Her unique brand of honesty and curiosity would be the death of him.

  And thinking about her, about her body, wasn’t helping with his erection. He needed to concentrate on something else—like that forbidding array of weapons in her t
runk. Or her God-awful propensity for courting danger.

  While slipping out the door behind her today, staying far enough back that she didn’t see him, but close enough that he didn’t lose her, he’d called Trace, who was very unhappy to know she’d given Spencer the slip.

  With her car out of commission and Spencer keeping tabs on her, Trace had assumed she’d be safe. And he knew Arizona, so he understood the daunting responsibility put on Spencer. But Trace had wanted to ramp up the surveillance on her, and he’d wanted to have a firm discussion with her.

  Knowing Arizona wouldn’t appreciate either of those things, Spencer had assured Trace that one way or another, he would get her back to his house, and somehow he’d find a way to keep her there for the duration of this investigation and bust.

  But if he didn’t—

  The bathroom door opened in a rush, shattering his thoughts. Hair wet, wearing only snug, low-riding jeans and a ribbed camisole, Arizona stepped back into the bedroom. Judging by her expression and stomping stride, she’d had no problem collecting herself.

  Sighing, Spencer sat up. Through the thin material of her top, he could see every curve of her breasts and the plump outline of her nipples. His mouth went dry.

  She stopped beside the bed, her hands on her hips. “All right, Spencer, some ground rules.”

  He looked up at her angry face. “Number one, you stay with me.”

  Her open mouth snapped shut. After blinking twice, she shook her head. “No, number one is that you back off a little.”

  “We made a deal,” he reminded her.

  Anger left her cheeks a dusky rose. “I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about you following me—”

  “Overruled.” Glad that she wasn’t protesting his kiss, he stood, crowding into the narrow space she’d allotted between the bed and her body. “You either stay with me, or I wash my hands of the whole thing and you can deal with the dynamic trio instead.”

  She stared at him, and her mouth twitched. “Dynamic trio?”

  Keeping his attention off her chest was a trial. “Whatever you want to call them. You know they’ll be hovering over you way worse than I do.”

  “Yeah.” She chewed the side of her mouth. “They’ll smother me.”

  And he was counting on her to hate that. “Exactly.”

  She propped a hand on the nightstand, drummed her fingers. “You’d actually do that to me?”

  “To ensure you stayed safe?” He’d move heaven and earth. “In a heartbeat.”

  She drummed some more. “They’re going to be on top of things now anyway.”

  He wouldn’t lie to her by denying that. “But if you allow me to shadow you, they’ll be in the background, not breathing down your neck. Take today, for instance. If Trace hadn’t known that I would follow you, one of them would have. And you’d be having a whole different conversation right about now.”

  The drumming stopped. “With no kissing.”

  Had she enjoyed it? Or was she still fighting her reactions? “Given that two of them are married and the other engaged, probably not.”

  She laughed. “Probably not?”

  “They’re good men, honorable men,” Spencer admitted. There was no question of that. But when it came to Arizona… He shrugged. “You’re hard to resist.”

  She eyed him up and down—and took a step back. “Jackson resisted me just fine.”

  God, he did not want to hear this again. Why did she keep bringing it up? Was she infatuated with Jackson beyond the platonic? Thinking that left him churning with a dangerous mix of emotions. “Let’s stick to the point. To make things simpler on me and on yourself, you need to stay with me until we sort things out at the bar.”

  Pacing away, she appeared to think about it. “Your couch is comfortable.”

  “I told you that you could use the guest room.”

  Her shoulder lifted. “You don’t want me on the couch?”

  Now what was this about? Spencer crossed his arms. “I don’t mind if you sleep there, but why would you want to when you can set up your own room? You can make yourself at home in there.” And in case she worried about it, he added, “While you’re with me, I won’t push you to do anything you don’t want to do—except kiss me when you curse.”

  She shot him a dirty look. “I won’t slip up again.”

  “I’ll give you as much freedom as I can. I’ll stay out of your hair. But if you go anywhere, I need to know. No more running off by yourself. Period.”

  She paced again, head down, hands on hips. When she returned to him, she nodded. “All right, fine.”

  He launched into the next demand. “Make no plans without me. None. We’re either working together on this, or we’re not working at all.”

  “Sure, fine. Ditto back atcha.”

  Being reasonable? Doubtful, so he didn’t bother to commit himself to the same rule. “Tell me why you have so many weapons in your trunk.”

  Without missing a beat, she said, “I like to live.”

  That blunt answer threw him. “You need a shovel to live?”

  Her chin lifted. “You know why I need that.”

  Yes, he probably did, but he badly wanted to be wrong. “Enlighten me.”

  “If I have to kill anyone, I’ll need to bury them.”

  Oh, God. Spencer dropped back to sit on the bed. He shouldn’t have asked.

  Arizona, damn her, laughed. “Oh, lighten up, Spence. I was just funnin’ ya.”

  “Funning me?” Anger stirred as he glared at her. “You think it’s funny to joke about murder?”

  “Sometimes, yeah. Depends on the murder victim, right?” She strolled around the room like a caged tiger. “I carry the shovel for lots of reasons. In case I get my car stuck in mud, in case I have to use my knife and need to hide it.” She shrugged. “It’s an all-purpose, handy tool.”

  Skeptical, he said, “You don’t plan to kill anyone?”

  “Didn’t say that.” Her face went carefully blank. “If someone needs killing, if I need to defend myself or someone else—”

  “I’ll do it.” He was trained, he was a man, and…he wanted to shield her from as much ugliness as he could.

  “I don’t need you to. I can fend for myself.”

  But she didn’t have to, not anymore. More firmly, to make sure she understood, he said, “If it comes to that, if the situation turns that violent, I will be the one to handle things.”

  Her chest rose with agitated breaths. “Just like you killed Chandra Silverman, even though it was my right?”

  They’d already debated who had more right in that regard. But he knew his actions concerning the evil organizer of a human trafficking ring had veered from wanting revenge for the death of his wife to concern for Arizona.

  She deserved to regain a normal outlook on life, not add to the nasty memories by chalking up a kill—even against someone who deserved death as much as Chandra had. She might not realize it, but it wouldn’t give her closure. It’d only darken her dreams more.

  Given Arizona’s livid expression, she didn’t agree. Spencer stood and walked to her. “Just calm down for a minute.”

  That damned pointy finger of hers poked hard into his chest again. “You calm down!”

  He grabbed her hand. “That’s enough.”

  She strained against his hold, then gave up to lean into him with her ire. “It’s one thing for you to play the White Knight, but if you think you have the stones to change me, forget it.”

  “Change you how?” That he still held her hand—and she allowed it—surprised and pleased him. More gently now, he enfolded her fingers in his own and, drawing her closer, held them against his chest. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen v
iolence. I’ve lived it. And I can take a hit as easy as the next guy.”

  Over his dead body. “You’re not a guy.” She was a small, susceptible female—and he couldn’t bear the thought of her being physically injured.

  “Doesn’t matter. Now that I’m free, I plan to stay on the delivery end of things.”

  “Doling out retribution?”

  Her jaw locked. “I will do what I think is right. What is best. You can either help, or you can stay out of my way.”

  No, she wouldn’t get rid of him that easily. “I’m here to help, remember?” He moved his thumb over her taut knuckles, hoping to quiet her. She could make a credible fist, but she lacked the power necessary to fend for herself against brutal men, especially the immoral breed of flesh peddlers. “That’s why we need some ground rules.”

  “I agreed to your stupid rules already.”

  True enough. And since he wouldn’t let her out of his sight, he could keep her from using most of those weapons. Most. “What do you carry on you?”

  Understanding the question, she relaxed a little. “Depends on where I go. Usually a knife, pepper spray and stun baton. The baton is telescopic, so it can fit in my purse.”

  She indicated the big slouch purse that looked liked it could hold the kitchen sink. “Incredible.”

  Shrugging, she added, “If I’m blending in but still want a gun, I carry the little Beretta Bobcat. It’s easy to hide. And if I don’t have to conceal things, then I carry my Glock, maybe my rifle, too. And I wear my vest. If I’m on night surveillance, I have these cool night-vision goggles that come in handy. They weren’t cheap, but they’re worth the cost.”

  Fully armed and protected, like a damned trooper. “What did you plan to carry tonight?”

  “Not much, since my new clothes won’t make it easy.” After freeing her hand, she went to her duffel bag and withdrew a wicked switchblade. She pressed a button, and it snapped open. But closed again, the profile was slim and would be easy to hide in the bottom of her purse. “It’s not my favorite, but it’ll do.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed her. “What is your favorite?”