Moving farther from the entrance, she lifted her hair off her neck and tuned out the escalating noise of rowdy brawling from inside the building and boisterous customers outside as they headed to their cars. She didn’t speak to anyone, and she didn’t move too quickly because Spencer wouldn’t want her out of reach.

Thinking of him gave her a smile. Spencer.

The strange turbulence firing her blood had nothing to do with the violence in the bar or the alcohol she’d consumed.

It had a lot to do with the impossibly hunky Spencer Lark.

Man, he was really something.

Something…exciting. And amazing.

And really appealing.

Looking up at the sky, Arizona tried to see the stars, but angry clouds hung low, rolling over one another. It would storm again, but she didn’t mind. In fact, the thought of a rainy night seemed somehow…sexy.

How crazy was that? She never thought in those terms, but to think of that now, after tangling with a maniac like Terry Janes or his unscrupulous lapdog Carl, defied reason.

Sure, she always enjoyed engaging in a little violence. Blowing off steam sometimes mellowed her. But this was different.

The way Spencer made her feel was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

As she made her way up the sidewalk a few feet more, she sighed. It was past time for her to reclaim her life—in every way.

With Spencer, all things seemed possible. With him, anticipation replaced dread.

He’d be out soon, and she had to decide what to say to him, how to convince him to get down and dirty with her.

Somehow she’d win him over. Tonight.

She didn’t think she could wait any longer.

* * *

EVERYTHING HAPPENED FAST.

Something whooshed past Spencer’s head, too close for comfort. Settling his chaotic thoughts, he turned to meet the danger. Trusting his gut instincts, listening, feeling the air, he prepared for what would happen. He had no idea who would attack first, but he sensed the trap and was as ready as he could be.

Suddenly thick arms circled him from behind, and he knew it was the beefy bartender. Pinning one of the bartender’s arms to his side, Spencer used his other arm to bring back an elbow hard enough to crack ribs. When he heard the breath leaving his attacker, he took advantage, and in one deft move, flipped him over his shoulder.

The big man landed with a resounding crash.

Emergency lights flickered on, and added to the glow from outside illumination spilling in through the big front window, he could see well enough. The bartender lay unmoving over a broken table. Given the odd angles of one arm and a leg, he wouldn’t be bothering anyone else that night.

It struck Spencer then—he was attacked, so likely Arizona would be a target, too.

To hell with subterfuge.

Breaking out in a sprint, he leapt over and around people, tables and chairs. He shoved through the doorway and into the thick, humid night air. Scanning the area, he finally spotted her down the walkway, just a little too far away.

A second later, Carl stepped out of a dark alley…and reached for Arizona.

No.

Silent, deadly and more focused than he’d ever been, Spencer charged toward her. Neither Arizona nor Carl saw his approach.

But he saw the knife in Carl’s belt, and he prayed he’d reach her in time.

* * *

ARIZONA’S THOUGHTS were on seducing Spencer instead of where they should have been, so when she saw the dark, indistinct form growing into a long shadow across the walkway, it took a few seconds for the import to sink in.

Too late to take the offensive against him, Arizona realized it was Carl lurking in the night.

Well, damn. Had he taken the back exit from the bar and circled around to get her? That meant he had to have seen her leave.

And it also meant he’d been watching her…maybe Spencer, too.

If he’d hurt Spencer, so help her, she would demolish him.

As Carl made a grab for her, she played the helpless victim and let him. He snatched her into the alley with hard hands and careless strength, dragging her down to an open door.

He shoved her into a small dilapidated room.

Maybe before all the whiskey shots, she’d have been sharp enough to think of a better plan. Shoot, even two drinks ago she would have been more on game.

But even over the limit, she wasn’t totally lost to skill. She wanted to get close to him.

How else could she hurt him?

Once they were out of sight from spectators, she reacted instinctively to the arm clamped tight across her throat. She went limp, dropping her weight to throw Carl off balance. When he tried to readjust, she grabbed for his fingers and, in a practiced twist, broke two with a satisfying crackle of joints.

That got her turned loose real fast.

With grim satisfaction, she ducked away while Carl let loose a string of rank curses. She knew Spencer wouldn’t want her to fight, but since Carl blocked her way out of the room, she couldn’t exactly tuck her tail and run, now could she?

He left her no choice but to engage in full-go contact.

Awe-some.

Taking a stance, ready, even anxious, Arizona smiled at him.

“You stupid bitch,” Carl said, and with his left hand he pulled a knife from his belt.

Great. He was an ambidextrous fiend? Figured.

Stalking her, backing her farther into the dark room, Carl said, “You thought you had us all fooled, didn’t you?”

She opened her mouth to reply.

But he barked, “Shut up!”

Arizona bit back her smile.

“We saw you fighting. We saw you laughing.”