Christmas in His Bed

“You don’t need to take care of me,” she said. She felt good. Good enough to want him. Now. Badly.

“Why is me taking care of you a bad thing?” He frowned.

She frowned back. “Because...because I’m not your responsibility.”

He frowned at her, then said, “Friends take care of each other.”

She stared at him. Friends? That was all she was to him. Which was exactly what she’d wanted. So why the hell did it upset her to hear him say it out loud? What is wrong with me?

“If it was Lucy, would there be a problem?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’m not sleeping with Lucy.”

“And you’re not sleeping with me anymore.” He smiled at her, but there was something off about that smile. He glanced at the mantel, his smile fading.

Her gaze followed. Almost midnight. Heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, setting an unexpected shiver along her spine.

He saw it. The clenching of his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils... He moved from the end of the couch to kneel on the floor at her feet. But when he reached for her, she couldn’t take it. She wanted his touch, craved the comfort and pleasure he’d give her. “Don’t, please.” Her voice wavered.

His jaw locked, clenched so rigidly she feared he’d crack a tooth.

She pressed a hand to her head, the dull ache turning into a more pronounced throb.

His expression shifted again, remote and distant. “You should rest.”

“You should stop telling me what to do,” she snapped, pushing off the couch to stand.

He frowned, rising to stand inches from her. “Why are you so pissed off? I’m playing by your rules. Rules you won’t let me forget. Rules I would break if you’d let me.”

“Spencer—” If he didn’t leave soon, she was going to fall apart. “This was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking... You and I—” She saw his eyes close, saw his hands fist at his sides. “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I’m too scared to love you. “I...I don’t know where we go from here. If we can be friends. I’m pretty sure life would be easier for both of us if we weren’t.”

“I can’t lose you again,” he said, his tone flat, hard.

“You can’t lose something you never had, Spencer. I can’t do this again. Not with you. Let it go, please,” she said, walking to her bedroom door.

“Dammit, Tatum, don’t be like this—”

“Be like what?” she asked. “You’re the one who keeps pushing this. I don’t need your help. I don’t want it.” The lie rolled off her tongue, leaving a bitter taste of self-loathing. But she hesitated, unable to resist looking at him. “I’m sorry.” For so much. He stood there, beautiful and tense, staring at her with searching eyes. “Good night, Spencer.” She closed her bedroom door and her control broke.

His whispered “Merry Christmas, Tatum” was full of such anguish she almost opened the door. Almost. Instead, she slid down the wall, wrapped her arms around her knees and sobbed until the pain in her head rivaled the crushing pain in her heart.

* * *

SPENCER STOOD IN his black suit, wishing this day was over. The last five days had been hell. Attending the graveside service of Clint Taggart was the last straw.

Spencer watched Taggart’s wife, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she clasped the hand of her young daughter. Taggart’s other children were clustered around their mom, each looking lost and heartbroken. He was thankful his mother had lived a long life with his father before he passed. And that he’d grown up with a man in the house—as unyielding as he’d been.

“Not the way I want to go out,” Patton said as they left the services for the airport. “But I’m sure it’s a relief to know his death was an accident.”

Clint’s car had been found in a ditch four hundred miles north of Greyson, off some county road. After losing his job, he’d headed to a buddy’s house to regroup. When he’d decided to come home, the weather intervened and sent him sliding off a bridge and into a ravine. He’d been dead for days.

“Doesn?

?t make it any easier on his wife and kids.”

“You don’t think so?” Patton argued. “I think it’d be a hell of a lot easier. Clint may not have been the best cop on the force, but he wasn’t doing something illegal. He wasn’t hunted down by the bad guy. He had an accident. A tragic accident—but an accident.”

Spencer didn’t say anything.