by Lori Foster
“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.
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.”
“Jackson, Trace, Dare…they’re like a bunch of meddling old ladies.”
Acrimony? Sarcasm? He’d take it over her terror any day. “I’ll tell them you said so.” Another foot toward her. “Please don’t be self-conscious. Not with me.”
“Why not you?” Going on the offensive, she asked, “What makes you so special?”
Good question, Spencer thought. And coming up with an answer wouldn’t be easy, not when what he wanted most was to hold her close, to protect her, and…to claim her as his own.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SPENCER IGNORED his own reservations, and, because she needed it, he gave her a piece of his soul. “I have nightmares sometimes, too.”
Eyes still damp, Arizona glared at him. “I doubt they’re the same.”
“No, not the same at all.” It wasn’t easy to talk about. He never had before now. Before Arizona. “In my nightmares, I see my wife crying out to me to help her, but I don’t. I can’t.”
Arizona went still, on alert. At least he had her attention now. Her breathing eased, and she stopped shivering. “Seriously?”
Spencer nodded. “In my nightmares, I feel her fear and I see those men doing things to her that…” He worked his jaw and forced himself to say it. “Things that they may or may not have done. I hear her screaming, desperate and panicked—and I’m not there.” He gave a helpless shrug that didn’t even come close to expressing how he felt about it, how much he fucking hated it.
Arizona stared at him, silent, watchful.
“I didn’t help her. I didn’t protect her as I should have.” His expression tight, his heart tighter, he admitted, “The dreams always end the same way, with her getting shot and dying in a pool of her own blood.”
Arizona softened. She wrapped her arms around herself, and her voice lowered. “Not the same, but…pretty awful.”
He walked the rest of the way to her. “It was one of those dreams that drove me to Marla.”
“Why? I don’t get that.”
“Sometimes, a little human contact can help to chase away the demons.” One hand on her shoulder, he stepped closer still. “I could use a little contact right now. How about you?”
“Sex?”
“No.” His guts tightened. “Comfort.”
“Oh.” She was stiff, still. “I don’t know. I’ve never…”
“Getting comfort isn’t something familiar to you. I understand.” Slowly, he drew her up against his chest, and Christ Almighty, it felt good.
It felt right.
His chin to the top of her head, he whispered, “That’s not so bad, is it?”
“No.”
Careful not to do anything to spook her, he kept his hands still on her back and resisted the urge to kiss her temple. “I can’t know all the things you went through, or how those things affected you. But you don’t have to deal with any of it alone.”
She leaned into him, and, tentatively, her arms came around him. “Maybe.”
He felt her small hands on his back, her soft, lush body against his. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder, maybe drying her tears. For his part, Spencer kept his touch as innocent as possible. He’d rather lose a limb than alarm her.
After a few seconds she gave him a tighter, harder squeeze. “You’re so warm.”
“And you’re chilled.” Carefully, he rubbed his palms up and down her bare arms. The urge to fill his hands with her long hair, to press into her, to react, burned inside him. “Should I adjust the air-conditioning?”
“No.”
Nothing was ever simple with Arizona. “Why not?”
“It’s your house. You should be comfortable.”
Damn. “I want you to be comfortable, too. I wish you’d believe that.”
She tipped back to see his face. “Guess we can either stand here being melodramatic, or sit down and get comfortable, or we could try for a few more hours of sleep.” She yawned. “The last is starting to sound good to me.”
Her attempt to hide her feelings didn’t put him off. He understood her need to keep it together, to put up a brave front. It was so novel, so stoic, that he appreciated her efforts, knowing few would be able to manage such a show of grit.
Spencer smoothed her silky hair back, cupped her cheek. “Things can be different if you trust again, if you see a better side of things.”
She knuckled her left eye. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning to slit my wrists or anything. You don’t need to break out a sermon.”
When she made to move away, he gripped her shoulders. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom?”
“Oh.” She stepped out of reach, and his hands fell to his sides.
As she strode away, Spencer, feeling like a true bastard, watched the sway of her hips in the loose shorts, how her shapely legs took such long strides.
When she returned a minute later, he saw that the cool air had affected her, and he could see the jut of her nipples beneath the T-shirt. She had heavy, firm breasts made more noticeable by her slender frame.
Yawning again, she made a beeline for the couch.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer asked, “Will you be able to sleep?”
“Yup.” In an offhand way, she added,
“As long as you mosey on to bed instead of keeping watch over me.”
Somehow, he doubted she’d sleep. Was she planning something? Probably.
Spencer studied her. “Will you be here in a few more hours when I get up?”
Her brows pulled together the tiniest bit, making her look more quizzical than annoyed. “You want me to be?”
“Yes.” Something darkened in her eyes. Relief? “I want that very much.”
“Then I’ll be here.”
Still feeling uncertain, Spencer pressed her. “If you have another nightmare—”
“No, I won’t wake you, so don’t suggest it. It’s dumb. I’m an adult. And I know how to take care of myself.” She snuggled down under the throw. “But I also promise not to go running off into the night like a demented woman. Good enough?”
He supposed it’d have to be. “All right.”
“Now go away or I’ll be forced to group you in with the others, who really are mother hens.”
Spencer moved to stand in front of her. He couldn’t leave her, not like this, so he crouched down before her, smoothed her hair. “I’m just down the hall if you change your mind.” What was he saying?
She tucked in her chin and stared at him. “Change my mind about what?”
Good question. Even he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d meant. “If you can’t get back to sleep. We can talk, or watch TV or grab an early breakfast.” He tugged the throw up over her shoulder. “Just let me know.”
For an answer, she rolled her eyes, dropped her head back to the arm rest, and faked a loud snore. With a small smile, Spencer squeezed her shoulder and rose to walk away.
He wanted to get her a regular bed pillow.
He wanted to sit back down and continue…just touching her. But pushing Arizona in any way would be a mistake. So instead, he adjusted the air-conditioning, then went into his bedroom, closed his door and stripped off his clothes.
It took him a little while, but he finally fell asleep.
