Christmas in His Bed

“Is that Dean?” she whispered, the rosy hue of her skin draining as panic set in.

Yes, it was Dean.

And chances were the asshole had left his phone here on purpose so he could horn in on Tatum without an audience. Right now, so close to being wrapped in the heat of her body, he could give a rat’s ass if his cousin found them like this. It would serve the smug-faced bastard right. “I’m guessing you didn’t lock the door?” He smiled down at her, shifting his weight to remind her they’d been occupied.

She shook her head, breathless as she pushed against his chest. “Spencer,” she hissed.

He wanted to argue but she was already sliding out from under him and pulling on her robe. “Stay here. I mean it,” she whispered. Without looking back at him, she was gone. He flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his heart hammering in his ears and his dick. The sight of her pom-poms made him smile.

* * *

TATUM TUGGED HER robe tight and walked into the living room. Dean stood, his cheeks red from the chill outside. When he saw her, his brows rose and his eyes widened. Yes, she was in her robe—with mussed hair when less than thirty minutes ago she’d been put together and civilized looking.

“You okay, Tatum?” He frowned as he looked down at her. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

She felt her cheeks flame under his inspection. Crying was the last thing on her mind. “Oh? No...no, I’m fine.”

“I know you’ve had a rough time of it,” Dean said. “If I need to go kick some ass, I’m happy to do it.”

“I appreciate the offer. But there’s no one I’d want you to waste your time on.” As long as Spencer stayed in bed. If he walked out...that might change.

His smile grew. “Then there’s no one worth you wasting tears on, either.”

His concern was sweet, even if the manly appreciation in his hazel gaze was a little overwhelming. All Dean was offering was a shoulder to cry on. While Spencer was lying in her bed...offering her his body. But nothing else. Not that she wanted anything else from him. From anyone, for that matter. She didn’t. No complications, no expectations. No pain.

Losing Spencer all those years ago had taught her never to let go of her whole heart. Maybe that was why her divorce from Brent hadn’t destroyed her. In a way, she should thank Spencer. But, with all the sex he was getting, she supposed she was.

“Tatum?” Dean asked, looking concerned.

She needed to snap out of it. “Sorry. You’re right. No tears,” she agreed.

“Good.” Dean winked at her, making her giggle. “And if you need distracting, give me a call.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She shook her head. “Did you find your phone?” she asked. She half expected Spencer to emerge any second—naked—just to stake a claim.

Dean held up his phone. “All good. I’m calling you now, so you’ll have my number.”

“Okay.” Not that she’d call him. She and Spencer had a sex-only understanding. But

Lucy was her best friend. No way she’d mess that up by dating Dean. Besides, as gorgeous as he was, she wasn’t attracted to him like she was to Spencer. “Have fun tonight.”

“See you later, Tatum,” Dean said, before he left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Tatum counted to twenty before she locked the door and hurried back to her bedroom. She was amazed by how quickly her heart rate picked up. Her body seemed to rise, tighten, already sparking with the fire that gripped her moments before. Finding Spencer propped up on the pillows, the sheet resting low around his waist, was oil to her flame.

“He gone?” he asked, tossing a small heart-shaped pillow at her. “You two solve all the world problems or make your cookies while you were at it?”

She smiled. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

He cocked an eyebrow. And she leaned back against the wall, enjoying the view. His black hair was mussed, his jaw and chest dusted with a dark shadow. She could see the outline of one thigh beneath her sheet and the heavy length of his arousal. She swallowed, forcing her gaze back up to his. His blue eyes were blazing, and she stumbled over her next words. “Anticipation is a good thing.”

“Not as good as being buried inside of you,” he said, his voice rasping.

She exhaled slowly, a slight roar in her ears. He’d said that out loud, for her to hear. And from the look on his face, he meant it. Every muscle in her body tightened, clenching with pure need. “He’s gone,” she murmured.

“Come here,” he said, not moving.

Something about the rigid line of his jaw made her pause. He wanted her. Badly. And it was empowering. She took her time crossing the room, aware of him watching her hands as she fiddled with the tie of her robe. “It’s getting late,” she said.