Free A Perfect Storm by Lori Foster Page B

sleep with that possibility looming.
    He gripped the frame of the open window. “I can track you down, you know. I can find out where you’re staying.”
    “You think so?” She turned the key—and nothing happened. With a frown, she said, “We’ll see.”
    And she tried the car again.
    Dead. Completely.
    Relieved, Spencer stepped back, wondering how she’d react.
    It was something to see, the way her brows pulled down, her eyes glittered, and angry color flooded her face. She pumped the gas, tried again and, after visibly gathering steam, opened her car door and stepped out. She slammed her door. Hard.
    It didn’t take a genius to see she was pissed. Really pissed. The darkening sky had nothing on her.
    Deadpan, he asked, “Car won’t start?”
    Her locked teeth sawed together. “Let’s go.”
    Fascinating. He’d never seen a woman as visually expressive as Arizona. “Where to, exactly?”
    “Back inside.” She headed that way but said over her shoulder, “Unless you want me to lose it out here, for all your nice, domestic neighbors to witness.”
    “Inside it is.” A little amused, a lot pleased, he trailed behind her.
    Unfortunately, Marla stepped out to her porch. Wearing a low-cut top and a look of censure, she opened her mouth, and Arizona swung around to her, snarling, “Don’t.” She sucked in a breath. “Just…don’t.” After that dire warning, she stormed on into his house.
    Marla stood there looking hurt.
    Double damn. Apologetic, Spencer said to her, “Sorry. She’s having a bad day.”
    Marla’s impressive chest heaved a little. “I suppose she’ll have a better night?”
    “Marla,” he chided. “I told you it wasn’t like that—for you or her.”
    She gathered herself. “I don’t understand you.”
    “You do, you just don’t want to.”
    “It was good between us.”
    “Yes.” And maybe if he hadn’t met Arizona…but he had. “I need to go.”
    “Wait!” She licked her lips. “Do you think it’s going to storm?”
    With a quick glance at the sky, he said, “Probably.” He knew right where this was going. “Your roof’s still leaking?”
    “Yes.” She leaned on the railing, deliberately giving him an eyeful of cleavage. “It’s the ceiling in my bedroom. Any…suggestions?”
    “Yeah. Put out a few buckets—and call a repairman as soon as you can. With these old roofs, they’re as likely to cave in as leak.” He’d have felt guilty for not offering any real help, except that her roof had been bad since winter, and she didn’t repair it because she’d rather use it as a female ploy to get him back in bed.
    Giving her a salute, Spencer went in. He’d barely gotten the door shut before Arizona was there, rising on tiptoe to blast him.
    * * *
    I N BATTLE MODE , Arizona jabbed him hard in the chest with one finger. “You told Jackson!”
    “No.” With his good mood quickly souring, he stepped around her.
    She grabbed his arm. “You did! You said something to him, and that’s why he disabled my car.”
    Infusing iron in his tone, Spencer said, “You realize you’re calling me a liar, right?”
    But she was too angry to relent. “I trusted you!”
    “Baloney! You’re about as trusting as a junkyard dog.”
    She gasped.
    “But I did not tell Jackson, and I’d appreciate it if you’d quit yelling like a kid having a temper tantrum!”
    Since he’d ended with his own yelling, the insult was ludicrous at best.
    Fury colored her face and kept her eyes narrowed. “Okay, fine. Let’s just see.” And for an additional dig, she said, “Jackson will tell me the truth.”
    “You’re going to call him?” That worked fine by him. She’d be the one to let her erstwhile protector know the score, and at the same time she’d learn the truth. Spencer gestured at her. “Feel free.”
    “I will!” She dug out her cell phone from her back pocket and hit a speed dial number.
    Because he didn’t want to miss a word, Spencer said, “Dare you to put it