A Perfect Storm
Page 36

“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 trunk. 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.