A Perfect Storm
Page 30
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.”
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.”
