Sasha Summers - Christmas In His Bed

What the hell did that mean? “The lady in charge? Sounds like your wife takes the holidays as seriously as your mother.”

“No wife,” he clarified, placing an odd emphasis on the word no before chuckling. “I was talking about the head of the neighborhood association.”

“Why would they bother you with that?” she asked, more and more confused.

He pulled his keys from his pocket, watching her intently. “Guess Brent didn’t tell you I was renting the place?”

Her lungs emptied painfully. “No, no, he didn’t,” she muttered, reeling. Brent hadn’t told her a lot of things.

“Six months now. After the last tenants left? You didn’t notice my stuff? In the master bedroom?”

“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I’m staying in my old room.” Was this Brent’s idea of a joke? Not that she’d told him much about Spencer. But he knew enough. He knew Spencer Ryan had been her first love and that he’d broken her heart.

And now he was living in her house. The place she needed to regroup and recover.

“You remember how the town gets around the holidays?” he asked, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. “That hasn’t changed.” He shrugged. “I’ve been on assignment for over a week and I’m running out of time. So that’s why I was hanging lights. Now. At night. In the cold.”

He was decorating her house...because it was also his house? It wasn’t some horrible mistake. But what the hell was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she was going to let him stay. No matter what time of the night it was. But she couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say.

He shivered. “It’s a damn cold night.” He grinned.

“I guess this means I have to let you in?” she asked, seriously considering shutting the door in his grinning face. He thought this was funny? Did he not remember the last time they saw each other? The things he’d said? She thought she’d never recover.

“That’d be the neighborly thing to do.” He brushed past her, elbowing the door shut behind him.

“Right. Neighborly,” she tried not to snap. Why was he surveying the room?

Why did he have to have that ass?

Her anger died a little. It was really hard to hate him while thoroughly appreciating the way his jeans hugged the muscles of his thighs. And his ass. That was definitely worth a long, thorough inspection. She swallowed, forcing her eyes up before he saw her. But he was still looking around the house, curious. “What are you looking for?”

He turned, his blue gaze pinning hers, and shook his head. “Nothing.”

Obviously he was lying. It was clear he was looking for something. But what. His gaze was far too...intense and probing. And more than a little unsettling. More than a little...affecting. But words wouldn’t come.

“Home for the holidays?” he asked, his voice deep and rough.

She mumbled, “Yes.” Then added, “And no.” Why was she answering him? Why wasn’t she telling him to leave?

His crooked grin caused her heart to thump heavily in her chest. Not the most reassuring response. “That’s cryptic.” He shook his head.

Maybe it was, but she didn’t feel the need to say more. Yet she couldn’t seem to manage, “Get out now,” so she stood there, her awareness increasing and the silence stretching out. He sighed, that gaze never leaving her face. She couldn’t seem to look away. Or think. A cold shower was definitely in her future. Or Chris. Lots of Chris time.

He was saying something, but her mind was too busy processing everything to hear him. Oh, God. In less than thirty minutes she’d gone from content to distressed. And it was all Spencer’s fault. Again.

“I’d offer to stay across the street at my mom’s but she’s got a full house, with the holidays and all.” His words were soft, echoing in her ears.

She frowned at him, wrapping her arms around her waist. “One of us needs to find a hotel.”

“I haven’t slept in a few days, Tatum. I’d appreciate one night in my own bed. I’m not here much—the empty fridge and pantry can confirm that. I’ll stay out of your way.” He did look tired. His blue eyes were bloodshot and there were bags under his eyes. “I don’t even snore.”

“Spencer—”

“I can move into your room,” he offered.

He was sleeping in her parents’ room. Which was good—she wasn’t ready to go there. Any and all memories of her mom could wait behind that closed door for a few more days. “No,” she said. “I w-wouldn’t sleep in there.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said, grabbing her attention.

Tatum nodded. She hadn’t visited Greyson since her mother’s death three years before. “It’s strange to be here and have it so quiet.” She shrugged, not wanting to share with him.

But Spencer had known better than most about her mother and her fits of temper. When she’d been on a real tear, her mother could be heard all up and down Maple Drive. Her mother’s anger and bitterness had been one of the reasons she’d gone to live with her father her senior year of high school. Spencer had been the other.

“You look good, Tatum.” His voice pitched low, all gravel.

She was acutely aware of the way his eyes leisurely swept her from head to toe. When his attention returned to her face, his jaw was locked. Was that disapproval on his face? Or—her heart was thumping—was it something else? She didn’t know how to read the tension that rolled off of him. But it was unnerving as hell. His gaze narrowed, piercing hers. What was he trying to figure out?

“Tatum?” Her name. His voice. She felt a shudder run down her back.

“No, I don’t.” Her words spilled from her lips. She looked like hell and she knew it. “You look different,” she admitted. Different was an understatement. Even if her response to him was the same: hyperaware. When he was close, she’d felt it. Right now, she was feeling all sorts of things that made her nervous and excited and tense. Dammit.

He cocked a questioning eyebrow her way.

She shrugged. “There’s...more of you.” Including abs and tattoos and the lovely dark happy trail disappearing beneath his waistband. She needed to stop talking—and thinking—immediately. Instead, she stared at his chest, encased in a skintight gray shirt and leather jacket. What was absolutely terrifying was how badly her fingers itched to explore him. No. No exploring. Evicting. Immediate evicting.

He laughed. “More of me?”

His laughter rolled over her, leaving her tingling in all the right places. Dammit. It was cruel that he’d turned out even more beautiful than she remembered. And completely unfair. He’d broken her heart, made her doubt her judgment and left her unbelieving she was worthy of love.

How dare he stand there, teasing her, acting like he wasn’t the bad guy. She knew better. It wasn’t like he was just some dangerously good-looking man making her house all festive while waking up every one of her lady-part nerves. If only that were the case.

“Tatum?” he whispered, coming to stand in front of her. “You okay?”

She nodded. Her attention wandered to his mouth, leaving her breathless. Would his touch feel the same? His lips had branded her skin, magic against her lips... No, she wasn’t okay. If she was, she wouldn’t be dragging up memories better left buried.

Besides, he didn’t deserve to touch her. To kiss her. And she needed to stop thinking of that. Of him—naked. Of what she wanted to do to him—naked. This was Spencer. And the two of them would not be getting naked together.

Even if he is way more exciting than my vibrator. The thought sent another shudder through her.

“You cold?” His voice was gruff and rumbling—shaking her to the core.