A Perfect Storm
Page 89
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HE WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND HER. She’d been too amicable at Marla’s, too accommodating, and it worried him. How could she go from jealous and uncertain one moment to supremely uncaring the next?
She couldn’t.
And that meant she was up to something, but what?
While driving, Spencer repeatedly glanced her way. Now that he’d had her, his fascination had grown instead of lessening. All the ways he’d touched her, he wanted to touch her again. And he had many questions, but they’d been in the truck for nearly an hour now, and she’d barely said two words.
Noting that she’d gotten too much sun on her nose, he felt a reluctant smile pull at his mouth. She looked cute—if a little female warrior with her devastatingly sensual looks could ever be called that.
Killer gorgeous, cocky, capable—and cute. Yes, the words all described Arizona.
When she looked at her palm, he asked, “Did you get blisters after all?”
“Maybe a few. I was enjoying it so much, I barely noticed.”
“Enjoying it?”
“Yeah. The fresh air, using my muscles, working up a sweat.” She peered up at him. “You have a house and yard and all that, so you’re probably used to it.”
But she had…none of that. Yes, he often took it for granted. “I see.” One day, he hoped she would take such things for granted, too.
He wondered what she would think of Jackson’s intended birthday gift. Would she love it, accepting it as something she desperately wanted, that Jackson could easily give?
Or would she balk at the extravagance?
“I take it you didn’t enjoy it, huh?”
Actually…he had. But mostly because she’d been with him. There’d been a certain peace in doing something so mundane, so normal with her.
Instead of answering, he reached for her hand, lifted it so he could see her palm. He shook his head at the sight of several blisters, then brought it to his mouth and kissed each one. “I shouldn’t have let you saw.”
“Let me? Get real, Spence. You couldn’t have stopped me.”
Grinning, he laced their fingers together and compared their hands. His engulfed hers, leaving her looking so fragile, when she was anything but. “I’m probably twice your size.”
“Yeah, so?” She winked at him. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
He divided his attention between watching the road and the surrounding area, and playing with Arizona. God, it had been so long since he’d played. “Make a fist for me. Let’s see how credible it is.”
She balled up her hand, then offered sweetly, “Want me to plant you a facer so you can judge my strength?”
That made him laugh. “No.”
“I wouldn’t anyway.” She opened her hand on his jaw, then stroked down to his neck, his shoulder, down his arm to drop her hand on his thigh. “If it came to it, I’d aim for your boys.” And she slid her hand up his inner thigh. “More likely to slow you down that way.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He remembered how, in the past when they’d first met, he’d avoided one such attack by her, only to get caught with the next. She’d laid him low with her deadly aim.
To keep from wrecking, he caught her hand and held it on his knee.
“And if you dodged that,” she continued, “well, then, I’d punch you in the throat. It’s way softer than a chin or jaw, and gagging, gasping men are a lot less trouble.”
Hating the thought of her ever again being in such a conflict, Spencer smoothed a thumb over her knuckles. “Any guy who knows how to fight would block that punch.”
“He could try.” Suddenly she said, “So if you’re done stewing, can I ask you something?”
Is that what she thought? That he’d been disgruntled in some way? “I wasn’t stewing.”
She snorted, making her disbelief plain.
“You do that a lot, you know? Make that obnoxious, rude noise. You may as well call me a liar.”
Smiling wickedly, she put her head back against the seat and, staring over at him, taunted quietly, “Liar.” Before he could get too riled over that, she half turned toward him. “You were stewing, Spence. Admit it.”
“You’re wrong. I was actually wondering about something.”
“What?”
“You first. You said you had a question for me. Shoot.”
“Okay.” She took her hand from his knee to his midsection. “How do you keep in such great shape?”
Her praise warmed him. He adored her body, so it was nice that she felt the same about his. Shrugging, he said, “I work out occasionally. I jog every couple of days. And without much leisure time, I stay more busy than not.”
“So…” She stretched the length of her seat belt to reach for him. “No time to get soft, huh?”
Spencer caught her hand so she couldn’t get too intimate. Even after all their sexual excess, it wouldn’t take much to get him primed again. He already felt twitchy, just thinking of how she had looked in his bed, how she reacted, the sounds she made…
And now, minuscule shorts, a scoop-necked tee and her high ponytail all worked to emphasize her body.
A body he’d touched, tasted.
Taken intimately.
He appreciated her interest now, but he wouldn’t take chances with her, not in any way. “Back in your own seat, honey. I want you buckled in right and tight.”
HE WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND HER. She’d been too amicable at Marla’s, too accommodating, and it worried him. How could she go from jealous and uncertain one moment to supremely uncaring the next?
She couldn’t.
And that meant she was up to something, but what?
While driving, Spencer repeatedly glanced her way. Now that he’d had her, his fascination had grown instead of lessening. All the ways he’d touched her, he wanted to touch her again. And he had many questions, but they’d been in the truck for nearly an hour now, and she’d barely said two words.
Noting that she’d gotten too much sun on her nose, he felt a reluctant smile pull at his mouth. She looked cute—if a little female warrior with her devastatingly sensual looks could ever be called that.
Killer gorgeous, cocky, capable—and cute. Yes, the words all described Arizona.
When she looked at her palm, he asked, “Did you get blisters after all?”
“Maybe a few. I was enjoying it so much, I barely noticed.”
“Enjoying it?”
“Yeah. The fresh air, using my muscles, working up a sweat.” She peered up at him. “You have a house and yard and all that, so you’re probably used to it.”
But she had…none of that. Yes, he often took it for granted. “I see.” One day, he hoped she would take such things for granted, too.
He wondered what she would think of Jackson’s intended birthday gift. Would she love it, accepting it as something she desperately wanted, that Jackson could easily give?
Or would she balk at the extravagance?
“I take it you didn’t enjoy it, huh?”
Actually…he had. But mostly because she’d been with him. There’d been a certain peace in doing something so mundane, so normal with her.
Instead of answering, he reached for her hand, lifted it so he could see her palm. He shook his head at the sight of several blisters, then brought it to his mouth and kissed each one. “I shouldn’t have let you saw.”
“Let me? Get real, Spence. You couldn’t have stopped me.”
Grinning, he laced their fingers together and compared their hands. His engulfed hers, leaving her looking so fragile, when she was anything but. “I’m probably twice your size.”
“Yeah, so?” She winked at him. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
He divided his attention between watching the road and the surrounding area, and playing with Arizona. God, it had been so long since he’d played. “Make a fist for me. Let’s see how credible it is.”
She balled up her hand, then offered sweetly, “Want me to plant you a facer so you can judge my strength?”
That made him laugh. “No.”
“I wouldn’t anyway.” She opened her hand on his jaw, then stroked down to his neck, his shoulder, down his arm to drop her hand on his thigh. “If it came to it, I’d aim for your boys.” And she slid her hand up his inner thigh. “More likely to slow you down that way.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He remembered how, in the past when they’d first met, he’d avoided one such attack by her, only to get caught with the next. She’d laid him low with her deadly aim.
To keep from wrecking, he caught her hand and held it on his knee.
“And if you dodged that,” she continued, “well, then, I’d punch you in the throat. It’s way softer than a chin or jaw, and gagging, gasping men are a lot less trouble.”
Hating the thought of her ever again being in such a conflict, Spencer smoothed a thumb over her knuckles. “Any guy who knows how to fight would block that punch.”
“He could try.” Suddenly she said, “So if you’re done stewing, can I ask you something?”
Is that what she thought? That he’d been disgruntled in some way? “I wasn’t stewing.”
She snorted, making her disbelief plain.
“You do that a lot, you know? Make that obnoxious, rude noise. You may as well call me a liar.”
Smiling wickedly, she put her head back against the seat and, staring over at him, taunted quietly, “Liar.” Before he could get too riled over that, she half turned toward him. “You were stewing, Spence. Admit it.”
“You’re wrong. I was actually wondering about something.”
“What?”
“You first. You said you had a question for me. Shoot.”
“Okay.” She took her hand from his knee to his midsection. “How do you keep in such great shape?”
Her praise warmed him. He adored her body, so it was nice that she felt the same about his. Shrugging, he said, “I work out occasionally. I jog every couple of days. And without much leisure time, I stay more busy than not.”
“So…” She stretched the length of her seat belt to reach for him. “No time to get soft, huh?”
Spencer caught her hand so she couldn’t get too intimate. Even after all their sexual excess, it wouldn’t take much to get him primed again. He already felt twitchy, just thinking of how she had looked in his bed, how she reacted, the sounds she made…
And now, minuscule shorts, a scoop-necked tee and her high ponytail all worked to emphasize her body.
A body he’d touched, tasted.
Taken intimately.
He appreciated her interest now, but he wouldn’t take chances with her, not in any way. “Back in your own seat, honey. I want you buckled in right and tight.”
