A Perfect Storm(17)

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.