A Perfect Storm
Page 3

Again?
He didn’t need to defend himself, not to her, but still he said, “You should see the other three guys.”
“Yeah? Only three?” Tsking, she let her gaze drift over him. “Any other bruises?”
“No.”
She propped her chin on a fist. “One lucky punch, huh?”
Did she have to appear so amused by idiotic drinking and brawling? “Something like that.” Actually it was a thrown chair that had caught him, but whatever. He wouldn’t encourage her with details. “So tell me, little girl. What were you doing in a bar?”
She looked away. With one finger, she traced the rim of her coffee cup. “Sometimes,” she said low, her voice almost whimsical, “I just need a distraction.”
His chest tightened. He waited to see if she’d elaborate, if she’d share details of her tragic background with human traffickers. She had a need to even the score with people already dead, the monsters who’d hurt her badly.
Suddenly she leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?”
Damn, he didn’t want to play these games. “Depends.”
She scowled. “On what?”
“On whether or not keeping it is in your best interest.”
Sitting back in irritation, she demanded, “Why does that concern you?”
He countered with, “Why do you want to tell me?”
For long moments they stared at each other, and then she broke. “Fuck it. I don’t. Not anymore.” After downing the rest of her coffee, she scraped back her chair. “I’m outta here.”
Spencer caught her wrist. And of course, that got her going.
Quick temper and a boulder-size chip on her shoulder had her swinging a fist. He dodged it, but she kicked and caught him in the shin. Luckily she didn’t wear shoes, so it didn’t hurt.
Much.
In the ensuing scuffle, his coffee cup hit the floor and broke.
Given they were both barefoot, he did the expedient thing and tossed her over his shoulder. Clamping a hand over her thighs, he warned, “Bite me, and I swear to God, you won’t like the consequences.”
Rather than struggle, she braced her elbows on his back. “You’ve threatened me before.”
“Because you’ve attacked me before.” Stepping over and around the mess on his floor, he went into the hallway, then figured, what the hell, and went on into the living room.
He dumped her on the couch.
She bounded right back off again.
Another scuffle, and damn it, it was too early and he was too tired to put up with it.
“Arizona!” He locked her in close in a now familiar hold—at least with her—keeping her back to his chest, her arms pinned down. He squeezed her tight enough to steal her breath. “Knock it off already, will you?”
Her head dropped back against his chest so she could glare at him. He waited, refusing to relent, driven by…God knew what.
She gave one sharp nod.
Spencer opened his arms but quickly stepped out of her reach. “Okay?”
“Screw you.”
So much animosity, so much rage at the world. She’d never admit it, but Arizona needed a friend, a confidante, and if it put him through hell, well, so what? He’d been in hell for a while now. “You came to me, remember?”
“And now I’m trying to leave!”
His head pounded. If she walked out now, he’d spend the rest of the day worrying about her.
Or following her.
He worked his jaw, then said, “I’ll keep your secret. What is it?”
“Oh, aren’t you the generous one?”
He sighed. “The sneer is unappealing. Just tell me what it is.”
The narrowing of her eyes emphasized their pale, bright blue color and the thickness of her long, inky lashes. She drew two deep breaths, making it tough for him to keep his attention off her chest.
“It’s my birthday.”
Huh. Of all the things he’d imagined, that wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t even one of the top fifty. “Your birthday?” he said stupidly.
“Yeah, you know, the day I was born. Not under a rock, in case you’re wondering.” When he stayed mute, she added, “I’m twenty-one now. A legal adult. Not a little girl, like you keep saying.”
Arizona didn’t have family. She had a friend, Jackson, the man who had rescued her from death. She had Jackson’s soon-to-be-wife, Alani. She had their family and friends.
But none of her own.
He shook his head. “That’s it?” That’s why she’d broken into his house? Why she’d sat on the chair and watched him sleep?
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, what’d you expect? A confession of murder?”
“I don’t know.” With her, he could take nothing for granted. Why didn’t she want anyone to know about her birthday? His rubbed his bristly jaw, studied her, but came up short of reason or even clear thought. He dropped his hand. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
They stood there staring at each other, and it would have been odd, but everything with Arizona was odd.
Especially the multitude of ways she affected him, the emotions she wrought and the needs she ignited.
As if her bizarre overreaction hadn’t happened, she dropped back to sit on the couch. “I almost didn’t remember. I mean, it’s been a really long time since anyone made note of it. And even then, it was usually just my mom saying happy birthday to me. No biggie.” She gave a crooked smile. “We weren’t a cake and candles type of family.”