“We were going to watch Elf,” Tatum said.
“I love that movie,” Lucy gushed.
“Me too,” Cady said, glancing back and forth between him and Tatum.
“Is this an exclusive viewing?” Patton asked, amused.
Spencer wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell his brother to go screw himself and the rest of his family to mind their own business.
“Of course not,” Tatum said. “You’re all welcome.”
Spencer’s heart sank. No matter how his hands ached to touch her, her answer was still no.
14
TATUM FINISHED CLEANING up the cups of cocoa, empty bowls of popcorn, half-eaten cookies and candy-cane wrappers. Lucy busied herself straightening the pillows and putting the television cabinet back to rights. And Spencer was asleep in the recliner in front of the fire. He’d dosed off halfway through the movie and had been snoring softly ever since. Every time she brushed past him, she hesitated.
“You ready for tomorrow?” Lucy asked.
Tomorrow. California. Leaving. She hoped, with time and distance, she could finally let go of Spencer. She couldn’t exactly start over if she was holding on to the past. “Not quite.”
“What time is your flight?” Lucy asked.
“Seven thirty,” Tatum answered.
“On Christmas Day?” Lucy frowned. “You could have waited.”
“I didn’t know how depressing this year would be,” Tatum admitted, sitting at the kitchen table.
“Not as bad as you thought it would be?” Lucy asked.
Tatum shook her head, smiling. Until now, it’d been great.
“Do you need a ride to the airport?” Lucy asked.
“No,” Spencer said from the kitchen doorway, bleary-eyed and yawning. “I’m taking her.”
“Well, hello, sleeping beauty,” Lucy said. “Did we wake you with all of our cleaning?”
He smiled. “It’s done. Looks like I woke up just in time.”
Tatum couldn’t hold back her answering smile. She didn’t want tonight to be awkward. It was Christmas Eve, after all.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asked.
“The movie ended about an hour ago,” Tatum offered. “Zach and Patton were breaking down the extra tables and chairs at your mom’s place.”
“You slept through all that work too,” Lucy said.
“My evil plan worked,” Spencer said, turning the full force of his blue eyes on Tatum.
Tatum’s heart thudded.
“Guess I’ll be heading out,” Lucy said, hugging Tatum. “Merry Christmas. I’ll see you in Colorado for the wedding?”
Tatum nodded. “Can’t wait. Thank you,” she said, hugging Lucy.
She closed the door and turned to find Spencer leaning against the door frame.
“You don’t have to stay up,” she said. “I know how tired you are. Go to bed.”
His eyes widened. “I will.” He pushed off the wall. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine.” She was tired and achy but she still needed to pack.
“Can I help?” he asked, following her as she flipped off all the lights.
She shook her head. “No. I just want to sit for a minute.” She sat on the couch, staring into the fire.
He sat on the couch arm, not saying anything.
“I’ve got a taxi coming in the morning, Spencer.”
“I’ll take you.” His voice rolled over her, warm and sure.
“No. Thank you.” She scowled at him, laying her head back on the couch cushions.
He sat beside her, his proximity having an immediate effect on her. So did the concern in his voice as he asked, “Your head hurting?”
“You don’t need to take care of me,” she said. She felt good. Good enough to want him. Now. Badly.
“Why is me taking care of you a bad thing?” He frowned.
She frowned back. “Because...because I’m not your responsibility.”
He frowned at her, then said, “Friends take care of each other.”
She stared at him. Friends? That was all she was to him. Which was exactly what she’d wanted. So why the hell did it upset her to hear him say it out loud? What is wrong with me?
“If it was Lucy, would there be a problem?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But I’m not sleeping with Lucy.”
“And you’re not sleeping with me anymore.” He smiled at her, but there was something off about that smile. He glanced at the mantel, his smile fading.
Her gaze followed. Almost midnight. Heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, setting an unexpected shiver along her spine.
He saw it. The clenching of his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils... He moved from the end of the couch to kneel on the floor at her feet. But when he reached for her, she couldn’t take it. She wanted his touch, craved the comfort and pleasure he’d give her. “Don’t, please.” Her voice wavered.
His jaw locked, clenched so rigidly she feared he’d crack a tooth.
She pressed a hand to her head, the dull ache turning into a more pronounced throb.
His expression shifted again, remote and distant. “You should rest.”
“You should stop telling me what to do,” she snapped, pushing off the couch to stand.
He frowned, rising to stand inches from her. “Why are you so pissed off? I’m playing by your rules. Rules you won’t let me forget. Rules I would break if you’d let me.”
“Spencer—” If he didn’t leave soon, she was going to fall apart. “This was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking... You and I—” She saw his eyes close, saw his hands fist at his sides. “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I’m too scared to love you. “I...I don’t know where we go from here. If we can be friends. I’m pretty sure life would be easier for both of us if we weren’t.”
“I can’t lose you again,” he said, his tone flat, hard.
“You can’t lose something you never had, Spencer. I can’t do this again. Not with you. Let it go, please,” she said, walking to her bedroom door.
“Dammit, Tatum, don’t be like this—”
“Be like what?” she asked. “You’re the one who keeps pushing this. I don’t need your help. I don’t want it.” The lie rolled off her tongue, leaving a bitter taste of self-loathing. But she hesitated, unable to resist looking at him. “I’m sorry.” For so much. He stood there, beautiful and tense, staring at her with searching eyes. “Good night, Spencer.” She closed her bedroom door and her control broke.
His whispered “Merry Christmas, Tatum” was full of such anguish she almost opened the door. Almost. Instead, she slid down the wall, wrapped her arms around her knees and sobbed until the pain in her head rivaled the crushing pain in her heart.
* * *
SPENCER STOOD IN his black suit, wishing this day was over. The last five days had been hell. Attending the graveside service of Clint Taggart was the last straw.
Spencer watched Taggart’s wife, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she clasped the hand of her young daughter. Taggart’s other children were clustered around their mom, each looking lost and heartbroken. He was thankful his mother had lived a long life with his father before he passed. And that he’d grown up with a man in the house—as unyielding as he’d been.
“Not the way I want to go out,” Patton said as they left the services for the airport. “But I’m sure it’s a relief to know his death was an accident.”
Clint’s car had been found in a ditch four hundred miles north of Greyson, off some county road. After losing his job, he’d headed to a buddy’s house to regroup. When he’d decided to come home, the weather intervened and sent him sliding off a bridge and into a ravine. He’d been dead for days.
“Doesn�
�t make it any easier on his wife and kids.”
“You don’t think so?” Patton argued. “I think it’d be a hell of a lot easier. Clint may not have been the best cop on the force, but he wasn’t doing something illegal. He wasn’t hunted down by the bad guy. He had an accident. A tragic accident—but an accident.”
Spencer didn’t say anything.
Patton’s phone rang, so he put it on speaker. “Yep.”
“Patton, is Spencer there?” It was their mother.
“I’m here,” Spencer answered.
“I’m trying to confirm rooms. Is Tatum still coming to the wedding?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Spencer answered honestly. He’d tried to think of Tatum as little as possible over the last few days. He ached for her, missed her. He’d picked up the phone a dozen times but never hit Send.
“You talked to her?” his mother asked.
“No,” he snapped.
There was a long silence.
“Spencer Lee Ryan.” His mother didn’t tolerate disrespect. “You don’t need to use that tone with me, young man. If you and Tatum are having trouble, that’s your business. But I need to know—”
“Mom, can you give Lucy a call?” Patton intervened. “She’ll know.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do that. You two have a safe flight. We’ll see you soon.” And the line went dead.
“Promise me that whatever is going on between the two of you won’t affect the wedding,” Patton said.
His brother might be a sullen son of a bitch, but Spencer was happy for him. He’d be on his best behavior for the wedding. Spencer smiled. “Yes, sir.”
It wouldn’t be easy. Seeing Tatum would hurt. But not seeing her was worse. His heart felt like it was squeezed by a vise every second of every day for the last five days. It helped to know he would eventually recover, even if it felt like his world was coming apart.
Patton wasn’t big on small talk, so Spencer didn’t bother filling the silence. He stared at the same magazine pages for ten minutes, indulging in various reunion scenarios with Tatum. Reality would likely be cool civility, and that would be a stretch for him. It was too much to hope for more than that.
He dozed for the length of the flight and woke up with a crick in his neck. His mood continued to nose-dive when his luggage was nowhere to be found. And the rental car they’d requested wasn’t ready. He paced the airport while Patton stayed busy—talking to Cady on the phone.
When they finally reached the hotel, he wanted a drink and, possibly, a nap.
His mother greeted him with a “Stop frowning” and a quick hug.
“Good to see you two,” Zach said. “A little too much estrogen around here. Please tell me my big brothers have something big lined up for tonight?”
“You mean the bachelor-party thing?” Spencer asked, perking up.
Zach nodded.
Patton shook his head. “No. We’re having rehearsal in an hour and dinner after that.”
Zach and Spencer exchanged frowns.
“Buzz kill,” Zach said, laughing.
Spencer’s phone rang. It was the airline. They’d found his bag but wouldn’t be able to deliver until the next afternoon.
“Spencer?” his mother asked.
“Airline found my bag,” he said.
“Good. Can you pick up Tatum? Lucy said she’s having a hard time getting a car.” His mother waited, her blue eyes steady upon him.
Maybe picking up Tatum, alone, would give them a chance to deal with anything lingering—so nothing sullied the mood for Patton and Cady’s big day.
He nodded. But after he’d hung up the phone and was driving toward the airport, he knew he had to be strong. He’d missed her, yes. He wanted her. He loved her. But Tatum had made it clear they were done and his heart was too shredded for more rejection.
15
TATUM SMOOTHED HER hands over her hair and straightened the tie on her sweater. Her skintight black pencil skirt, clinging cream wrap-sweater and tall black boots hadn’t been the most practical traveling attire, but it had definitely drawn a lot of attention her way. Hopefully it would have the same effect on Spencer. He’d been right—they needed to talk. And even though she’d shut him down, she hoped he’d give her another chance. Being vulnerable was something she avoided at all costs. And she was nervous as hell.
The last five days had been good for her.
Gretchen had been a truly generous host, showing her the sights of San Diego, the coastal beauty and the friendly people. There’d been a lot of laughing, a lot of drinking, and too many late nights talking about what they wanted out of life.
Tatum hadn’t wanted to bring up Spencer. But Gretchen had asked.
“Come on, I’ve been dying to know. This is the guy you compared everyone to? Your true love.” She’d been teasing, but her words had struck a chord.
Spencer had always been her measuring stick. Even when he wasn’t part of her life, he’d been there.
He was the only man she’d loved with all of her. Poor Brent never stood a chance. Even after the wedding, her defenses had stayed up.
With Spencer, her defenses crumbled. It was terrifying. And wonderful.
And the more she thought about him, the more she missed him, the more she realized she was a complete idiot. She knew why he’d told her the truth about their past. He loved her. He still loved her. Her whole I’m-in-control stance was a joke. She wasn’t in control. Her fear was.
And being afraid of Spencer, of loving him, was the last thing she wanted.
Now she stood, eager and terrified, to see him. It had only been five days. But in those five days she’d gone from holding him at arm’s length to holding him in her heart. She paced, bought a bottle of water at one of the news shops and was opening it when he walked in.
Keep it together.
His blue eyes found her immediately, the pull between them instantaneous. But she stood her ground and made him come to her. She didn’t miss his head-to-toe inspection, or the fact that his jaw clenched so tight his teeth were in danger.
“Hi,” he said, his voice raspy and low.
“Hi.”
“You look...” He swallowed. “You look good. How’s the head?”
She moved closer, using the electricity between them. She knew he wanted her. It seemed like the right place to start. She turned her head, leaning closer and lifting her hair to show him the scar. “Stitches are out. I’m still a little tender, though.” Their proximity wasn’t just affecting him. He smelled so good, too good. “And I have a patchwork of rainbow-colored bruises along my side.” She lifted the front wrap of her sweater, exposing the plane of her stomach, her belly button and the remains of her yellow-green bruise.
His eyes lingered on her stomach. He swallowed, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. He shoved his hands into his pockets and muttered, “I need to get my luggage. Then we can go.”
“You look tired,” she said. It was true. Not just tired. Worn-out. There were bags under his eyes. And his eyes looked...haunted. “Long week?”
His gaze searched hers. “Yes.”
She held his gaze, unflinching. But when his attention wandered to her mouth she had to turn away. She wanted him to kiss her, oh so badly. But not yet. “Let’s go get your bag.”
She reached for the handle of her suitcase at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed, the stroke of skin on skin making her stomach tighten and her lungs empty. She’d missed him. This time, she leaned into him to draw his scent deep into her lungs. And when his hand wrapped around hers, tugging her into his arms, she melted. She could turn into him, press her lips to his neck... Instead, she pulled out of his hold and stepped back.
He stood there, staring down at her, his hand gripping her suitcase handle.
>
“Ready?” she asked, hoping she sounded unaffected. Because inside, she was on fire.
He nodded and set off toward the airline customer service desk.
While he spoke to the agent, she knocked her bag over, spilling the contents onto the floor. So much for smooth. But as she bent to collect them she remembered he was fond of her ass. She straightened slowly, appreciating his sudden hiss of breath.
“Got it,” he bit out.
She straightened, knowing she was teasing him but unable to stop. He couldn’t seem to move. The plum lacy strap of her bra peeking from the deep V of her sweater had him mesmerized.
“Spencer?” she asked, laying one hand on his chest.
He glanced at her hand. But before he could cover it with his own she was moving toward the doors.
“Where are you parked?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder.
He was staring at her rear—good. He frowned, tore his gaze away and pulled both suitcases behind him. The walk to the car was tricky. Her heels were tall and there was ice on the ground. Not to mention it was cold. But a padded coat wouldn’t help with the whole remind-him-what-he’s-getting part of her plan.
She climbed into the truck, the hem of her skirt riding up just enough to reveal she was wearing stockings and a garter belt. A garter belt that matched the bra she was wearing. Yes, she was playing dirty. And it was way outside her comfort zone but she could only hope it would work.
He started the truck, but they didn’t move. From the corner of her eye, she saw the way he was looking at her thigh. And her stomach clenched, willing him to reach for her. She ran her hands over her skirt, smoothing the fabric over the slight glimpse of plum silk, and buckled her seat belt.
Awareness coursed through her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was the one who needed to be overcome with desire, not her. Instead, she was throbbing, wanting his hands on her, his lips... She cleared her throat. Cool, calm, collected.
Five minutes later, the car still wasn’t moving. He was staring straight ahead, every muscle taut. Maybe she wasn’t the only one fighting this crazy hunger.
Christmas in His Bed Page 17