Snorting, she said, “I’m not running around wet and topless.”
Thank God. Fighting a smile at his own discomfort, Spencer said, “You could give it a try—”
“Ha!” She snatched up her duffel and turned away. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to make use of your shower before the electricity goes out.”
Arizona. In his shower. Naked and soap slick…
“Make it quick,” he said to her retreating back. “It’s not safe with all the lightning—”
His bathroom door closed while he was still midsentence.
Well, hell.
With no more reason for modesty, Spencer stripped off his jeans there in the foyer and carried everything into the laundry room, where he also peeled off his boxers and socks. Wrapped in the towel, he went to the more private bath in his bedroom. His shower would be cold, and then maybe, after he’d gotten his libido under control, he and Arizona could go over their plans for tomorrow.
And with any luck, she’d trust him enough to explain the weapons in her trunk and the forbidding inclusion of a shovel.
* * *
AFTER A DRAWN-OUT SHOWER that did nothing to ease her growing tension, Arizona brushed her teeth, blow-dried her hair and dressed in a big gray T-shirt with loose-legged, pull-on shorts. Normally she slept in just a T-shirt and panties, but since she’d be sharing this night with Spencer, she made a concession for modesty.
She tidied up the bathroom again, storing her discarded clothing back in her duffel and leaving no sign that she’d been in there. Spencer wasn’t neat to the point of annoying, but he did keep things clean and uncluttered.
She loved his house, and the bathroom was especially cool with the vintage-looking black-and-white tiles. The towels matched the shower curtain matched the window covering matched the decorative pictures and knickknacks.
His wife must’ve been a real homebody. Arizona imagined her in an apron, baking cookies with a sweet smile.
No wonder Spencer loved her. No wonder, even after three years, he couldn’t get over losing her.
Knowing she’d taken up as much time as she could, Arizona stopped avoiding the inevitable and opened the bathroom door.
Barefoot, she went in search of Spencer and found him sprawled back on the couch in the living room, watching TV and drinking a longneck beer. At the sound of her approach he turned his head—and went still in that way men did while appreciating the sight of a woman.
He fought it, but his attention went over her, snagging on her legs for several heart-stopping seconds before coming back to her face.
It should have made her uncomfortable to be looked at like that. Before Spencer, it always had.
Now…now she didn’t know what she felt, but it definitely wasn’t discomfort. Spencer wasn’t like other men she’d known. He wasn’t a disgusting creep like the animals who’d taken her, or those who’d paid for her time. But he didn’t deny her sexuality, either, as Jackson, Dare and Trace tried to do.
Mostly…he just seemed to accept her. And like her.
“Hey.” She strode past him, going around the coffee table to put her duffel by the front door where he’d left her laptop case. With Spencer still watching her, she came back to plop down on the other end of the couch.
He stared toward where she’d dropped off the bag, then back to her with a question in his eyes.
Propping her feet on the edge of the table, Arizona controlled her smile and stared at the television. “So what are we watching?”
Silence tripped by. She could feel his rapt attention touching on her, all over her.
She made herself look at him with a raised brow. “Cat got your tongue?”
Shaking his head, he again glanced at her bag but apparently decided not to ask why she’d put it near the door. “Sorry.” A slight frown in place, he half turned toward her. “Want a beer?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No. My father used to swill those things like crazy.”
“It bothers you?” He sat forward as if to take the bottle away.
Arizona stopped him. “It doesn’t. Actually, I kind of like the smell, just not the taste.”
After gauging the truth in her words, he nodded. “Something else, then?”
“No, thanks. I already cleaned my teeth.” Brushing a hand over the soft material of his couch, she said, “Am I sleeping here?”
Seconds ticked by again. He sounded hoarse when he said, “Here at my house, yes.”
“I meant here, on the couch.”
“I have a guest room you can use. I would have put the laptop there, but the case was wet. I can move your things in there now, if you want.”
The idea of using the guest room didn’t appeal to her. She wasn’t really a guest so much as an intrusion. And the idea of being closed up…she fought off a shiver.
Before she could figure out how to explain her reservations, he glanced at his watch. “You ready to turn in already?”
“Not really.” Dragging a throw off the back of his couch, she slouched down against the arm and stretched her legs out toward him. She stopped short of letting her feet bump his hip. “Mind if I just get comfortable here for now?”
“Not at all.” He handed her a plump throw pillow. “Make yourself at home.” After a long hesitation, Spencer tucked the throw up and over her feet. “I mean that, Arizona. Help yourself to anything you need or want.”
“Thanks.” She bunched the pillow up at her side. “So what’s on the boob tube?”
Bemused, he glanced at the TV and then back to her. “Old MMA highlights. Did you want me to change it to something else?”
“This is good. I like the fights.” Mixed martial arts fascinated her.
Sounding more like himself, he asked, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Because you already know me, that’s why.” She watched for a moment and became curious about his interest in the sport. “Do you have a favorite fighter?”
“A few.” His big hand came to rest casually on her foot. “If you’re in a talkative mood…”
Heart racing from his touch—on her foot, for crying out loud—Arizona shrugged. “Sure.”
He turned down the volume on the television. “Then let’s talk about our plans for tomorrow.”
What a buzzkill. She groaned. “I guess you’re going to insist?”
He hesitated. “You know we need to
