ARIZONA STORM SAT QUIETLY on the overstuffed chair, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees, her fingers laced together around her shins.
Waiting.
In the quiet, shadowed room, she breathed in the unique aroma of aftershave and gun oil, and the headier scent of warm male. On the back of the chair behind her he’d tossed his jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. Close at hand on the nightstand, he’d placed his freshly cleaned gun and his deadly switchblade.
His discarded boxers lay on the floor.
He fascinated her.
After breaking into his house, she’d removed her sneakers and put them next to his boots by the front door. The air-conditioning, set on high, left her toes cold, but he’d covered himself with no more than a thin sheet.
Again and again, her gaze tracked over him, from one big foot sticking out over the side of the bed, up and over his flat, solid abs covered by the snowy-white sheet, to his chest—not covered by anything except enticing body hair.
With one arm behind his head, his underarm and the dark tuft of hair there were visible. Seeing that almost made him look vulnerable—except that, despite his relaxed pose, the positioning of his long arm made a thick biceps bulge.
At nearly six and a half feet tall, solidly built and finely sculpted, Spencer Lark was one of the biggest, strongest, most impressive men she’d ever met.
And she knew some really prime specimens.
His long lashes shadowed his high cheekbones, but that didn’t detract from the bruising beneath one eye. A recent fight? She smiled while picturing it, sure that Spencer had come out ahead. His skill at fighting intrigued her even more than his big bod.
Amazing, but even his slightly crooked nose held her rapt. When and how had he broken it?
She inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh that, given the silence in his home and Spencer’s acute instincts, disturbed his slumber.
Arizona admitted to herself that maybe she’d wanted to wake him. After all, she’d been watching him—and waiting—for a while now.
His head turned on the pillow, his legs shifted.
Holding herself perfectly still, she waited to see if he’d awaken, what he’d do, what he’d say. She didn’t know him all that well, and yet…she did.
Sort of.
They’d met nearly a month ago while they were both on a sting. Immediately, they’d butted heads, and he’d infuriated her by interfering with her life.
But worse, he’d robbed her of the revenge she desperately craved.
Sure, he had his own need for revenge, so she understood his motives. She didn’t forgive him. Not yet, anyway.
But she did understand.
At least, she thought she did. Once they talked it over, then she’d decide for sure.
He made a soft, gravelly sound as he stretched that long, strong body. His chin tucked in. Muscles flexed.
The sheet tented.
Eyes widening, Arizona stared, not really alarmed, but no longer so at ease, either. She had a very dark history with aroused men, so she doubted she’d ever be unaffected by them. But she didn’t let it get in her way, not when she wanted something, not when she had a goal in mind.
She knew she should have taken Spencer’s gun, at the very least moved it out of his reach. But instead she’d found him in the bed, and before she’d even thought it through, she’d taken the empty seat and settled in to study him while he slept.
Since that fateful day when her destiny had been stolen from her, she’d seen him only a handful of times. She’d tried to stay away. She’d tried to forget about him.
She hadn’t been successful.
Stretching, he brought his hand out from behind his head, around to rub over his hair, across his face, down his chest.
As he gave a sleepy, growling groan, that hand disappeared under the sheet.
Arizona’s lips parted, and her heartbeat tripped up. She cleared her throat. “Spence?”
Freezing, without moving any other body part, he opened his eyes and met her gaze.
She frowned at him.
He didn’t look super-startled, and he said nothing. He just stared at her.
With his hand still under there.
“Yeah…” Semi-satisfied with his frozen reaction, she nodded at his lap. “You weren’t going for a little tug, were you? Because as your spectator, I’d just as soon not see it.”
He brought his hand out and put it back behind his head, still silent, still watching her. Almost…relaxed.
His gaze was so dark, so compelling, she felt like squirming, damn it. “I mean, I guess I could wait in the other room if it’s really necessary. That is, if you don’t take too long.”
He disappointed her by not reacting. As if he often woke to an uninvited woman playing voyeur in his bedroom, he looked her over, from her bare toes up to her long, wind-tangled hair.
“Been here long?”
“Maybe half an hour or so.” Curiosity prompted her to ask, “Were you going to…you know?” She nodded at his lap.
“Most men say hi to the boys first thing.”
“Say hi?”
With no sign of discomfort, he shrugged one shoulder. “You broke in.”
A statement, not a question. She gave her own casual shrug. “Since you’re not dumb enough to leave the place unlocked, yeah, I had to.”
He turned his head, but not to check on the time. He saw the gun still on the nightstand where he’d left it and brought his gaze back to hers again. “You know how to make coffee?”
One eyebrow lifted high. “Trying to get me out of the room so you can leave the bed? I’m not squeamish, you know. I mean, with my background, I’ve seen plenty of—”
He threw off the sheet and sat up, effectively shutting down her snide retort.
Ho boy.
“If you don’t know how to make coffee, just say so.” Spencer stretched again, harder, longer this time. Sitting on the side of the bed, he snagged up his boxers and stepped into them. As he stood, he pulled them up.
They fit like a glove.
He still had a tent going.
And she still stared.
He picked up the gun and, betraying some trust issues, checked to make sure she hadn’t unloaded it. Discovering she hadn’t touched it at all, he nodded in satisfaction.
As he passed her, he chucked her under the chin. “It’s called morning wood, little girl. No reason for alarm.” Gun in hand, he went on past her into the bathroom. The door closed quietly behind him.
Belatedly, Arizona shut her mouth. Oh, how she hated when he called her “little girl.” As of today, she wasn’t quite as young as he thought, and given her experiences, well, she hadn’t felt like a kid in a very long time.
Her brows snapped down, and her spine stiffened. She would not let him get to her. Huh-uh. No way.
This was her game. She would call the shots, and if anyone had to be tongue-tied, it’d be him.
She shoved to her feet, but didn’t stomp. Excesses of emotion gave away too much. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her.
At the bathroom door, voice cold and collected, she stated, “I’ll be the kitchen.”
Minutes later, just to prove a point, she went about making coffee.
* * *
SPENCER STOOD WITH HIS HANDS braced on the porcelain sink, his head hanging, his muscles twitchy.
What the hell?
Sure, he knew Arizona Storm was a reckless, impetuous, headstrong girl. He’d figured that out in the first few seconds of making her acquaintance.
But breaking and entering?
Why the hell had she sat there watching him sleep?
He felt…violated. Angry.
He felt extreme pity. For her.
Damn, but he didn’t want her, not in his house, not in his head. He could control the first.
Hadn’t had much luck controlling the second.
Not trusting her to respect his privacy, knowing damn good and well she would snoop without remorse, he gave up the idea of a shower and shave and instead rushed through brushing his teeth, splashing his face and finger-combing his hair.
Since she wasn’t in his bedroom anymore, he took the time to pull on his jeans, but rather than mess with the holster, he just stuck the gun in his waistband. He grabbed up his knife, opened it, closed it again and slid it into his pocket.
Barefoot and shirtless, he went in search of Arizona—and he had to admit, anticipation chased away the cobwebs of old memories and lack of sleep.
Seeing her slumped in a kitchen chair, arms crossed, one foot hooked behind a chair leg, jolted his senses even more.
God Almighty, she was a beauty.
Slim, long-legged and generously stacked, with a face like a wet dream, Arizona would turn heads wherever she went. Dark, wavy hair hung down her back, usually in disarray. Honey-colored skin seemed in direct contrast with light blue, heavily lashed eyes. A full mouth, a strong chin, high cheekbones…
He wondered at the mixed heritage that had produced such a dream.
As he stood unnoticed in the doorway, she chewed at a thumbnail. Arizona didn’t wear makeup, or polish her nails, or do much of anything to enhance her looks—and she didn’t need to. She could wear burlap and men would burn for her.
“Nervous?”
She went still before affecting a bored expression and swiveling her head to face him. “Do you always sleep ’til noon?”
“When I’ve been up all night, yes.” He made a beeline for the coffeepot but didn’t thank her for making it. After all, she’d come in uninvited. “You want a cup?”
“If you have sugar and milk.”
“Creamer.” He poured two cups and set them on the table, then got the creamer from the fridge. The sugar bowl sat in the middle of the table, framed by salt and pepper shakers.
Like many of the things in his kitchen, they resembled cows in one way or another.
His wife had bought the novelty items years ago.
While blowing on the hot coffee, Spencer ruthlessly quashed bad memories. Arizona loaded her coffee with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a liberal splash of the cream.
He watched her lush mouth as she sipped, sipped again.
Shaking himself, he took a drink, and nearly choked. Strong enough to peel the lining from his throat, it was the worst coffee he’d ever tasted. Arizona didn’t seem to notice, though, so he manned up and drank without complaint.
The overdose of caffeine would do him good.
Silence dragged out while they each gave attention to their coffee. He wouldn’t be the first to break.
Finally she eyed him. “How come you were out late? Carousing?”
Actually, he’d needed to expend some energy for reasons he wouldn’t yet examine too closely. Shrugging, he said, “I hit up a bar, found a little trouble.” He looked at her. “You know how it is, right?”
To his disgruntlement, she nodded. “Yeah, I did the same. But I fared better than you.” Her mouth quirked in a small grin, and she winked. “No black eye.”
Had she really been in a bar? Looking for trouble?
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.”
So she’d never gotten a birthday gift? No one celebrated her life?
“It’s not a big deal or anything. But I guess with you always accusing me of being young—”
“You are young. It’s not an accusation, it’s a fact.” One he desperately needed to remember.
“But now I’m legal.”
Meaning…what? At thirty-two, he was only eleven years older than her, but he felt twice her age. He massaged a kink in the back of his neck. Did she expect a gift? A night out? Jesus, he didn’t know. “So…we could go get a cake.” Or something.
Her small smile spread into a mocking grin. “Don’t be an ass. I don’t want or need anything like that. I’m just saying, no more calling me little girl.”
At a loss, Spencer joined her on the couch. Instead of lounging back, he half turned toward her. “Why are you keeping it secret?”
She snorted. “You met Jackson. You know he’d make a big deal of it or something, and I don’t want that.” Half under her breath, she muttered, “I’m enough of a burden already.”
“I don’t think he’d agree with that.” Jackson treated her like a kid sister, and he’d probably want to do whatever he could to commemorate the day, to somehow make it special for her—to make up for a past so dark, so depressing, that no young lady should have suffered through it.
“Yeah.” She smoothed a hand over the corduroy of his couch. “Maybe not. But it’s still true.”
Since she didn’t want him to, he wouldn’t say anything, but he didn’t like it. “You shouldn’t keep stuff from him. He cares about you.”
“I know.” She crossed her arms over her middle. “But he’s got his hands full. Remember, he’s planning a wedding.”
Was she jealous of Alani? From what he’d seen, Arizona looked at Jackson with her heart in her eyes. He was the only person she had, so he meant a lot to her. “More like his fiancée is planning it.”
“Alani is preggers, remember?”
“I had heard.” He also knew the pregnancy was a happy surprise, and in no way had forced their decision to marry. “Does it bother you?”
“Of course not,” she insisted. “But with all that going on, he doesn’t need to be messing with me.”
Dinner out, a small gift, cake and hugs…did she consider that too much fuss? “I think Jackson can handle it.”
“Besides,” she added, speaking over him, “I have a new identity, remember? No going back and especially no celebrating give-away dates like birthdays.”
In an effort to help her, Jackson had covered her background, buried the past for her as much as he could, and for her safety, he’d given her a whole new identity, including a new name. It was a way to start over, to start fresh.
But none of that would help Arizona heal from the past.
Uncomfortable with the moment, Spencer floundered, trying to find something to say. He hadn’t known her that long, and their acquaintance had been fraught with danger. As a bounty hunter, he’d been tracking criminal psychopaths—and the psychopaths had been tracking her.
Arizona, being outrageous in every way a person could imagine, had used herself as bait. Along the way, Spencer had met Jackson and learned a little about their history.
They presented their relationship as that of friends, or maybe siblings. But the nuances of their connection made anything that simple impossible. Not with Arizona’s looks and not when Jackson had saved her life.
Not when she’d once been held captive by human traffickers who, after using her, had tried to kill her as punishment for running away.
Her death would have been a lesson to remaining trapped victims. Instead, the bastards had died—and good riddance.
Luckily—at least for Spencer’s peace of mind—Jackson was already in love with Alani, so his interest in Arizona wasn’t romantic in any way. But for Arizona? He just didn’t know.
Jackson was a good man. A protector.
And right now, Spencer felt like a destroyer of evil. Nothing protective in that.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Arizona slugged him in the shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you? No one died. Lose the sad face, will you?”
He’d try. “So why are you here?” Remembering how she’d gotten in, he turned to look at the door. “You didn’t damage my lock, did you?”
“Your lock is fine—shitty, but fine.” She propped her feet on the table in front of the couch. “I’m good at picking locks.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She stared down the length of her legs and wiggled her toes. Nonchalantly, she said, “I need some help.”
Apprehension shot through him. “With what?” Had she gotten herself into trouble somehow? Was someone after her again?
“Promise me that you won’t tell Jackson about this, either, and then I’ll tell you.”
Fearful for her, he said, “Sure, whatever. I won’t tell Jackson.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes narrowed. “That was a mighty quick agreement.”
“But sincere.” At the moment, his biggest concern was her safety. “Spill it.”
“All right.” She went back to rubbing the corduroy, and it was such a sensual thing, her hand moving slowly over the material, that Spencer felt mesmerized. “There’s this restaurant. Well, it’s actually a sleazy bar, but they do serve food during the day, too.”
From any other woman, those words wouldn’t cause much reaction. From Arizona, they boded a looming catastrophe. “What bar? Where?”
“Don’t look like that,” she complained. “Until I know you’re on board, I’m not giving you details. Let’s just say I suspect they’re part of a large-scale trafficking ring and maybe using forced labor. I want to look into it. But I’m not dumb. I know I need some backup.”
Dear God, Jackson looked into large-scale trafficking rings—not Arizona! And he didn’t work alone—he worked with other men who were equally skilled.
They backed each other up—and they’d given Arizona computer duties in an effort to involve her, while keeping her away from the more dangerous action. She should have been doing no more than researching backgrounds on small-scale, local-level traffickers.
Research only.
“I was thinking I could be bait again. You know, put myself out there and see what happens. With you keeping watch, it’d be safe enough, right? If they try to grab me, then we—”
“No.” His temper shot into overdrive, on a par with his alarm. He said again, with more force, “No.”
Unmoved, Arizona met his angry gaze—and shrugged. “Fine. I thought you might want to team up, but I can figure it out on my own.” She started to leave the couch.
He again caught her arm.
Slim, warm and so soft…
As she stared at him, her blue eyes lit from a very short fuse. “I’d suggest you stop trying to manhandle me.”
Hearing the deadly tone in her voice, Spencer opened his fingers. “Give me a second to think, will you?”
“Huh.” At her leisure, she dropped back again. “So ‘no’ with you isn’t necessarily no? It might mean something else? It could mean that you just want time to think?”
She was making mincemeat out of him. He had to take control. “I don’t want you anywhere near anything dangerous, especially by yourself.”
“Yeah, but see, you aren’t my daddy, aren’t my boyfriend, and you sure as hell aren’t anything in-between. So if you don’t want to help, then it’s none of your damn business.”
What did she consider in-between? “I want to make a bet with you.”
Her interest perked up. “You do? About what?”
Already knowing it wouldn’t go over well, Spencer braced himself. “I bet you can’t go a month without cursing.”
Her chin tucked in, and her brows came down. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He had no idea, except that it annoyed him to hear her be so coarse. “Go a month without cursing.” He hated himself, but he said, “Every time you slip, you owe me a kiss.”
Icy stillness fell over her. Silence pulsed in the room.
Tension gathered like storm clouds.
Pulling the tiger’s tail, he asked, “Well?”
Eyes glittering, Arizona slowly pushed to her feet. “Fuck you,” she whispered.
He could see a pulse tripping in her slim throat.
He could see the fear she tried so hard to hide.
“I suggested a kiss, Arizona. Nothing more. And despite what you said, ‘no’ does mean ‘no’ to me. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not!”
“You don’t have to expect the worst, either.” He didn’t move from his position on the couch, but with their gazes locked, it felt as if he touched her all the same.
It disturbed him—so what would it do to her?
“I would never hurt you,” he promised. “I’d do my best to protect you from anyone who would.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.” Her eyes turned glassy, a little wet. “I can protect myself.”
Not too long ago, she hadn’t protected herself at all. And no one else had, either.
“You find kissing so repulsive?”
She shook her head but said, “I don’t know.” Then she added, “I haven’t done much…kissing.”
“No?”
Her teeth clenched; she spoke through stiff lips. “A guy who’s paying for his time doesn’t want to waste it on that.” In defiance, she added, “Thank God.”
Her words felt like a kick in the guts. “Arizona—”
“They saw me as unclean.” Her chin jutted forward. “And I’m glad!”
Had she ever been given a sincere, caring, affectionate kiss? He just didn’t know. But they had to start somewhere, or she’d never be free of her past.
He sat forward. “Given your expression, the idea of kissing me would be insufferable, so I’m guessing it should be incentive enough to clean up your language. Right?”
She took a step back, then another. Arms loose, bare feet braced apart, she prepared to fight.
After everything that had happened to him in the past three years, his heart should have been encased in ice. Until Arizona, it had been.
Now, around her, everything felt as raw as a fresh, hot wound.
“You trust me,” he pointed out.
She shook her head. “I don’t trust anyone.”
Slowly he stood and took a step toward her. “Yes, you do. You don’t want to, and I understand that. I really do. But that’s no way to live and you know it.”
Shaking her head again, she whispered, “No.” Then louder, “No!”
He stopped. “Why did you break into my house to tell me it’s your birthday? If you don’t trust me, why did you leave my gun and knife on the nightstand? If you’re afraid of me, why are you here, asking me to partner up with you?”
She breathed harder.
As a warning, her small hand bunched into a fist. He didn’t care. If she slugged him, maybe that’d finally make him see reason.
Maybe he’d finally be able to stop thinking about her.
“Damn you,” she growled.
And his doorbell rang.