Christmas in His Bed Page 16

  “At work?” Spencer asked. “I can barely hear you.”

  “Is Tatum okay?” Jared repeated, enunciating.

  Spencer sat forward, a knot forming in his throat. “As far as I know. Unless you know something I don’t know?”

  “Aw, shit,” Jared sighed. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Spencer asked. “What the hell do I not know?” He stood, staring around the station, his panic building.

  “Tatum was taken to the emergency room—”

  “Why?”

  “Car accident.”

  Jared’s words ripped the air from his lungs—more effective than a gut punch. The roads were ice slicks. Even with his four-wheel drive, he struggled. Tatum hadn’t driven in these conditions in years—that was the reason he’d told her not to come see him. That, and there was no point. He was fine.

  His heart twisted and his throat dried up. “When?”

  “A couple of hours ago. Sorry, Spence, thought you’d know—”

  Spencer hung up the phone, grabbed his coat and ran from the police department. He pulled out of the parking lot, heading straight to Glenn Oaks Hospital.

  The cop in him conjured up a variety of worst-case scenarios. Scenarios he didn’t want to see or worry about.

  Keep it together, Ryan. He drew in a deep breath, reining in his emotions to analyze only the facts. And he didn’t have many. All the way to the hospital, no matter how much his truck slid on the roads, his thoughts were all Tatum. Was she okay? Was she hurt? Scared?

  Dammit.

  The truck slipped all over the road, so he kicked it into four-wheel drive and gunned it. By the time he reached the hospital, his fingers ached from his death grip on the steering wheel. He parked his truck and ran into the emergency room, flashing his badge.

  “I’m looking for Tatum Buchanan.”

  The nurse flipped through the list. “I’ll take you.” She stepped around the desk and led him past a row of curtained partitions. “She should be able to go home shortly. We just wanted to make sure her concussion isn’t too severe.”

  That was good news. Not good enough to make him relax, but it was a start. “What happened?”

  “Ice.” The nurse smiled at him. “We’ve had half a dozen accidents tonight and all of them were cars sliding on the ice. She was lucky, could have been a lot worse. The guy who hit her is in surgery.”

  Spencer’s gut clenched. She was okay. She was okay. It would all be okay when he saw her. When he knew she was safe. It was hard to breathe.

  “Aileen,” the nurse said. “The detective is here to see your patient, Tatum Buchanan.”

  “Spencer?” He heard Tatum’s voice and turned. “What are you doing here?”

  He stood frozen. She had a wide strip of gauze wound around her temple, her long blond curls pulled over her left shoulder. She looked fragile, small, in the bed. “Hey.” He moved to her without thought, pressing a hand along her cheek. “Where else would I be?” he asked, sitting on the side of her bed. “I would have been here earlier if I’d known.”

  “I’m...I’m fine,” she said.

  “That bandage around your head says otherwise.” His voice was garbled. She was okay. He reached for her, taking her hand in his. Feeling her, warm and soft, made it better. “Why were you on the roads?” he asked, willing himself to calm.

  She swallowed, staring at their joined hands. “I...I needed something from the store.”

  He frowned. “In the middle of an ice storm?”

  “I didn’t know it was that bad.” Her voice was brittle. “Lesson learned.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He drew in a deep breath, focused on being calm. She didn’t know he’d been scared shitless. That the thought of something happening to her was... He swallowed, twining his fingers through hers. “You’re okay.”

  She nodded, then winced.

  He winced too, squeezing her hand in his.

  “You didn’t need to come,” she murmured, softly. “How did you even know I was here?”

  He needed to come. He had to come. He had no choice. And there was no way he was leaving. “Cop, remember. I’ve got connections.”

  “Well, I’m fine. And you’re supposed to be working.” She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held tight. “Not babysitting.”

  He held on to her hand, biting back all the words he wanted to say. But now wasn’t the time. She was in a hospital bed, for crying out loud. Not the best time to lay his heart on the line. It might be wrong to ask her to love him, but he had no choice. He loved her. He knew he always would.

  “Miss Buchanan, once we get the doctor to sign off on your paperwork, you’re cleared to go.” The nurse smiled. “You shouldn’t be driving—”

  “I’m pretty sure my car’s totaled,” Tatum teased, laughing softly.

  He closed his eyes. He’d seen too many accidents and fatalities on nights like this. She was safe. And he’d be damned if he didn’t make sure she stayed that way. Seeing her here, wide-eyed and fragile, kicked his protective side into overdrive and his heart pumping. He cleared his throat and stood. “I’ll take her home.”

  “Spencer—”

  “I’m taking you home.” He couldn’t look at her, afraid she’d see just how close he was to breaking down. Whether it was his right or not, he needed to be with her.

  13

  TATUM STRETCHED, FEELING all sorts of aches and pains. She rolled onto her side, wincing at the jolt of pain that ran along her right side. She lifted the blankets high enough to assess her body. It wasn’t pretty. Her thigh was covered in angry bruises, so was her hip, shoulder and upper arm. She groaned, going limp against the sheets.

  Everything ached.

  “That’s gotta hurt,” Spencer said, standing in the doorway.

  “It does.” She nodded, dropping the blankets back into place.

  “I brought you something.” He sat on the edge of the bed, offering her some pain pills and a glass of water.

  “Best present ever.” She sat up and took the pills, aware that his eyes were fixed on her bruises. “I know it looks bad.”

  He winced, shaking his head. “Can’t help thinking you had a guardian angel last night. I saw your car.”

  She wanted to reach for him. She loved the concern that creased his face. And hated herself for it.

  She’d lied to him last night. And she would keep lying to him. He didn’t need to know she was coming to him. Or that she loved him. Or that the way she felt, how overwhelming it was, scared her. She didn’t want to be scared. She didn’t want to hurt. Seeing his face in the hospital room—tender, almost...loving—cut her deep.

  She couldn’t get lost in him, not again. She closed her eyes. Neither of them needed to get hurt again.

  He took her hand. “Hungry?”

  She shook her head, pulling her hand from his.

  He sat there, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She tucked her hands under the blanket.

  “You need to eat something. Those meds are strong.” He paused. “People have been bringing food and drinks by all morning.”

  People he’d been there to greet.

  “At least let me make you some toast?” His voice was low, gruff.

  She nodded, wincing at the tug of her stitches and bruising.

  “Easy.” He reached for her, but let his hand drop.

  She lay back, staring at the ceiling overhead. Her heart hurt. She hurt.

  It was almost Christmas Eve. Their deal was over. Done. She could fly to California without making a big deal out of it. That was what she wanted, what she needed, to stay in control. For this to be over. No complications, expectations or declarations had been made. No permanent damage had been done. Now was the best time to let him g
o.

  “Lucy was here at the crack of dawn. She went to get your antibiotics,” he called out. “Mom made some tea.” He reappeared, balancing a plate on a brightly wrapped Christmas present. “You got me a Christmas present?”

  She sat up, remembering the sexy lingerie she’d bought for a final fling. She’d imagined seducing him slowly, under the Christmas tree, a fire roaring in the background. But now the thought of sex on the floor in front of the fire made her body protest. And her chest ache.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, handing her toast with a smile. “I thought we’d already decided our twelve days was gift enough.”

  “I can take it back,” she offered, eager to return the lingerie and scarves in the box.

  “You can’t take it back,” he said, excitement edging his voice. “Not if it’s what I think it is.”

  “You know what it is?” Disappointment gripped her. Okay, so sexy lingerie wasn’t the most original idea, but she’d felt empowered buying it.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look at him. “I think so. And, no, I don’t think you’ll be up for that, either.”

  She met his gaze then, surprised. “You really think naughty lingerie is going to spice things up that much?”

  He was quiet, his brows rising.

  “Spencer?”

  “Lingerie?” he asked.

  “What did you think it was?” she asked, looking up at him. Did she really want to know?

  He shook his head, a huge grin on his face.

  Yes, she did. “Come on,” she encouraged.

  “I was way off base.”

  She sat up, wincing at the pull and throb of her bruises.

  He frowned. “You need to take it easy.”

  She scowled at him. “You need to tell me what you thought I’d bought you for Christmas.”

  He shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” she argued, frustration and curiosity warring.

  “It’s not bad.” He ran a hand over his face.

  She was beyond curious. “Can you give me a hint?”

  “It required batteries,” he said, watching her expression.

  She shook her head. “Batteries?”

  He ran a hand over his face again. “That first night, we talked about spicing things up.”

  She stared at him. Spicing things up? If things were any spicier, she might explode. But then understanding dawned on her. “A vibrator? You thought I bought us a vibrator?” If anything, he’d demonstrated that a vibrator wasn’t an essential tool for sexual satisfaction. And yet the flare of desire that rolled over her told her it might be a hell of a lot of fun.

  “I told you, whatever you want, Tatum.” He stared at her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin.

  Whatever she wanted... Sex with Spencer. Sex with Spencer and a vibrator.

  Spencer.

  Her eyes stung again. Dammit. No. That was over. He just didn’t know it yet.

  “All you have to do is tell me.” The rasp of his voice made her toes curl. “I...I’d pretty much do anything for you, you know.”

  Her throat was tight and dry, her lungs empty. It was hard to breathe. Harder to say, “It’s almost Christmas Eve.”

  His grin faded as he reached up. His fingers traced her hairline, captured a long curl and wrapped it around his fingers. “Let’s renegotiate the terms.”

  Was he only referring to sex? Or something more? She didn’t want to know. She’d come to terms with the past, almost. But, if he did want something more... She couldn’t. No matter how tempted she might be.

  This was Spencer. No one else came close. No one else had this sort of power over her. Which was the very reason this needed to end. Whether or not this connection was normal, it was dangerously powerful.

  “I don’t think so.” She nibbled her toast.

  “Why?” He let go of her curl.

  She forced a smile. “Because it was good. No, great. Exactly what I needed. No strings. No complications. Just sensation. Thank you for showing me how good intimacy can be.”

  His face was rigid, the tightening of his jaw making the beat of her heart falter.

  She hadn’t expected him to reach up, to stroke his fingers along her cheek, to run his thumb along her lower lip. “Tatum, maybe I want strings—”

  “No, Spencer. I can’t.” She turned her head, severing the contact. “I’m flattered but... Thank you for the toast.”

  “She up?” Lucy’s voice echoed. “Just tell me you’re not banging an injured woman?”

  He stood, tucking the Christmas present under his arm. She stared at the toast, focused on chewing.

  “I’ll go, since Lucy’s here.” He walked out, leaving her door cracked open, preventing her from falling completely apart.

  * * *

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS.” CADY WAS all smiles as she and Patton hung their coats in his mother’s hall closet.

  “You too,” Spencer said, returning her hug and shaking his brother’s hand.

  “Patton showed me pictures of Tatum’s car. Holy crap, she was lucky.” Cady squeezed his arm. “She here?”

  “She’s in the kitchen with Mom.” Spencer nodded, still numb from Tatum’s casual brush-off. It was taking everything he had to be civil. When all he wanted to do was yell or punch something. Considering his bruises might be gone in time for wedding pictures, adding new ones wouldn’t go over well.

  Patton waited until Cady left before asking, “What happened?”

  “Besides her wreck?” Spencer growled. He still hadn’t recovered from that. And now... “Shook me up—I’m not gonna lie to you.”

  “And?” Patton asked, leveling him with his I-know-something’s-going-on look. “Don’t try to bullshit me.”

  He swallowed, his gaze bouncing around the room as he murmured, “She ended it.” Saying it out loud made it worse.

  Patton’s hand rested on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

  “Can’t blame her.” He hesitated, knowing he was exposing more to his brother than he wanted. “Guess some things are too hard to recover from.”

  Patton looked at him, not saying a word. His expression was hard, unreadable. “You’re not gonna give up?” Patton asked.

  “I can’t make her love me.”

  Patton sighed. “She’s the one. She’s always been the one.”

  “Not disagreeing with you.” Spencer drew in a deep breath, trying to ease the tension as he added, “But thanks for the pep talk.”

  “That’s what big brothers are for.” Patton winked and headed toward the kitchen.

  But Spencer didn’t follow. He glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock. Christmas Eve. He should have four more hours to touch her whenever he wanted to. And, dammit, now that he knew she was saying goodbye, he wanted those four hours now more than ever.

  Dinner was over, he’d made his way around the room and offered suitably affectionate holiday sentiments. And Tatum was in the kitchen, spending time with his family, instead of in his bed. As far as she was concerned, their time was up. While he couldn’t keep his eyes off the damn clock.

  He should leave. Not that he was looking forward to a night on the lumpy couch in the garage, but staying here was too much like torture. He finished off the beer in his hand and—fool that he was—headed into the kitchen.

  Tatum sat at the table, patched and bruised, and poring over a family album. He loved the smile on her face, the easy laughter that filled the room when Cady turned the album page. That was all he wanted, right there. For her to be happy. Even better if he was the one who made her happy.

  Maybe Patton was right. Maybe he had to fight harder—show her how much he loved her. How good they would be, o
utside of the bedroom and in. She had to give him a chance. The thought of losing her altogether made him hurt.

  “Spencer, you were an adorable baby.” Lucy grinned his way.

  Tatum’s gaze met his. Even with the bruising on her temple, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “Look at all those rolls,” Cady added, tapping the picture.

  “He’s fat,” Patton said, laughing. “Not chubby, but fat fat.”

  “Oh, hush,” their mother said. “I’ll find your baby book next and we’ll see who wins pudgiest baby.”

  “Please,” Cady agreed.

  “Is this some sort of new holiday tradition I didn’t know about?” Spencer asked. “Public humiliation?”

  “There’s no shame in you being an adorable baby, Spencer.” His mother sighed. “You’re so tense. I think you’ve gotten worse than Patton these days.”

  Everyone in the kitchen looked at him then. His brothers, his sisters-in-law and Tatum. She looked sad.

  “He just needs some Christmas cheer.” Lucy shoved a cup of eggnog into his hand. “Eat, drink, be merry,” she said.

  Conversation drifted back to him and his brother’s childhood. Lucy patted a chair at the table, conveniently located beside Tatum, and he sat. He leaned her way, his hand itching to take hers. Instead, he studied her profile, the ease of her smile and the curve of her cheek.

  She caught him looking. “What’s wrong?” she asked him, softly.

  He shook his head.

  She frowned. “What is it?”

  “It’s almost midnight,” he said, staring at her.

  She swallowed, realization widening her green green eyes. “Oh...”

  He could kiss her. He could tell her he loved her. But all he managed was “I...I want my time. Even if I have to take a rain check.”

  “A rain check?” she repeated, her cheeks turning a rosy hue.

  He stopped breathing. More time with her. “A deal is a deal.”

  It was then that he realized the kitchen was silent.

  “A rain check for what?” Cady asked.

  “Did you two have plans tonight?” his mother asked, clearly delighted.

  The silence stretched until it grew painful.