A Perfect Storm
Page 6
She breathed harder.
As a warning, her small hand bunched into a fist. He didn’t care. If she slugged him, maybe that’d finally make him see reason.
Maybe he’d finally be able to stop thinking about her.
“Damn you,” she growled.
And his doorbell rang.
CHAPTER TWO
ARIZONA WATCHED AS CALM settled over Spencer’s features. Oh, chaotic emotion had been there seconds before. She knew it. But now, he looked as collected as a college professor.
“Excuse me,” he said with absurd formality, and turned to head for the front door.
The second his back was turned, she let out a pent-up breath and felt her knees weaken.
Why did he rattle her so much? Fear? Yeah, around him she felt it in spades. But it wasn’t a normal kind of fear.
It wasn’t anything familiar.
She’d lived with fear most of her life, first from her father and his cohorts, then from the awful traffickers and the swine who came to them for women. And then…from the idea of being alone, unable to help others.
Useless.
From where she stood, the open door blocked her view of his visitor, but she didn’t need a visual, not with the husky female voice now crooning, “Spencer, I’m so glad you’re home.”
Arizona’s spine went rigid.
Strength surged back into her legs.
So did petty animosity.
She strained her ears but heard nothing, and she suspected the woman was kissing Spencer.
“Sorry, doll,” Spencer finally said low, “but it’s not a good time.”
Doll? Not a good time for what? Curiosity, and a few more unpleasant emotions, nudged Arizona closer.
“But it’s been forever,” purred the female, “and you promised me—”
“I don’t make promises.”
“I know.” An exaggerated sigh. “That’s not what I meant. But…” Silly female cajoling. “God, Spencer, I need you.” Slim, pale hands came up and around Spencer’s neck and drew him down.
This time she had no doubts at all about the silence. They were making out in his doorway, right there for God and the rest of the world to see.
Peeved, Arizona took a few quicker steps forward, and witnessed a pretty blonde delivering a scorching kiss. They both had their eyes closed. They fit together. And she saw a flash of tongue.
Fury narrowed her eyes.
Spencer knew she was waiting on him, but he didn’t exactly fight off Blondie’s attentions.
With one hand at her waist and the other keeping the door held open—probably to try to block Arizona from seeing—Spencer let the brazen broad kiss him.
Crossing her arms and propping her shoulder against the wall, Arizona asked, “Can I get an estimate on how long this is going to take?”
When they both looked at her, the blonde shocked, Spencer resigned, Arizona smiled.
“I mean, is this going somewhere? Should I skedaddle and leave you to it? Or should I just wait outside for a few?”
The blonde opened her mouth twice but said nothing. Her lips were now wet, her face flushed.
Spencer, appearing unaffected by it all, didn’t say anything. He just watched Arizona.
When the blonde noticed that, she shoved out of Spencer’s hold. “You bastard!” She turned and marched away.
“Hey, he doesn’t make promises,” Arizona called after her. “You should’ve remembered that!” Since Blondie didn’t head for a car but instead crossed the lawn, Arizona assumed her to be a neighbor. How handy was that? He had “hanky-panky” living right next door.
Giving her a dirty look, Spencer pointed at her. “Stay.” And with that, he went after the woman.
Like…maybe she mattered to him? Who was she?
Snuffing the hurt she felt, Arizona said, “Woof,” so Spencer would know what she thought of his order, then she strode to the door to watch the theatrics.
Relationships confounded her; she’d never seen the appeal of having someone around, underfoot. The invasion to your privacy. The expectations. Obligations.
Sex.
No, she wanted no part of it.
And yet it infuriated her to see Spencer contain the woman by holding her oh-so-gently, and to see Blondie soften as he explained.
What did he tell her?
For certain, Spencer wouldn’t admit that she’d watched him sleeping, that he’d gotten up and paraded around buck naked in front of her.
He wouldn’t admit that they were both vigilantes, and that their only connection was a drive to bring the bad guys to justice.
But he talked about something, and when the woman looked toward Arizona with understanding and sympathy, her temper snapped.
What the hell?
Did that bimbo pity her?
Storming away, Arizona headed back to the kitchen. Along the way she threw a few shadow punches and kicks, then drew a slow deep breath. She’d already reconnoitered Spencer’s house, so she knew she could slip out the back door and not have to see him again.
But she wouldn’t. She’d be damned before she let him make her flee. She didn’t run from anyone. Not anymore. Never again.
Hoping to hide her awful mix of emotions, she went about cleaning up the mess on the floor.
Making herself at home, she located Spencer’s garbage can and unearthed a roll of paper towels. She was almost done when Spencer came in several minutes later.
The second she saw him, she tossed away the last paper towel and regained her feet. “You do her in the driveway?”
As a warning, her small hand bunched into a fist. He didn’t care. If she slugged him, maybe that’d finally make him see reason.
Maybe he’d finally be able to stop thinking about her.
“Damn you,” she growled.
And his doorbell rang.
CHAPTER TWO
ARIZONA WATCHED AS CALM settled over Spencer’s features. Oh, chaotic emotion had been there seconds before. She knew it. But now, he looked as collected as a college professor.
“Excuse me,” he said with absurd formality, and turned to head for the front door.
The second his back was turned, she let out a pent-up breath and felt her knees weaken.
Why did he rattle her so much? Fear? Yeah, around him she felt it in spades. But it wasn’t a normal kind of fear.
It wasn’t anything familiar.
She’d lived with fear most of her life, first from her father and his cohorts, then from the awful traffickers and the swine who came to them for women. And then…from the idea of being alone, unable to help others.
Useless.
From where she stood, the open door blocked her view of his visitor, but she didn’t need a visual, not with the husky female voice now crooning, “Spencer, I’m so glad you’re home.”
Arizona’s spine went rigid.
Strength surged back into her legs.
So did petty animosity.
She strained her ears but heard nothing, and she suspected the woman was kissing Spencer.
“Sorry, doll,” Spencer finally said low, “but it’s not a good time.”
Doll? Not a good time for what? Curiosity, and a few more unpleasant emotions, nudged Arizona closer.
“But it’s been forever,” purred the female, “and you promised me—”
“I don’t make promises.”
“I know.” An exaggerated sigh. “That’s not what I meant. But…” Silly female cajoling. “God, Spencer, I need you.” Slim, pale hands came up and around Spencer’s neck and drew him down.
This time she had no doubts at all about the silence. They were making out in his doorway, right there for God and the rest of the world to see.
Peeved, Arizona took a few quicker steps forward, and witnessed a pretty blonde delivering a scorching kiss. They both had their eyes closed. They fit together. And she saw a flash of tongue.
Fury narrowed her eyes.
Spencer knew she was waiting on him, but he didn’t exactly fight off Blondie’s attentions.
With one hand at her waist and the other keeping the door held open—probably to try to block Arizona from seeing—Spencer let the brazen broad kiss him.
Crossing her arms and propping her shoulder against the wall, Arizona asked, “Can I get an estimate on how long this is going to take?”
When they both looked at her, the blonde shocked, Spencer resigned, Arizona smiled.
“I mean, is this going somewhere? Should I skedaddle and leave you to it? Or should I just wait outside for a few?”
The blonde opened her mouth twice but said nothing. Her lips were now wet, her face flushed.
Spencer, appearing unaffected by it all, didn’t say anything. He just watched Arizona.
When the blonde noticed that, she shoved out of Spencer’s hold. “You bastard!” She turned and marched away.
“Hey, he doesn’t make promises,” Arizona called after her. “You should’ve remembered that!” Since Blondie didn’t head for a car but instead crossed the lawn, Arizona assumed her to be a neighbor. How handy was that? He had “hanky-panky” living right next door.
Giving her a dirty look, Spencer pointed at her. “Stay.” And with that, he went after the woman.
Like…maybe she mattered to him? Who was she?
Snuffing the hurt she felt, Arizona said, “Woof,” so Spencer would know what she thought of his order, then she strode to the door to watch the theatrics.
Relationships confounded her; she’d never seen the appeal of having someone around, underfoot. The invasion to your privacy. The expectations. Obligations.
Sex.
No, she wanted no part of it.
And yet it infuriated her to see Spencer contain the woman by holding her oh-so-gently, and to see Blondie soften as he explained.
What did he tell her?
For certain, Spencer wouldn’t admit that she’d watched him sleeping, that he’d gotten up and paraded around buck naked in front of her.
He wouldn’t admit that they were both vigilantes, and that their only connection was a drive to bring the bad guys to justice.
But he talked about something, and when the woman looked toward Arizona with understanding and sympathy, her temper snapped.
What the hell?
Did that bimbo pity her?
Storming away, Arizona headed back to the kitchen. Along the way she threw a few shadow punches and kicks, then drew a slow deep breath. She’d already reconnoitered Spencer’s house, so she knew she could slip out the back door and not have to see him again.
But she wouldn’t. She’d be damned before she let him make her flee. She didn’t run from anyone. Not anymore. Never again.
Hoping to hide her awful mix of emotions, she went about cleaning up the mess on the floor.
Making herself at home, she located Spencer’s garbage can and unearthed a roll of paper towels. She was almost done when Spencer came in several minutes later.
The second she saw him, she tossed away the last paper towel and regained her feet. “You do her in the driveway?”
