A Perfect Storm

Before she could figure out how to explain her reservations, he glanced at his watch. “You ready to turn in already?”

“Not really.” Dragging a throw off the back of his couch, she slouched down against the arm and stretched her legs out toward him. She stopped short of letting her feet bump his hip. “Mind if I just get comfortable here for now?”

“Not at all.” He handed her a plump throw pillow. “Make yourself at home.” After a long hesitation, Spencer tucked the throw up and over her feet. “I mean that, Arizona. Help yourself to anything you need or want.”

“Thanks.” She bunched the pillow up at her side. “So what’s on the boob tube?”

Bemused, he glanced at the TV and then back to her. “Old MMA highlights. Did you want me to change it to something else?”

“This is good. I like the fights.” Mixed martial arts fascinated her.

Sounding more like himself, he asked, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Because you already know me, that’s why.” She watched for a moment and became curious about his interest in the sport. “Do you have a favorite fighter?”

“A few.” His big hand came to rest casually on her foot. “If you’re in a talkative mood…”

Heart racing from his touch—on her foot, for crying out loud—Arizona shrugged. “Sure.”

He turned down the volume on the television. “Then let’s talk about our plans for tomorrow.”

What a buzzkill. She groaned. “I guess you’re going to insist?”

He hesitated. “You know we need to coordinate.”

Yeah, they did. To get comfortable, she turned to her back with her knees bent under the throw, her head on the pillow, and peered down the length of the couch at him. “We’ll arrive separately, you in your truck, me by bus so that we can leave together in one vehicle afterward.” She cautioned him, “Make sure you park away from the entrance, so no one will see us together afterward.”

Deadpan, he said, “Naturally.”

“I’ll go in first and grab a seat at the bar. Say, five or ten minutes later, you can come in and sit at a table.”

“Why don’t I sit at the bar?”

“Because I’ve already scoped out the place, and that’s where I sat before.” She rolled her shoulder. “It’s where I need to be to draw their attention. You can watch over things more easily, without being noticed, from the eating area.”

He didn’t look happy about it, but he agreed. “I’m not going to wait that long before coming in, though.”

Why did he sound annoyed already? “So come in earlier, then. Just be discreet.”

His thumb moved over the arch of her foot, nearly stopping her heart. “This isn’t my first rodeo, honey.”

She wasn’t his honey, but… “What are you doing?”

“What?”

She nodded at her feet.

As if he hadn’t been aware of the touch himself, he looked down at his hand and then stroked with his thumb again. “This?” He drew both her feet up to his thigh. “You’re tense.”

She was, but she thought she’d hidden it. “Yeah, well…”

“You don’t like it?” He pressed, rubbed, worked her arches in a deep, firm massage.

And she wanted to melt. Felt like parts of her did melt. “Mmm. I like it.”

Spencer stilled again, his gaze piercing, hot. “Never had a foot-rub before?”

“That’s a joke, right?”

“So relax and enjoy.”

It was a bit too personal, but she liked it too much to make him quit. “Knock yourself out.” She drew a breath and tried to get them back on track. “Okay, so you know to ignore me when you come into the place, right?”

“If I did that, they’d suspect something.” Setting aside the beer, he half turned toward her and, keeping his gaze on her face, worked over her feet more thoroughly.

Bone-melting pleasure stole her breath.

Watching her, Spencer said softly, “No red-blooded man is going to miss noticing you, Arizona, so forget that idea. I’ll give you the same attention every other guy in the place will be doling out. Think you can handle that?”

With her heavy eyelids at half-mast, she snuggled farther into his couch. “Sure.”

He half smiled. “Just so you know, I might have to pretend interest in other women, too.”

That brought her out of her slumberous trance. “Why?”

“Because if the place is what we think it is, they’re liable to parade out the wares. If I’m not picking up the cues, they’ll pull back and we’ll lose an opportunity.”

He was right, damn him. She wouldn’t think about it now, and tomorrow…she’d deal with it. “Fine, whatever.” Her toes curled at his renewed touch. “Once you’re in the bar for backup, I’ll drop a few casual questions, maybe flirt a little, go for the helpless look. You know, all in all I’ll make myself seem like easy pickings.”

“You’ve done that before?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah. Plenty of times. It works to draw out the unscrupulous scumbags.”

His hands moved up to her ankles, kneading, soothing, then back down over her feet. So nice.

“And when the scumbags show themselves?”

“You and I can kick their…butts.” She’d swallowed back the curse word just in time, which robbed the description of any real punch.

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