A Perfect Storm
Page 32

“Then I’ll be here.”
Still feeling uncertain, Spencer pressed her. “If you have another nightmare—”
“No, I won’t wake you, so don’t suggest it. It’s dumb. I’m an adult. And I know how to take care of myself.” She snuggled down under the throw. “But I also promise not to go running off into the night like a demented woman. Good enough?”
He supposed it’d have to be. “All right.”
“Now go away or I’ll be forced to group you in with the others, who really are mother hens.”
Spencer moved to stand in front of her. He couldn’t leave her, not like this, so he crouched down before her, smoothed her hair. “I’m just down the hall if you change your mind.” What was he saying?
She tucked in her chin and stared at him. “Change my mind about what?”
Good question. Even he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d meant. “If you can’t get back to sleep. We can talk, or watch TV or grab an early breakfast.” He tugged the throw up over her shoulder. “Just let me know.”
For an answer, she rolled her eyes, dropped her head back to the arm rest, and faked a loud snore. With a small smile, Spencer squeezed her shoulder and rose to walk away.
He wanted to get her a regular bed pillow.
He wanted to sit back down and continue…just touching her. But pushing Arizona in any way would be a mistake. So instead, he adjusted the air-conditioning, then went into his bedroom, closed his door and stripped off his clothes.
It took him a little while, but he finally fell asleep.
And for once, his dreams weren’t of his wife. They were all about Arizona.
And they were surprisingly pleasant.
* * *
ARIZONA HUMMED as she finished her shower. It wasn’t the thought of dressing in new clothes that lightened her mood. She detested outfits meant to draw attention, but she accepted it as a necessary means to an end. She needed to be noticed at the bar, and so she’d chosen clothes that would ensure it.
So, no, it wasn’t the clothes; it was Spencer who made her feel…lighthearted. Weird. Rarely did she feel so worry-free, and never because of a man.
Sure, she adored Jackson and probably always would. The poor guy had become her stand-in…everything. Big brother, best friend, comrade and semi-confidant. Jackson knew things about her that few others did, because he’d been there, witnessing it firsthand while risking his life to save hers.
It made her hot with humiliation and soft with gratitude, every time she thought of it.
Jackson had done so much for her—and she’d done nothing for him. She was a burden for him to bear. An added responsibility when he already had so many.
The imbalance of their relationship left her indebted, defensive and heavy with guilt. She needed to repay Jackson for all he’d done.
Someday, somehow, she would.
But Spencer, yeah, Spencer felt more like a true partner. There was equality. She’d had a shitty nightmare, and that sucked. But she’d also seen the expression in his dark brown eyes as he’d shared his own nightmares.
It was the sharing that made all the difference.
Almost from the get-go, they’d connected. With any luck, they could unite further over their combined efforts to bring cretins to justice.
True to her word, she’d been at Spencer’s kitchen table drinking coffee when he awoke. She’d been listening for him, wondering how late he’d sleep, anxious to see him, to talk to him, so of course she’d heard him the minute he’d left his bed.
Probably thinking she had skipped out on him, he’d rushed down the hall and into the kitchen, where he’d drawn up short at the sight of her.
With whiskers on his face and his hair mussed, wearing only boxers, he’d stared at her.
And she’d seen his relief. Because he really wanted her there.
Her heart did that strange tumbling thing again. The whiskers were appealing enough, but what that man did for a pair of boxers should have been illegal.
He had such a great body. She’d noticed that more than once, and not in the admiring but analytical way that she’d noted the physiques of Jackson, Dare and Trace. Being strong, tall and fast, with great stamina and reflexes, they were built for enforcing their individual wills.
Spencer was all of that, but he was also remarkable eye candy. Whenever he concentrated those dark bedroom eyes on her, she felt the strangest flutter in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was disconcerting.
And so, at the first opportunity, she’d left him.
She felt a little guilty about it, too. But reminding herself that she had to keep her independence, that she had to prove her worth to one and all—especially to herself—had helped her to walk out while he showered.
Watching for nosy creeps, she’d checked out of her old hotel, shopped for the clothes she’d wear tonight and a swimsuit for the trip to Dare’s, and then checked into a new hotel. She’d kept her phone out, certain that Spencer would call—but he hadn’t.
Not yet anyway.
She refused to be disappointed over that. He’d meet her tonight to help with her sting, and that’s what she needed the most.
With her shower complete, her hair conditioned and her body softened by scented lotion, she wrapped one towel around her hair and another around her body. She’d just stepped out of the bathroom when her cell phone rang.
Spencer.
Refusing to dwell on the joyous racing of her heart, she took a deep, calming breath and lifted the phone. No doubt he’d be pissed that she fled while he showered. But arguing with him was almost as exhilarating as everything else they’d shared. She could hardly wait.