Christmas in His Bed

“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.