Christmas in His Bed

by Sasha Summers

  She pushed him toward the bench at the end of the bed, smiling as he sat. “Lie back,” she said, her voice husky. He did, his gaze blazing into hers. He lay there, gripping the legs of the bench while she straddled him—still wearing her boots and garter belt.

  He closed his eyes as she arched forward, feeling every inch of him push deep inside. She moaned, rocking forward. Her knees hung off the side of the bench, her heels buried in the carpet. She had all the leverage, all the power. And she used it to her advantage.

  His reaction fueled her overwhelming craving to control. He quivered beneath her, clenched with each thrust, hissing and cussing and groaning. The throb of him, the heated friction, the brush of skin on skin. His body was a work of art, all rough angles and smooth contours.

  He sat up, lightly biting her shoulder, licking her neck. His lips latched on to her nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitized flesh and making her cry out.

  She ground against him, wanting control. It wasn’t fair that he could invade her body and steal her senses. She wanted to make him fall apart. She rested her hands on his knees, setting a frenetic pace. The muscle of his thighs tightened, his fingers biting into her sides, as he moved beneath her. His arms wound around her, supporting her as he drove into her.

  His strangled moan, the pulse of him convulsing inside her, split her apart.

  He held her in place as she rode out her climax.

  How he managed to stand, she didn’t know. One minute they were upright, the next, she was lying on his chest, the feel of cool sheets covering them.

  She felt the rapid beat of his heart echoing her own. She knew this heart and loved the sound of it. Whatever she and Brent had had, it had never compared to what she’d felt for Spencer. She’d loved him down to the cellular level. His hands came up, smoothing her hair down her back in long strokes. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of him. The scent of him.

  “You okay?” he asked breathlessly.

  She nodded. She was good. So good she didn’t want to move.

  She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at him then, resting her chin in the middle of his chest. She covered his chest with her hand, staying connected to him. This connection had been her strength and her downfall. Now...she didn’t know what it meant. She’d wanted this to be about sex, about freedom, but she knew it was more.

  His fingers slid through her hair as his eyes bored into hers. He swallowed.

  “I thought...” She sucked in a deep breath, the words coming without thought. “When I moved to California, there were days I didn’t know how to...to live. Or function.”

  His heart seemed to stop. Then start up again, faster than ever.

  “I thought there was something wrong with me—”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She placed a finger over his lips. “And there was. I poured all of my love, everything I had, into you. So when we were done, I had to accept I was wrong...to learn what love was. To remember that I couldn’t let myself feel like that ever again.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “That’s why ending my marriage didn’t destroy me. So thank you for that.”

  He looked at her then, his face so rigid and remote. He tried to sit up, but she shook her head, her hand firmly pressed to his heart. He covered her hand with his.

  “That’s why you and I can’t have more than this. I know I wouldn’t survive this time.” But explaining why she could never love him didn’t change the fact that she already did.

  10

  SPENCER HELD HER against him. He’d scarred her. Left her broken. “I’m sorry, Tatum. I’m so damn sorry.”

  She stared up at him.

  “I did what I thought I had to do,” he said.

  She frowned then, confusion marring her features. “What are you talking about?”

  “I hurt you when I should have fought for you,” he confessed.

  She tried to move, but he held her in place.

  He knew he was entering dangerous territory but he wanted her to know the truth. “I knew you wouldn’t leave unless I made you.” His words turned gruff and hard.

  She froze. “What?”

  “Your mother—”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “She has everything to do with this. I know it bothers you to talk about her. But it bothered me to know she was hurting you. I saw the bruises, Tatum,” he argued. “And I couldn’t live with it.”

  “Let me go, Spencer,” she said softly.

  He did.

  She slipped from the bed, dragging the quilt with her. “I don’t understand.” She sat on the bench, her boots peeking out between the folds of the blanket. He waited. He should have kept his mouth shut, apologized without spilling his guts.

  How many times had he woken up, dripping sweat and hating himself? If he could go back in time, he would handle it differently. He was a stupid kid who was trying to save the girl he loved. Breaking up with her hadn’t been the worst part of it. Having her come back, day after day, asking him to give them another chance. Whatever I’ve done, I can fix it. Her words had shredded him. She wouldn’t give up on him, on them.

  “But you said... You said...” She looked so lost.

  “I lied. I lied to get you out of here and away from your mother.”

  “She was depressed, sick— She couldn’t control her moods. She didn’t know what she was doing, Spencer—”

  “It didn’t matter.” He shook his head, sliding from the bed to stand before her. “She hurt you, mentally and physically. Don’t you remember how it was with us, Tatum? How much I loved you? I would have done anything, anything, to protect you.”

  She stared at him, swallowing. “You used her words to drive me away? You told me there was something wrong with me.” She choked on the words.

  There’s something wrong with you, Tatum. Fix it, or no one will ever love you, not really. He’d heard Tatum’s mom say them and felt the pain of those words. It wasn’t the woman’s fault that she was bipolar. But Tatum was the one that suffered when Jane Buchanan forgot to take her meds. Tatum was the one who cleaned up after her mother when she had a temper fit. Tatum was the one who took the abuse.

  “I was all she had,” Tatum said. “If I’d stayed—”

  “No, you staying wouldn’t have kept her alive.” Spencer shook his head. “It would have destroyed you.”

  “You did a pretty good job,” she whispered. “Because of you... Spencer, I believed you. You had never lied to me. You had promised...promised me...” She shook her head. “I could deal with my mom. I understood why my dad couldn’t deal. But you? You were my safe haven. And hearing you say that to me...that was the first time I ever felt alone.”

  Her words wrapped around his heart, a vise of barbed wire.

  She stood, finding her clothes and increasing his panic.

  He stopped her, blocking her path. “I have no excuse. Only regrets. Every damn day for eight years I’ve thought about you, knowing I’d lost the best thing to ever happen to me. What I did was wrong but I can’t undo it—no matter how much I wish I could.” He paused, watching the play of emotions on her face. “Your dad wanted you in California, remember? You said no. Because of me. I was responsible. I was the reason you were being hurt over and over. Losing you was like cutting out my heart. But... I had to. I had to—”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. Not like that. You were deliberately cruel. You knew my weakness and you used that against me.” She sucked in a deep breath.

  “If I’d asked you to go, would you?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth, her brow creasing. “How can I know that? What difference does it make? You didn’t just take away my choices. You made me doubt myself—my wo
rth.”

  “I was a seventeen-year-old idiot who loved you—” He broke off.

  “And I was the idiot who valued your opinion more than anyone else’s.”

  It was hard to breathe. “I’m asking for your forgiveness. Maybe, in time, some understanding.” If he told her he loved her, would it make a difference? “You deserve all the love, all the happiness a man can give you. You are amazing. Thoughtful, kind, beautiful. I’m sorry that my actions caused you to doubt that.”

  She stared at him. “I need you to leave. Now.” She closed herself in the bathroom.

  He dressed quickly, sighing at the sight of his shirt. Once he was dressed, he stared at the bathroom door. She was mad, and she had every right to be mad. She needed time and space. He’d give it to her.

  He slipped from the room and headed to the coatroom, sliding into his blazer and buttoning it up before getting a beer and heading back to the party. If he was smart he’d leave. But he couldn’t, not yet.

  He ignored the questioning looks of Lucy and Patton, pretending his cousins’ debate on V-6 versus V-8 engines held his attention. Thirty minutes and another beer later, Tatum arrived. Not only did she avoid making eye contact, she seemed determined to stay at least ten feet away from him at all times.

  “What the hell did you do?” Patton asked.

  “Don’t ask.” He glanced her way, willing her to look at him.

  But she didn’t look his way.

  She spent the next few minutes helping his mother pack up the presents for Cady and Patton. And another few minutes talking to the same older gentleman she’d been talking to before. He was saying his goodbyes when he saw Dean making his way to her.

  She smiled at him, listening as his cousin undoubtedly tried to charm her. He looked at the floor at his feet, the wave of anger surprising him.

  Patton said, “Tried to talk to her?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you talk to Lucy first?” Patton asked.

  He glared at his brother. “What for?”

  “She’s a shrink. And a woman. Might have prevented the arctic treatment.”

  Spencer sighed, wishing he could take back the last hour. “Too late now.”

  “I can see that.” Patton’s pale eyes were fixed at the doorway.

  Spencer glanced over in time to see Dean point up at the mistletoe he’d led her under. He should look away. He should ignore it and let it go. He’d won the bet, so of course he was going to try to rub Spencer’s face in it. She’d turn and give him her cheek... Except she didn’t. She was kissing him. Her arms were loose around his neck, her lips lingering on Dean’s...

  “Breathe,” Patton reminded him.

  “I’m breathing,” he snapped.

  But he couldn’t look away. Tatum’s smile. Dean’s startled, but very pleased, expression.

  “Go,” Patton said. “Mom’ll kick your ass if you started a fight.”

  He nodded, moving across the room as unobtrusively as possible. So why did it feel like everyone was staring at him?

  He threw his truck into gear and drove into town, heading straight for Zeke’s gym. It was late and the weather was bad, but there were plenty of guys willing to spar with him. After a quick warm-up he climbed into the ring and cut loose.

  They had to take turns, giving him just enough time to catch his breath, stop whatever was bleeding and go again. When the gym closed at midnight, he drove to his mother’s and the beat-up sleeper sofa in the near-arctic garage. Hell, at this point, it didn’t matter where he slept as long as he could sleep. No matter what, he’d feel like total shit in the morning.

  He hadn’t been expecting to find his brothers waiting for him on the front porch.

  He put the truck in Park and climbed the steps.

  “Need a place to sleep?” Patton asked.

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “Garage.”

  “It’s freaking cold,” Zach said. “Let’s go.”

  Spencer nodded, leading them into the garage and flipping on the lights. Folding chairs were located, a space heater was plugged in and Zach produced a large bottle of whiskey.

  “Go to Zeke’s?” Patton asked, pulling cups from their camping gear.

  He nodded. “Is it bad?”

  Zach and Patton exchanged looks.

  “Make for some interesting wedding pictures,” Zach said, laughing.

  Spencer sighed. “Dammit.”

  Patton shrugged. “Fine by me.” He poured out drinks.

  There was a comfortable silence as they all knocked back their alcohol.

  “Dean wanted to come,” Zach offered, earning a hard glance from Patton.

  “Not his fault,” Spencer said, emptying the glass. “It’s me.”

  Patton sipped his drink, flopping into one of the chairs and scooting closer to the heater. “Bad?”

  He nodded.

  “She hasn’t really been here long enough for you to screw it up that bad.” Zach sat in one of the other chairs.

  He paced, the whiskey and the cold keeping him moving. “I screwed up. The sort of long-term, psychological shit that takes years to get over. And even if she gets over it, chances are she’s never going to love me.”

  “And that’s what we want?” Zach clarified.

  “Yes, Zach.” Patton sighed. “Do you listen to a thing I say?”

  “No, not really.” Zach smiled.

  Spencer chuckled. “Remember our breakup?” he asked.

  “The one where you were basically catatonic for a year?” Zach asked. “Yeah, good times.”

  Spencer flipped him off.

  “That was a hell of a long time ago.” Patton crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I know we were kids, but I loved her. I mean, she was everything. Losing her was a nightmare. I believed we were forever. It felt like it would be. But if you love someone like that, you have to put them first, right?” He barely looked at them. “Her mom used to abuse her. Mostly mentally, but she got hit too. Tatum would make excuses, forgive her, but it ate at her—tore her down. And no matter how much I told her Dad could help, or the school could help, she felt responsible for her mom. Her mom used the guilt card a lot. Her dad kept asking her to come live with him, but she wouldn’t go. Because of me.”

  Patton ran a hand over his face.

  Zach set his empty glass on the floor. “So you dumped her.”

  Spencer nodded, sitting on the edge of the lumpy couch. “I made Dad call her father in California when she wouldn’t leave. She wasn’t safe here and I couldn’t let it go on.”

  “I know you guys were pretty serious,” Zach said, leaning forward. “So I’m assuming you pulled out the big guns for this breakup?”

  “Cheating rumors.” Patton glanced his way.

  “Ouch,” Zach said.

  “Worse.” He dropped his head in his hands. “Her mom...her mom used to say there was something wrong with her. That she needed to fix it or no one would ever love her. I said it to drive her away.”

  “Aw, shit, Spence,” Zach groaned. “That’s just mean. And teenage girls... I mean. You’re king of the assholes.”

  “Why say anything now?” Patton asked.

  “She said I was right.” He shook his head. “She said that our relationship taught her never to love that much again. I had to tell her what I’d done. I had to.”

  Zach groaned.

  Patton sighed.

  He didn’t bother lifting his head.

  “So you begged for forgiveness?” Patton asked.

  “On your knees?” Zach added.

  “You saw how well that went,” Spencer murmured. “I probably wouldn’t forgive me, either.”

  “We need more whiskey,” Zach said, reaching for the bottle. “It’s
gonna be a long night.”

  * * *

  TATUM HAD NEVER had a hangover before. Everything ached. Her head, her eyes, her eyelids.

  “Drink this,” Celeste said, putting a glass of something green on the table in front of her.

  “What is it?” she asked, her tongue thick and heavy.

  “You drank all of these?” Lucy asked, scraping the army of miniature alcohol bottles into the trash. “Vodka. And tequila. Did you throw up?”

  “Not yet.” Tatum pressed a hand to her stomach. “Not to be rude, but why are you all here?”

  “We’d talked about looking at the tearoom books, remember?” Celeste patted her hand.

  “And you’d volunteered to make dessert tonight and, after last night, we thought we could help.” Lucy sighed.

  Accounting? She almost groaned. Baking? Dessert. For dinner. Tonight. At the Ryans’ house. She groaned. Before they went caroling. Because she’d promised Mrs. Ryan at the auxiliary auction. “Oh, God.”

  “It’s okay,” Lucy said. “We’ve got plenty of time. It’s only eleven.”

  Tatum covered her face with her hands. “So you’re checking up on me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Celeste admitted.

  “I’m fine.” She slid the glass across the table, sipping from the top. “That’s awful.”

  “It is,” Celeste agreed. “But it will settle your stomach.”

  She sipped again. “This is awkward.”

  “Why?” Lucy asked. “We’ve all been there. Men can be...morons.”

  “The question is, what can we do?” Celeste asked. “I’m a doer.”

  Tatum shook her head. “I was going to bake a black forest cake...” She covered her mouth.

  “You have everything?” Celeste asked, hopping up and opening the refrigerator.

  She nodded, pointing.

  “Recipe?” Lucy asked.

  She shook her head and tapped her forehead. “Secret.”

  They froze.

  “Seriously?” Lucy asked.