“Oh, pizzelle,” he said, then arched both brows. “What are pizzelle?”
She crossed the kitchen and threw her arms around his neck. “Yummy wafer cookies I have snowflake molds for. I thought I could make some for tomorrow night’s fund-raiser?” She touched his nose. “Your nose is red.” She was so pretty his heart thumped.
“It’s cold out there,” he said, pressing his hands to her cheeks.
She jumped, covering his hands with hers. “Your hands are freezing! Where are your gloves?”
“I took them off to mess with you.” He winked.
“I like it when you mess with me,” she answered.
His eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth cocking up. “I like it too.”
“Wanna help me make cookies?” she asked, swiping some cookie dough from the bowl and offering it to him on the tip of her finger.
He shook his head, sucking the dough off her finger and biting the tip. “I need to warm up.”
She nodded, unzipping his coat and tugging it off. She draped it over the back of the chair before unwinding the black scarf from around his neck. She laid it atop the coat and pulled a chair out. “Sit.”
He did, smiling as she turned and straddled his leg to pull his boot off. He had the most inviting view of her ass, hugged in tight jeans. When the second boot joined the first, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back onto his lap. His hands slid under the long black sweater she wore, the thrill of her flesh contracting beneath his fingers making him ache instantly.
His hands slid up, pausing when he encountered only smooth flesh. “You forgot your bra, Miss Buchanan.”
“No, I didn’t, Officer Ryan.” She arched into his hands.
He groaned, burying his nose at the base of her neck. “You’re soft as silk.”
She shivered, the rapid thrum of her heart evident beneath his palm.
“You can’t go out in public like this,” he groaned as his fingers worked her nipples into hard peaks.
“I’m going out?” she asked, breathless.
“Can’t miss the lights,” he said, resting his forehead between her shoulder blades. He could wait. He didn’t give a damn about the lights. But he wanted her to get out, to remember happier times and how good Greyson could be. “It’s a tradition. I wanted to drive you.”
She looked back over her shoulder. “I thought we were about sex. And sneaking around.”
“Okay, forget the lights,” he said, his hands cradling her breast more firmly. Not that he was going to let the subject drop altogether. Just for the next hour or so.
“Now I’ll feel guilty. You should go.” But she stood, faced him and straddled his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him. He let her lead, let her lips part his and her tongue stroke the inside of his lip. He shivered, his arms winding around her waist and anchoring her in place.
“You want me to go?” he rasped.
Her green eyes sparkled as she stared at him. She nodded, then shook her head. “First, we need to warm you up,” she purred, leaning forward to nip his earlobe.
He shivered as she sucked his earlobe into her mouth. She slipped from his hold and stood, pulling her shirt up and over her head and tossing it at him.
He caught it, soaking up the vision before him. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
“You don’t have to say that,” she said, an almost embarrassed tone to her voice.
He stood then, looking down at her. “It’s the truth, Tatum. You’re beautiful.”
She blushed, tearing her gaze from his as she took his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom. The creamy line of her back demanded he touch her. They made it to the hall before he pressed her against the wall, running the tip of his nose along the base of her neck and the ridge of her shoulder blade. His hands cupped her breast as he trailed wet, hot kisses down her back. She sagged, leaning into the wall as he gripped her hips and ground against her. She arched into him, robbing his lungs of air.
“Dammit,” he bit out, pulling her back against his chest and steering her into the bedroom.
She spun around, her parted lips latching on to his mouth. When his tongue slipped between her lips, he ground his hips against hers and bore her back onto the mattress.
“Spencer,” she breathed.
His fingers were quick and deliberate, sending her clothing to the corners of her room. But the sight of her breasts quaking, her nipples tight peaks and her skin flushed shook him to the core. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with his clothing. By the time he’d climbed between her legs, he had no control left.
He pinned her hands over her head and pressed the tip of his rock-hard—
“Tatum?” a voice called out. A familiar male voice.
They froze.
“Left my phone.”
“Is that Dean?” she whispered, the rosy hue of her skin draining as panic set in.
Yes, it was Dean.
And chances were the asshole had left his phone here on purpose so he could horn in on Tatum without an audience. Right now, so close to being wrapped in the heat of her body, he could give a rat’s ass if his cousin found them like this. It would serve the smug-faced bastard right. “I’m guessing you didn’t lock the door?” He smiled down at her, shifting his weight to remind her they’d been occupied.
She shook her head, breathless as she pushed against his chest. “Spencer,” she hissed.
He wanted to argue but she was already sliding out from under him and pulling on her robe. “Stay here. I mean it,” she whispered. Without looking back at him, she was gone. He flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his heart hammering in his ears and his dick. The sight of her pom-poms made him smile.
* * *
TATUM TUGGED HER robe tight and walked into the living room. Dean stood, his cheeks red from the chill outside. When he saw her, his brows rose and his eyes widened. Yes, she was in her robe—with mussed hair when less than thirty minutes ago she’d been put together and civilized looking.
“You okay, Tatum?” He frowned as he looked down at her. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
She felt her cheeks flame under his inspection. Crying was the last thing on her mind. “Oh? No...no, I’m fine.”
“I know you’ve had a rough time of it,” Dean said. “If I need to go kick some ass, I’m happy to do it.”
“I appreciate the offer. But there’s no one I’d want you to waste your time on.” As long as Spencer stayed in bed. If he walked out...that might change.
His smile grew. “Then there’s no one worth you wasting tears on, either.”
His concern was sweet, even if the manly appreciation in his hazel gaze was a little overwhelming. All Dean was offering was a shoulder to cry on. While Spencer was lying in her bed...offering her his body. But nothing else. Not that she wanted anything else from him. From anyone, for that matter. She didn’t. No complications, no expectations. No pain.
Losing Spencer all those years ago had taught her never to let go of her whole heart. Maybe that was why her divorce from Brent hadn’t destroyed her. In a way, she should thank Spencer. But, with all the sex he was getting, she supposed she was.
“Tatum?” Dean asked, looking concerned.
She needed to snap out of it. “Sorry. You’re right. No tears,” she agreed.
“Good.” Dean winked at her, making her giggle. “And if you need distracting, give me a call.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She shook her head. “Did you find your phone?” she asked. She half expected Spencer to emerge any second—naked—just to stake a claim.
Dean held up his phone. “All good. I’m calling you now, so you’ll have my number.”
“Okay.” Not that she’d call him. She and Spencer had a sex-only understanding. But
Lucy was her best friend. No way she’d mess that up by dating Dean. Besides, as gorgeous as he was, she wasn’t attracted to him like she was to Spencer. “Have fun tonight.”
“See you later, Tatum,” Dean said, before he left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Tatum counted to twenty before she locked the door and hurried back to her bedroom. She was amazed by how quickly her heart rate picked up. Her body seemed to rise, tighten, already sparking with the fire that gripped her moments before. Finding Spencer propped up on the pillows, the sheet resting low around his waist, was oil to her flame.
“He gone?” he asked, tossing a small heart-shaped pillow at her. “You two solve all the world problems or make your cookies while you were at it?”
She smiled. “I wasn’t gone that long.”
He cocked an eyebrow. And she leaned back against the wall, enjoying the view. His black hair was mussed, his jaw and chest dusted with a dark shadow. She could see the outline of one thigh beneath her sheet and the heavy length of his arousal. She swallowed, forcing her gaze back up to his. His blue eyes were blazing, and she stumbled over her next words. “Anticipation is a good thing.”
“Not as good as being buried inside of you,” he said, his voice rasping.
She exhaled slowly, a slight roar in her ears. He’d said that out loud, for her to hear. And from the look on his face, he meant it. Every muscle in her body tightened, clenching with pure need. “He’s gone,” she murmured.
“Come here,” he said, not moving.
Something about the rigid line of his jaw made her pause. He wanted her. Badly. And it was empowering. She took her time crossing the room, aware of him watching her hands as she fiddled with the tie of her robe. “It’s getting late,” she said.
“No, it’s not,” he argued.
“You said the lights were a tradition.” She stepped closer, transfixed by the way his body seemed ready to pounce.
“I’m in favor of making new traditions,” he said, low and husky. “Believe me.”
“Like making cookies?” she asked, teasing.
“Like getting you naked.”
She swallowed, excitement coiling in her belly. She could do this. She could be sexy and provocative. His barely restrained hunger gave her all the encouragement she needed. She untied the sash of her robe and let the fabric slide from her fingers. She stood at the side of the bed, just out of his reach.
But she wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to reach for her. So she shrugged out of the robe and waited. His eyes devoured her. Even without his hands on her, she felt the bold heat of his caress. She was so exposed like this. And in his eyes, she hoped, beautiful.
His hands fisted in the sheets at his side as she ran her hand along the column of her neck and across her shoulder. Her breathing picked up as her hand dipped lower, her fingertips sliding between her breasts and across her stomach.
The expression on his face hid nothing. He was a man on fire. For her. He tossed the sheet aside and slid to the edge of the bed, pulling her between his legs and pressing her tight against him. His mouth latched on to the tip of her breast, his lips and tongue stroking and licking until her nipple pebbled in his mouth.
Her fingers twined through his thick hair, holding him in place. When his teeth grazed her sensitized skin, she moaned. His lips moved along the swell of her breast and down her side. His tongue traveled around her hip. Somehow she ended up falling forward, her hands tangled in sheets. Spencer was behind her, exploring the plane of her back with his hands and mouth. He kissed the dip behind her knee. Nipped the curve of her ass. One long finger traced a slow path up the inside of her thigh.
With a growl, he clasped her hips in his hands and wrapped around her to suck her earlobe into his mouth. She felt him, the muscles of his chest against her back. The thick tip of his hard shaft against her, seeking entrance. She curved back, opening for him. And when he slid deep, she was done for. His hand slid across her stomach and between her legs. Calloused fingers worked their magic, the rough abrasion wreaking havoc on her tender, swollen flesh.
He shifted, standing at the bedside and pulling her back onto him. Strange noises spilled from her mouth, broken and low. Every time he moved, his hold tightened. It was the sweetest invasion, complete and absolute. Pushing her until she knew she’d split apart. And when his fingers found her again, she did. The desperate cry that tore from her startled her.
And then she was turning. Spencer’s rhythm barely paused. From stomach to back, he was inside her, still relentless. Still wonderful. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his chest. His jaw was clenched tight. And he was staring down between them, watching as he moved in and out of her. His hand traveled down, his fingers stroking her again, and she was crying out her release again.
When his eyes met hers, he tensed, thrusting once, then again, before he climaxed. He slumped forward, pressing her into the mattress and blanketing her with his strength and warmth. She lay there gasping, her body still tingling with delightful twinges.
Spencer was equally breathless, hissing as he slipped from her to lie at her side.
She glanced his way to find him looking at her. “What?”
He shook his head, his gaze never leaving her face. It was the look on his face that made her heart slow...before tripping over itself in an unsteady rhythm when the corner of his mouth curved into a crooked grin. She wanted him to make her body hum with pleasure, but that was all. Her heart was off-limits. She frowned.
His grin grew. “How about we grab a couple of burgers and go check out the lights?”
“I’ve got things to do,” she mumbled, deciding time alone, dressed and conversation focused were a bad idea.
He shook his head. “Well, you’re going to have to feed me before I can do anything.” His fingertips skated along her collarbone.
She smiled in spite of herself. “I wasn’t talking about you.” She shook her head. “I was talking about...”
He rolled over, rising up on one elbow. “About?”
“Unpacking.”
“Unpacking?” he prodded. “What about tomorrow?”
“I have the women’s auxiliary auction tomorrow night,” she said, unable to ignore the curve of his bicep.
“What else?” he asked, his finger trailing between her breast and along her ribs.
“Nothing,” she said, growing distracted by his teasing touch.
“So you can unpack tomorrow,” he said, leaning forward to suck her nipple into his mouth. His tongue was wicked, erasing her argument completely. “And we can get those burgers and check out the lights. By then, I’ll have enough energy to do whatever you want.”
That was an offer she wasn’t going to refuse.
6
SPENCER WAS CONTENT. Tatum sat in his truck, singing along with the Christmas carols on the radio and holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hands. He drove five miles an hour down Cedar Bend Lane, uncaring that they were wedged, bumper to bumper, among the opening-night crowd. At the rate they were going, it would take an hour before they were done. And he couldn’t be happier.
Not that their adventures in the bedroom an hour ago hadn’t been amazing. They definitely were.
“Wow,” she said, tapping the window at one especially lit-up home. “Check out those animatronics. Do you get extra points for that?”
“Depends on the judging committee. There was a big fallout a few years ago, the younger home owners wanting a voice on the judging committee and all.”
“Sounds like serious stuff.” She smiled, cocking her head as they drove past another house with a psychedelic lighting scheme. “I wouldn’t give this one high marks... So what happened?”
“It was close, but the committee did have some turnover and there’s a more even distribution of judges.”
She glanced at him, sipping her hot chocolate. “I heard that.”
“Heard what?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Sarcasm. What does ‘even’ mean?”
“Let’s just say the whole age thing was fixed. But the overall mentality of the committee remains the same.” He smiled at her. “I’ve never seen a first-time winner.”
“Hmm.” Tatum turned to look out the window. “That sounds like a challenge. If I’m still here next year, I’ll have to pull out all the stops and see if I can steal one of those revered winner signs for my yard.”
He heard the “if.” He didn’t like it. Not that now was the time to talk about what she meant. Not yet, anyway. As they pulled up to a large white column-fronted mansion with a double lot, he slowed. “Betty Brewer’s grandmother still lives there.”
She stared. “She’s still alive?”
He chuckled, nodding. “Betty says her grandmother will live forever just to drive the rest of the city crazy.”
“I remember her and her causes. The city-hall clock being a minute off. The need for school buses to have their brakes regularly oiled—to reduce noise pollution. Wasn’t she one of the loudest voices in the fight to make this a dry county?”
“Damn happy that one didn’t work out,” he said. He loved the dimple in Tatum’s left cheek. Loved the way her eyes creased when she smiled.
“I take it she hasn’t mellowed with age, then?”
He shook his head. “Last city-council meeting she wanted to discuss trash pickup times. Too early disrupts her sleep, too late and it’s unsightly.”
“She needs a hobby.” Tatum laughed. “She and my mother got along famously—they played bridge together a couple of times a week. I remember visiting her house twice. The second time I bumped into an end table and knocked a tiny crystal lamb onto the floor. Its leg was broken. I felt terrible but Mrs. Brewer was so angry we had to leave. I wasn’t allowed to come back after that and my butt was sore for days.” There was no bitterness in Tatum’s voice.
“How old were you?”
“Um...around six, I guess,” she said, shrugging.
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