A Perfect Storm(27)

       
           



       

Whoa. He looked really pissed, and that surprised her, but oddly, it  sort of amused her. Putting on an innocent face, she asked, "Say what?"

He opened his seat belt and leaned toward her. "Don't put yourself down.  Don't throw up your past as an excuse to put yourself in danger. And  don't use the things that were forced on you as a way to demean  yourself."

"Yeah, uh, the demeaning was forced on me-like you said."

His hand slashed the air. "And that's over. That's not who you are." His gaze raked her body. "This isn't who you are."

A slow burn started. She opened her seat belt, too, and leaned into his anger.

Anger on her behalf.

"Actually, it's exactly who I am." He started to speak, but she knotted a  hand in his shirt and gave him a yank. "I am a vigilante, Spence. Get  used to it."

"No."

"I'm strong and I'm smart," she added. "And my plan is not dumb."

Something glittered in his eyes. Taunting her, he said, "You can't even  bear to have me kiss you. What the hell will you do when a stranger gets  hold of you?"

Her attention went to his mouth. Was he thinking about kissing her again? "You're the one spewing taboo words."

Frustration escalating, he took her wrist, making her hold on his shirt redundant. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She locked gazes with him and took great pleasure in saying, "I haven't cussed, but you have."

"So? I already agreed to take you to Jackson's wedding." He shook his head. "And stop changing the subject."

"I will. Just as soon as I find out what your new penalty will be. After  all, you've cussed twice. So I should get something, right?"

Time stretched out, and new tension filled the air. "What do you want?"

She was starting to want … a lot of things. Unusual things. Things she  thought she'd never again accept, much less crave. His warm breath  teased her mouth; she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

Dragging in a shuddering breath, she whispered, "I can bear it."

"You're confusing the hell out of me, honey."

Nothing new there. Around Spencer, she even confused herself. "When you kiss me," she spelled out. "I can bear it."

His thumb moved over the pulse in her wrist. "The way I've kissed you is not what I'm talking about."

"I know." She rolled a shoulder. "But tonight will be a starting point, a  get-to-know-you period. Odds are they'll just check the boundaries, to  see how much they can get away with."

"And if someone pushes past your comfort zone?"

"I'll figure it out."

He lifted her knuckles to his mouth, doing more of his specialized  kissing, then put his forehead to hers. "Truthfully, Arizona, I have no  doubt you can pull this off."

Matching his whisper, she said, "Then what's the problem?"

"If Terry Janes touches you, if he even looks at you funny, I might have  to take him apart." He stole a soft kiss from her mouth, taking her by  surprise, then settled back into his seat. "And that's a problem."

That quick, sweet smooch left her temporarily dazed. He'd done that so  casually, as if they'd kissed a million times, and it took a moment for  his words to sink in. She skipped past most of what he'd said-Spencer  would be a professional, she had no doubt about that-to focus on the  name he'd just given. "Terry Janes?"

"I told you the bar was already on Trace's radar."

No way. A little numb, she asked, "Terry is the guy running things? The tatted guy I already noticed?"

Spencer nodded. "He works the place. We don't know yet who's running the show, though."

She really, really wanted to slug him. "And you just now thought to tell me this?"

"You," he said, leaning toward her again, "snuck out on me. Otherwise we'd have hashed all this out after my shower."

Her fist trembled.

"Do it." Challenge, and something more, darkened his eyes. "I dare you."

It was soooo tempting to wipe that smirk off his face … but no. Why give him what he wanted?

"I should. I could." She checked a fingernail, the epitome of  indifference. "But I'm not in my kick-ass clothes, and we have business  later, so I can't get mussed. I'm remembering our purpose for being  here, even if you aren't."

"It'd be tough to forget with you dressed like that."                       
       
           



       

He did seem hung up on her clothes. Arizona held her arms out to her  sides and looked down at herself. "It's tame compared to what the  traffickers had me wear. I wasn't sure if it was racy enough, but given  how you keep going on, I guess it's appropriate."

"I want to go on the record here."

"I'm listening."

Reaching out, he fingered the hem of her short skirt. His knuckles  brushed the inside of her right thigh and stilled her pounding  heartbeat. "You don't need this." He nodded at her top. "Or that. You  can wear your jeans and a regular top of some kind, and I swear to you,  every straight guy around will go on alert."

Interesting. "You're sure of that?"

"Positive."

"What if he's a guy like Trace or Jackson-"

"They noticed." He trailed a fingertip over her knee … and then dropped  his hand. "The difference is that they can appreciate how you look  without thinking to take advantage of you, or put the make on you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Blowing out an exasperated breath, he looked out the window, studying  the area around them. "Arizona … " He worked his jaw before stabbing her  with a look of determination. "I'm going to have to insist."

"You're doing a lot of that."

"Sorry, but I'm only a man, and I'm doing my best here."

She had no idea what he meant.

"I don't want to push you."

"And if I'm dressed sexy, you might?"

"When you dress like that, I have a harder time concentrating on what it is I want to do."

"Like tease me?" Oh, God, now she was putting ideas in his head!

"Exactly." He smiled with anticipation. "And speaking of that …  You cursed."

Oh, no, she wouldn't let him get away with that. "But you did first, so we canceled each other out."

"Doesn't work that way." Somehow, without seeming to move, he crowded  closer again. "Our bet was that you would curb your language, and pay a  price whenever you didn't."

Refusing to act uncertain, she lifted her chin. "Fine. I owe ya one." He  started to lean in, and she straight-armed him. "But you'll have to  collect later."

He immediately stopped.

Nice. Not that she'd expected him to do otherwise. "I'll pay up, but fair is fair-so you owe me, too."

He sat back, his left wrist draped over the steering wheel, his right  arm along the back of the seat. After a moment of consideration, he  shrugged. "What do you want?"

"Details."

"Not a problem." He gave her a lazy, indulgent smile. "I was going to tell you all I could about the Green Goose anyway."

Arizona shook her head. "Not those details."

"No?" His right eyebrow lifted. "Then what?"

"We'll cover that later, too." Satisfied by his frown, she opened the  bag of fast food, and fragrant steam wafted out. "Mmm. Let's eat before  the burgers get cold." She handed him his share of the food, then opened  up the fries and set them on the console between them.

Large trees shaded their parking spot, so Spencer rolled down the  windows to let in the fresh September air. Birds flitted from tree to  tree. Bees buzzed. A breeze teased past.

"It's such a pretty day after the storms."

With a sound of agreement, Spencer opened the burger and took a big  bite. While she dug in, too, she watched him, amazed at how quickly he  consumed his food. She imagined it took a lot of fuel to keep a guy his  size going.

While studying his profile, Arizona again noted the permanent damage  done to the bridge of his nose. "How did you break your nose?"

His gaze, which had been focused off in the distance, cut to her. He  finished chewing another big bite of his burger, then touched the bridge  of his nose with two fingertips. "It bothers you?"

Arizona snorted. "No." Not much could detract from his good looks. He  was the whole package, not just a handsome face. "Actually, it makes you  look rugged."

That earned her a crooked smile. "If you say so." He grabbed a few more fries.

"So what happened? Walk me through it."

"There's not much to tell." He half turned, getting comfortable with his  shoulders propped against the door. "I was closing in on this guy,  Willy Glassman. A world-class jerk. Domestic abuse, battery, resisting  arrest …  You name it, and old Willy was probably guilty of it. After he  skipped out on his bail, I tracked him for weeks. Finally found him,  too, in this old farmhouse sitting out in the middle of nowhere. He and a  couple of buddies were on the front porch, going through a case of  beer."