A Perfect Storm

by Lori Foster

  “Afraid so.” Dare didn’t mince words. “The driver did most of the spilling, but both men were anxious to share.” He paused, then added, “I can be convincing.”

  Again, he had to reach for lost control. But he had to think of Arizona. He had to get her to his house, and he had to find a way to convince her to stay away from dangerous situations. “So now what?”

  “Whenever we can keep a low profile, we do. We’ll continue to oversee things, to ensure we get the results we want.”

  “Meaning no one walks away?”

  Dare didn’t reply to that. “We have a good relationship with the special agent in charge. He’s organized an effective task force, and he has all the contacts he needs to take this through the proper legal channels.”

  Catching Arizona’s wandering hands again, Spencer shook his head at her and whispered, “Stop that.”

  Dare laughed. “She enjoyed herself?”

  “Seems like.”

  Still amused, Dare said, “Get her home safe, Spencer.”

  “Working on it.” Since he held the phone, he ended up playing one-handed patty-cake with Arizona to keep her from molesting him.

  His resistance was on shaky ground already—he didn’t need her enticement, too.

  She pretended to pout, then put her head back and closed her eyes on a lusty yawn.

  “We’re heading to my place now.” The sooner he got her tucked in for the night, the sooner he could loosen his knotted muscles.

  “Great. For the time being, keep her there. At least until we meet at my place. We’ll catch up then.” And with that Dare was gone.

  Frowning with new concern, Spencer folded the phone and put it back in his pocket.

  “What now?” Arizona asked.

  He shook his head. Did Dare want Arizona to continue staying with him because someone had gotten loose? Or was it just a precaution?

  “You’re keeping something from me.” Resentment chased away her lethargy and had her gathering steam.

  “No.” To forestall the fireworks, Spencer said, “I’m just a little amazed that it’s all over.”

  “Did they have to kill anyone?”

  He frowned over her bloodthirsty tendencies. “Dare said he’ll fill us in on the details when we get to his place tomorrow.” He hesitated, but he needed her cooperation right now. “For the time being, he wants you to stay with me.”

  “Mmm.” Rather than argue, she asked, “And how do you feel about that?”

  “It’s not a problem for me.” Hell, the only problem would be if she tried to leave him now.

  At his answer, Arizona gave him such a wanton look that his guts cramped. He felt tortured, bordering on a loss of control, and she wanted to…flirt?

  Trying not to stare at her mouth, he said, “What’s up with you?”

  With a secret smile, she lifted one bare shoulder. “I did a side-by-side analysis, that’s all.”

  He had no idea what to make of that. “I don’t follow.”

  She released her seat belt to turn toward him. After taking her gaze over him, his chest, his shoulders—his lap—she looked into his eyes and said huskily, “You, Spencer Lark, stand out.”

  “Among those scumbags?” He turned toward her, too. He had one arm along the back of the seat, the other draped over the steering wheel. “Jesus, I hope so.”

  “Definitely when compared to them, but from all other men, as well.”

  Her admiration put another crack in his already weakening resolve. Spencer tried scoffing at her. “You’re drunk.”

  “Yeah, a little.” Easing closer still, she said, “But it’s not like I’m totally shit-faced or anything.”

  Did she curse on purpose? “You’re not thinking straight.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about it a lot even before the whiskey. Even before I walked into the bar.”

  Good God. Feeling cornered by her intent and his own heated interest, he asked, “About what?”

  “You. How you look. The things you do, and why you do them.” She drew a breath and her eyes grew heavy. “How you make me feel.”

  “I panic you,” Spencer reminded her. Okay, so during that last kiss he’d given her, she hadn’t exactly been fighting him. And before going in the bar, she’d kissed him. A barely there kiss, but still… “I have to coerce you into every single—”

  “No, you don’t.” She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

  Spencer considered her assurances. She might think that now, but she wouldn’t if he put it to the test. If he kissed her as he wanted to.

  The way he craved.

  “Okay, then.” He’d give her a more thorough taste that would help to remind them both of how she really felt and of everything she still had to overcome. “Maybe you ought to pay up?”

  She gave a quizzical look.

  “You cursed, Arizona.” Trusting that she’d shy away, he pushed her. “A whole lot of curses, actually.”

  “Hmm. Well, damn.” She breathed a little harder, a little faster. “Guess I forgot myself.”

  Could she find a more inventive way to make him suffer? “Arizona…”

  “But what the hell, right?” Her twitching smile proved a taunt; she deliberately threw out the curses. “These are extenuating circumstances.”

  Anticipation rode him, amped up his determination and his lust. “You’re playing with fire.”

  “I know. But not cursing has been a real…” long, dark lashes lifted, and her gaze locked on his “…bitch.”

  That did it. She asked for it.

  Hell, she begged for it.

  And why not? It’d probably take no more than one real kiss before she’d be backing up and rethinking her brazenness.

  She didn’t really want him.

  She didn’t really want any of this.

  Set on his course, Spencer said, “Time for me to collect, then, so sit still.”

  But she didn’t. As he leaned toward her, she licked her lips and suddenly launched herself at him.

  Taken off guard, he didn’t resist as her mouth landed on his, not brief, but open, hot. He tasted the sharp bite of the whiskey first and then the sweetness of her tongue as she took his mouth without reserve.

  Oh, God.

  He tried to pull back.

  Sort of.

  He got his hands on her upper arms…but didn’t quite push her away as he meant to.

  She made a sound of hunger and deepened the kiss.

  Heat flared, and his dick twitched to attention.

  So did his conscience.

  The easiest explanation for her quick turnaround was that on top of the adrenaline high, she’d had way too many drinks.

  But damn, her mouth felt good and tasted good, too. Before he even realized it, he had his hand tangled in her long hair, his mouth slanting over hers, their tongues dueling.

  He pulled her closer as he leaned back so that she sprawled over his chest. Instead of recoiling, Arizona moaned.

  Shit.

  He freed his mouth, then had to hold her away as she tried to crawl up onto his lap. “Honey…wait.”

  “No.”

  “We hav
e to stop.”

  “Can’t.”

  Honest need sounded in her tone, and Spencer’s control fragmented. A kiss hadn’t dampened her enthusiasm at all. Hell, it had spurred her on.

  Because of the alcohol.

  Never in his life had he taken advantage of an inebriated woman, and he sure as hell wouldn’t start with Arizona. He had to pull it together and fast, or he’d do something they both might regret. “Arizona, stop.”

  He held her back the length of his arms.

  The look she gave him would have reduced most guys to a puddle. Hurt, embarrassment, even desperation—he saw it all in her beautiful blue eyes.

  He shored up his resistance and touched her cheek—and prayed that he was the only one to notice how his hand shook. “You promised me you’d be okay.”

  Confusion overtook embarrassment. “What are you talking about?”

  “Before you went in the bar. You gave me your word that you’d be fine.”

  Overflowing with frustration, she held out her arms. “And I am.”

  “Bruised and bleeding is not fine. It’s a long way from fine.” He gave the corner of her mouth one last stroke, smoothing a darkening bruise with his thumb. “You got struck.”

  “A little backhand, that’s all.” She reached for him again. “It’s nothing.”

  “Maybe not to you.” He held her at bay, and this time she let him. “But to me it’s a lot. It damn near killed me when that bastard hit you.”

  “Yeah?”

  Telling her too much would only encourage her. “I want to get you home, cleaned up, and then you need to sleep off the whiskey.”

  She leaned in to put her head on his shoulder, cuddling close—and he let her.

  “I don’t want to.”

  The rejection stiffened his spine; her nearness, the scent of her, stiffened everything else. “You don’t want to come home with me?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to sleep.”

  Spencer could see the wheels turning. So she no longer minded kissing—that didn’t change anything else, not her past, and not the fact she was drunk.

  Besides, he couldn’t delay things any longer, not here, out on the street, exposed to danger.

  He looked out the back window but saw no one and nothing. Was Dare still following them? If so, Spencer couldn’t even imagine what he’d think.

  He lifted Arizona back to her own seat. “Sorry, honey, but I need you to put your seat belt back on.”

  “But—”

  “I’m done arguing, Arizona. Just do it.”

  She resettled herself with angry movements. “You’re a real killjoy, you know that?”

  Spencer fought a reluctant grin as he put the truck in gear and pulled back out to the road. God help him, it was getting more and more difficult to play this game.

  And with every minute, it felt less like a game anyway.

  Everything about her appealed to him, especially her independence. She went after what she wanted, whether it was a new knife, a fight with a scumbag like Janes, or…a devastating kiss with him.

  If it weren’t for the danger, he would have loved watching her work. She pulled off the “look at me, I’m so helpless” act to perfection. But when necessary, she was ballsy to the extreme, with the skill to back it up.

  He didn’t hear from Dare again, but he assumed he still followed.

  Taking a disjointed route back home took longer but felt safer. No way in hell would he lead anyone to his place.

  By the time they reached his driveway, Arizona was almost asleep. She’d curled up toward the passenger door, her long hair hanging down to hide her face, her arms folded around her middle, her sandals discarded on the floor.

  Sexy. Like a slumbering kitten—but with sharp claws.

  “We’re here,” Spencer softly told her.

  “Whoop-de-doo.”

  Okay. Not so asleep after all.

  “Let’s go.” He got out and walked around to her side of the truck, but she’d already opened her door and started a zigzagging stride up the walkway. Barefoot. The turbulent night air swirled around her, lifting her long hair and sending leaves to scuttle past her ankles.

  Rushing to grab her purse and sandals, Spencer caught up to her and took her arm. “You’re hammered.”

  “Yeah, the booze is sort of sinking in, ya know? I feel it more now than I did when I first left the bar.” Then she paused, looked toward Marla’s and gave an exaggerated wave. “Hey, neighbor!”

  Spencer turned his head around in time to see a curtain drop. He did not need this conversation tonight. “Keep going.”

  “What? You don’t want to chat with your lover?”

  God, no, he didn’t want that. Unless Arizona became his… He put the brakes on that provocative thought. “Inside.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  His mouth twitched again. “I am not that bossy.”

  “Ha!” She nearly knocked herself over with that exaggerated exclamation. “Bossy, and arrogant, and a…a tease.”

  Hauling her into his side, Spencer supported her while they went up the porch to the front door. “You need sleep a whole lot more than you need anything else.”

  “But we were going to eat cake.”

  He got the door unlocked, opened it—and she almost fell inside. “That’ll have to wait.” Giving up, he scooped her into his arms.

  “Wait.” She straightened her neck to look around. “You’re going to carry me? Seriously?”

  Shrugging, Spencer looked down at her, their faces close. “Seems easier than rolling you to bed.”

  “But since we are going to a bed…” She touched her forehead to his. “I can think of better things to do than…” She burped, then snickered. “Sorry.”

  “Right. Hold that thought.” After pressing her head to his shoulder to remove a modicum of the temptation, he kicked the door shut and started forward.

  Through the silent, dark house, Spencer carried her—and he enjoyed it. A lot. Probably too much.

  “Not the couch?” she asked when he passed it.

  “Not tonight, no.”

  “I don’t want to sleep in your guest bedroom,” she rushed to say.

  “I know.” He hugged her just a little. Sooner or later he’d find out why she hesitated to use the room. “I’m taking you to my bed.”

  “Really?” Her arms tightened around his neck, and she whispered, “Change your mind?”

  “No.” But God, he wanted to. Holding her like this felt…right.

  And dangerous. To him and her, both.

  The steady drumming of her heartbeat, the lush press of her breasts to his chest, her warm thighs over his forearm…all combined to ramp up his awareness.

  With regret, he let her legs slide down until her feet touched the tiled bathroom floor. He dropped her sandals and set her purse on the vanity. “Why don’t you do…whatever you do before bed, and I’ll be right back.”

  She lounged against the sink. “Where are you going?”

  “To lock up. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Okeydokey.” She closed the door on him.

  Taking his time, Spencer
turned the dead bolt on the front door, checked the windows and then went to his bedroom to turn down the bed. He’d just finished when Arizona emerged.

  Her hair was damp around her face, so she’d splashed it—but hadn’t removed all her makeup. She stopped in front of him, swaying just a little.

  He tipped up her chin and examined the place where she’d been hit. Even in the dim light, he saw the darkening bruise that colored the side of her mouth and along her jaw.

  He touched it with his thumb. “I hate it that you got hurt.” Again. Under his watch.

  Damn it, he wanted to protect her, not let her suffer more abuse.

  Her mouth tilted. “I’ve had a lot worse, so quit worrying about it.”

  Her breath smelled of toothpaste, and her eyes looked dazed. “You’re not making this any easier on me.” Bending down, he brushed his mouth over the bruise. She started to lean into him.

  Before he got carried away, Spencer said, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” and he left for the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth, too.

  Because he didn’t completely trust her not to bolt on him, he left the door ajar and listened for her while he did a rush job of preparing for bed.

  Less than two minutes later he came out to find her curled on her side in his bed.

  The jean skirt lay crumpled on the floor.

  She hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers.

  His heart punched hard at seeing her like that—deeply asleep, in his bed, wearing only black panties and an insubstantial tank top that hugged her lush curves.

  Drawn to her, Spencer approached the bed, stood at the side of the mattress and took his time looking over every inch of her. A fully naked, well-posed centerfold model couldn’t have been more tempting.

  Silky panties barely covered her, leaving much of her smooth hips and bottom on display. His hands curled with the need to touch her, to stroke over that honey-colored skin.

  She had her long, sleek legs bent at the knee, one drawn up to expose her almost like an invitation. Visually he traced the rise of her proud shoulder, down the dip to her tiny waist and then back up again to the curves of that sexy backside.