A Perfect Storm
Page 72

“Oh. Yeah.” She dropped her hand. “I’m fine.”
As he shifted, his brows pulled down in worry.
Seeing all that exposed flesh, so sleek over taut muscle, Arizona automatically breathed in deep again—and her stomach did a crazy little flip.
Mmm. Yup, that’s what she inhaled all right—the stimulating scent of warm skin and relaxed muscles on a supersized sexy male bod.
Deeee-licious.
He said nothing else. She didn’t, either. Who could talk? She’d rather soak up the sight of him.
Like the morning she’d first awakened him, he looked good with rumpled hair and beard shadow. Unlike that morning, a sort of banked heat smoldered in his dark eyes.
Hello! What had Spence been doing to look all turned-on and primed that way?
Propped on one elbow, he appeared clear-eyed and alert, as if maybe…he’d been watching her.
For a while now.
As she slept.
Wow.
Her thoughts went chaotic, but then, with Spencer, there was nothing new in that. He often left her brain jumbled and her heart confused. She rather liked it, especially since, before Spence, she’d sometimes doubted she had a heart.
Last night was only a vague memory, her last clear thought of being in the bar and seeing him with another woman.
So how’d they end up in bed together? If they’d done the deed and she couldn’t remember it, she would be seriously annoyed.
Suspicious, she looked down at her partially stripped body, then again, more leisurely, at his. Cocking a brow, she tried to brazen through the awkwardness. “Do I need to kick your butt?”
Unconcerned with the implied threat, his tone merely curious, Spencer asked, “For what?”
“Taking advantage of me while I was drunk?”
Smiling, he reached out and tugged on a hank of her long, disheveled hair. “No, baby, you don’t.”
Baby?
“But I might need to turn you over my knee for trying that very thing.”
“Yeah, that’ll never happen.” Not only wouldn’t she allow it, she knew Spencer would never do it. But he had said it, so… “What do you mean?”
“Last night, you tried to insist that I take advantage of you.”
“No kidding?” Now that he said it, she sort of remembered making some hot and heavy offers. Before going into the bar she’d decided she wanted him. Shoot, looking at him now, listening to that deep, even voice, being so close to him, she still wanted him.
Big-time.
And why not? She couldn’t stay celibate forever, and she did want to be as whole, as normal and functional, as any other adult.
Spencer claimed to want to help her with that—up to a point anyway.
She wasn’t going to give up her work, so who knew if she’d end up caught again? Before that happened, it’d be great to know how it should be.
How it could be with Spencer.
His dark eyes warmed even more, and his voice dropped. “You were awfully hard to resist.”
“But you resisted anyway, huh?” Jerk. Way to make her feel like chopped liver. He sure hadn’t resisted the bimbo at the bar, never mind that he’d been undercover.
“You’d had way too much to drink,” he pointed out.
And that was that; he wasn’t an opportunist, especially not with women.
Had she thrown herself at him? Looked like a fool? Suffered humiliating rejection? Gawd. Maybe it was better that she not know.
His big hand stopped toying with her hair and instead dropped down to rest warmly on her knee. “I tried to reason with you, but then you passed out on me.”
“Here?”
“You don’t remember any of it?”
She screwed up her face, thinking hard… “I kicked Carl’s butt. I remember that.”
“You broke his fingers.” His expression darkened with the reminder. “I did the rest.”
An indistinct memory intruded. “Dare had something to do with us cutting the night short…” No wait… Her eyes widened. “It’s over, isn’t it? Dare shut them down?”
Spencer nodded. “He moved in early and took over.” He filled her in on the details he had. “You drank so much with Janes, it’s a wonder you recall anything.”
“Bits and pieces are coming back to me.” Curiosity crowded in around the relief of knowing innocents had been saved. “So if nothing happened between us, why am I in bed with you?”
“I thought it’d be prudent to keep you close.”
“And…how close were we?” Because really, she’d always figured sleeping with a guy—in the literal sense—would make her too edgy. Sleep meant exposure. Lack of defense. Sleep meant she had her guard down, and she plain didn’t do that. Not with anyone.
But then, Spencer wasn’t just anyone. Not anymore.
Almost from the moment she’d met him, he’d affected her differently. Sometimes she hated it, but most times, she kind of liked the way he made her feel.
“I enjoyed holding you, Arizona.” His thumb moved over her knee. “You’re very soft and warm.”
No way.
Mistaking her wide-eyed incredulity, he frowned again. “You had a nightmare?”
“One I lived through, yeah.”
“About?”
“The river. Almost drowning.” She waved it off as insignificant. She’d had that damned dream so often, she’d gotten used to it. “Jackson saving me and all that.”