She was so devious with her push/pull game.

Tangling a hand in her hair, Janes yanked back her head and put his face near her neck.

Spencer knew he had to do something, and fast.

How to get away from the redhead without causing a scene?

Several times now, she’d almost consumed him, and keeping her interested while stalling hadn’t been easy. If anything, his delay tactics had fired her up more. At one point she’d tried to get inside his zipper, offering him a hand job right there in the booth.

Despite all her efforts, he hadn’t felt a single twinge of interest. Not when he wanted only Arizona and not while she played with danger.

Ignoring the warmth of the woman’s mouth teasing his ear, Spencer quickly took in the setting of the bar.

He needed some inspiration.

Misunderstanding, Red whispered to him, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Maybe he could stumble his way up front with her. Maybe he could—

Expression dark, Terry Janes turned with his hand clamped hard on to the back of Arizona’s neck, keeping her pinned close to his side, half dragging her as he started toward the back of the bar.

Fuck it.

Ready to rush him, Spencer stood—and suddenly the artist was there, tripping up Janes as he tried to show Arizona another picture he’d drawn.

Thanks to the flashing of the lights, the scene played out like a delayed movie reel. Each second of darkness moved the actors, each strobe illuminated them in a new position.

The music pulsed in Spencer’s temples, heightening his rage.

Janes tried to go around Joel, but he stuck close, spoiling his plans.

God bless the man—just the interruption he needed.

As the redhead stood next to him, Spencer said, “You’re into threesomes, right?”

“What? No!”

“Come on.” He reached for her boob. “There’s a hooker down the street that comes cheap.”

She stepped back, waffling…

Well, hell. He hadn’t expected her to consider it. “I’ll pay you, too,” he offered as a desperate insult.

And that worked.

Indignation had her shoving away from him. “Forget it!” Snatching up her purse, she started to storm off but came back at the last second, grabbed his face in both hands and planted a wet one dead on his mouth.

When Spencer finally managed to lever her away, she said, “If you ever want the real thing, come and find me here.” Then she turned and stormed away.

One catastrophe averted.

Trying for discretion, Spencer wiped off his mouth and began wending his way through the crowd.

He got within a few feet of Arizona in time to hear Janes tell the artist to f**k off.

The smaller man persisted. “I just want to give this to Candy.” He held up another drawing.

Arizona gushed. “Oh, Joel, thank you. It’s wonderful.” She reached for him, intending a hug.

Cursing again, Janes yanked her back. But she’d already gotten a solid hold on the artist—Joel—and he went off balance with her.

They both stumbled.

Terry Janes held Arizona, so she didn’t fall.

But Joel reeled away and hit a table. Drinks spilled. A chair overturned.

Like déjà vu from his first meeting with her, a brawl erupted around Arizona. Janes tried to get her out of the crush, but, typical of bar fights, things quickly escalated beyond the initial grievance.

Joel floundered, and he tripped up the Hispanic waiter who’d talked with Arizona earlier. The kid fell into a waitress, who landed in the lap of a disgruntled drunk, making him drop his drink.

Doing his part, Spencer tripped a man, shoved another.

As punches, glasses, even bottles got thrown, Arizona deliberately allowed herself to be jostled—and separated from the bar owner.

Forgetting about her, Janes made his getaway to protect his own ass.

Perfect.

Or at least, it was until he saw Arizona get backhanded by a drunk. She stumbled and would have fallen if Quin hadn’t caught her to him.

Spencer saw blood at the corner of her mouth, and he saw the glitter of excitement in her eyes.

She enjoyed this.

Of all the—

When her artist buddy nearly went down from a random elbow, Arizona said, “Look out,” and pushed the little man behind her so that he had the wall to his back, her to his front.

She kicked out at a big brute swinging a bottle, and her heel landed between the guy’s legs. He dropped hard to his knees and then toppled to his back.

Half cowering behind her, Joel said, “I know a back way out.”

“Not happening.” Spencer wanted to get her out of the place before someone pulled a gun or knife.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

It needed only this.

The thirty minutes Dare had allotted were all but over. He retrieved the phone. The new message was simple: It’s over. Out now.

He turned to Arizona just as she doubled her fists and decked another guy who’d come charging their way.

Spencer said, “Enough already.”

At the same time, Joel enthused, “You’re…magnificent.”

Accepting that as her due, Arizona swiped the blood from her mouth and grinned. “Yeah, thanks.”

Before Spencer could figure out how to extricate her from the melee, he got hit in the ear.

That did it.

He had Dare calling him, Arizona intoxicated and an artist trying to play hero.

Red-eyed and feeling mean, Spencer knocked out the man with a single punch. When his buddy rushed forward, Spencer slugged him so hard he fell backward over a chair.