A Perfect Storm(16)

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.