Christmas in His Bed

His gaze sharpened, searching hers. She tried to ignore that familiar pull tightening the pit of her stomach. “Tatum?” His voice was low, husky.

“Yeah... Hi,” she croaked. This is bad. So, so bad. Like she needed another bump to her already dinged confidence. Nothing like coming face-to-face with the man who had humiliated her, destroying her heart and her fragile ego eight years before. Yes, it was the holidays and there’d been a chance she’d run into him. But she’d hoped she wouldn’t. Definitely not her first night home. Not when she wasn’t ready to face him. And certainly not with crazy hair and no bra.

She tore her gaze from his, wrapping her arms around her waist. All the muscle and sexiness was Spencer? What the hell had happened to him? This Spencer barely resembled the clean-cut boy she’d held hands with in the halls of Greyson High School. Now he was big, almost intimidating—with shaggy black hair, a thick stubble covering his angular jaw and a new wariness about his clear blue eyes. Those eyes.

She forced her gaze away. She would not think about his eyes. Or his body. Or those abs. And that tattoo... Her pulse was racing just standing there. He was all hot in his gloriously ass-hugging jeans and broad-shoulder-hugging jacket while she wore a blanket.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, finally smiling. He hesitated briefly before pulling her against him in a warm embrace.

She stiffened. She didn’t want to hug him. He might look good—who was she kidding, he looked frigging amazing—but she knew what he was capable of. What sort of pain he could inflict. She knew that but... His hand pressed, open, against the base of her back. Even through the layers of fabric, she could feel the contours of his fingers and the warmth of his palm. And it—he—felt good.

Then she took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. She swallowed, trembling. Dammit. He smelled the same, teasing her...flooding every cell with a steady throb of want. “It has.” She didn’t know where the overwhelming urge to hold on to him came from, but she fought it. It shouldn’t matter that it had been too long since anyone had held her close. She wasn’t going to melt in his arms.

She pushed away from him, stepping back quickly.

His smile faded as he eyed the poker in her hands. “Prepared for battle?”

She blinked, looking at him, then the poker. “What?”

“Or is it some new fashion accessory I don’t know about?” He shot another pointed glance at the poker, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. If she wasn’t pissed as hell at his sudden and irritating reappearance in her life, she might admire the shift of muscle in his forearms. But she was. She was pissed.

“Where I come from, a woman alone protects herself from strange men hanging off their porches.” She sounded unruffled and together—revealing none of her inner turmoil. “Especially when it’s in the middle of the night.”

He glanced at the open door behind her, then back at her.

“I’m a little tired for company and, since it is late, it’s best if you go,” she said over her shoulder, heading back inside and out of the cold—away from him. Her voice wasn’t shaking. She didn’t look like she was retreating. Even if that was sort of what she was doing. But she sort of had to because she couldn’t seem to get a handle on the way she was reacting to him.

But he didn’t move. He just stood there, a strange expression on his face. “I’m sorry I scared you.” He held up his hands. “If I’d known you were here, alone, I would have said something first.”

“Before you decorated my h

ouse?” she asked, holding the doorknob.

He planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Yeah, about that. It was made perfectly clear by the lady in charge that this needed to be done now or suffer the consequences.”

What the hell did that mean? “The lady in charge? Sounds like your wife takes the holidays as seriously as your mother.”

“No wife,” he clarified, placing an odd emphasis on the word no before chuckling. “I was talking about the head of the neighborhood association.”

“Why would they bother you with that?” she asked, more and more confused.

He pulled his keys from his pocket, watching her intently. “Guess Brent didn’t tell you I was renting the place?”

Her lungs emptied painfully. “No, no, he didn’t,” she muttered, reeling. Brent hadn’t told her a lot of things.

“Six months now. After the last tenants left? You didn’t notice my stuff? In the master bedroom?”

“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I’m staying in my old room.” Was this Brent’s idea of a joke? Not that she’d told him much about Spencer. But he knew enough. He knew Spencer Ryan had been her first love and that he’d broken her heart.

And now he was living in her house. The place she needed to regroup and recover.

“You remember how the town gets around the holidays?” he asked, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. “That hasn’t changed.” He shrugged. “I’ve been on assignment for over a week and I’m running out of time. So that’s why I was hanging lights. Now. At night. In the cold.”

He was decorating her house...because it was also his house? It wasn’t some horrible mistake. But what the hell was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she was going to let him stay. No matter what time of the night it was. But she couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say.

He shivered. “It’s a damn cold night.” He grinned.

“I guess this means I have to let you in?” she asked, seriously considering shutting the door in his grinning face. He thought this was funny? Did he not remember the last time they saw each other? The things he’d said? She thought she’d never recover.