Christmas in His Bed

“No.” Talking was the one thing they hadn’t done. His gaze returned to her. She reached up, absentmindedly brushing her hair from her shoulder and resting her hand on the table. She’d painted her nails red...

Patton chuckled.

“What?” Spencer asked.

“Just wondering if I was that obvious?”

Spencer sighed, setting his beer bottle on the table. “You were. And you are.”

Patton shrugged. “Cady’s trying to get her to stay.”

“To stay?” Spencer asked.

Patton looked at him, frowning. “Some job in San Diego?”

He knew she was going to visit a friend. But a job? A job in California—a job that would take her away. Again. He picked up his beer, draining the bottle. He had no right to ask her to stay. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted her to stay.

Which was a lie. He knew.

“Spence?” Patton asked.

“Time for her to do what she wants.” He smiled at his brother, ignoring the cold, hard lump settling in the pit of his stomach. He did want her to do what she wanted. He’d just hoped it would be here.

It wasn’t like he’d spent time envisioning a future for them. Even if he had, if he did, no one knew that but him. He wouldn’t influence her again. Whatever choice she made would be hers this time.

8

SPENCER YAWNED, BEYOND tired as he steered his truck down the dark streets toward home. Nothing like working forty-eight hours straight. A long forty-eight hours. Between Clint’s disappearance and a pop-up meth lab tip, he’d driven over most of the county and turned up nothing but an abandoned barn and cold trails. He’d busted two teens selling pot at a corner store but lost another in the park.

At least he hadn’t spent much time at his desk. Nothing like sitting underneath humming fluorescent lights to make a man doze. Being up, out, adrenaline pumping, kept him sharp and focused.

He hadn’t been slated for the shift, but when his coworker’s wife had gone into early labor, he’d volunteered to cover the man’s shift. Unlike the vast majority of the Greyson force, he was single.

Had Tatum noticed he was gone? Missed him at all? He blew out a deep breath. Dammit, he’d thought about her a hell of a lot over the last forty-eight hours.

There’d been a time when she would have confided in him. Now he was learning about possible jobs in California. She was thinking about leaving? And he finds out through Patton. Through Cady. Someone Tatum had met that night knew more about her than he did.

He shouldn’t be hurt. Or angry. So why was he? He’d agreed their relationship was purely physical. In her mind, there was no reason to tell him she might be moving on. At that point, she’d be done getting in touch with her sexual side. And done with him too, apparently.

But his heart was confused by the whole no-strings plan. Spending a little time away from her had been good. And bad. He’d done some thinking—about her. And, after so much sex, the last two days had been hell. And his body was aching to pick up where they’d left off.

He pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, the heat escaping into the frigid night.

Two cars were parked along the curb. Lucy’s and Bianca’s. Meaning his plans for stripping her down would have to wait. Upside, he might get a few hours of sleep. He was whistling as he climbed the steps.

“You look like shit,” Lucy said as he stepped inside.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, his eyes sweeping the room. There was a board game on the floor and empty wineglasses. And Tatum was in pajamas, smiling at him. What would happen if he threw her over his shoulder and took her to bed? He was tempted to try. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“You look tired,” Tatum said. God, she was beautiful. “We’ll keep it down.”

He nodded. “Shower. Bed. Sleep.” He saluted them and walked down the hall to his bedroom, smiling at the sound of their voices and their laughter before he closed the bedroom door.

He liked her pajamas. He liked the smile she wore for him. He groaned, wiped a hand over his face and headed for the bathroom. He stood under the hot water until it ran cold, then stumbled into bed. The red numbers on his side-table clock told him it was nine. The garage light illuminated his room, casting an eerie white glow. But he was too tired to get up and close the blinds. He threw his arm over his eyes and passed out.

He woke to faint knocking. At two in the morning? He glanced at his phone. No calls. He was disoriented, exhaustion weighing him down. He opened the door to find Tatum in a silk robe.

“I’ve missed you,” Tatum whispered.