Authors: Lori Foster
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.
S
PENCER
IGNORED
his own reservations, and, because she needed it, he gave her a piece of his soul. “I have nightmares sometimes, too.”
Eyes still damp, Arizona glared at him. “I doubt they’re the same.”
“No, not the same at all.” It wasn’t easy to talk about. He never had before now. Before Arizona. “In my nightmares, I see my wife crying out to me to help her, but I don’t. I can’t.”
Arizona went still, on alert. At least he had her attention now. Her breathing eased, and she stopped shivering. “Seriously?”
Spencer nodded. “In my nightmares, I feel her fear and I see those men doing things to her that…” He worked his jaw and forced himself to say it. “Things that they may or may not have done. I hear her screaming, desperate and panicked—and I’m not there.” He gave a helpless shrug that didn’t even come close to expressing how he felt about it, how much he fucking hated it.
Arizona stared at him, silent, watchful.
“I didn’t help her. I didn’t protect her as I should have.” His expression tight, his heart tighter, he admitted, “The dreams always end the same way, with her getting shot and dying in a pool of her own blood.”
Arizona softened. She wrapped her arms around herself, and her voice lowered. “Not the same, but…pretty awful.”
He walked the rest of the way to her. “It was one of those dreams that drove me to Marla.”
“Why? I don’t get that.”
“Sometimes, a little human contact can help to chase away the demons.” One hand on her shoulder, he stepped closer still. “I could use a little contact right now. How about you?”
“Sex?”
“No.” His guts tightened. “Comfort.”
“Oh.” She was stiff, still. “I don’t know. I’ve never…”
“Getting comfort isn’t something familiar to you. I understand.” Slowly, he drew her up against his chest, and Christ Almighty, it felt good.
It felt right.
His chin to the top of her head, he whispered, “That’s not so bad, is it?”
“No.”
Careful not to do anything to spook her, he kept his hands still on her back and resisted the urge to kiss her temple. “I can’t know all the things you went through, or how those things affected you. But you don’t have to deal with any of it alone.”
She leaned into him, and, tentatively, her arms came around him. “Maybe.”
He felt her small hands on his back, her soft, lush body against his. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder, maybe drying her tears. For his part, Spencer kept his touch as innocent as possible. He’d rather lose a limb than alarm her.
After a few seconds she gave him a tighter, harder squeeze. “You’re so warm.”
“And you’re chilled.” Carefully, he rubbed his palms up and down her bare arms. The urge to fill his hands with her long hair, to press into her, to react, burned inside him. “Should I adjust the air-conditioning?”
“No.”
Nothing was ever simple with Arizona. “Why not?”
“It’s your house. You should be comfortable.”
Damn. “I want you to be comfortable, too. I wish you’d believe that.”
She tipped back to see his face. “Guess we can either stand here being melodramatic, or sit down and get comfortable, or we could try for a few more hours of sleep.” She yawned. “The last is starting to sound good to me.”
Her attempt to hide her feelings didn’t put him off. He understood her need to keep it together, to put up a brave front. It was so novel, so stoic, that he appreciated her efforts, knowing few would be able to manage such a show of grit.
Spencer smoothed her silky hair back, cupped her cheek. “Things can be different if you trust again, if you see a better side of things.”
She knuckled her left eye. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning to slit my wrists or anything. You don’t need to break out a sermon.”
When she made to move away, he gripped her shoulders. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom?”
“Oh.” She stepped out of reach, and his hands fell to his sides.
As she strode away, Spencer, feeling like a true bastard, watched the sway of her hips in the loose shorts, how her shapely legs took such long strides.
When she returned a minute later, he saw that the cool air had affected her, and he could see the jut of her nipples beneath the T-shirt. She had heavy, firm breasts made more noticeable by her slender frame.
Yawning again, she made a beeline for the couch.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer asked, “Will you be able to sleep?”
“Yup.” In an offhand way, she added, “As long as you mosey on to bed instead of keeping watch over me.”
Somehow, he doubted she’d sleep. Was she planning something? Probably.
Spencer studied her. “Will you be here in a few more hours when I get up?”
Her brows pulled together the tiniest bit, making her look more quizzical than annoyed. “You want me to be?”
“Yes.” Something darkened in her eyes. Relief? “I want that very much.”
“Then I’ll be here.”
Still feeling uncertain, Spencer pressed her. “If you have another nightmare—”
“No, I won’t wake you, so don’t suggest it. It’s dumb. I’m an adult. And I know how to take care of myself.” She snuggled down under the throw. “But I also promise not to go running off into the night like a demented woman. Good enough?”
He supposed it’d have to be. “All right.”
“Now go away or I’ll be forced to group you in with the others, who really are mother hens.”
Spencer moved to stand in front of her. He couldn’t leave her, not like this, so he crouched down before her, smoothed her hair. “I’m just down the hall if you change your mind.”
What was he saying?
She tucked in her chin and stared at him. “Change my mind about
what?
”
Good question. Even he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d meant. “If you can’t get back to sleep. We can talk, or watch TV or grab an early breakfast.” He tugged the throw up over her shoulder. “Just let me know.”
For an answer, she rolled her eyes, dropped her head back to the arm rest, and faked a loud snore. With a small smile, Spencer squeezed her shoulder and rose to walk away.
He wanted to get her a regular bed pillow.
He wanted to sit back down and continue…just touching her. But pushing Arizona in any way would be a mistake. So instead, he adjusted the air-conditioning, then went into his bedroom, closed his door and stripped off his clothes.
It took him a little while, but he finally fell asleep.
And for once, his dreams weren’t of his wife. They were all about Arizona.
And they were surprisingly pleasant.
* * *
A
RIZONA
HUMMED
as she finished her shower. It wasn’t the thought of dressing in new clothes that lightened her mood. She detested outfits meant to draw attention, but she accepted it as a necessary means to an end. She needed to be noticed at the bar, and so she’d chosen clothes that would ensure it.
So, no, it wasn’t the clothes; it was Spencer who made her feel…lighthearted. Weird. Rarely did she feel so worry-free, and never because of a man.
Sure, she adored Jackson and probably always would. The poor guy had become her stand-in…everything. Big brother, best friend, comrade and semi-confidant. Jackson knew things about her that few others did, because he’d been there, witnessing it firsthand while risking his life to save hers.
It made her hot with humiliation and soft with gratitude, every time she thought of it.
Jackson had done so much for her—and she’d done nothing for him. She was a burden for him to bear. An added responsibility when he already had so many.
The imbalance of their relationship left her indebted, defensive and heavy with guilt. She needed to repay Jackson for all he’d done.
Someday, somehow, she would.
But Spencer, yeah, Spencer felt more like a true partner. There was equality. She’d had a shitty nightmare, and that sucked. But she’d also seen the expression in his dark brown eyes as he’d shared his own nightmares.
It was the sharing that made all the difference.
Almost from the get-go, they’d connected. With any luck, they could unite further over their combined efforts to bring cretins to justice.
True to her word, she’d been at Spencer’s kitchen table drinking coffee when he awoke. She’d been listening for him, wondering how late he’d sleep, anxious to see him, to talk to him, so of course she’d heard him the minute he’d left his bed.
Probably thinking she had skipped out on him, he’d rushed down the hall and into the kitchen, where he’d drawn up short at the sight of her.
With whiskers on his face and his hair mussed, wearing only boxers, he’d stared at her.
And she’d seen his relief. Because he
really
wanted her there.
Her heart did that strange tumbling thing again. The whiskers were appealing enough, but what that man did for a pair of boxers should have been illegal.
He had such a great body. She’d noticed that more than once, and not in the admiring but analytical way that she’d noted the physiques of Jackson, Dare and Trace. Being strong, tall and fast, with great stamina and reflexes, they were built for enforcing their individual wills.
Spencer was all of that, but he was also remarkable eye candy. Whenever he concentrated those dark bedroom eyes on her, she felt the strangest flutter in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was disconcerting.
And so, at the first opportunity, she’d left him.
She felt a little guilty about it, too. But reminding herself that she had to keep her independence, that she had to prove her worth to one and all—especially to herself—had helped her to walk out while he showered.
Watching for nosy creeps, she’d checked out of her old hotel, shopped for the clothes she’d wear tonight and a swimsuit for the trip to Dare’s, and then checked into a new hotel. She’d kept her phone out, certain that Spencer would call—but he hadn’t.
Not yet anyway.
She refused to be disappointed over that. He’d meet her tonight to help with her sting, and that’s what she needed the most.
With her shower complete, her hair conditioned and her body softened by scented lotion, she wrapped one towel around her hair and another around her body. She’d just stepped out of the bathroom when her cell phone rang.
Spencer.
Refusing to dwell on the joyous racing of her heart, she took a deep, calming breath and lifted the phone. No doubt he’d be pissed that she fled while he showered. But arguing with him was almost as exhilarating as everything else they’d shared. She could hardly wait.
Smiling with anticipation, she answered with a feigned and careless, “’Lo?”
“You left me.”
Her pulsed tripped at the low, oh-so-familiar timbre of his voice. She hadn’t left
him.
She’d just…left. Why did he make it sound so personal?
“Just noticed that, huh? Man, Spence, you really are astute.”
“You snuck out while I was in the shower.”
Why wasn’t he blowing a gasket? She’d managed to get past his watchful eye, and that more or less proved she was better than him—right? That should have made him furious. Instead he sounded dark and mysterious and…she didn’t know.
“I had some stuff to get done.” Then she reminded him, “But I was there when you woke up as promised, right? I even hung around for breakfast.”
“Biding your time?”
Annoyance straightened her shoulders and sharpened her tone. “I stuck to the letter of our deal—like you did when you talked to Trace, but not Jackson.”
Nothing. No argument, no reply, not even a sound of frustration.
His lack of response spoiled all her fun. On a sigh, Arizona gave up and said, “I had to go shopping so I’d have something appropriate to wear tonight.”
“So it wasn’t just to get even with me for talking to Trace?”
“No.” Well, maybe a little. “I needed to move locations, too, and…well, a girl’s got prep work to do before seducing the masses.”
“I wanted you to stay.”
Oh, wow. She heard his disappointment. And damn it, it ramped up her guilt a lot. “I told you I couldn’t do that.”
“You and I are going to have a nice long talk about what you can and cannot do.”
He sounded so certain of her agreement that she wanted to turn him down. But she needed to keep the peace so that he’d continue to work with her. “Okay. When?”
“As soon as you let me in.”
“Let you…” Control eroded under growing temper. “Where are you?”
One firm rap sounded on her door. “Open up, honey.”
Instead, she stepped back from the door. Voice cracking with outrage, she yelled,
“What the hell, Spencer?”
“I don’t want to draw attention out here. Are you going to open up or not?”
She looked down at herself. The white towel barely protected her dubious modesty. “No, I am not.” He could damn well wait for her to dress. It’d do him good to cool his heels in the shabby lobby of the motel. “You had no right to come here—”