A Perfect Storm. Lori Foster

       “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.

       Sex.

       No, she wanted no part of it.

       And yet it infuriated her to see Spencer contain the woman by holding her oh-so-gently, and to see Blondie soften as he explained.

       What did he tell her?

       For certain, Spencer wouldn’t admit that she’d watched him sleeping, that he’d gotten up and paraded around buck naked in front of her.

       He wouldn’t admit that they were both vigilantes, and that their only connection was a drive to bring the bad guys to justice.

       But he talked about something, and when the woman looked toward Arizona with understanding and sympathy, her temper snapped.

       What the hell?

       Did that bimbo pity her?

       Storming away, Arizona headed back to the kitchen. Along the way she threw a few shadow punches and kicks, then drew a slow deep breath. She’d already reconnoitered Spencer’s house, so she knew she could slip out the back door and not have to see him again.

       But she wouldn’t. She’d be damned before she let him make her flee. She didn’t run from anyone. Not anymore. Never again.

       Hoping to hide her awful mix of emotions, she went about cleaning up the mess on the floor.

       Making herself at home, she located Spencer’s garbage can and unearthed a roll of paper towels. She was almost done when Spencer came in several minutes later.

       The second she saw him, she tossed away the last paper towel and regained her feet. “You do her in the driveway?”

       Appearing cautious, he said, “What?”

       Holding one hand in a circle and extending the first finger of her other hand, Arizona created a crude simulation of sex.

       His expression tightened. “That’s enough.”

       “Is it?” She leaned on the counter. “You were gone long enough.”

       “Five minutes? I don’t think so.”

       That stymied her for a moment, but what did she know of his sexual habits? Maybe he struggled. Maybe it took him longer. “Whatever you say.”

       He drew out a chair. “Jealous much?”

       “No!”

       “Then what do you care?”

       Her molars clenched. “I don’t.” But her heart started thumping in a very strange way.

       “You refused to kiss me,” he reminded her.

       Oh, surely he didn’t think… “Damn right I refused!”

       “Then it doesn’t matter if I kiss her, does it?”

       Her hand twitched with the need to zing the remaining coffee cup at his handsome face, but that would never do. It’d give away too much—and leave her with another mess to clean up.

       Besides, he now blocked the exit from the kitchen to the front door, and she wasn’t reckless enough to infuriate him when getting out the back would hinder her escape and make it possible for him to catch her—

      “I will not hurt you, damn it!”

       She almost jumped out of her skin with that deep, loud shout. But he looked more offended than threatening, alleviating her concern. “Sheesh. Stop my heart, why don’t you?” At least his outburst had brought her back around, helping her to shake off those odd sensations of worry and…hurt.

       He literally fumed. “You’re standing there configuring escape routes.”

       “No way.” How could he know that?

       “I saw it in your eyes, Arizona. You have an expressive face.”

       “Seriously?” And here she’d thought just the opposite. Many, many times she’d hidden her emotions from others. Her sadness. Her fear. Her yearning. No one else had so easily picked up on her thoughts.

       “Very expressive.” He drew a deep breath, ran both hands through his hair. “But there’s no need. Marla’s a friend, that’s all.”

       “A friend that you fuck?”

       His teeth sawed together. “Occasionally. By mutual agreement.”

       Ah, God, why did that hurt so much? It shouldn’t. It had nothing to do with her. “I interrupted a little nookie time for you, didn’t I?” The sarcasm came through loud and clear. She shook her head in pity. “I am soooo sorry.”

       “No, you’re not, so don’t lie about it.”

       No, she wasn’t sorry. Just the opposite, she was glad she’d kept him from boinking the blonde. “Marla, huh? She was sort of…full-figured, wasn’t she?”

       “She’s got a lot of curves. So what?”

       “You’re a chubby chaser?”

       He rubbed his face in exasperation. “Most men like a woman with some meat on her bones.”

       Unable to stop herself, Arizona glanced down at her trim limbs. No one would call her chubby. She had her own curves, but if he preferred—