A Perfect Storm. Lori Foster

“Well…now all of them are gone, and I’m left at loose ends.”

       Her mercurial mood swings kept him guessing. Yes, he’d shot Chandra, but he’d been tracking her for his own reasons, and it was debatable who had more right to vengeance.

       That she felt robbed was a sad consequence of his actions. “Ready for dessert?”

       Accepting the switch from morbid history to here and now, she said, “Dessert? Seriously? You do know how to treat a gal, don’t you?”

      * * *

      ARIZONA WAS THINKING how nice it felt to share with Spencer. He didn’t get all mushy on her, didn’t try to console her or make a move. He listened.

       And she knew he understood.

       Sure, he’d done that odd hand-holding thing, but then, people did that. They touched. She’d seen it plenty of times with Jackson, Trace, Dare and their wives. She didn’t hate it, but she wasn’t crazy about it, either.

       When it was Spencer doing the touching, for some reason, it affected her even more. It wasn’t intolerable, really, but…she didn’t know if she’d get used to it or not.

       Then Spencer turned from the fridge—and she saw he held a small but fancy birthday cake.

       Stunned, she slowly pushed back her chair and stood on suddenly wobbly legs. “What is that?”

       Very matter-of-factly, he replied, “Vanilla cream cake with whipped frosting. I think it has raspberry filling between the layers.” His gaze met hers. “But there are no hidden threats, Arizona. It’s not poisoned, and I promise, it isn’t something you need to freak over.”

       “I wasn’t freaking!” But she was. The urge to escape left her heart hammering.

       “Bull. You look ready to run away.”

       She tucked in her chin. How could he know that? And how dare he say it out loud? “I don’t run from anyone.”

       He set the cake on the table in front of her and, with a smile, said, “Sometimes you should. But not now.” Standing too close, all but towering over her, he whispered, “Not ever from me.”

       No way would she look at him, not while he sounded like that, all dominant, protective male. Instead she eyed the dessert. It had fancy sugared rosettes and the words “Happy Birthday!” written in pale blue frosting across the top.

       A lump formed in her throat. “I told you not to do anything dumb.”

       In a touch so gentle it scared her half to death, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know. That’s why I refrained from putting candles on it.”

       She snorted. “I’d have…”

       “What? Socked me? Thrown the cake at my face?”

       “Maybe.” His close physical proximity made her jumpy. “Well, get back in your seat then if we’re going to eat this thing.”

       Even though she didn’t look at him, she felt his smile. “All right.” He stepped away. “More milk? Or coffee?”

       “Milk.” Now that she had some breathing room, she filled her lungs. Grudgingly, she said, “It’s a pretty cake. Thanks.”

       “My pleasure.” He refilled her glass. “And for the record, in case you want to reciprocate, my birthday is right before Thanksgiving.”

       Even knowing he teased, Arizona imagined how it’d be. Buying a cake for someone, sharing that special day…like she was doing right now.

       Such a normal thing to do. “Yeah, okay.”

       His smile widened. “I’ll hold you to that.” Using a cake server with a cow-shaped handle, he cut into the cake and put a big piece on a plate for her.

       Maybe it was the “not knowing” that made her so anxious, but she couldn’t refrain from trying to dissect his objective. “I told you how I made Jackson that offer.”

       Spencer looked up from cutting his own piece of the fancy cake. “The offer of…?”

       “Sex.” Giving Spencer a furtive glance, she added, “And he turned me down flat. You know why?”

       Nodding, his tone solemn, he said, “You offered out of obligation.”

       She’d hoped to again take Spencer off guard with her candid speaking, but this time he rolled with the punches. “He’d done so much for me.” And Spencer wanted to do things for her, too. But why? “Too much.”

       Seconds ticked by while he watched her. “I doubt Jackson saw it that way.”

       She knew exactly how Jackson saw it. “He felt…pity for me.”

       Spencer shook his head. “No.”

       “Well, it wasn’t about the rescue.” In a rush, she put voice to the turmoil of her thoughts. “He rescued Alani, too, but that didn’t bother him. He chased her like crazy. That’s because he didn’t pity her.”

       Unconvinced, Spencer rubbed his upper lip as he measured his words and, after some hesitation, finally said, “I feel pity for what you suffered, Arizona, for all that was done to you. But I don’t pity you, because I can see you’re a survivor, not a victim.”

       Heart pumping hard, she locked gazes with him. “So…you want to have sex with me?”

       More hesitation, and then with a shrug, “I’m breathing, aren’t I?”

       The words raked over her nerves like talons, stealing her breath and her nerve. “So—”

       “Wanting you, and planning to do anything about it, are two very different things. There are a lot of things I want, but men, good men, control themselves. They don’t abuse others, or—God forbid—take by force.” He reached out a hand, palm up, and waited for her to accept him.

       Though it felt cowardly, she…couldn’t. She shook her head and crossed her arms tight around herself.

       Letting his hand rest on the table, he accepted her decision without comment. “I can’t deny that you’re a beautiful girl—”

       “Woman.” Appalled at herself, Arizona bit her lip. Hard. Idiot. “I’m legit now,” she stammered and felt even more foolish. “That’s all I meant.”

       “You’re a twenty-one-year-old woman,” he agreed. “And you’re stunning.”

       “Stunning.” She made a mocking face. “Whatever.” But she kind of liked that, after all the creeps who’d admired her, Spencer found her appealing, too.

       “Most men who look at you are going to admire you, Arizona. And yes, they’ll want you. They’ll think about seeing you naked, about having sex with you. It’s how men’s minds work. We’re visual, and we’re sexual. But that’s not a curse.”

       Good God. Talk about blunt. “Sure feels like a curse to me!”

       “Even if you were willing, nothing like that will happen between us. Not because I pity you,” he stressed, “but because you’re too young for me, you’ve been through too much to totally understand what you want or need, and you don’t entirely trust me.”

       And he was still in love with his wife.

       But Arizona wasn’t cruel enough to say that to him. Instead, she touched the cow-shaped handle on the serving knife. “I’m guessing your wife bought this?”

       Drawing back, he stared at her—and shut down.

       Undeterred, Arizona said, “It looks like the kind of stuff a wife would buy. A good wife, I mean.”

       Picking up his fork, he dug into his cake. “What would a bad wife buy?”

       “Drugs. Alcohol.