A Perfect Storm. Lori Foster

The boys had been talking, it seemed. Had Jackson told Spencer about Priss? Had he told him about Dare’s wife, Molly, too? “What’s your point?”

       “I told Trace because we need backup if we’re going to do this—”

       “We are.” He couldn’t change his mind on her now. She needed to stay busy, and she needed to feel as if she made a difference.

       And…she kind of liked being around Spencer—but she wasn’t about to admit it to him.

       “Trace understands what you’re going through.” He gave her a gentle shake. “You and Priss have a lot in common. And if you think he pities his wife, you haven’t seen the two of them together.”

       “I’ve seen them.” While Jackson was easygoing—most of the time—Trace could be very heavy-handed. Yet Priss matched him in every way. Anyone could see that pity was the last thing Trace felt for Priss. “They make a nice couple.”

       “Yes, they do.” His thumbs rubbed over her shoulders. “Fact is, you’re looking at this all wrong. You’re so busy defending your independence, and bearing that massive chip on your shoulder, that you’ve forgotten how it’s done.”

       “It?”

       “The whole undercover, covert, infiltration gig. You think Jackson ever approaches these situations alone? Or Trace or Dare? They always work as a team.”

       For him to know that, they had to have done a lot of talking. Did Jackson really trust him so much? Apparently.

       She raised her chin. “You don’t.”

       “Until recently, I hadn’t tampered in their league. The busts I made as a bounty hunter were small beans in comparison to what they do. But now, with human trafficking rings that have reach across the country, even out of the country, you can bet your sweet little butt that I wouldn’t get in too deep without knowing someone else was on board, watching to make sure neither of us disappears.”

       Because that all made sense, Arizona paced away—and immediately felt the loss of Spencer’s touch.

       Standing where she’d left him in the middle of the floor, he waited.

       She knew she’d relent. Heck, she didn’t even want to go. Not really. But she wasn’t quite ready to tell him that yet. “What did Jackson say to you?”

       “He wanted me to follow you if you left, and to tail you all night if necessary.” When her eyes widened, he added, “And I would have. I will—if you don’t stay.”

       Going to the window, Arizona watched the rain start to fall. If she was going to get her bag, she should do it now.

       From right behind her, his tone compelling, Spencer said, “Stay.”

       “You said you wouldn’t lie.”

       “I won’t.”

       “Okay, then…” Turning to face him, she asked in a rush, “If you’re not trying to have sex with me, then why are you doing all this? Why are you being so…concerned and caring, and protective and understanding and stuff?”

       “All that?” A smile flickered over his mouth. “Okay, the truth. I want you to see a better way of things. I want you to be able to move on—”

      Move on? “As in, be with some dude? Seriously?” The idea was so ludicrous, she laughed. “What, like in a marriage and all that? Not happening.”

       “Doesn’t have to be marriage.” His gaze moved over her face to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “Could just be a date.”

       “And you think dates are fun?”

       He drew a short breath. “Most of the time, sure.”

       “You’ve had dates with Marla?”

       “Ah…no.”

       “Just sex, huh?”

       “Arizona…”

       “And sex is fun?”

       His gaze locked on hers. “Yes.”

       “Will you tell me about it?”

       Face muscles tightened as he flexed his jaw. “What do you want to know?”

       So many things, she hardly knew where to begin. “Is it the same with Marla as it was with your wife?”

       His eyes darkened with disbelief and, maybe, sadness. “If you mean are women interchangeable, no. Not to good men. Not when a man cares about a woman.”

       That riled her. “So you care about Marla?”

       “Not at all like I cared about my wife, no. But as a nice person, yes, of course I do.” Putting his hands on his hips, he dropped his head forward, then gave in to a short laugh. “God, this is an awkward conversation.”

       She didn’t care. He offered to explain, and she wanted to hear it, so she waited.

       After releasing a long breath, he met her gaze again. “I was up front with Marla. I didn’t lead her on. I haven’t led on any woman.”

       Including her? His bet would curtail her language—but gain him a kiss if she slipped up. Was that really all he wanted? “So with Marla, it was sex, but only sex, huh?”

       “It’s not always about love.”

       “Boy, do I know that!”

       “Sometimes,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “the pleasure is enough.”

       “If you say so.” She had her doubts about any real pleasure, though. She sure hadn’t experienced it. “So how many women have there been?”

       He made a sound of disgust. “They were few and far between. But I am a grown man, Arizona.”

       So defensive. Sharp with derision, she said, “And you have needs?”

       “Everyone has those needs—including you.” When she started to shake her head, he cut her off. “You do. And that brings us full circle. You know about abuse, but you don’t know anything about the real give-and-take that’s supposed to happen between the sheets.”

       “Not always between the sheets.”

       He paused. “No.” He took a step closer, then stopped himself. “There are all kinds of sexual encounters, in lots of different places.”

       “And different positions?”

       “Positions that you should enjoy.” He reached out, but instead of touching her, he pulled back and ended up rubbing the back of his neck. “Only it doesn’t start with sex.”

       “No?”

       “It starts with an attraction. A mutual attraction.”

       “Can’t prove it by me.”

       His gaze searched hers, his voice deepened. “I know. That’s my point.”

       There was such gravity in his tone, she rolled her eyes. “Go on. Mutual attraction?” she prompted.

       Slowly, he nodded. “Flirting, kissing, a touch or two. Foreplay for an hour, or a day. Wanted by both people, and shared by both people.”

       That did sound sort of…not awful. “I know that’s how it’s supposed to be.” She wasn’t a total social misfit. She’d seen romantic movies, and she’d seen real life. People walking together, talking together. In sync.

       In love.

       But he’d just negated the link between love and sex, and she wasn’t sure she could ever trust in casual sex.

       Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, he said softly, “It can be really good when both people are willing, eager participants.”