Bring Me to Life

by Kira Sinclair

That was what she remembered every time she saw Christmas red. Not Santa or Rudolph or poinsettias.

  She realized Evan’s return at this already difficult time of year was probably amplifying her reactions. But knowing it and being able to do something about it were two different things.

  She was pissed at Evan for leaving the shop. It didn’t matter she’d been the one to tell him to go. Emotions were hardly logical.

  Changing out of the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she’d worn to Petals and into her softest pair of yoga pants and warmest pair of fuzzy socks, Tatum wandered into her kitchen and surveyed the granite counters, stainless appliances and sunny yellow cabinets.

  She wasn’t hungry. Hadn’t been all day.

  She padded to the den and flipped on the TV. It had been a while since she’d given herself an evening just to veg out and watch mindless shows. Maybe there’d be an Ancient Aliens marathon or some program about uncovering long lost civilizations.

  She channel surfed, unable to find anything that caught her attention long enough to make her settle. It was one of the perks of living alone: she could watch five minutes of a show before abandoning it for something else.

  Finally deciding on a rerun of The Big Bang Theory, she tossed the remote onto the sofa beside her and slumped against the cushions. She hadn’t slept well last night. Who would, under the circumstances? She’d probably fall asleep and wake up in the middle of the night with a crick in her neck. But it was too early to head to bed, so...

  The guys on television were arguing about some theory she didn’t understand when her doorbell broke through her uneasy solitude. It was probably one—or all—of the girls. Now that she thought about it, she was surprised none of them had stopped by the shop today. Maybe they thought she’d be busy dealing with her resurrected husband.

  A rough sound scraped through the back of her throat.

  Shaking her head, she pushed up from the couch and trudged to the door. She wasn’t up for their fussing tonight, but had no illusions she would be able to put them off. Her friends were amazing, but tenacious when they got something between their teeth.

  And if she knew them at all—and she did—they weren’t going to let this go. Better to get the hoopla over with so she could go back to brooding, because she was honest enough with herself to call it like it was.

  However, when she opened the door, there was no mistaking that the person behind the diner bag stained with grease was definitely male. She couldn’t see his face around the bag, but didn’t need to.

  Tatum’s hand tightened around the edge of the door. Let him in or tell him to leave?

  His other hand lifted a telltale box tied with a red gingham ribbon.

  “I come bearing gifts.”

  “You fight dirty.”

  He leaned sideways, those green-gold eyes of his peeking around the box, mischief and humor swimming through them.

  His expression was so different from the horror, anger and desperation she’d seen him struggling with last night that it simply took her breath away.

  This was the boy she’d fallen in love with, impish and teasing, skating just along the edge of annoying.

  He smiled. “Dinner, wine and dessert. I’m sorry for losing my temper earlier. Can I come in? Can we just share a meal, relax, maybe talk about a few things while emotions aren’t running quite so high?”

  She blew a heavy breath through her lips, fluttering her bangs. Her eyes greedily devoured the box he shook in temptation. It had been a while since she’d indulged in a treat from Sugar and Spice...she’d had a bridesmaid dress to fit into.

  “Fine.” Holding the door open, she let him in.

  He didn’t pause, but headed straight for her kitchen. She hadn’t gotten around to showing it to him last night, but apparently he’d noted where it was anyway.

  Not bothering to ask, he hunted for plates, silverware and wineglasses. She let him, watching the fluid way his body moved as he puttered around her personal space.

  He’d always been lean and strong, covered in muscles that were a treat to the senses. But now she sensed a...harder edge to the body she’d once known as intimately as her own.

  Even with his back to her and most of the room, he still managed to carry an air of vigilant, constant awareness, which left her exhausted just watching.

  Evan dished out two burgers dripping with mayo, ketchup and mustard, piled high with lettuce and tomato. His had onion, but hers didn’t. He remembered she didn’t like it. That small gesture shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow it did.

  Taking out a giant container of fries, he divvied them out, unevenly because he gave himself at least double her portion. It was automatic. Something mundane he’d done numerous times during their relationship.

  And so was her response. Walking across the room, Tatum paused long enough to steal one from his plate and pop it into her mouth.

  “Hey, eat your own,” he rumbled, false warning filling his voice.

  She flashed him a taunting look and snagged another. “Not as much fun, handsome,” she teased.

  For a moment, it felt like this could be any night they’d spent together. Comfortable, familiar.

  That is, until his body went utterly still, the easy camaraderie that had settled over them disappearing just as quickly as it had surfaced.

  He swallowed. Tatum watched his corded throat work. After several seconds, he said, “Take as many as you want, beautiful,” in a husky voice that sent an unwanted ripple tripping across her skin.

  God, she’d always loved it when he called her beautiful. What woman didn’t want to be reminded she was desirable to her husband?

  Shit, this wasn’t good. Fifteen minutes and she was responding to him like Pavlov’s dog.

  Breaking the spell, he turned away, popped the cork on the wine and poured them each a glass. It wasn’t anything fancy, most likely from the market, but she gulped a huge swallow anyway, barely bothering to taste.

  He pulled one of the chairs out from the table and held it for her, waiting silently until she sat.

  Her body was stiff. She could feel him, heat and presence and just...Evan standing behind her. Did she want him to touch her or did she want him to pull away? Her brain screamed at her for one but her body begged for the other.

  Slowly, his fingers brushed against her shoulder. Her eyelids slipped shut. Holy hell that felt good. How could such a simple touch fill her with the kind of bone-deep longing that ached?

  Finally finding a small kernel of self-preservation, Tatum jerked forward, away from the caress. Because it felt so good. Because she desperately wanted more.

  Taking the hint, he crossed to his own chair and sat. They both dug in, the silence settling over them far from companionable or soothing. There had been a time they could sit for hours without saying a word, because they hadn’t needed to.

  Now there was so much still left unsaid that the words filled the air between them, heavy and suffocating.

  Pushing his plate away, Evan reached behind him for the wine bottle he’d set on the counter and topped off both of their glasses. He sprawled back in his chair, spreading out and taking up half of her little eating nook.

  “We didn’t have a chance to finish our conversation,” he said.

  “No, we didn’t.”

  5

  “IS THERE ANYTHING specific you want to know?”

  He asked the question and then prayed she’d want information he could give her. Something that wouldn’t make her realize just how close to the edge of “monster” he’d skated while undercover.

  Something that wouldn’t cause horror and revulsion to crawl across her expression the same way it crept across his skin.

  Anything that wouldn’t cement in her head that she needed to throw him out of her life for good.

  He’d expected her to wonder how he’d spent the last three years, so when she asked, “How did your friends die?” he wasn’t prepared. If he had been, maybe he could have held back the rush of
memories. The chaos. The darkness. The startled screams and coppery scent of blood.

  “They were shot.” He could hear the dead sound in his voice, but couldn’t stop it. That was the only way to deal. To shut down, shut them all out.

  “You saw?”

  No, he didn’t want to relive anymore. “I can’t, Tatum. You know there are things I can’t tell you.”

  Reaching across the table, she snagged his hand. He hadn’t realized he’d balled it into a fist until she slowly, gently, unwrapped each of his fingers so she could nestle her palm against his.

  He stared at their hands for several moments, hers small and pale. Almost delicate, although that was the last word he’d ever use to describe Tatum. Soft. Her skin was so soft. Always had been. He could remember watching her sit on the side of the bed every night as she rubbed lotion into her arms, feet and legs.

  He remembered the scent. Wanted it filling his lungs again. Needed it.

  Surging up from his chair, he didn’t register it scraping across the tile. He rounded the table and crouched beside her so he could cradle the warmth of her hand against his face, smell her scent.

  And there it was, overlaid with the lingering note of the flowers she’d touched earlier in the day, a smell he’d always and forever label as hers. Sweet with a hint of musk. Clean.

  That was what he needed right now.

  Turning his head, Evan buried his lips against the center of her palm. He didn’t kiss her or use the moment to seduce, neither of them wanted that. It was more, a flash of something deep. Despite having just gorged on food, his stomach suddenly felt cavernously empty. A hole only Tatum had ever been able to fill opened up inside him. Or maybe it had been there for a long time and he was just now able to admit the need because she was finally beside him.

  Her hand trembled against his skin, and he knew she felt it, too.

  But even as he acknowledged what was between them, he could already feel Tatum pulling back. She wiggled her fingers, silently asking him to let her go.

  But he couldn’t.

  “Can’t or won’t, Evan?” she finally whispered, her voice cracking on the words.

  Shaking his head, he rose and reluctantly let her go. She’d seen straight through him, had always been able to do that. And not just with him. She was a superior judge of character with a top-notch bullshit detector built into her psyche.

  “Maybe some of both,” he admitted, sitting again. “There are things I don’t want to tell you, Tatum. Things I don’t want to think about. Stuff I’ve done I don’t ever want you to know.”

  “Were you trying to do your job and keep yourself alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it wouldn’t matter, Evan.”

  “You say that now, but...”

  No sane woman would look at him the same if he spilled his guts.

  “Look, Tatum, I know it isn’t going to be as simple as picking up where we left off. I’m not stupid. But you’re my wife. I’m on leave for several weeks. I want to spend them with you, try to figure out where we are, what we feel.”

  Whatever ground he’d gained with the gesture of dinner was immediately lost. He could see it in the way her expression simply shut down. Her shoulders curved and her arms came up to wrap around her ribs, almost as if she were protecting herself from an expected blow.

  “You’re going back?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my job. It’s all I know, and I’m good at it.”

  Her dark green eyes studied him, roaming across his face in a way that made dread drip steadily into his bloodstream. It looked as if she was memorizing him so she could say goodbye.

  He wasn’t willing to accept that.

  “We owe each other a chance, Tatum. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  “I don’t owe you anything, Evan. You lost that privilege three years ago when you let me keep thinking you were dead.”

  “Then yourself. You owe it to yourself.”

  She scoffed, the harsh sound scraping through her throat. “What I owe myself is the promise no man will hurt me the way you did.”

  Damn, the pain shimmering in her emerald eyes nearly brought him to his knees. He’d done that. Although unintentionally, it hardly mattered.

  Hell, he hated himself a little for doing that to her. He couldn’t begin to think what she felt.

  He definitely had his work cut out for him, but he wasn’t a stranger to battling for what he wanted. And what he and Tatum shared was worth any sacrifice.

  But the first step was getting his foot in the door.

  Reaching across the table, he swept his fingertips along the edge of her jaw. He felt more than saw her sharp inhalation of breath and ruthlessly went in for the kill, stroking a tumbling lock of hair behind her ear and letting his fingers linger on the sensitive spot that always drove her insane when he sucked and licked.

  “Let me stay, Tatum,” he murmured in a low voice.

  He trailed the slope of her throat, grazing the curve of her collarbone. Her skin pebbled wherever he touched. God, he wanted to kiss her. To replace the caress with the heat of his mouth.

  She watched him, her eyes bright and wide. Her tongue snuck out to trail along her bottom lip. He wanted to lean in and snag it with his teeth, tug gently until she surrendered and let him in.

  But they were balanced on a dangerous precipice and pushing now would give her an excuse to bolt in the opposite direction.

  “For now,” she finally breathed, the words wobbling just a little.

  Round one, Evan.

  Here was hoping he could pull out the ultimate win.

  * * *

  EVAN HAD BROUGHT DINNER. He was currently in her kitchen doing the dishes. And she was in the living room fuming.

  He’d manipulated her. She knew it. Hell, she’d known it when he was doing it. And yet she hadn’t been strong enough to stop him. A few well-placed brushes of his fingers over her skin, a plea dripping in that rumbling, bedroom voice that had always shot straight to her libido, and she’d folded like a bad poker hand.

  Shit, she was in serious trouble.

  Especially since, by his own admission, he had no intention of leaving behind the job that had taken him from her in the first place.

  She hated to be the kind of ranting, crazy woman who demanded her husband give up a dangerous job because she couldn’t handle the pressure. Actually, she refused to be that woman.

  But she didn’t think she could do it again and maintain any semblance of sanity. It would be much worse this time. She’d lived through losing him and knew how devastating it would be.

  And there was no question in her mind. Through some miracle, the job hadn’t killed him, but it eventually would. Luck ran out, and all things considered, Evan must be running on fumes in that department.

  He hadn’t shared the details of what happened, but between the nightmare last night and the hunted, faraway expression in his eyes when he’d briefly brought it up, she could read between the lines.

  Water shut off in the kitchen, the light flipped off and then he was framed in the doorway, practically taking up the whole damn thing. Tucked beneath his arm was the box from Sugar and Spice. She’d completely forgotten about it until that moment.

  In each hand he held their refilled wineglasses. Because that was what she needed, more alcohol and a fuzzy brain. The worst thing she could do was lose her inhibitions. She needed her wits and the constant reminders of why opening herself up to him again was a bad idea.

  Evan crossed the space, soft yellow lamplight spilling over his body as he prowled closer. Tatum swallowed, trying to force down the lump of lust threatening to strangle her. Her body hummed, a constant pressure that made her restless.

  Taking the glass, she didn’t bother sipping before setting it down onto the table in front of her.

  Evan folded his tall frame into the opposite corner of her couch. It was comfortable, the perfect place to settle in for a night of watching TV. Or it always had been, befo
re tonight.

  Now she couldn’t shake this awareness, of him and her own body. Every pressure point beneath her skin throbbed. She should have taken the armchair, but if she got up and moved now he’d know how much he was affecting her. And that was knowledge she couldn’t give him, because he wouldn’t hesitate to exploit it.

  The quiet shush of the ribbon as he pulled the chocolate box open shot straight into her brain, somehow amplified, and rubbed uncomfortably against her senses. He popped the lid and held the chocolates out to her.

  She’d intended to refuse, but a quick glance inside stalled the words halfway up her throat.

  Lexi’s signature aphrodisiac chocolates were distinctive and easily recognizable. Tatum had never tried any. Why would she? She hadn’t had a lover to experiment with. But she’d heard they were delicious.

  Did Evan know what he was handing her?

  Tatum’s gaze bounced up to his. He stared at her, steady and unwavering, over the edge of the box. Dammit, she couldn’t tell. He was too good at giving nothing away.

  “I’m told they’re excellent.”

  He snagged one of the truffles covered in a fine dusting of cocoa. He bit into it, the quick flash of white teeth reminding her just how much she loved it when he took nipping love bites of her skin.

  Shit, she didn’t even need to eat any of them for her body to rev.

  His eyelids grew heavy, slowly lowering over a tawny, taunting gaze that sent shivers down her spine and had her fighting the urge to run screaming from the room in restless need and self-preservation.

  “Mmm.” The rolling sound rumbled up from deep in his chest. She could feel the echo of it tickling across her skin. “Different, but yummy. Cinnamon and honey. Try.”

  Holding out the other half of the chocolate, he waved it back and forth in front of her. She could smell the cinnamon and something else a little spicy. Chilies? She’d have to ask Lexi.

  Tatum shook her head, trying to refuse. Evan scooted closer, practically touching the chocolate to her lips.

  “What are you afraid of, Tatum?”

  “Nothing.” Irritation flashed through her. “I’m not in the mood for chocolate. Especially Lexi’s aphrodisiacs.”