A Perfect Storm
Page 69
Because of the alcohol.
Never in his life had he taken advantage of an inebriated woman, and he sure as hell wouldn’t start with Arizona. He had to pull it together and fast, or he’d do something they both might regret. “Arizona, stop.”
He held her back the length of his arms.
The look she gave him would have reduced most guys to a puddle. Hurt, embarrassment, even desperation—he saw it all in her beautiful blue eyes.
He shored up his resistance and touched her cheek—and prayed that he was the only one to notice how his hand shook. “You promised me you’d be okay.”
Confusion overtook embarrassment. “What are you talking about?”
“Before you went in the bar. You gave me your word that you’d be fine.”
Overflowing with frustration, she held out her arms. “And I am.”
“Bruised and bleeding is not fine. It’s a long way from fine.” He gave the corner of her mouth one last stroke, smoothing a darkening bruise with his thumb. “You got struck.”
“A little backhand, that’s all.” She reached for him again. “It’s nothing.”
“Maybe not to you.” He held her at bay, and this time she let him. “But to me it’s a lot. It damn near killed me when that bastard hit you.”
“Yeah?”
Telling her too much would only encourage her. “I want to get you home, cleaned up, and then you need to sleep off the whiskey.”
She leaned in to put her head on his shoulder, cuddling close—and he let her.
“I don’t want to.”
The rejection stiffened his spine; her nearness, the scent of her, stiffened everything else. “You don’t want to come home with me?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to sleep.”
Spencer could see the wheels turning. So she no longer minded kissing—that didn’t change anything else, not her past, and not the fact she was drunk.
Besides, he couldn’t delay things any longer, not here, out on the street, exposed to danger.
He looked out the back window but saw no one and nothing. Was Dare still following them? If so, Spencer couldn’t even imagine what he’d think.
He lifted Arizona back to her own seat. “Sorry, honey, but I need you to put your seat belt back on.”
“But—”
“I’m done arguing, Arizona. Just do it.”
She resettled herself with angry movements. “You’re a real killjoy, you know that?”
Spencer fought a reluctant grin as he put the truck in gear and pulled back out to the road. God help him, it was getting more and more difficult to play this game.
And with every minute, it felt less like a game anyway.
Everything about her appealed to him, especially her independence. She went after what she wanted, whether it was a new knife, a fight with a scumbag like Janes, or…a devastating kiss with him.
If it weren’t for the danger, he would have loved watching her work. She pulled off the “look at me, I’m so helpless” act to perfection. But when necessary, she was ballsy to the extreme, with the skill to back it up.
He didn’t hear from Dare again, but he assumed he still followed.
Taking a disjointed route back home took longer but felt safer. No way in hell would he lead anyone to his place.
By the time they reached his driveway, Arizona was almost asleep. She’d curled up toward the passenger door, her long hair hanging down to hide her face, her arms folded around her middle, her sandals discarded on the floor.
Sexy. Like a slumbering kitten—but with sharp claws.
“We’re here,” Spencer softly told her.
“Whoop-de-doo.”
Okay. Not so asleep after all.
“Let’s go.” He got out and walked around to her side of the truck, but she’d already opened her door and started a zigzagging stride up the walkway. Barefoot. The turbulent night air swirled around her, lifting her long hair and sending leaves to scuttle past her ankles.
Rushing to grab her purse and sandals, Spencer caught up to her and took her arm. “You’re hammered.”
“Yeah, the booze is sort of sinking in, ya know? I feel it more now than I did when I first left the bar.” Then she paused, looked toward Marla’s and gave an exaggerated wave. “Hey, neighbor!”
Spencer turned his head around in time to see a curtain drop. He did not need this conversation tonight. “Keep going.”
“What? You don’t want to chat with your lover?”
God, no, he didn’t want that. Unless Arizona became his… He put the brakes on that provocative thought. “Inside.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Thank you, sir.”
His mouth twitched again. “I am not that bossy.”
“Ha!” She nearly knocked herself over with that exaggerated exclamation. “Bossy, and arrogant, and a…a tease.”
Hauling her into his side, Spencer supported her while they went up the porch to the front door. “You need sleep a whole lot more than you need anything else.”
“But we were going to eat cake.”
He got the door unlocked, opened it—and she almost fell inside. “That’ll have to wait.” Giving up, he scooped her into his arms.
“Wait.” She straightened her neck to look around. “You’re going to carry me? Seriously?”
Shrugging, Spencer looked down at her, their faces close. “Seems easier than rolling you to bed.”
Never in his life had he taken advantage of an inebriated woman, and he sure as hell wouldn’t start with Arizona. He had to pull it together and fast, or he’d do something they both might regret. “Arizona, stop.”
He held her back the length of his arms.
The look she gave him would have reduced most guys to a puddle. Hurt, embarrassment, even desperation—he saw it all in her beautiful blue eyes.
He shored up his resistance and touched her cheek—and prayed that he was the only one to notice how his hand shook. “You promised me you’d be okay.”
Confusion overtook embarrassment. “What are you talking about?”
“Before you went in the bar. You gave me your word that you’d be fine.”
Overflowing with frustration, she held out her arms. “And I am.”
“Bruised and bleeding is not fine. It’s a long way from fine.” He gave the corner of her mouth one last stroke, smoothing a darkening bruise with his thumb. “You got struck.”
“A little backhand, that’s all.” She reached for him again. “It’s nothing.”
“Maybe not to you.” He held her at bay, and this time she let him. “But to me it’s a lot. It damn near killed me when that bastard hit you.”
“Yeah?”
Telling her too much would only encourage her. “I want to get you home, cleaned up, and then you need to sleep off the whiskey.”
She leaned in to put her head on his shoulder, cuddling close—and he let her.
“I don’t want to.”
The rejection stiffened his spine; her nearness, the scent of her, stiffened everything else. “You don’t want to come home with me?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to sleep.”
Spencer could see the wheels turning. So she no longer minded kissing—that didn’t change anything else, not her past, and not the fact she was drunk.
Besides, he couldn’t delay things any longer, not here, out on the street, exposed to danger.
He looked out the back window but saw no one and nothing. Was Dare still following them? If so, Spencer couldn’t even imagine what he’d think.
He lifted Arizona back to her own seat. “Sorry, honey, but I need you to put your seat belt back on.”
“But—”
“I’m done arguing, Arizona. Just do it.”
She resettled herself with angry movements. “You’re a real killjoy, you know that?”
Spencer fought a reluctant grin as he put the truck in gear and pulled back out to the road. God help him, it was getting more and more difficult to play this game.
And with every minute, it felt less like a game anyway.
Everything about her appealed to him, especially her independence. She went after what she wanted, whether it was a new knife, a fight with a scumbag like Janes, or…a devastating kiss with him.
If it weren’t for the danger, he would have loved watching her work. She pulled off the “look at me, I’m so helpless” act to perfection. But when necessary, she was ballsy to the extreme, with the skill to back it up.
He didn’t hear from Dare again, but he assumed he still followed.
Taking a disjointed route back home took longer but felt safer. No way in hell would he lead anyone to his place.
By the time they reached his driveway, Arizona was almost asleep. She’d curled up toward the passenger door, her long hair hanging down to hide her face, her arms folded around her middle, her sandals discarded on the floor.
Sexy. Like a slumbering kitten—but with sharp claws.
“We’re here,” Spencer softly told her.
“Whoop-de-doo.”
Okay. Not so asleep after all.
“Let’s go.” He got out and walked around to her side of the truck, but she’d already opened her door and started a zigzagging stride up the walkway. Barefoot. The turbulent night air swirled around her, lifting her long hair and sending leaves to scuttle past her ankles.
Rushing to grab her purse and sandals, Spencer caught up to her and took her arm. “You’re hammered.”
“Yeah, the booze is sort of sinking in, ya know? I feel it more now than I did when I first left the bar.” Then she paused, looked toward Marla’s and gave an exaggerated wave. “Hey, neighbor!”
Spencer turned his head around in time to see a curtain drop. He did not need this conversation tonight. “Keep going.”
“What? You don’t want to chat with your lover?”
God, no, he didn’t want that. Unless Arizona became his… He put the brakes on that provocative thought. “Inside.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Thank you, sir.”
His mouth twitched again. “I am not that bossy.”
“Ha!” She nearly knocked herself over with that exaggerated exclamation. “Bossy, and arrogant, and a…a tease.”
Hauling her into his side, Spencer supported her while they went up the porch to the front door. “You need sleep a whole lot more than you need anything else.”
“But we were going to eat cake.”
He got the door unlocked, opened it—and she almost fell inside. “That’ll have to wait.” Giving up, he scooped her into his arms.
“Wait.” She straightened her neck to look around. “You’re going to carry me? Seriously?”
Shrugging, Spencer looked down at her, their faces close. “Seems easier than rolling you to bed.”
