WITH HER BREAKING DOWN his motives to the basest purpose, Spencer had to admit that it did sound bad. God knew he didn’t want to send her off to anyone else. The thought of another man touching her left him raw with anger.
But he wasn’t the man for her. Even if the age difference didn’t exist, she deserved someone who’d be involved for the long haul. She deserved someone with a sunny outlook on life.
Not only was he opposed to settling down again, he was about as far from optimistic as a man could get.
“I wasn’t trying to coerce you into having sex with anyone.” What he wanted most was for her to not be…damaged. But he sure as hell couldn’t say anything that stark to her. “What I’d really like is to break down those walls so you can let in people who care about you.” He tried a smile that she didn’t return. “All in all, you can be a pretty likable woman.”
With one hand flattened to his chest, she pushed him back a step and moved out from between him and the window. “Whatever. If I’m staying over, I want Trace to fix my car.”
The quick turnaround surprised him. “You’ll stay put?” With me.
She made a gesture of indifference. “For now.”
“Then I’ll let Trace know.” And they could all help keep an eye on her.
Her eyes narrowed. She hesitated, then she turned away. “I better go get my stuff.”
It’d take time to convince her of his motives. Spencer accepted that, so he allowed the change of topic. “What stuff?”
“My duffel and laptop case. I’m not as dumb as you and the big macho boys want to believe.” She opened the front door, and a heavy gust of wind carried a smattering of rain in around her. “Ho boy, look at those purple storm clouds blowing in.”
Spencer closed the door. He could see why she’d keep the laptop close. But the other? “You brought an overnight bag with you?”
“Yeah, see, I had no intention of going back to my motel room tonight.”
That surprised him, but he was pleased with her forethought, especially since she’d made the plans to protect herself, not someone else. He had a feeling that Arizona deliberately put herself at risk far too often.
Given the downpour, he caught her arm and moved her away. “I’ll get your things for you.”
“I don’t melt.”
Already rain dampened the front of her T-shirt and left her face dewy.
Physically, she was the most tempting woman he’d ever met. He didn’t want to test his resolve by seeing her in soaked clothes that would cling to her shapely little body.
But beyond that, he worried. The sky had darkened, and he felt the turbulence in the air. Soon the rain would be a full-fledged storm—just like the night she’d been bound and thrown into a river, a night she would have died…and been forgotten.
Suffused with emotion, he eased a damp tendril of hair away from her cheek. “It looks like the rain will turn into a storm.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than a flash of lightning cut across the darkening sky. Seconds later, thunder crashed down, rattling the windows.
Arizona smiled at his apprehension. “You think it’ll bother me, don’t you?”
He was afraid she’d be pulled into nightmarish memories. “Given what you went through, I’d understand if it did.”
“Yeah.” This time when she put her hand on his chest, Spencer suspected it was just to have contact. “You’d think it would spook me some, huh?”
Grateful that he had her with him, Spencer covered her hand with his own. Despite all her brass, she was small-boned and delicate. “Will it?”
She laughed. “You know what I always think of during stormy weather? How Jackson saved me that night. Up until then, life was something I had to bear. But after that, everything turned around for me.” She stroked him once and dropped her hand. “Truthfully, I love storms.”
Jackson had given her a new lease on life, and yet, she still wasn’t comfortable with that life. Given half a chance she’d take on the world and to hell with the consequences. She recognized that Jackson put value on her life—but she didn’t share that sentiment…yet.
One way or another, he planned to turn that around.
With more resolve than ever, Spencer moved her away from the door. “Sorry, honey, but I’m a gentleman. I’ll get your things, end of conversation.”
For several seconds, he watched as she considered fighting him over it. He knew the second she relented. “Fine, you want to get soaked? Suit yourself.” She handed him her keys. “Everything is in the trunk. Blue duffel and a canvas laptop case. But don’t you dare touch anything else.” She turned and headed for the hall.
Now anxious to see what else she had in the trunk, Spencer dashed out the door. He was soaked within seconds of leaving the porch. Rather than cleansing the air, the rain thickened the existing hot September humidity. Steam rose from the blacktop roads, occasionally disrupted by battering winds.
Scanning the area but seeing no one and nothing amiss, Spencer unlocked the trunk.
Disbelief locked his knees; he became oblivious to the stinging rain. Among the array of survival items—water, blanket, first aid kit—neatly arranged in the trunk space, he noted a sniper rifle, night-vision binoculars, machete, bulletproof vest…shovel. In every nook and cranny she’d neatly stored weapons both common and unconventional.
Jesus. What the hell did she have planned? Or did she consider those things everyday necessities?
For fear that anyone else might see, he grabbed the duffel tucked in next to other overnight bags and the canvas case half hidden behind everything else, and slammed the trunk. Did Jackson know she carried around an arsenal? Did Trace and Dare know?
One of them could have clued him in!
Keeping both bags close to his body to protect them as much as he could from the storm, Spencer ran back up his walkway, up the porch steps and to the front door. The rain blew nearly horizontal, still hitting his back but not beating down on his head like needles.
He pried off his boots, stripped off his sodden shirt and stepped in on the foyer rug.
Arizona stood there. As she fixated on his chest, her cocky smiled faded away.
Ah, hell. He knew that look and what it meant.
Arizona might not realize it yet, but she was aware of him as a man. And damn if that didn’t spark his own heated awareness.
Spencer set her things on the floor and dropped his shoes on the rug. When he straightened again, rain dripped over his temple, down his shoulder and into his chest hair.
She stared so hard, her expression almost tactile, that he felt himself stir. He forgot his disgruntlement over her store of weapons.
Palms itching with the need to touch her, Spencer shifted. “Do you realize how you’re affecting me?”
Lashes lifting, Arizona met his gaze—and cracked a wry smile. “Sorry about that.” Though dusky color tinted her cheeks, she thrust out a towel and spoke as naturally as ever. “Thought you might want to dry off.”
“Thanks.”
Her gaze flipped back to his chest.
“Arizona?”
“You’re so darned big, and you have a really awesome bod.”
With her staring like that, he was bound to get bigger by the second. Spencer touched her chin to raise her gaze. “I think your body is appealing, too.”
Snorting, she said, “I’m not running around wet and topless.”
Thank God. Fighting a smile at his own discomfort, Spencer said, “You could give it a try—”
“Ha!” She snatched up her duffel and turned away. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to make use of your shower before the electricity goes out.”
Arizona. In his shower. Naked and soap slick…
“Make it quick,” he said to her retreating back. “It’s not safe with all the lightning—”
His bathroom door closed while he was still midsentence.
Well, hell.
With no more reason for modesty, Spencer stripped off his jeans there in the foyer and carried everything into the laundry room, where he also peeled off his boxers and socks. Wrapped in the towel, he went to the more private bath in his bedroom. His shower would be cold, and then maybe, after he’d gotten his libido under control, he and Arizona could go over their plans for tomorrow.
And with any luck, she’d trust him enough to explain the weapons in her trunk and the forbidding inclusion of a shovel.
* * *
AFTER A DRAWN-OUT SHOWER that did nothing to ease her growing tension, Arizona brushed her teeth, blow-dried her hair and dressed in a big gray T-shirt with loose-legged, pull-on shorts. Normally she slept in just a T-shirt and panties, but since she’d be sharing this night with Spencer, she made a concession for modesty.
She tidied up the bathroom again, storing her discarded clothing back in her duffel and leaving no sign that she’d been in there. Spencer wasn’t neat to the point of annoying, but he did keep things clean and uncluttered.
She loved his house, and the bathroom was especially cool with the vintage-looking black-and-white tiles. The towels matched the shower curtain matched the window covering matched the decorative pictures and knickknacks.
His wife must’ve been a real homebody. Arizona imagined her in an apron, baking cookies with a sweet smile.
No wonder Spencer loved her. No wonder, even after three years, he couldn’t get over losing her.
Knowing she’d taken up as much time as she could, Arizona stopped avoiding the inevitable and opened the bathroom door.
Barefoot, she went in search of Spencer and found him sprawled back on the couch in the living room, watching TV and drinking a longneck beer. At the sound of her approach he turned his head—and went still in that way men did while appreciating the sight of a woman.
He fought it, but his attention went over her, snagging on her legs for several heart-stopping seconds before coming back to her face.
It should have made her uncomfortable to be looked at like that. Before Spencer, it always had.
Now…now she didn’t know what she felt, but it definitely wasn’t discomfort. Spencer wasn’t like other men she’d known. He wasn’t a disgusting creep like the animals who’d taken her, or those who’d paid for her time. But he didn’t deny her sexuality, either, as Jackson, Dare and Trace tried to do.
Mostly…he just seemed to accept her. And like her.
“Hey.” She strode past him, going around the coffee table to put her duffel by the front door where he’d left her laptop case. With Spencer still watching her, she came back to plop down on the other end of the couch.
He stared toward where she’d dropped off the bag, then back to her with a question in his eyes.
Propping her feet on the edge of the table, Arizona controlled her smile and stared at the television. “So what are we watching?”
Silence tripped by. She could feel his rapt attention touching on her, all over her.
She made herself look at him with a raised brow. “Cat got your tongue?”
Shaking his head, he again glanced at her bag but apparently decided not to ask why she’d put it near the door. “Sorry.” A slight frown in place, he half turned toward her. “Want a beer?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No. My father used to swill those things like crazy.”
“It bothers you?” He sat forward as if to take the bottle away.
Arizona stopped him. “It doesn’t. Actually, I kind of like the smell, just not the taste.”
After gauging the truth in her words, he nodded. “Something else, then?”
“No, thanks. I already cleaned my teeth.” Brushing a hand over the soft material of his couch, she said, “Am I sleeping here?”
Seconds ticked by again. He sounded hoarse when he said, “Here at my house, yes.”
“I meant here, on the couch.”
“I have a guest room you can use. I would have put the laptop there, but the case was wet. I can move your things in there now, if you want.”
The idea of using the guest room didn’t appeal to her. She wasn’t really a guest so much as an intrusion. And the idea of being closed up…she fought off a shiver.
Before she could figure out how to explain her reservations, he glanced at his watch. “You ready to turn in already?”
“Not really.” Dragging a throw off the back of his couch, she slouched down against the arm and stretched her legs out toward him. She stopped short of letting her feet bump his hip. “Mind if I just get comfortable here for now?”
“Not at all.” He handed her a plump throw pillow. “Make yourself at home.” After a long hesitation, Spencer tucked the throw up and over her feet. “I mean that, Arizona. Help yourself to anything you need or want.”
“Thanks.” She bunched the pillow up at her side. “So what’s on the boob tube?”
Bemused, he glanced at the TV and then back to her. “Old MMA highlights. Did you want me to change it to something else?”
“This is good. I like the fights.” Mixed martial arts fascinated her.
Sounding more like himself, he asked, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Because you already know me, that’s why.” She watched for a moment and became curious about his interest in the sport. “Do you have a favorite fighter?”
“A few.” His big hand came to rest casually on her foot. “If you’re in a talkative mood…”
Heart racing from his touch—on her foot, for crying out loud—Arizona shrugged. “Sure.”
He turned down the volume on the television. “Then let’s talk about our plans for tomorrow.”
What a buzzkill. She groaned. “I guess you’re going to insist?”
He hesitated. “You know we need to coordinate.”
Yeah, they did. To get comfortable, she turned to her back with her knees bent under the throw, her head on the pillow, and peered down the length of the couch at him. “We’ll arrive separately, you in your truck, me by bus so that we can leave together in one vehicle afterward.” She cautioned him, “Make sure you park away from the entrance, so no one will see us together afterward.”
Deadpan, he said, “Naturally.”
“I’ll go in first and grab a seat at the bar. Say, five or ten minutes later, you can come in and sit at a table.”
“Why don’t I sit at the bar?”
“Because I’ve already scoped out the place, and that’s where I sat before.” She rolled her shoulder. “It’s where I need to be to draw their attention. You can watch over things more easily, without being noticed, from the eating area.”
He didn’t look happy about it, but he agreed. “I’m not going to wait that long before coming in, though.”
Why did he sound annoyed already? “So come in earlier, then. Just be discreet.”
His thumb moved over the arch of her foot, nearly stopping her heart. “This isn’t my first rodeo, honey.”
She wasn’t his honey, but… “What are you doing?”
“What?”
She nodded at her feet.
As if he hadn’t been aware of the touch himself, he looked down at his hand and then stroked with his thumb again. “This?” He drew both her feet up to his thigh. “You’re tense.”
She was, but she thought she’d hidden it. “Yeah, well…”
“You don’t like it?” He pressed, rubbed, worked her arches in a deep, firm massage.
And she wanted to melt. Felt like parts of her did melt. “Mmm. I like it.”
Spencer stilled again, his gaze piercing, hot. “Never had a foot-rub before?”
“That’s a joke, right?”
“So relax and enjoy.”
It was a bit too personal, but she liked it too much to make him quit. “Knock yourself out.” She drew a breath and tried to get them back on track. “Okay, so you know to ignore me when you come into the place, right?”
“If I did that, they’d suspect something.” Setting aside the beer, he half turned toward her and, keeping his gaze on her face, worked over her feet more thoroughly.
Bone-melting pleasure stole her breath.
Watching her, Spencer said softly, “No red-blooded man is going to miss noticing you, Arizona, so forget that idea. I’ll give you the same attention every other guy in the place will be doling out. Think you can handle that?”
With her heavy eyelids at half-mast, she snuggled farther into his couch. “Sure.”
He half smiled. “Just so you know, I might have to pretend interest in other women, too.”
That brought her out of her slumberous trance. “Why?”
“Because if the place is what we think it is, they’re liable to parade out the wares. If I’m not picking up the cues, they’ll pull back and we’ll lose an opportunity.”
He was right, damn him. She wouldn’t think about it now, and tomorrow…she’d deal with it. “Fine, whatever.” Her toes curled at his renewed touch. “Once you’re in the bar for backup, I’ll drop a few casual questions, maybe flirt a little, go for the helpless look. You know, all in all I’ll make myself seem like easy pickings.”
“You’ve done that before?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah. Plenty of times. It works to draw out the unscrupulous scumbags.”
His hands moved up to her ankles, kneading, soothing, then back down over her feet. So nice.
“And when the scumbags show themselves?”
“You and I can kick their…butts.” She’d swallowed back the curse word just in time, which robbed the description of any real punch.
This business of curbing her language was a little harder than she’d expected.
“A near miss.” Spencer’s hands stilled, tightened. “But I don’t like that part of the plan.”
“So what’d you want to do? Sweet-talk them into falling off the face of the earth?”
“I want you to stay out of harm’s way and let me handle it.”
She stared at him. “Poor Spencer. Did you think the massage would make me more agreeable?” Was that why he did it? “Fat chance.”
Planting one hand on the back of the couch, another near her knee, he leaned over her.
And that did alarm her a little. She was nearly flat on her back. She had on minimal clothing. And a man of his size and strength could be imposing without malicious intent.
She said, “Uh—” and considered bringing her knee up into his ribs.
“Here’s what’ll happen, honey.” His tone was calm, even. “You’ll ask the right questions, be suitably naive, and if anyone bites, we withdraw.”
“We?” She looked at his throat, at the flexing of muscles in his chest. Focus, Arizona. “So you’re not just cutting me out?”
He shook his head. “For now, we’ll both play it cool to see how deep the operation goes.”
Good idea. There were always more people involved than those most obvious. She swallowed and pressed one hand to his left pectoral. Solid. “And later?”
“Once we know what we’re dealing with, all of it from the bottom up, then we’ll make a move. A well-thought-out move, with plenty of safeguards.” He looked at her mouth, and his voice lowered. “But not until then.” He straightened away again.
Arizona hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she sucked in a giant gulp. And really, that wasn’t only fear she felt. She knew it, and that sort of rattled her, too.
“You either give me your word on that,” Spencer said, regaining her attention, “or everything is off.”
He sat there watching her, waiting, and for some absurd reason, Arizona felt like laughing. “Tell you what, Spence. After that wonderful foot massage, I’ll agree that if retreat is an option, I’m all for it.” Turning on her side again, she drew up her knees so that her feet no longer touched him, and she tucked her hands under her cheek. “But if anyone touches me, it’s on.”
“No one will.”
Because he wouldn’t let them? His protective nature didn’t bug her as much as it should have. “No more talking. My brain is tired. Let’s just watch the knockouts.”
Over the throw, Spencer smoothed a hand from her foot to her knee and back again. It was a casual touch, affectionate, the way you’d stroke someone you cared for. A familiar, platonic, exciting touch.
Even when he left his hand there, she didn’t mind. She wondered what his warm fingers would feel like on her bare skin, and shifted.
Without relinquishing the contact, Spencer turned the volume back up and they fell into a companionable silence.
Before she knew it, Arizona felt so comfortable and secure that she forgot her day-to-day grievances and her constant wariness of everyone and everything. For once, she felt…safe. She even felt content.
It was a pretty wonderful feeling.
* * *
IT WAS PROBABLY the earlier conversation about Spencer’s wife that made her think of all she’d missed out on, all that she would never have—like family, a home of her own…children.
With the television playing in the background, Spencer a quiet, comforting presence beside her, Arizona drifted off to sleep. As she relaxed her guard, her thoughts went backward in time, and her dreams returned her to the junkyard once again.
* * *
UNABLE TO LOOK AWAY, she watched the business deal take place. The guy handing over money repeatedly rubbed his lips together. They were slick with saliva, and it made her skin crawl. The sticky evening air added to her growing nausea. Night sounds of crickets, distant traffic and an occasional barking dog closed in around her.
The degradation tried to whittle away her backbone.
She would not let it.
A fast glance around showed no escape. Never an escape. High fencing topped by barbed wire enclosed the junkyard. A nearby guard, recognizing her trepidation, watched with a sick smile.
Don’t look, don’t look…but her gaze automatically sought the small shack where she’d be taken.
Where she’d been taken before.
Her vision narrowed, dark and fuzzy. Her throat burned, sick with revulsion. If she ran, they’d shoot her.
But…would that be better or worse?
Oh, God, by now she should’ve been numb.
Instead she felt it all, every leering thought, every malicious, twisted intention, each hurt and each awful humiliation.
With the transaction complete, the loose-lipped man started toward her. Her heart pounded too hard, too fast.
Her panic escalated.
And her hatred grew.
* * *
MIDNIGHT CAME AND WENT. Mired in sentiment too raw to bear, Spencer considered pouring himself something stronger to drink. Two beers hadn’t done squat to numb his growing desire, both physical and emotional.
Arizona had fallen into a deep sleep; if he got drunk, it wouldn’t bother her.
But it would soften his edge, and around her, he needed to stay sharp.
He finished off the beer, then leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He should have gone on to bed, but he didn’t want to. Absurd as it seemed, he enjoyed soaking up this quiet, peaceful time with her.
So far, he’d seen her angry, defensive, amused and provoking. But rarely was she serene.
As she shifted, her small feet nudged his thigh. He curved his hand around her ankle, noting again her delicate bone structure, how her warmth penetrated the throw. If he touched her bare skin, she would be so soft, so silky…
A small sound escaped her.
Going on alert, Spencer turned his head and, with only the light of the television, studied her face.
Without those light blue eyes discerning his every move, her impact should have diminished. Instead, he felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
No woman should be that sexy. In the low light, her glossy dark hair tumbled around her face and shoulders like liquid silk. And that face…thick lashes, high cheekbones, a pert nose and such a full soft mouth.
But truthfully, she could have looked like a hag, and with her body, few men would care. As Spencer drifted his gaze over her, his muscles tightened and twitched and his guts burned with need. Volatile lust pressed inside him like a tide, getting stronger and stronger every time he saw her, even when he thought of her.
Around her, he felt a craving unlike anything he’d ever known, and that made him feel guilty for too many reasons to contemplate.
Arizona’s careless bravado made him hot with temper, and with lust. Her earthy way of speaking, her sexual curiosity, left him sometimes staggered, often unsettled, and anxious to school her on all she’d missed.
She shifted again, and his heart beat harder. He felt like a pervert for getting semi-hard over a sleeping woman who would be appalled if she knew the direction of his thoughts.
Then again, Arizona was insightful. She understood the way men’s minds worked, so she likely already assumed he had those thoughts.
And there was the crux of his problem: she’d known nothing but immoral bastards who’d taken pleasure in forcing her, hurting her, using her, treating her without respect or concern to appease their own warped appetites.
Never, ever would he do anything to shore up her impression of men, or to add to her wounds.
As Spencer watched her, her brows pulled tight and her jaw locked. She flinched, her shoulders stiffening, her hands drawing into fists.
“Hey.” Fearing the worst, he cuddled her foot, slid his hand up to her knee. “Arizona?”
She moved again, a panicked, jerky movement that gave away great distress. A small, nearly silent cry escaped her.
Shit.
He couldn’t bear knowing she suffered a nightmare. “Arizona.” Clasping her knee, he gave her a gentle shake. “C’mon now, wake up.”
She came around with a stifled shout, feet flying, fists aiming. His heart hammered as he dodged the blows and tried to contain her.
“Arizona!” His hands bit into her upper arms, pinning her down, keeping her still. “It’s me. Spencer.”
Silent, cold and so very hurt, she ceased fighting to stare up at him with big eyes and pulsing fear.
“You’re okay, honey.” He loosened his hold, saying again, “Everything’s okay.”
Her gaze went all over him—and she struggled up and away from the couch into a ready stance, shoulders forward, feet braced, her chest laboring.
Tears spiked her lashes.
Stunned by the sudden shattering of calm, Spencer watched her, unsure what to say, what to do.
She took in his sprawled posture and, in clear dread, checked her own person.
“Arizona,” he chastised. Did she really think he’d molest her in her sleep? Given all she’d been through, of course she would.
Her hands went over herself, the tie to her loose shorts and the placement of her T-shirt.
Finding nothing amiss, her shoulders slumped, and she wrapped her arms around herself. As she closed her eyes, she let out a ragged breath.
“You fell asleep on the couch,” Spencer told her in the gentlest tone he could muster.
“You didn’t go to bed.”
Because I wanted to stay near you. He swallowed back that telling admission. “I finished my drink and watched the news. That’s all.”
Her laugh edged out of control. “Of course it is.” Jamming rough fingers through her hair, she looked toward the front door.
“You’re thinking of running.” Spencer tensed, ready to go after her if she tried it. “Don’t.”
“Oh, God.” Hands shaking, she covered her face. “Sorry, but I have to.” In a rush now, she turned away.
“Arizona!”
At the harsh command in his tone, she froze, breathing hard, shivering.
What could he say? What could he do to help her? “It’ll be morning in a few more hours.” He sat forward, hopeful. “Let’s have coffee.”
She shook her head hard. “I gotta go.”
“No, honey, you don’t have to do anything. You can stay.” With me. He shook his head. Searching for the right words to sway her, he said, “You probably need the bathroom, right?” She’d been asleep for hours. No way would he let her rush off into the night.
She glanced back at him. Uncertain. Worried. Incredulous. “The bathroom?”
He nodded. If she went to the john first, that’d buy him a little time to sort through his thoughts and present a more coherent and persuasive argument. “And you’re barefoot. And it’s still storming.” Slowly, Spencer stood, determined to reach her. “Everyone has nightmares, honey. No reason to be embarrassed about it.” He didn’t approach her. Not yet.
Jerking around to face him fully, she shook a fist toward him. “You don’t know, so stop acting like you do!”
“You could tell me.”
That took her back a step. “No.” She emphasized the whispered denial with a firm shake of her head. “I won’t.”
“Okay.” Damn, but he wished he had some idea of how to react to her now. He inched forward a foot. “But if you ever want to talk about it, any of it, please know that I’d listen, and I wouldn’t judge.”
Her lip curled. “Great. Thanks for the offer.” Again she ran a hand through her hair. Undecided, she looked around. “My stupid car is out of commission.”
“Because they want you to stay here.” With me. Only with me. “They trust me, and you should, too.”
“Jackson, Trace, Dare…they’re like a bunch of meddling old ladies.”
Acrimony? Sarcasm? He’d take it over her terror any day. “I’ll tell them you said so.” Another foot toward her. “Please don’t be self-conscious. Not with me.”
“Why not you?” Going on the offensive, she asked, “What makes you so special?”
Good question, Spencer thought. And coming up with an answer wouldn’t be easy, not when what he wanted most was to hold her close, to protect her, and…to claim her as his own.