A Perfect Storm. Lori FosterЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER SIX

      WITH HER BREAKING DOWN his motives to the basest purpose, Spencer had to admit that it did sound bad. God knew he didn’t want to send her off to anyone else. The thought of another man touching her left him raw with anger.

       But he wasn’t the man for her. Even if the age difference didn’t exist, she deserved someone who’d be involved for the long haul. She deserved someone with a sunny outlook on life.

       Not only was he opposed to settling down again, he was about as far from optimistic as a man could get.

       “I wasn’t trying to coerce you into having sex with anyone.” What he wanted most was for her to not be…damaged. But he sure as hell couldn’t say anything that stark to her. “What I’d really like is to break down those walls so you can let in people who care about you.” He tried a smile that she didn’t return. “All in all, you can be a pretty likable woman.”

       With one hand flattened to his chest, she pushed him back a step and moved out from between him and the window. “Whatever. If I’m staying over, I want Trace to fix my car.”

       The quick turnaround surprised him. “You’ll stay put?” With me.

       She made a gesture of indifference. “For now.”

       “Then I’ll let Trace know.” And they could all help keep an eye on her.

       Her eyes narrowed. She hesitated, then she turned away. “I better go get my stuff.”

       It’d take time to convince her of his motives. Spencer accepted that, so he allowed the change of topic. “What stuff?”

       “My duffel and laptop case. I’m not as dumb as you and the big macho boys want to believe.” She opened the front door, and a heavy gust of wind carried a smattering of rain in around her. “Ho boy, look at those purple storm clouds blowing in.”

       Spencer closed the door. He could see why she’d keep the laptop close. But the other? “You brought an overnight bag with you?”

       “Yeah, see, I had no intention of going back to my motel room tonight.”

       That surprised him, but he was pleased with her forethought, especially since she’d made the plans to protect herself, not someone else. He had a feeling that Arizona deliberately put herself at risk far too often.

       Given the downpour, he caught her arm and moved her away. “I’ll get your things for you.”

       “I don’t melt.”

       Already rain dampened the front of her T-shirt and left her face dewy.

       Physically, she was the most tempting woman he’d ever met. He didn’t want to test his resolve by seeing her in soaked clothes that would cling to her shapely little body.

       But beyond that, he worried. The sky had darkened, and he felt the turbulence in the air. Soon the rain would be a full-fledged storm—just like the night she’d been bound and thrown into a river, a night she would have died…and been forgotten.

       Suffused with emotion, he eased a damp tendril of hair away from her cheek. “It looks like the rain will turn into a storm.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than a flash of lightning cut across the darkening sky. Seconds later, thunder crashed down, rattling the windows.

       Arizona smiled at his apprehension. “You think it’ll bother me, don’t you?”

       He was afraid she’d be pulled into nightmarish memories. “Given what you went through, I’d understand if it did.”

       “Yeah.” This time when she put her hand on his chest, Spencer suspected it was just to have contact. “You’d think it would spook me some, huh?”

       Grateful that he had her with him, Spencer covered her hand with his own. Despite all her brass, she was small-boned and delicate. “Will it?”

       She laughed. “You know what I always think of during stormy weather? How Jackson saved me that night. Up until then, life was something I had to bear. But after that, everything turned around for me.” She stroked him once and dropped her hand. “Truthfully, I love storms.”

       Jackson had given her a new lease on life, and yet, she still wasn’t comfortable with that life. Given half a chance she’d take on the world and to hell with the consequences. She recognized that Jackson put value on her life—but she didn’t share that sentiment…yet.

       One way or another, he planned to turn that around.

       With more resolve than ever, Spencer moved her away from the door. “Sorry, honey, but I’m a gentleman. I’ll get your things, end of conversation.”

       For several seconds, he watched as she considered fighting him over it. He knew the second she relented. “Fine, you want to get soaked? Suit yourself.” She handed him her keys. “Everything is in the trunk. Blue duffel and a canvas laptop case. But don’t you dare touch anything else.” She turned and headed for the hall.

       Now anxious to see what else she had in the trunk, Spencer dashed out the door. He was soaked within seconds of leaving the porch. Rather than cleansing the air, the rain thickened the existing hot September humidity. Steam rose from the blacktop roads, occasionally disrupted by battering winds.

       Scanning the area but seeing no one and nothing amiss, Spencer unlocked the trunk.

       Disbelief locked his knees; he became oblivious to the stinging rain. Among the array of survival items—water, blanket, first aid kit—neatly arranged in the trunk space, he noted a sniper rifle, night-vision binoculars, machete, bulletproof vest…shovel. In every nook and cranny she’d neatly stored weapons both common and unconventional.

       Jesus. What the hell did she have planned? Or did she consider those things everyday necessities?

       For fear that anyone else might see, he grabbed the duffel tucked in next to other overnight bags and the canvas case half hidden behind everything else, and slammed the trunk. Did Jackson know she carried around an arsenal? Did Trace and Dare know?

       One of them could have clued him in!

       Keeping both bags close to his body to protect them as much as he could from the storm, Spencer ran back up his walkway, up the porch steps and to the front door. The rain blew nearly horizontal, still hitting his back but not beating down on his head like needles.

       He pried off his boots, stripped off his sodden shirt and stepped in on the foyer rug.

       Arizona stood there. As she fixated on his chest, her cocky smiled faded away.

       Ah, hell. He knew that look and what it meant.

       Arizona might not realize it yet, but she was aware of him as a man. And damn if that didn’t spark his own heated awareness.

       Spencer set her things on the floor and dropped his shoes on the rug. When he straightened again, rain dripped over his temple, down his shoulder and into his chest hair.

       She stared so hard, her expression almost tactile, that he felt himself stir. He forgot his disgruntlement over her store of weapons.

       Palms itching with the need to touch her, Spencer shifted. “Do you realize how you’re affecting me?”

       Lashes lifting, Arizona met his gaze—and cracked a wry smile. “Sorry about that.” Though dusky color tinted her cheeks, she thrust out a towel and spoke as naturally as ever. “Thought you might want to dry off.”