Authors: Lori Foster
So she wanted him again? Nice. “That particular hungry look from you might have done the trick.” He reached for her—and his doorbell rang.
Her expression went from impish to suspicious. “Who is that?”
“No idea.” Bodily, he lifted her out of his way and stood. “Why don’t you stay put and I’ll go find out?”
“Like that?” She nodded at his crotch. “Probably not a good idea.”
“Smart-ass.” He removed the spent condom and dropped it into the waste can, then reached for a pair of boxers.
Fascinated, Arizona watched him intently. “Well, you
know
who it is.”
He had an idea, but it wasn’t easy to banter with her while she sat there naked, in his bed, still warm from sex and staring so fixedly at his junk. “Who?”
“It’s Marla.”
“You don’t know that.” He pulled on jeans as the bell rang again. “Could be the postman.” And just to tease her, he said, “Or maybe Jackson decided to visit you.”
“Nah.” She sprawled to her back, one leg bent, arms over her head, and stretched. She was utterly comfortable in her nudity. “He’ll visit with us later today at Dare’s.”
Spencer had to take a turn staring. “I don’t suppose you’d want to stay exactly like that until I get back.”
She went still, then smiled. “You plan to take long?”
“No.” He wanted Arizona again, and he didn’t trust her to her own temper, so he’d send Marla on her way as quickly as he could.
“Will you bring me some cake?”
In two long strides, Spencer reached her. Without thinking about it, he leaned over her for a quick smooch and ended up kissing air when Arizona bolted to the other side of the bed.
She stood there, shoulders back with pride, face pinched with embarrassment.
Spencer straightened. They stared at each other. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
Her mouth tightened, but she nodded. “It’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t, but the bell sounded again. “I was only going to kiss you.”
Suddenly bounding up and over the bed to land in front of him, she grabbed his face for a hard kiss. “I’m sorry I…reacted. Now go. But hurry back. If you’re gone long at all, my imagination is going to really tick me off.”
That made him grin. He left the room before he changed his mind and didn’t go at all. That would be unkind to Marla.
* * *
T
HE
SECOND
HE
CLEARED
the room, Arizona dropped back on the bed with a groan. Why did she have to act like a putz just because Spencer tried to kiss her? God, she despised her own weaknesses. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would never physically hurt her.
But deep down, in places where reason didn’t exist, it didn’t matter. Some fears remained, and they gnawed at her peace of mind, keeping her from true freedom.
Disgusted with herself, she lay there in the bed for a minute before jumping up to creep down the hallway, going far enough to listen in.
Sadly, she couldn’t hear a thing other than the soft drone of voices. Definitely Marla—not that she’d had a doubt.
Did Spencer still want that woman? Did he have fond memories of his time with her? Lustful memories? For certain, Marla didn’t go fleeing the bed in a panic over a kiss.
Marla, damn her, would not have hang-ups that limited what Spencer could do.
Turning to face the wall, Arizona clunked her head once, then stalked into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror, but her frown looked the same, as did her eyes, mouth, nose. And other than a few whisker burns here and there, and a possible hickey on her neck, her body didn’t look any different, either.
She touched the interesting passion bruise on her neck and went all soft and mushy again.
Man, oh, man, Spencer knew how to play it in the sack. The guy had some serious skills. With his mouth, his hands.
Skills he’d used with other women.
How had Marla put it?
If you’d ever had him, you’d feel differently about having him again.
Yeah, she got that.
Now.
Because she definitely wanted him again.
But what did she know about hanging on to a guy? Before Spencer, she’d just wanted men to keep their distance. Shoot, she would have kicked their butts to ensure they didn’t get too close. Well, except for Jackson, but that was different. She and Jackson were…friends. Almost like family.
But not exactly.
Now, with Spencer, she wanted to get as close as two people could get.
Sure, he’d seemed content enough with their little go-around in the sack. But Spencer had told her all along that he wanted to normalize her—her words, not his—and that once she got over her hang-ups, he intended to send her packing off to some other nameless, faceless dude.
Arizona curled her lip. Not happening. No other guy appealed to her like he did. If forced to it, she could screw another guy, and she’d survive it just as she always had.
But she would never crave another man the way she craved Spencer.
She wouldn’t enjoy anyone else like she did Spencer. She snorted.
Enjoy.
What a wimpy word for how she’d felt.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Arizona thought of all the ways he excited her senses. She
loved
looking at him. The man had a seriously hard, sexy body. He was so damned big. All over. And his body hair…fascinating. It added to his manliness, not that he needed any help with that. He was so macho, he could define the word.
Breathing in his hot scent made her tingly all over. Other than noticing unpleasant odors, like sweat and alcohol, she’d never paid attention to a man’s aroma. But Spencer smelled so delicious that she practically hyperventilated when near him, because she kept breathing deep, filling her lungs with him.
Oh, and his taste… A flock of butterflies rioted in her stomach with just the memory of his kiss, the stroke of his damp tongue, the heat of his mouth. Knowing how good his sleek flesh tasted under her tongue, she wondered about tasting him everywhere. Maybe, once she got more used to him, she’d give it a go. Would Spencer like that? She snorted again.
All guys liked the pleasure of a woman’s mouth.
But most of all, she really,
really
loved touching him. All over. With her hands, her mouth. Sliding her body over his—
The unexpected peal of her cell phone nearly stopped her heart.
Good grief, she’d been totally immersed in a stand-up, vivid, hot-and-bothered fantasy. All about Spencer.
A guy she’d just had sex with and who was, at this very moment, standing in his doorway wearing nothing but jeans, showing off his awesome bod while chatting with Marla, a woman who’d shared his bed.
Bleh. She’d have to visualize stomping them both later. Right now, she had to answer her phone. Because her separate phones had distinctive rings, she knew it was a social call. But because she had few enough people who ever called her, she assumed Jackson wanted to make sure she wouldn’t back out of the visit today.
She managed to find her purse and dig out the correct cell on the fourth ring.
Without checking the caller ID, she said, “What’s up?”
“Candy?”
Oh, no. No way.
Luckily the bed was right there, because her backside landed on it before she’d even realized her knees were bending. “Yes?”
“It’s Quin.”
No reply came to mind.
“From the Green Goose.”
Her tongue felt thick when she said, “Quinto?”
“You gave me this number. On a note, in my pocket. Last night. Do you remember?”
Yeah,
now
she remembered. But until she’d heard his voice, she’d forgotten all about that.
What did the call mean?
And what the hell had she been thinking?
“I am sorry to bother you,” Quin said with strained apology. “You were drinking, so you probably do not—”
Thoughts scrambling, Arizona interrupted him, anxious to keep him on the phone. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad to hear from you.” Trying for cheerfulness to cover her shock, wishing she could order her memories so that they made sense, she asked stupidly, “What’s up, Quin?”
Audible breathing, along with a lot of hesitation, filled her ear. “Since I will not be able to see you at the bar again, I wanted to thank you.”
Her mouth went dry as dust.
Think, Arizona, think.
She cleared her throat. “Why wouldn’t you see me?” Oh, God, that sounded lame, not at all convincing. But was she supposed to know of the raid? Should she remain undercover? Hadn’t Dare busted that whole gig wide open?
Think, think, think.
Hoping for inspiration, she said, “Maybe you don’t know, but I got hired to work there. I report in tonight.”
She heard some shuffling, as if he’d muffled the phone, or his groan, then Quin whispered, “No, you do not.”
“Why not?” Somehow she knew, absolutely
knew,
that Quin was in big trouble.
“The police came, with others. You were a part of that, right?”
“The police?” She’d drunk so much that she couldn’t recall if she was supposed to be aware of the raid or not. Rubbing her forehead, she asked, “What are you talking about?”
Hadn’t she and Spencer covered their connection even then? Or, no, wait—they’d sort of fought together against a few of the rowdier drunks. Joel had been there, but far as she could remember, he hadn’t gotten hurt. Spencer’s bimbo had already split, so she hadn’t been around.
But Terry Janes…no, she hadn’t come across him again. She hadn’t seen Carl, either—not until he tried jumping her in the alley outside the bar.
She had no memory of Quin being about at all.
“The raid that shut down the bar?” Quin prompted. “You were with the artist, and with Mr. Janes. There was a fight, and then the police came.”
Oh, God. She didn’t know whether to trust him or not. He sounded like Quin, but the boy she’d met had been almost silent. She couldn’t imagine him calling her for a chat.
After chewing her lip, Arizona asked, “Is this really you, Quin?”
Flat, with no inflection at all, he replied, “Who else would it be?”
If only she had a few minutes to think, or if she’d anticipated this—but she’d gone straight from waking, to wanting Spencer, to indulging her first full-participant carnal encounter—with no time for configuring various scenarios about her performance of the night before. “I don’t know. What happened to Joel? Did he get hurt in the fight?”
“I can not say.”
“What about Terry Janes?”
“Again, I do not know.”
She chewed her lips, weighing his answers, trying to find the truth in them.
At her continued silence, he asked, “You did not want me to call you?”
“Sure I did.” But the circumstances had all changed. She didn’t need to get closer to him now, because thanks to Dare, it was shut down. Permanently.
Quin was safe. Or…at least he should have been.
Why hadn’t they gathered Quin into the net, though? Why wasn’t he in some kind of safe house, getting questions answered? Being reunited with loved ones? She’d thought—
“Candy? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” She had to get it together. Now. “Sorry. I drank way too much last night and I’m still a little hungover.”
“I know. I saw.” With sympathy, he added, “You had no choice but to drink, and I had no choice—”
“It’s okay.” Quin had to play along, or he’d be hurt. She got that. “So I don’t have a job?”
“You truly do not remember?”
“I remember I got hired.” Without any real despondence, she added, “Bummer that the job is gone.”
He drew a breath, then shattered what remained of her cool composure. “Do you think I could see you, Candy?”
Oh, no, no,
no.
“See me?”
“We could meet somewhere. And…talk. I can tell you about the raid, explain all that has happened. I could even help you find another job. A better job.”
She needed a viable excuse, and she needed it fast. She needed a plan even more. “Umm…”
“It is important that I speak to you,” he stressed, and a certain strain sounded in his tone. A strain of desperation. “I…I need your help.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll try.” To stall for time, she asked, “Will you give me a number where I can reach you?”
Another long pause and more shuffling. “The best that I can do is a pay phone. Will that work?”
“Sure.” She snatched a pen and paper from her purse. “Where is the phone?”
“It is in the south side, by the gravel pit. Away from the bar.” He read the phone number to her.
Not a great neighborhood, but she was familiar with it, so that was a plus. Was he hiding out there? Or setting up an ambush?
She could scope out the area, find the best way in and out of the locale, all the side streets and dead ends. And using the program Jackson had given her, it’d be easy enough to check up on Quin’s info.