Christmas in His Bed Page 6

  He frowned. “Why Christmas Eve?”

  “I’m supposed to fly to a friend’s on the West Coast Christmas day,” she explained.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Two weeks?”

  “Twelve days,” she clarified.

  “Like the Christmas carol?” He smiled.

  “With less birds and more sex, sure,” she agreed, laughing.

  “What do you mean you need me to help you feel sexy or appealing?” he asked.

  She shrugged, wishing she hadn’t shared that piece of information.

  “Come on, Tatum, it’s a fair question. I think you did a damn fine job seducing me in the shower. As far as I’m concerned, you’re sexy as hell.”

  “Oh.” She smiled.

  His hand came up to stroke her cheek. “Only Brent?”

  Another piece of information she hadn’t meant to share.

  “And he let you go?” His voice was rough. “Stupid shit.”

  So did you. But she pressed her lips tight. “I guess men are different. You like me to make noise, to touch you—to respond.”

  He frowned. “I’m pretty sure all men like that.” He twined her hair around her fist and pulled her down to kiss him. “If it feels good, I want to know. Plus, it’s hot.”

  She shuddered, leaning into him. “Is that a yes?” she asked.

  He took his time inspecting her face and body. She heard the change in his breathing when his gaze fell to her breasts. And sighed as his hand cupped her, his thumb grazing the hardening peak.

  “Spencer?” she asked, feeling exposed and aroused. She didn’t know what she wanted more, his answer or his mouth on her body.

  * * *

  SPENCER LOOKED AT her face. She was so easy to excite, so responsive. To see her come alive under his touch was a powerful aphrodisiac. He couldn’t get enough of her. Her body was meant for touching. And she was offering herself to him for twelve days. Twelve days of no-strings-attached sex. With Tatum.

  “You think twelve days will be enough?” he asked, stroking her nipple with the pad of his thumb. She hardened beneath his touch, and she had the exact same effect on his body. He’d come twice in the last hour and he was already ready for round three.

  She clasped his wrist, holding his fingers in place against her breast. “Guess we’ll find out?”

  He nodded, bending to kiss her. “I guess so.” He kissed her until she was breathless, until her arms were wrapped around him and her fingers twisted in his hair. “I’m hungry,” he said against her mouth. “I need food. If you think you can control yourself?”

  She laughed, the gentle curves of her body brushing against him and threatening his resolve to wait. “I’ll try.” She sighed. “At least I went to the grocery store. I can feed you.”

  “Good idea. Don’t want me to waste away.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Not for the next twelve days, anyway,” she added, slipping from the bed.

  “Ouch,” he teased. “Only want me for my body, huh?”

  “Yes,” she answered, laughing. “But I admit, I’m hungry too.” She slipped into her robe, pulled the sash tight and headed into the kitchen.

  He followed, in nothing but his boxer shorts. She was staring at him with such appreciation he couldn’t help but grin. He ran a hand through his hair and crossed his arms over his chest. “What?”

  “Just enjoying the view,” she admitted.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m in favor of matching outfits.”

  She shook her head, laughing. “What sounds good?” she asked, unpacking the grocery bags.

  “Whatever’s quick and easy?”

  “Omelet?”

  They fell into step, working side by side. He watched the way she moved, how graceful and easy she was in the kitchen. “You know your way around the kitchen,” he said, washing off the tomatoes.

  “Lots of cooking classes. They were cheaper than hiring a caterer every time we threw some fancy dinner for one reason or another. And I liked cooking,” she said with a smile, chopping up some mushrooms and tomatoes with quick, sure strokes. She stopped long enough to turn on some Christmas music, then tossed some onions in a skillet. By the time dinner was ready, his mouth was watering from the delicious aromas scenting the air.

  They sat on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, enjoying their meal. He rested against the couch, propped on some pillows, savoring his beer. He watched her, her green eyes fixed on the tree. The firelight turned her eyes deep emerald and the gold of her hair shone. She hummed along with the instrumental carol playing, the only other sound the snap and pop from the fire. The night couldn’t get much better.

  She glanced at him. “So, Spencer, what do you want for Christmas?”

  He chuckled. “My present came early this year.” What more could he want?

  Her brows rose, stunned. “Me?”

  He laughed. Did she not realize what a treasure she was? She might be in this for the sex. He saw this as his second chance.

  She shook her head. “You must have wanted something, before I came along and offered you endless sex.”

  He sat quietly, thinking about it. “If I did, I can’t remember.” It was a sobering thought. She’d only been here two days and he was already so caught up in her. Maybe this proposal was more dangerous than he realized. He took a sip of his wine. “Are you going to the charity auction?” he asked.

  “I told your mom I’d go,” she answered. “Guess it’s time I stopped being a hermit and returned to the land of the living. I admit I’m not looking forward to the questions and comments, but I guess it’s unavoidable.”

  “Questions and comments?” he asked.

  “I thought about having a shirt made up that says something like, ‘I’m divorced, I’ve moved back home and I’m fine.’ But I wasn’t sure how that would go over.” She shrugged. “Most people mean well. But admitting I’ve already been replaced is embarrassing.”

  No one could replace her. He knew—he’d tried. “I never liked Brent.” He smiled, watching her smile in return.

  “You never met him.”

  “Don’t have to. I don’t like him.” He finished off his omelet, watching her shake her head, poking at the food on her plate.

  She’d always had a good attitude—that was one of the things that had drawn him to her. Even living in a less-than-happy home, Tatum had a loving heart. Living across the street, he and his brothers had heard the yelling. Jane Buchanan, Tatum’s mother, had been a hard woman. Hell, most people called her The Witch Buchanan. When her husband left, Tatum had to deal with her mother’s demands and unrealistic expectations on her own. Nothing Tatum did was ever good enough. Even though she’d been involved in every school club or organization, she had few real friends. No one wanted to come to her place and she was rarely let out of the house.

  He’d been the one to climb onto her roof and pull her out. He’d been the one to hold her close and listen to her, support her. The connection between them had been so powerful, so out of control, it had bordered on obsession.

  When her mother’s behavior grew dangerous, Spencer had done the only thing he could. He couldn’t stand to see her so bruised, her body and her spirit. Her father wanted her in California, away from her mother. But Tatum stayed—for Spencer. Breaking up with her took her away from her mother and the judgment of their small town. And him. She was free to start over, to flourish and have a parent that adored her, new friends and accomplishments.

  “You could go with me?” he asked. “To the charity auction, I mean.”

  Her eyes went round. “No. No, that would make it a million times worse.” She shook her head. “People would talk, assume we were involved again—”

  “That we’re sleeping together?” he asked, reaching for the tie on her robe. The si
lky fabric parted, revealing the full creamy curve of her breast. His fingers traced the swell, brushing along the tip until she pebbled beneath his fingers. He smiled.

  She blew out an uneven breath. “You’re teasing me.”

  “And loving every minute of it.” He nodded, his hand falling from her. “I’ll do the dishes.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t argue.”

  After the kitchen was clean, he headed back to find her propped on some pillows, staring into the fire. He gazed at her, mesmerized. Twelve days of this... Christmas really had come early.

  “Is that for me?” she asked, reaching for the glass of wine he’d brought her.

  He nodded, sitting beside her and covering them both with her plaid throw. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “What do you want for Christmas?” he asked.

  “Hmm, besides having sex without something that requires batteries? I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Go through a lot of batteries?” he asked, partly teasing. Did Brent have some sort of physical defect?

  She looked up at him. “Possibly.”

  Just imagining her enjoying her battery-powered friend had him rock hard. “You’re not going to need batteries for a while,” he murmured, brushing her lips with his. “Unless you want to liven things up.”

  She stared at him, her cheeks turning red. “Liven things up?” she repeated softly.

  “Play. Experiment,” he whispered, his fingers stroking the side of her neck. “Whatever you want.”

  “I...I don’t know.”

  “We’ll have to work on that.” His mouth latched on to her lower lip.

  She shuddered. “What about you? What do you want?” Her teeth nipped his lower lip.

  He hissed, pulling her onto his lap. He untied her sash and pushed the robe from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. She filled his hands, silky soft, making him ache to possess her. “Damn, Tatum, I don’t know where to start,” he said, his voice low and broken.

  She reached down between them, freeing him from his boxers. “Let’s start here,” she murmured, wincing as she slid onto him. She was so hot, so tight. If he wasn’t careful he’d be done before she was.

  He groaned, his head falling back on the couch. “Here’s good.” He blew out a breath, focusing on something neutral, to keep his head. But the feel of her, like a glove...

  She started slow, but soon her nails were biting into the skin of his shoulders and the feel of her ass bouncing against his thighs was too hard to fight. He looked at her, their eyes locking. He wasn’t prepared for the ferocious ownership he felt. Or the desire to protect her, to cherish her. Maybe it was the hunger in her eyes, the unabashed want she had for him. But whatever it was, he knew he was in trouble. Even buried deep, he wanted more of her. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her lips to his. He caught her cry in his mouth, wrapping his arms around her as her body shook with her release. He held her, letting her take him over the edge with her. He went, every muscle clenched tight, his body wrung dry and his lungs emptying until he was spent.

  She rested her head on his shoulder, her wavering breath fanning across his chest. She’d always felt right in his arms, like she was made for him. And that was what scared him. Leaning back, he cradled her against him, worrying that these twelve days might just break his heart all over again.

  5

  TATUM STRETCHED AND rolled onto her side. But when she opened her eyes, she realized she was alone. She sat up. “Spencer?” she called out.

  No answer. A peek at the clock told her it was eight fifteen. Sleeping in was a rarity. But after last night... She smiled, stretching with a soft squeal before collapsing back on the mattress. She stared up at the ceiling, enjoying images from last night to warm her up. Spencer. Spencer’s hands and mouth and his incredible body. Last night had been... Her breathing grew a little unsteady and her heart rate picked up. How she could want him again—so fiercely—when she enjoyed him not three hours ago was a mystery. But she did.

  “Spencer?” She threw back the blankets and slipped into her robe, smiling at the delectable soreness left from last night. Once her slippers were on, she headed into the kitchen. But no Spencer.

  There was a brown paper bag on the counter, her name sprawled across it. She grinned as she opened the bag and found a large breakfast burrito wrapped in foil inside. And a note.

  She pulled out the note and carried her burrito to the kitchen table. It read,

  On the first night of Christmas, my lover took from me: sleep. But I’m not complaining. Be back with the family around 9:30 a.m.

  She smiled, tucking his note in her robe pocket, and unwrapped her breakfast. On the counter, a small pot was on, heating coffee he’d obviously made and left for her. Sex all night, hot coffee and yummy food, and a sweet note. She could get used to this roommate-with-benefits thing. She munched away on the burrito and poured herself a cup of steaming coffee.

  A flutter of movement caught her eye, drawing her attention to the view out the window over the kitchen sink. It was snowing, thick, heavy flakes falling steadily onto the already carpeted expanse of her backyard. Snow didn’t last long in Texas. Ice and slush were more prevalent. If she’d been little she would have hurried to get dressed so she was the first person to touch the snow. She’d make snow angels and build a small snowman and make snowballs to have ready—Lucy would’ve come over for a snowball fight. But then the Ryan boys would sneak up on them when they were halfway through their snowman, annihilating it and burying them under a hailstorm of well-packed, well-aimed snowballs. She and Lucy would end up soaked and shivering in front of the fireplace, waiting to thaw before going out to finish their snowman.

  Not this time.

  The clock told her she didn’t have much time. She finished off her breakfast, swallowed down the strong coffee and hurried to make stew for later. Once that was done, she fished out her baby-pink ski gear from her high school ski trip. She dressed, tugging on the faux fur–trimmed puffy coat and a knit hat with its matching pink pom-pom on top before pulling on her snow boots. She might look ridiculous, but she was warm. In no time, she was in the backyard, preparing her snowball arsenal for the arrival of the Ryan boys. She finished just in time for the telltale sound of voices in the front yard.

  Tatum sneaked around the side of the house. “Lucy?” she whispered as loudly as she dared.

  Lucy saw her, her eyes going round as Tatum waved her over.

  Spencer, Dean and Jared had no idea what hit them. She and Lucy unleashed years of pent-up frustration, pummeling the three until their dark coats were crusty with snow. The few snowballs they managed to throw couldn’t compare with the intense rain of freezing cold missiles she and Lucy kept lobbing their way.

  When the last snowball was gone, she and Lucy set off at a dead run for the house—knowing their luck was done. As they pulled the door shut behind them, the resounding thud of at least a half a dozen snowballs hitting the door reverberated through the entry hall.

  They were laughing too hard to care.

  “You are a genius,” Lucy said. “That was...”

  “Epic,” Tatum finished. “Though I suppose the nice thing to do now is make them some coffee?”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “When did they ever do anything to warm us up?”

  Tatum couldn’t help but remember all the wonderful things Spencer had done last night. He’d warmed her up. She was getting warm just thinking about it—and him.

  Lucy was waving her hand in front of her face. “Earth to Tatum. I so don’t want to know what you’re thinking right now. Let’s make coffee.”

  Five minutes later, her kitchen was filled with three shivering, irritable men holding steaming cups of coffee.

  Lucy continued to giggle
off and on.

  But Tatum was too caught up in the bright blue gaze of Spencer, intense and brooding.

  “Not the welcome I was expecting,” Dean said, grinning over his coffee mug at her. “But the coffee helps.”

  “Oh, come on,” Lucy said. “How many times did Tatum and I end up face-first in snow while you three ran off laughing?”

  The three of them mumbled, knowing she was right. They gave up, grinning in defeat.

  “Exactly,” Lucy continued.

  “Well played,” Jared said, toasting her with his mug. “Might need another cup, though. My boots are full of snow and I can’t feel my toes.”

  Tatum laughed. “Sorry.”

  “Somehow I don’t believe that,” Spencer said, his eyes pinning hers.

  She couldn’t say a word. The heat in his look was blazing, chasing away any of the chill that clung to her. When his gaze traveled along her neck, she could almost feel his touch on her skin.

  “So how’s life been treating you?” Dean asked, breaking the hold Spencer had on her. “I hear you’re single. I’m happy to volunteer my services as your rebound guy.”

  Tatum looked at Dean, stunned. Was he serious? Dean had always been the hot guy, the ladies’ man with the biting humor and the restless spirit. While there was no doubting he was nice to look at, he was—and always would be—Lucy’s annoying brother.

  Jared nudged his brother. “Seriously subtle, bro.”

  “Wow, Dean, just wow,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

  “Pissed I beat you to it?” Dean asked Jared, ignoring Lucy altogether. He grinned at Tatum. “Think about it, Tatum, if you’re looking for a way to get back in the game—” He pointed at himself, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m just saying—”

  “I think we all get what you’re saying,” Spencer barked. “But if we want to get the house ready for tonight, you’ll have to hold off on your sweet-talking for now.”

  Tatum glanced at Spencer, taking in the tightness of his jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes. What was surprising was just how much she liked his irritation over Dean’s flirting.