Christmas In His Bed. Sasha Summers

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      “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.

      “No,” she managed, her tongue thick and her throat tight. She wasn’t cold. For the first time in a long time, she was feeling delectably hot. The only problem with this scenario was he was the one making her feel this way.

      She stepped around him, hoping to quiet the desire surging through her veins. Her overstimulated reaction to him made no sense. She didn’t like him. Maybe this is what happens when you go for more than a year without sex? “But I need something to drink and you need to...to go to bed,” she said, glancing at him. “One night,” she added, knowing she was a coward. But it was after midnight, cold, and she wasn’t heartless.

      “Okay. One night. I’ll crash here tonight and look into staying somewhere else while you’re in town.” He was staring at her again. “If you’re sure Brent won’t mind?”

      She nodded. Brent so won’t mind. She headed into the kitchen, deliberately avoiding his gaze. She could sleep under the same roof; she could be an adult. But she wasn’t going to talk about her marriage or her divorce with him.

      He followed her. “Why is it so cold in here? Pilot light go out again?” he asked, СКАЧАТЬ