A Perfect Storm. Lori Foster

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protect myself.”

       Not too long ago, she hadn’t protected herself at all. And no one else had, either.

       “You find kissing so repulsive?”

       She shook her head but said, “I don’t know.” Then she added, “I haven’t done much…kissing.”

       “No?”

       Her teeth clenched; she spoke through stiff lips. “A guy who’s paying for his time doesn’t want to waste it on that.” In defiance, she added, “Thank God.”

       Her words felt like a kick in the guts. “Arizona—”

       “They saw me as unclean.” Her chin jutted forward. “And I’m glad!”

       Had she ever been given a sincere, caring, affectionate kiss? He just didn’t know. But they had to start somewhere, or she’d never be free of her past.

       He sat forward. “Given your expression, the idea of kissing me would be insufferable, so I’m guessing it should be incentive enough to clean up your language. Right?”

       She took a step back, then another. Arms loose, bare feet braced apart, she prepared to fight.

       After everything that had happened to him in the past three years, his heart should have been encased in ice. Until Arizona, it had been.

       Now, around her, everything felt as raw as a fresh, hot wound.

       “You trust me,” he pointed out.

       She shook her head. “I don’t trust anyone.”

       Slowly he stood and took a step toward her. “Yes, you do. You don’t want to, and I understand that. I really do. But that’s no way to live and you know it.”

       Shaking her head again, she whispered, “No.” Then louder, “No!”

       He stopped. “Why did you break into my house to tell me it’s your birthday? If you don’t trust me, why did you leave my gun and knife on the nightstand? If you’re afraid of me, why are you here, asking me to partner up with you?”

       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.

      

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