A Perfect Storm
Page 29

“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.”
“No one will.”
Because he wouldn’t let them? His protective nature didn’t bug her as much as it should have. “No more talking. My brain is tired. Let’s just watch the knockouts.”
Over the throw, Spencer smoothed a hand from her foot to her knee and back again. It was a casual touch, affectionate, the way you’d stroke someone you cared for. A familiar, platonic, exciting touch.
Even when he left his hand there, she didn’t mind. She wondered what his warm fingers would feel like on her bare skin, and shifted.
Without relinquishing the contact, Spencer turned the volume back up and they fell into a companionable silence.
Before she knew it, Arizona felt so comfortable and secure that she forgot her day-to-day grievances and her constant wariness of everyone and everything. For once, she felt…safe. She even felt content.
It was a pretty wonderful feeling.
* * *
IT WAS PROBABLY the earlier conversation about Spencer’s wife that made her think of all she’d missed out on, all that she would never have—like family, a home of her own…children.
With the television playing in the background, Spencer a quiet, comforting presence beside her, Arizona drifted off to sleep. As she relaxed her guard, her thoughts went backward in time, and her dreams returned her to the junkyard once again.
* * *
UNABLE TO LOOK AWAY, she watched the business deal take place. The guy handing over money repeatedly rubbed his lips together. They were slick with saliva, and it made her skin crawl. The sticky evening air added to her growing nausea. Night sounds of crickets, distant traffic and an occasional barking dog closed in around her.
The degradation tried to whittle away her backbone.
She would not let it.
A fast glance around showed no escape. Never an escape. High fencing topped by barbed wire enclosed the junkyard. A nearby guard, recognizing her trepidation, watched with a sick smile.
Don’t look, don’t look…but her gaze automatically sought the small shack where she’d be taken.
Where she’d been taken before.
Her vision narrowed, dark and fuzzy. Her throat burned, sick with revulsion. If she ran, they’d shoot her.
But…would that be better or worse?
Oh, God, by now she should’ve been numb.
Instead she felt it all, every leering thought, every malicious, twisted intention, each hurt and each awful humiliation.
With the transaction complete, the loose-lipped man started toward her. Her heart pounded too hard, too fast.
Her panic escalated.
And her hatred grew.
* * *
MIDNIGHT CAME AND WENT. Mired in sentiment too raw to bear, Spencer considered pouring himself something stronger to drink. Two beers hadn’t done squat to numb his growing desire, both physical and emotional.
Arizona had fallen into a deep sleep; if he got drunk, it wouldn’t bother her.
But it would soften his edge, and around her, he needed to stay sharp.
He finished off the beer, then leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He should have gone on to bed, but he didn’t want to. Absurd as it seemed, he enjoyed soaking up this quiet, peaceful time with her.
So far, he’d seen her angry, defensive, amused and provoking. But rarely was she serene.
As she shifted, her small feet nudged his thigh. He curved his hand around her ankle, noting again her delicate bone structure, how her warmth penetrated the throw. If he touched her bare skin, she would be so soft, so silky…
A small sound escaped her.
Going on alert, Spencer turned his head and, with only the light of the television, studied her face.
Without those light blue eyes discerning his every move, her impact should have diminished. Instead, he felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
No woman should be that sexy. In the low light, her glossy dark hair tumbled around her face and shoulders like liquid silk. And that face…thick lashes, high cheekbones, a pert nose and such a full soft mouth.
But truthfully, she could have looked like a hag, and with her body, few men would care. As Spencer drifted his gaze over her, his muscles tightened and twitched and his guts burned with need. Volatile lust pressed inside him like a tide, getting stronger and stronger every time he saw her, even when he thought of her.