Christmas in His Bed

TATUM STRETCHED, FEELING all sorts of aches and pains. She rolled onto her side, wincing at the jolt of pain that ran along her right side. She lifted the blankets high enough to assess her body. It wasn’t pretty. Her thigh was covered in angry bruises, so was her hip, shoulder and upper arm. She groaned, going limp against the sheets.

Everything ached.

“That’s gotta hurt,” Spencer said, standing in the doorway.

“It does.” She nodded, dropping the blankets back into place.

“I brought you something.” He sat on the edge of the bed, offering her some pain pills and a glass of water.

“Best present ever.” She sat up and took the pills, aware that his eyes were fixed on her bruises. “I know it looks bad.”

He winced, shaking his head. “Can’t help thinking you had a guardian angel last night. I saw your car.”

She wanted to reach for him. She loved the concern that creased his face. And hated herself for it.

She’d lied to him last night. And she would keep lying to him. He didn’t need to know she was coming to him. Or that she loved him. Or that the way she felt, how overwhelming it was, scared her. She didn’t want to be scared. She didn’t want to hurt. Seeing his face in the hospital room—tender, almost...loving—cut her deep.

She couldn’t get lost in him, not again. She closed her eyes. Neither of them needed to get hurt again.

He took her hand. “Hungry?”

She shook her head, pulling her hand from his.

He sat there, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She tucked her hands under the blanket.

“You need to eat something. Those meds are strong.” He paused. “People have been bringing food and drinks by all morning.”

People he’d been there to greet.

“At least let me make you some toast?” His voice was low, gruff.

She nodded, wincing at the tug of her stitches and bruising.

“Easy.” He reached for her, but let his hand drop.

She lay back, staring at the ceiling overhead. Her heart hurt. She hurt.

It was almost Christmas Eve. Their deal was over. Done. She could fly to California without making a big deal out of it. That was what she wanted, what she needed, to stay in control. For this to be over. No complications, expectations or declarations had been made. No permanent damage had been done. Now was the best time to let him g

o.

“Lucy was here at the crack of dawn. She went to get your antibiotics,” he called out. “Mom made some tea.” He reappeared, balancing a plate on a brightly wrapped Christmas present. “You got me a Christmas present?”

She sat up, remembering the sexy lingerie she’d bought for a final fling. She’d imagined seducing him slowly, under the Christmas tree, a fire roaring in the background. But now the thought of sex on the floor in front of the fire made her body protest. And her chest ache.

He sat on the edge of the bed, handing her toast with a smile. “I thought we’d already decided our twelve days was gift enough.”

“I can take it back,” she offered, eager to return the lingerie and scarves in the box.

“You can’t take it back,” he said, excitement edging his voice. “Not if it’s what I think it is.”

“You know what it is?” Disappointment gripped her. Okay, so sexy lingerie wasn’t the most original idea, but she’d felt empowered buying it.

He ran his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look at him. “I think so. And, no, I don’t think you’ll be up for that, either.”

She met his gaze then, surprised. “You really think naughty lingerie is going to spice things up that much?”

He was quiet, his brows rising.