Christmas in His Bed

by Sasha Summers

  Which was a lie. He knew.

  “Spence?” Patton asked.

  “Time for her to do what she wants.” He smiled at his brother, ignoring the cold, hard lump settling in the pit of his stomach. He did want her to do what she wanted. He’d just hoped it would be here.

  It wasn’t like he’d spent time envisioning a future for them. Even if he had, if he did, no one knew that but him. He wouldn’t influence her again. Whatever choice she made would be hers this time.

  8

  SPENCER YAWNED, BEYOND tired as he steered his truck down the dark streets toward home. Nothing like working forty-eight hours straight. A long forty-eight hours. Between Clint’s disappearance and a pop-up meth lab tip, he’d driven over most of the county and turned up nothing but an abandoned barn and cold trails. He’d busted two teens selling pot at a corner store but lost another in the park.

  At least he hadn’t spent much time at his desk. Nothing like sitting underneath humming fluorescent lights to make a man doze. Being up, out, adrenaline pumping, kept him sharp and focused.

  He hadn’t been slated for the shift, but when his coworker’s wife had gone into early labor, he’d volunteered to cover the man’s shift. Unlike the vast majority of the Greyson force, he was single.

  Had Tatum noticed he was gone? Missed him at all? He blew out a deep breath. Dammit, he’d thought about her a hell of a lot over the last forty-eight hours.

  There’d been a time when she would have confided in him. Now he was learning about possible jobs in California. She was thinking about leaving? And he finds out through Patton. Through Cady. Someone Tatum had met that night knew more about her than he did.

  He shouldn’t be hurt. Or angry. So why was he? He’d agreed their relationship was purely physical. In her mind, there was no reason to tell him she might be moving on. At that point, she’d be done getting in touch with her sexual side. And done with him too, apparently.

  But his heart was confused by the whole no-strings plan. Spending a little time away from her had been good. And bad. He’d done some thinking—about her. And, after so much sex, the last two days had been hell. And his body was aching to pick up where they’d left off.

  He pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, the heat escaping into the frigid night.

  Two cars were parked along the curb. Lucy’s and Bianca’s. Meaning his plans for stripping her down would have to wait. Upside, he might get a few hours of sleep. He was whistling as he climbed the steps.

  “You look like shit,” Lucy said as he stepped inside.

  “Thanks,” he grumbled, his eyes sweeping the room. There was a board game on the floor and empty wineglasses. And Tatum was in pajamas, smiling at him. What would happen if he threw her over his shoulder and took her to bed? He was tempted to try. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

  “You look tired,” Tatum said. God, she was beautiful. “We’ll keep it down.”

  He nodded. “Shower. Bed. Sleep.” He saluted them and walked down the hall to his bedroom, smiling at the sound of their voices and their laughter before he closed the bedroom door.

  He liked her pajamas. He liked the smile she wore for him. He groaned, wiped a hand over his face and headed for the bathroom. He stood under the hot water until it ran cold, then stumbled into bed. The red numbers on his side-table clock told him it was nine. The garage light illuminated his room, casting an eerie white glow. But he was too tired to get up and close the blinds. He threw his arm over his eyes and passed out.

  He woke to faint knocking. At two in the morning? He glanced at his phone. No calls. He was disoriented, exhaustion weighing him down. He opened the door to find Tatum in a silk robe.

  “I’ve missed you,” Tatum whispered.

  He could be dreaming. She filled his dreams often enough. Maybe he was dreaming.

  But then he was engulfed in her sweet softness and he didn’t care. Her lips found his, her tongue slipping between his lips at the very moment she pressed her silk-covered curves against him. He groaned, grabbing her with both hands. In an instant, he was throbbing and ready.

  Definitely not dreaming.

  Her lips teased his throat, his shoulder, her tongue explored the hard contours of his chest—torturing his nipples and his patience. She slid down, the caress of silk on his bare skin incredibly erotic. When his boxers were around his ankles and her lips latched on to his rock-hard erection, he shuddered, leaning against the wall at his back.

  He stared down, his fingers in her blond hair and tugging her back.

  Her fingers continued to stroke him as her gaze locked with his. “Hi,” she said, before bending forward to suck him deep into her mouth.

  “Shit,” he hissed, her hand cradling him as her tongue slipped around his length. Her lips were like velvet, hot, sucking, drawing him forward. In seconds, she had him on the edge.

  He gripped her shoulders and pulled her up. His kiss wasn’t gentle, his teeth and tongue showed her just how hungry he was for her. When he tried to ease his hold on her, she pressed closer, welcoming the invasion of his tongue. Her little gasps, the tight hold on his hair and rake of her nails on his neck, had him all but dragging her to the bed.

  She wasn’t wearing anything beneath her robe.

  Her nipples were so hard he couldn’t resist. Before she answered, he’d sucked the puckered flesh into his mouth, cupping the fullness of her breast with his hands.

  She writhed, her long, toned legs parting as her hands sought some anchor.

  He threaded her fingers with his, stretching her arms up over her head as he drove into her.

  “Oh, God, Spencer...” Her moan was raw, desperate.

  “Miss me?” he ground out, her tight heat challenging his control. He wanted her to miss this, his ownership of her. He wanted her body—and more.

  “Yes,” she rasped, breaking off as he powered into her again.

  Long, slow strokes that filled her up and left him trembling.

  Her fingers opened and closed, gripping his hands as his mouth pressed along the length of her neck. He nipped the flesh beneath her ear, drew her earlobe into his mouth and never broke the deep, hard rhythm he set.

  “Spencer!” she cried out, her body beginning to shudder as she tightened convulsively around him. He watched, loving her climax—the total abandon in her release.

  He held on, never breaking rhythm, never slowing. He hovered over her, his chest brushing again and again over the taut little peaks. His mouth returned to her breast, his tongue laving and flicking until she was gasping again.

  His hands clasped her wrists, pinning her in place while giving him more leverage. “I could do this all night,” he murmured.

  She shook her head, already close to coming again. “Please...”

  “Please what?” he asked.

  “Touch me.” Her voice shook. Even in the shadows of the room, he knew she was staring at him.

  He released her hands. His fingers slipped between them, his thumb working over the throbbing nub between her legs. And just like that, she was burying her face in his pillow to scream.

  He let go then, out of his mind as he thrust. When his orgasm hit him, he bit out a curse, long and loud—holding her hips steady.

  He fell to her side, breathing as if his life depended on it. But once he’d left her, all the anger and frustration he’d held at bay came crashing down. “Why didn’t you tell me about California?” he asked, still gasping.

  “What?” she asked, equally breathless.

  Shut up. “The job, in San Diego.” He paused, turning on the bedside lamp. “You made it sound like a vacation.”

  She blinked, looking so damn adorable with her tangled hair and flushed cheeks that he almost dropped it. “I didn’t think it mattered,” she said, her brow creasing. “Or that you’d
care.”

  He stared up at the ceiling, his heart thumping heavily.

  “Spencer?” she asked.

  He didn’t say anything. What could he say? “I care.” Which were probably the last words he should say.

  The silence grew painful. But he couldn’t take it back. It was the truth. He cared. He loved her. So damn much. He’d loved her his whole life. He closed his eyes, his hands fisting in the sheets.

  She pulled the blanket up and over her but didn’t say anything. He lay on his side, waiting. But when she did look at him, she broke his heart. Her green eyes were full of unshed tears and her lips were pressed flat. Even though she was stiffening, pulling away from him, he saw the flash of vulnerability—and reached for it. He rolled over her, keeping her close before she completely shut him out.

  “Let me go, Spencer.” Her voice trembled.

  He brushed his nose against hers, staring down into her huge green eyes. “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t,” she argued softly.

  He shook his head.

  “No complications, remember?”

  “Just sex?” he asked, an undeniable edge to his voice.

  “Yes,” she replied, nodding and blinking rapidly.

  “Fine,” he said, bending his head to kiss her. It wasn’t fine. It hurt like hell. And pissed him off. Why wouldn’t she let him apologize? Let him beg for another chance? Yes, he wanted her. He’d always want her, but that didn’t change his feelings. So he poured his frustration, his pain and anger, into his kiss. He kissed her until her arms wrapped around his neck, until she rolled over him and straddled him.

  When he slid home, he gripped her hips and held on. It took seconds for him to come undone, for her to find her release. But he held on to her long after they were done. If sex was what she wanted, he’d give it to her. Until he figured out how to change her mind—and he would figure out how to change her mind—sex was the only time she was his.

  * * *

  “CADY’S ALREADY GOT a client list for you,” Lucy said, pulling up the strap on her plum evening dress.

  “She’s...something,” Tatum said, grimacing at her reflection. “This one is a no.”

  “She’s assertive. And bossy.” Lucy’s friend Celeste had joined them for shopping. “I can say that because I’ve known her for years but I love her anyway.”

  Tatum laughed. “I appreciate her interest. It’s just surprising. She doesn’t really know me. I could be a terrible accountant, bad with people...” She shrugged.

  “She’s very girl-power. She knows you’ve been through a painful divorce,” Celeste said, almost apologetically.

  Tatum smiled. “It’s not a secret. I know I’m not the last woman to lose her man to another woman.”

  “That’s pretty much all it takes for Cady. You’ve been wronged, by a man, she’s going to help out.”

  Tatum accepted what Bianca said, but there was one nagging suspicion. “So it’s not to keep me here? I sort of get the feeling that she...all of you want me to stay here?”

  “This is your home.” Lucy sighed. “And, yes, I admit, I want you to stay,” Lucy said. “It’s hard being the only girl in a family of boys.”

  “You should marry one of her brothers, Tatum.” Celeste was all smiles. “They’re both incredibly good-looking.”

  Lucy shook her head emphatically.

  “They are good-looking,” Celeste argued.

  “Couldn’t do it. I grew up with them.” Tatum reached for the next dress on the rack. “More brother than not. Even if I’ve never had a brother. Jared used to put worms in my pudding. And Dean was always trying to look under my skirt or down my shirt. But he did punch a guy for me once.” She laughed.

  “I remember.” Lucy grabbed Tatum’s hand. “We were, what, twelve?”

  Tatum nodded. “Twelve was such an awkward time. I got my braces and my boobs. This boy in my class was teasing me—”

  “And Dean socked him in the face,” Lucy finished, her face turning thoughtful. “Huh. I’d almost forgotten about that. I’m just not sure what he’s trying to do. Piss off Spencer or get you to date him.”

  Tatum shook her head. “He’s just being Dean. He’s teasing.” She thought about his rebound-guy offer and grinned. He wasn’t serious.

  “He and Spencer have had this competitive thing forever.” Lucy sighed. “Boys.”

  “I’m confused. How is Spencer involved?” Celeste asked.

  Somehow, he’s always involved. But she didn’t say anything. Her emotions were too raw at the moment. And she didn’t know what to make of them. Or how to face them.

  “Spencer and Tatum were pretty serious in high school,” Lucy explained.

  “A lifetime ago,” Tatum murmured, the onslaught of conflicting emotions hurting her head. She let the lightweight material of the blue Grecian dress slide through her fingers, absentmindedly.

  “High school romances,” Celeste said. “First love. Oh, the memories.”

  “I never dated in high school.” Lucy frowned. “Not high school boys, anyway.”

  While the others kept talking about past relationships and high school, she tried on the blue dress. Talking about either meant talking about Spencer. She was doing plenty of that already. Lucy had promised to take Celeste dress shopping for Cady and Patton’s wedding and dragged her along too. And while Tatum wasn’t sold on going to the wedding, she figured spending a day out was better than analyzing what had happened the night before. With Spencer.

  “You look gorgeous,” Lucy said with a sigh. “It just hugs in all the right places.”

  “Drop-dead gorgeous,” Celeste agreed. “Unlike this.” She spun around in a pea green jersey dress stretched taut over her sizable chest.

  They all laughed.

  She did feel pretty in the dress. And, whether or not she went to the wedding, it couldn’t hurt to have something new in her closet. Memory-free. Especially when it made her feel like this. “I think I’ll get it.” She tugged her clothes back on. “I’m going to do a little Christmas shopping while you finish up.”

  She carried out her dress and wandered along the racks and aisles of holiday items. She hadn’t meant to wander into the lingerie section, but that was where she ended up. And an especially sheer black lace number with a built-in push-up bra and matching lace thong caught her eye. That was undeniably sexy. And since she’d clearly established that they were all about the sex, this would be a perfectly acceptable purchase. She took it, strolling past the jewelry and accessories, her eyes drawn to a large variety of silk scarves on the back wall. Even though the saleslady had no idea what the four silk scarves were for as she packed them next to her sexy lingerie, Tatum couldn’t help but blush. She was buying stuff to tie up her... Spencer.

  She took her time, poking through shops along the square. She bought Lucy her favorite perfume, added a baking cookbook for Mrs. Ryan and picked a lovely set of embroidered sheets off Cady and Patton’s bridal registry.

  As she was coming out of the shop, she spied a candy shop across the street. If she remembered correctly, Spencer’s favorite candies were jelly beans. The small ones with the superstrong flavor. Some of her favorite memories were of them eating jelly beans in the dark on her roof and tossing all of the buttered popcorn–flavored beans into the dark. She paused, so caught up in the past that she was there. His laugh. Her head pillowed on his shoulder. His kiss on her temple. He’d been smaller then, with fewer muscles, but his love had been as constant as the stars above her. She’d trusted him, them. They’d spent hours there on summer nights, talking, just hanging out together. He’d always held her hand, always. She could almost feel his hand on hers now.

  I care.

  What did that mean? Did she want to know? What if it meant opening up old wounds? She’d bled enough from the p
ast.

  Before there was the bad, there had been so much good. She’d let one week of hell—and a moment of utter humiliation—tarnish something that had helped her through so much. He’d been a pillar in her life, a support, something she’d clung to when her parents fell apart. When her grandparents died. Her mother. How many times had he rescued her, built her back up when her mother had torn her to shreds?

  There’d been love and laughter too. With jelly beans and tickle fights, and making out until they both needed to cool down. Maybe reliving that wouldn’t be so bad? But reliving the good always led to the end. One day Spencer had been her world, the next he didn’t love her anymore. She still didn’t know why.

  Maybe the why shouldn’t matter anymore?

  She made a beeline for the shop, purchasing a large bag of assorted flavors before heading back to the clothing store.

  They had mani-pedis before Celeste headed to Tucker House to set up for the bridal shower, and Tatum and Lucy went back to Tatum’s place to change. By unspoken agreement, their conversation steered clear of all things men and focused on career.

  Lucy had been working as the police psychiatrist for a couple of years, working under a veteran psychologist she didn’t always see eye to eye with.

  “It’s the old-boy network, you know? If he likes a guy, he’s more likely to send them back out—even though there’s no way in hell they should be on the streets.” Lucy sighed, leaning forward to apply eyeliner in the large mirror hanging on the closet door.

  “I’m sort of glad my career choice doesn’t involve weaponry,” Tatum teased. But she was serious. She’d lost so many people in her life, the idea of being surrounded by life-and-death situations on a daily basis held no appeal. Another reason not to get attached to Spencer. “Seriously, I respect what you do. I don’t think I could.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Ditto. I could never work with my husband. If I had one.” She giggled. “I only met Brent twice, but he seemed like a hard man to please.”

  “He was very opinionated. His way was always the right way. The work was no big deal, I know my stuff and I did my job. Honestly, we were better at being coworkers than a married couple. Especially in the bedroom.”