Nothing Less Than Everything

“I’m too busy thinking about our second date,” he hollered from the couch.

“Funny. I was actually thinking about getting you in bed.” I laughed as I bent at the waist to grab the rest of the garbage. When I straightened up, I didn’t miss the way his eyes tracked my ass.

“Your bed or mine?”

“Well,” I said as I sprayed his countertops with cleaner and quickly wiped them with a paper towel. “Considering my bed is buried under two weeks of unfolded laundry, I wouldn’t recommend it.” I tossed the paper towel in the trashcan and hid the cleaner back under the sink.

Tatum laughed. “I like you, Wren.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Mr. Bryant.” I shouldered my toolbag. “But I was actually talking about getting you into a new bed. I’ve got your bedroom suite ordered. I just need to know what your mattress preference is. You can keep the one you have now, but if I’m being honest, you could do better.”

He looked up at me as I rounded the couch and stood over him. My God, he was sexy. I wanted to pounce on him and make out with his stupid sexy lips. The way his mesh shorts rode up on his thighs didn’t do anything to hide his thickening cock. At least I wasn’t the only one who was turned on.

Tatum draped his arm around the back of my knees and grazed my bare thigh with his fingers. A single touch flooded my skin with goosebumps—something that didn’t escape his gaze. “Now, all I’m imagining is you in my bed while I’m not here.”

I shifted my weight between my feet, parting my thighs ever so slightly.

He slid his hand between my legs and gave them a squeeze. “Damn.” The syllable escaped with a low rumble from his chest. Tatum’s billion-watt smile sunk into his lower lip. “When I was on my way up, I was telling myself that we could keep things strictly professional…”

“But?” I didn’t know why I asked. I knew I shouldn’t be hooking up with him. I mean, it’s not like I was a lawyer or a psychiatrist or a politician. For crying out loud, I was decorating the man’s house. There was no power play. No quid pro quo. What was wrong with a little hookup to get my mojo back?

“But maybe I don’t want to.” His hand snaked around to the small of my back, pulling my body on top of his. My tool bag fell to the floor, implements clattering against each other. Tatum cupped my ass in his hands as I straddled him. “Maybe I want to see you in my bed.”

I braced my hands against his chest and had to restrain myself from digging my nails into the hard dips and hills of muscle. “Maybe…” I sighed. “Maybe I wouldn’t be completely opposed to revisiting what we did the other night.”

His hands worked their way up and down the backs of my thighs. The repetition was familiar and comforting, yet still intimate. “Maybe you should give me your number.”

“Maybe you should get it from Ms. Fuller.” Tatum was hot as hell, but I was still going to make him work for it.

“Maybe I’ll send Sam on vacation early, so you have to deal with me,” he countered.

A slow smile worked its way up the corner of my mouth. “You’re a busy man.”

“I’m only in town for another week. Then I’ll be traveling every other weekend.”

“My nights and weekends are busy, and I’m not going to play hooky when I’m supposed to be working here.”

“So we’re both busy people.” He gave my ass a squeeze. “But even busy people have to sleep.”

I groaned when his hands skated up my ribs and grazed my breasts. “Your point?”

“It sounds like you’re making excuses.”

I wrapped my hands around his, trapping his palm over my racing heart. “Bad breakup, remember?”

Tatum sat up, pulling me onto his lap. “You know what the best kind of revenge is, right?” He traced my cheekbone with his thumb as he cupped my cheek.

I leaned into his touch. “What’s that?”

“Having hot rebound sex that erases every memory you have of your ex.”

I swatted at his chest, laughing. “You make quite the argument.”

“I have an early morning, but we could order in. Explore the art of revenge sex.”

“I have a…” I clammed up. I was damn proud to dance for the Reds, but not everyone held a positive opinion of dancing in a skimpy uniform on national TV. “I have another work commitment tonight before I get to turn in. I should probably get going. I’ll be out late.”

He didn’t say anything, but I could read the disappointment written all over his face. He took my hand, unfurled my fingers, and traced his thumb over my palm.

“What?” I asked.

Tatum kissed the center of my palm. “Nothing. I’m just trying to see if there’s a thorn in your wing like the one you found in my paw.”