A Perfect Storm(18)

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."