Christmas in His Bed

by Sasha Summers

  She might brush it aside, but the story reminded him of just how difficult Tatum’s upbringing had been. Especially after her father had left. How many family dinners had been disrupted in their own home? His mother would sit there wincing as Mrs. Buchanan’s shouts grew louder, staring at their father until he stood up, stomped across the street and warned Mrs. Buchanan that her behavior was crossing a line. Some nights, Tatum had come over to have dinner with them. And on one of those nights, he’d fallen completely in love with her.

  “Does she win every year? Mrs. Brewer, I mean?” Tatum’s question pulled him from the past.

  He took a deep breath and eased his iron grip on the steering wheel. “Her house was disqualified from judging last year because she’d hired a decorating company.”

  “That’s against the rules?” Tatum glanced his way as she took a sip of her hot chocolate.

  “Only if it’s not a local company.”

  “So I won’t be disqualified? Since you and your cousins are from here?” she asked, turning her gaze back out the window. “I should do something for them—Jared and Dean, I mean. It was nice of them to lend a hand on their day off.”

  “Dean would love that,” he muttered.

  Tatum’s shoulders were shaking. The sound of her giggle startled him. “So, it’s okay for me to do something nice for Jared?”

  “He’s not trying to get you into bed.”

  She laughed then. “Dean might be trying to get me into bed but it’s never going to happen. Lucy would kill me.”

  He almost rear-ended the car in front of them. “Lucy?”

  “You don’t sleep with your best friend’s brother,” Tatum said, watching him curiously.

  He stared at her.

  She was still giggling. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he growled. She was teasing him. He was acting like a child and he knew it. He had no right to be jealous—she’d laid out their arrangement clearly. No strings. No attachments. Just mind-blowing sex with an expiration date.

  “What happened to Betty?” she asked.

  “Betty?” he repeated. “Betty Brewer went off to college, married some guy and is living in Austin. She visits now and then with her kids.”

  “That’s nice.” This time there was an odd sound to her voice—high and tight.

  Kids. God, he hadn’t even thought about that. Did she and Brent have kids? Surely that would have come up by now. “Big commitment, having kids. Don’t think I’ll be ready for a while.”

  She glanced at him. “No?”

  He shook his head.

  “But you do want kids?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Well, yeah, eventually.”

  “Be sure,” she said, that tone edging her voice again.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Just make sure you don’t change your mind. Especially after you get married,” she said.

  He swallowed. No kids, then. Because Brent had changed his mind. He should be sorry for her but all he felt was relief. “You still want kids?” Tatum had always wanted a big family, one full of love and laughter—to make up for her childhood.

  “Yes. I do.” The longing in her voice made his heart hurt. She looked out the window, tapping on the glass. “This house is gorgeous. Oh, it’s...magical.”

  Spencer made a point of keeping it light from then on. He wanted her to laugh, to smile and relax. That meant keeping talk of Brent and her mother to a minimum. When the drive was through and they were pulling up in front of the house, he could hardly wait to get her inside.

  Tatum turned to face him. “I had fun tonight. Thanks.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow? At the women’s auxiliary fund-raiser?” she asked, her hand falling to the door handle.

  He tried not to let his disappointment show as he nodded. He’d envisioned a long night in her bed. How the hell was he supposed to sleep under the same roof?

  She opened the door and slid from the truck. “Then I’ll say good-night now.” She slammed the door and headed inside before he’d turned the truck off.

  Spencer sat there, staring at the front door. Maybe he should take a drive, clear his head, get a beer—anything to help him forget he was going to bed—alone.

  * * *

  TATUM STARED OUT the front window. She saw him sitting in his truck, looking at the house. Beyond the steady stream of headlights and the happy sparkle of her Christmas lights, he was there. Waiting.

  She was testing him and she knew it. She’d sent him away and he was listening to her. Even if she hadn’t really wanted to stay away, not really. What was she doing?

  She crept closer to the window, watching him run a hand over his face, shake his head and back the truck out of the driveway. He headed down the road, his brake lights glowing red before he turned right.

  “Fine,” she gasped. “Good. Time to bake anyway.”

  She changed into some thermal leggings and a large sweatshirt, the feel of her own fingertips on her skin making her pause. Her fingers felt soft, not rough like Spencer’s. She tugged her hair into a ponytail, irritated, and headed into the kitchen. She would not spend the rest of the evening pining for Spencer. Nope. She was going to do something...that wasn’t Spencer. She smiled, blasted some Christmas carols and set to work.

  She could make something else tempting to offer up at the bake sale tomorrow night. But what? Something about baking, which Brent approved of only when they were entertaining, brought out her rebellious side. She’d whipped up a batch of gingerbread, two blackberry-cranberry pies, some fudge, and finished two dozen pizzelle when her phone started ringing.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “You up?” Spencer asked.

  She smiled, running a finger around the inside of a bowl. “Clearly. It’s a little late for a phone call.”

  “I knew I wouldn’t sleep.” His voice was gruff.

  “Why?”

  “Thinking about you.”

  She swallowed, walking from the kitchen into the front room. She glanced out the window. His truck sat there. “You’re sitting in the dark?” She giggled. “Are you trying to have phone sex with me?” There was no way she could do that. It was too...odd. Listening to him telling her what he’d do to her. She felt incredibly warm. She’d touch herself and imagine it was him. Could she do that? Could she let the sound of his voice guide her until she—

  “No.”

  She drew in a deep breath, willing her heart to return to a more sedate pace. “Oh.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

  “Who said I was disappointed?” she lied. She’d rather he dragged his butt inside and had actual sex with her. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  “Tired meaning you’ll be naked in bed waiting for me?” He paused. “Or tired meaning I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  She waited, knowing what she’d say but not wanting it to be too easy for him. Oh, to hell with it. “I’ll see you in five minutes.”

  She ran to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, tossed her clothes on the floor and slipped the rubber band from her hair. She was running to her bed when she heard the door open. She squealed, hopping into the bed and burrowing beneath the covers. “That wasn’t five minutes,” she called out.

  He was smiling when he entered the bedroom. “I never said five minutes.” He started shrugging out of his clothes.

  She slid to the edge of the bed, the quilts tangled about her. Her fingers traced a long scar that curved around his side. “What happened here?”

  He kicked his pants aside. “A knife. Two guys fighting over a woman in a bar. First week on the job. I was so green. And this is what happened. A tetanus shot and twenty-two stitches.”

  “Ouch.” She looked up at him, catchi
ng another white line along his shoulder. “And here?”

  He glanced at it. “A broken bottle. Woman didn’t like me breaking up a fight. I didn’t think she had it in her. Guess I was wrong. Eleven stitches and a staph infection.”

  She winced. “The one under your jaw?” she asked.

  He traced the scar. “My brother Russ.” He smiled. “According to him, I’d been in the swing too long.”

  Russ. She saw the flash of pain on Spencer’s face and pressed a kiss on his tattoo. “What happened to him?” she asked, looking up at him.

  He shook his head. “I can’t. Not now.”

  She nodded, covering his tattoo in slow, openmouthed kisses.

  He dropped his boxers.

  And she stared at the rest of him. She couldn’t seem to pull enough air into her lungs.

  He stooped, pressing his open mouth to hers. In seconds, the quilts were gone and she was wrapped in nothing but Spencer. His arms, his lips and his tongue. She tugged him closer, running her fingers along his tapered waist and the clenched curve of his buttocks. He was man—muscle and power—and she wanted him. She parted her legs, panting, and arched into him.

  “Impatient?” he rasped, his jaw tight.

  She nodded. Impatient was an understatement. She’d been wanting him since she’d climbed out of his truck. Even making pie and gingerbread, she wanted him. So, so bad. “You weren’t supposed to leave.” Her words were bracing, too needy. She didn’t like it.

  His eyes searched hers, the tightening of his features unnerving her. “I won’t.”

  God, she hated how much she loved the sound of that.

  He thrust forward, filling her, joining them. His groan sent a thrill down her spine, forcing her nipples into tight peaks. When he moved, she knew it wouldn’t take long to climax.

  But he moved slowly, taking his time with her. There was a tenderness about him that made her nervous. She wasn’t sure why he insisted on looking at her, why he whispered her name when she’d close her eyes or bury her face in her pillow. He seemed intent on...connecting.

  His hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face and pinning her in place. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t fight the way his blue eyes claimed her. He cupped her breast, caressing her nipple and forcing her into pure pleasure. His steady, deep, rhythm had her falling. Her body contracted, her cry spilled out into the room, but all she could see was him. His face crumpled, hardening as he gave up the control he’d been exerting. He stiffened, fusing them together as he throbbed with his release. He kissed her, his groan shaking her to the core.

  He rolled them, pulling her on top of him—crushing her in his thick arms.

  Her body was humming, pleased and relaxed. But her eyes were burning with tears... Which was the last thing she needed. Spencer didn’t need to see her that way. Emotional. Vulnerable. Dammit... It wasn’t fair. She’d kept herself together when most people would have fallen apart. So why now?

  Because I’m alone. Her heart thudded. Even now, wrapped in Spencer’s arms, she was alone.

  “You good?” His voice was low. His hands stroked down the length of her back, over and over.

  She nodded, her tongue too thick to speak. She was not going to cry. Being alone wasn’t a bad thing. She needed to stand on her own two feet—to figure out what she wanted.

  He hugged her, sighing. “Sorry if I interrupted your baking.”

  She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  “Smells amazing,” he murmured, his fingers combing through her hair.

  She closed her eyes, absorbing his touch. Maybe that was the problem. Sex was one thing—affection was another. She pushed off of him, pulling the quilts up.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She nodded, refusing to face him. “Tired,” she murmured, flopping down on her side, her back to him.

  He curved around her, his arm holding her against him. She sniffed as quietly as possible, wishing she was strong enough to move his arm and send him away. But she wasn’t. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted him to press kisses against her temple, like he did now. She wanted him to stay. Which was a very big problem.

  She lay there, listening to his breathing even out and his body go limp. There was far too much comfort in the weight of his arm and the whisper of his breath against her ear. What would happen when this was over and she was in a big, empty bed—aching for what she now knew existed? Before she could only imagine. Now she knew. How could she ever go back to Chris and his batteries?

  7

  “YOU’RE TAKING ALL of this?” Lucy asked, eyeing the double-stacked cake plate and Tupperware container full of her pizzelle.

  “Too much temptation sitting around.” Tatum smiled. “Tonight is the whole reason I made them.”

  “Spencer let you out of bed long enough to cook? That’s considerate,” Lucy teased.

  Tatum laughed. “We’re not that bad.” Which wasn’t true. Every time he was in the same room she wanted to touch him. And touching him quickly turned into more...serious touching.

  Lucy snorted. “Whatever. Are you two really trying to keep this thing a secret?”

  Tatum glanced at her friend. “This thing?”

  “Tatum, there’s obviously something going on between you two.”

  “It’s called sex,” Tatum argued. “Nothing else.” She had to keep reminding herself of that. Waking up to him, his tongue stroking between her legs and his fingers sliding deep, had been the perfect way to start the day. The hot coffee and kiss before he left for work had been pretty damn wonderful too.

  But after, when she sat in her bed, alone and cold, her melancholy returned. She almost gave in to it. Why not sob into her pillows? Wail a little? But she couldn’t do it. It was too much like...giving in. Instead of thinking about what might happen after, she needed to enjoy every second of the before—the now. She’d crushed her pillow to her chest, immediately distracted by Spencer’s scent clinging to the cotton pillowcase. She hugged it, breathing him in until she was smiling, and leaped from the bed. A cup of coffee and a long, hot shower had her perking up. So did putting on something pretty. When Lucy arrived with tea and some yummy little finger sandwiches and cakes, Tatum was feeling downright optimistic and full of enthusiasm.

  “It’s nice to have someone to hang out with,” Lucy said, sipping her tea.

  “Especially like this.” Tatum grinned. “I feel like we should be wearing fancy hats and using my grandmother’s china.”

  “Next time, definitely.” Lucy grinned. “You going to be okay with Spencer going up for auction?”

  Tatum frowned. “For auction?”

  “You can buy one of our first responders for work around the house or something.”

  “Something?” Tatum asked.

  “Last year a bunch of the elementary teachers put their money in to get a fireman to visit the school. Of course the whole station got into it. They spent the day there, making copies, playing with the kids, showing off the fire engine.”

  “And the money goes for?” Tatum asked.

  “It’s split. Half goes into the library and its literacy programming. The other half goes to the youth soccer association here. You know what a big organization it is here. They make sure there are scholarships and equipment, field repairs and referees for the games—that sort of thing.”

  Tatum nodded. Growing up, everyone had played soccer in Greyson. “So improving young minds and young bodies. Sounds like something that’s easy to support. I’m sure he’ll bring in a lot of money.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lucy smirked.

  She sipped her tea, then set it on the table. “How awkward is this going to be?”

  “Very,” Lucy said. “You’re back. After...well, you know. People will be watching you two. And wondering.”

&nbs
p; Tatum stared into her tea. She did know. She could remember every horrible word he’d said, the horrified looks on the faces of her friends and classmates—

  “Tatum, don’t go there,” Lucy said. “You don’t know... He...” She shook her head, sat back in her chair and sighed. “He has regrets. Big regrets.”

  Tatum jumped up, busying herself with tidying the kitchen. “The past is in the past.” She shot Lucy a smile. “I’m not stupid enough to let myself fall in love like that ever again. It wasn’t healthy to be so connected with a person.” She shrugged. “All I want is great sex.”

  Lucy looked doubtful.

  “It’s totally great sex,” Tatum assured her.

  “I don’t want to know,” Lucy laughed. “I just want you to be happy. Both of you. And I know he hasn’t been really happy since you left.”

  Lucy’s words bothered her. Surely that wasn’t true. Too many years had passed. She wanted him to be happy—even if it wasn’t with her.

  Tatum waved a hand at the containers of treats. “Let’s load this up and see if your aunt needs any help.”

  “She and Spencer are probably already there,” Lucy said. “Aunt Imogene is on pretty much every board in Greyson, so she’s there in some official capacity or other.”

  They loaded Tatum’s baked goods into her backseat. Lucy slid her sheet cake in and sighed, hands on hips. “You’re making me look bad.”

  Tatum laughed as they climbed into her little beige SUV and headed to the other side of town. She drove slowly, the ice making her tires slip more than once. But going slow had other advantages. For one, she could enjoy every dazzling holiday display. For another, she could prepare for the night.

  There wasn’t much appeal in being surrounded by her past—especially the painful parts. But confronting them, making peace, was the only way to move on. And since she was sleeping with the person who’d actually hurt her, she figured handling the ones who’d simply watched the whole humiliating event wouldn’t be too hard.

  “Looks packed,” Lucy said as they parked. “Ready? You certainly dressed to make an impression.”

  Tatum glanced at her red dress. It was modest. A sweetheart neckline, fitted sleeves and a full skirt. Lucy was wearing slacks. “Is it too much? I thought I was being festive.”