A Perfect Storm(43)

Less than two minutes later he came out to find her curled on her side in his bed.

The jean skirt lay crumpled on the floor.

She hadn't even bothered to get under the covers.

His heart punched hard at seeing her like that-deeply asleep, in his  bed, wearing only black panties and an insubstantial tank top that  hugged her lush curves.

Drawn to her, Spencer approached the bed, stood at the side of the  mattress and took his time looking over every inch of her. A fully  naked, well-posed centerfold model couldn't have been more tempting.

Silky panties barely covered her, leaving much of her smooth hips and  bottom on display. His hands curled with the need to touch her, to  stroke over that honey-colored skin.

She had her long, sleek legs bent at the knee, one drawn up to expose  her almost like an invitation. Visually he traced the rise of her proud  shoulder, down the dip to her tiny waist and then back up again to the  curves of that sexy backside.

Physically, he wanted her so much he hurt.

And emotionally …  God, he choked on the thick emotions, they so overwhelmed him.

Because he had to touch her, he aimed for safe ground and drifted his  fingertips through her hair, tucking it back so he could better see her  beautiful face. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. She  felt baby soft and smelled woman warm-an intoxicating mix.

Now, right at this moment, she was dead to the world, at peace, her expression utterly relaxed.

Young.

Carefree.

All the things she should be-even when awake and aware.

If she saw him standing there with a jones, admiring her in her sleep,  she'd probably deck him. Grinning over that probability, Spencer dropped  his hand and took a step back, then slowly opened the snap to his jeans  and slid down the zipper past his erection.

He would sleep with her, he'd hold her, but he would not take advantage.

There wasn't anything he could do about the boner except suffer it.

Would she still want him in the morning?

Without drink clouding her judgment, would she still be able to push  past her demons and overcome her reservations to take what she wanted?

And if she did, then what?

All his reasons for not indulging that final intimacy still remained.  Taking her, being inside her, would only make it more difficult to do  what was right-what was best for her, what would be honorable for him.

Because her past skewed her perception of any intimate relationship,  Arizona didn't-couldn't-know her own mind. Her history hampered clear  thought and insight the same way too much alcohol did. He shouldn't take  advantage of either.                       
       
           



       

Spencer shook his head. All the arguments made sense; they were valid, of course. But he fought a losing battle, and he knew it.

In her unique, kick-ass way, Arizona personified temptation.

Pulling the covers out from under her, he tucked her in and turned out  the low light. What would she think when she awoke with him in the  morning?

Anticipating her reaction, he skinned off his jeans, put those and her  skirt on a chair, and in boxers only, he stretched out beside her.

She didn't stir.

Though Arizona wasn't a fragile woman, she was so much smaller than him,  her bone structure slight in comparison. He slid an arm under her head,  another around her waist, and pulled her up close against his body so  that he spooned her.

Amazingly enough, wrapped around her protectively, affectionately,  lovingly … it was the most comfortable he'd been in a very long time.

* * *

ICY RIVER WAS CLOSED over her head, but she kicked hard and broke the  surface long enough to gulp in much-needed air. Fierce rainfall stung  her face; laughter sounded over the thunder. A bright flashlight beam  hit her in the eyes, momentarily blinding her.

Panic sank its claws deep, but she fought it off. Think, Arizona, think.

Her next breath was the most immediate need, but, God, the river pulled  at her, and without her arms to help, staying afloat was not only  awkward, but nearly impossible. She choked on dirty water, shivered from  the bone-deep chill.

Where was the shore? Which way and how far?

And if she made it there, then what?

They'd only throw her back in.

Probably with the added disadvantage of a bullet or knife wound.

Suddenly the chatter, the heckling, even the laughter stopped. Despite  the rushing sounds of the river and the night and the raging storm, the  loss of human words clamored against her brain.

Thighs screaming with exhaustion, despondency strangling her, she broke the water again-and saw a skirmish on the bridge.

It so surprised her that she went under again and swallowed a mouthful  of the foul water. She kicked, but her legs felt leaden. Her lungs  screamed, her shoulders ached so horribly from the unnatural pull of the  tight bonds …

So tired that every muscle in her body cramped, she almost gave up-and  then a splash sounded near her. Forgetting to kick her legs, she went  under once more-and strong arms closed around her.

Fear surged, giving her renewed strength.

"Shh," he said as he pulled her toward shore. "I've got you now. I swear it's okay."

A man, big and so incredibly strong that he controlled himself and her against the deep tug of the river.

But who, and why?

Unwilling to trust anyone, she head-butted him, making him curse. But he didn't loosen his secure hold.

Oh, God, oh, God …

She kicked, and her heel connected a few times but gained her nothing.  Thrashing, fighting, she did everything she could to get free, and still  he dragged them nearer and nearer to the shore.

The moment his feet touched ground, she felt it. Seconds later hers did, too.

She didn't scream, didn't call out or cry. Instead, she did everything in her physical power to get free.

While continuing to shush her in that oddly soothing voice, he pinned  her down in the muddy ground, immobilizing her legs, making her arms  hurt more.

So tired. Muscles aching. Lungs burning.

Giving up seemed more and more likely.

"I'm going to cut you free now. Be still."

A knife! But true to his word, he crouched over her, lifted her wrists and sliced through the nylon restraints.

Then he moved quickly out of her reach.

With her backside sliding on the muddy bank, she scrambled away. Her  arms were useless, numb and tingling. Her legs were heavy with fatigue.

"It's okay," he said. He didn't follow. He held his arms out and waited. "You can trust me."

He couldn't be serious. She trusted no one. No one. No one …





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


ARIZONA AWOKE AS SHE OFTEN DID, with a near jolt, her heart thumping,  adrenaline surging. She sat upright, and her gaze darted around,  searching for any and all threats.

She found none.

Taking in the room with a sense of confusion, she tried to orient  herself. Soft sheets covered her, so unlike the usual overstarched  bedding in hotel rooms. Gray dawn flooded the room; gentle morning rain  trickled over the window panes.

Cozy warmth surrounded her.

And now that she was awake, she felt unaccountably … safe.

Nice feelings. Unfamiliar, but … she moved her hand over the sheet.  Something in the room smelled wonderful, and she filled her lungs on a  deep breath-

"Morning."

Shock took her pounding heart to a standstill. Sucking in air, she  placed that deep, recognizable voice-and then oh-so-slowly turned her  head to see Spencer stretched out beside her. Oooookay. The sheet just  barely rested over his hip. One big hairy leg stuck out.                       
       
           



       

Her jaw loosened. "You're naked." The second she spoke, she felt the  stiffness of her jaw. She touched it and knew she was bruised.

"In my boxers actually." He lifted the sheet to show her.

Yeah … not much better. Spencer in boxers was enough to stop her heart. Especially when aroused. And he was.

Again.

Lord have mercy.

Marla hadn't joked about his size. The man was big all over, a fact she'd noticed more than once.

Well. He sure got her heart going again, even faster than the damn nightmare had. By the moment, she became more alert.

"You're okay?" he asked with concern.

"What?"

He nodded, his gaze on her face where she touched her jaw.

"Oh. Yeah." She dropped her hand. "I'm fine."

As he shifted, his brows pulled down in worry.

Seeing all that exposed flesh, so sleek over taut muscle, Arizona  automatically breathed in deep again-and her stomach did a crazy little  flip.

Mmm. Yup, that's what she inhaled all right-the stimulating scent of  warm skin and relaxed muscles on a supersized sexy male bod.

Deeee-licious.

He said nothing else. She didn't, either. Who could talk? She'd rather soak up the sight of him.

Like the morning she'd first awakened him, he looked good with rumpled  hair and beard shadow. Unlike that morning, a sort of banked heat  smoldered in his dark eyes.

Hello! What had Spence been doing to look all turned-on and primed that way?