“Work,” he’d groaned, nuzzling her breast again.
Her fingers had slipped through his tangled black hair. “If you ignore it, will they go away?” Please tell me they’ll go away.
He’d chuckled, then groaned again, his breath brushing her nipples and his hand stroking along her belly. “I wish. They call, I go. Dammit.”
She tugged the plaid throw over her nakedness, watching him dress with a mixture of appreciation and disappointment. In that moment, disappointment won. She hadn’t wanted him to go. From the bulge in his pants, she knew he didn’t want to go. And when he’d looked at her, there was no denying how badly he wanted to stay. He’d kissed her, once, so hard and deep she moaned. Which made him mutter “Dammit” again before stomping out.
She’d lain on her nest of pillows hoping he’d reappear. But he hadn’t come back and she’d eventually crawled into her bed, buried in quilts and oh so lonely.
She’d woken up with the echo of his fingers on her skin. She could still feel him, taste him... All morning she’d thought of things she wished she’d done. It wasn’t the regret she was expecting, but it was still regret. He’d been her own personal playground and she’d only been allowed on one ride—a ride that had been cut short.
After living in a state of denial, her body was ready to give in, let go and thoroughly enjoy what Spencer was willing to offer her. Too bad she’d said once.
Of course, they hadn’t actually slept together so...
No. God no. What was she thinking?
“Tatum?” She heard the singsong voice through her front door. “Are you decent? It’s Mrs. Ryan, dear, from across the street.”
She blushed. Spencer’s mother. “Coming,” she called out, smoothing her red tunic into place and running a quick hand over her hair and the long beaded necklace she wore. Appearance was important. First her mother, then Brent had insisted she always look her best. And now that Spencer’s mother was on the front porch, she was glad of it.
She pulled open the door to find Mrs. Ryan and Lucy Ryan, Spencer’s cousin. Lucy was the one person she’d kept in contact with from Greyson—the one person Tatum had always counted a true friend. But after Lucy had come to visit her and Brent, their emails and phone calls grew further apart. Brent hadn’t liked Lucy and made it clear he didn’t approve of their friendship. And, sadly, Tatum hadn’t fought to preserve or defend their friendship.
“Tatum!” Lucy squealed, her gray eyes widening at the sight of her.
“Lucy? Oh, Lucy,” she answered, laughing when Lucy hugged her tight.
“I hadn’t heard from you in a while.” Lucy’s voice was muffled. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I guess I’ve sort of been in hiding.”
Lucy let go of her and Mrs. Ryan hugged her gently. “Well, you’re home now and that’s all that matters,” the older woman said.
“We brought you cookies,” Lucy said, offering her a huge basket overflowing with cookies, breads, some wine and fruit.
“Well...thank you,” Tatum said, taking the basket. “Come in, please.”
That was when she saw Spencer coming up the path. It hadn’t been her imagination. He really was the hottest thing she’d seen in real life. And watching him stroll up her path, all bad boy and muscled body... The phantom heat of his fingers inside her body had her throbbing for his touch and aching for more. Sticking to “once” was going to be hard.
Especially if one of them didn’t move out.
“Hurry up, Spencer,” Lucy called. “It’s cold.”
Spencer took the steps two at a time, striding into the living room before Tatum could react. He hugged her, casually, his scent flooding her nostrils. “Morning, Tatum,” he said tightly, his blue eyes staring into hers.
She nodded, reeling from the effect of his quick embrace.
“Well, come sit, tell us everything,” Mrs. Ryan said, patting the couch beside her. “I haven’t seen you in... Goodness, how long has it been?”
“Almost eight years?” Lucy asked, sitting on the couch beside her aunt.
Tatum nodded.
“You look just the same.” Mrs. Ryan smiled. “I always thought we’d see you in a magazine or a movie someday.”
“Oh...no.” Tatum shook her head. “Would you like something to drink—”
“No, Aunt Imogene is literally bursting to ask you questions about everything that’s happened since you left,” Lucy cut in.
Imogene Ryan’s eyes went round. “Lucy,” she chastised.
“It’s true,” Spencer added.
Tatum laughed, sitting in the rocking chair. She tried not to pay attention to Spencer as he knelt in front of the fire to add more logs. Tried not to think about how he’d stripped her down on the floor where her feet now rested... “Ask away,” Tatum answered unsteadily.
“What have you been up to?” Mrs. Ryan asked. “I know you finished out high school in California with your father, but after that? Lucy said you went to college there?”
“UCLA,” she said, shrugging. “Got my accounting degree. I get numbers.” People, not so much.
“Ugh.” Lucy winced. “No, thank you.”
“Okay, Miss PhD,” Tatum teased. “I met Brent there. We were married for three years. I was his wife, his accountant and his events planner...and we’ve been officially divorced for eight months.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Ryan said.
“I am too,” she agreed. “Wish I’d had the sense to get out sooner.” She smiled, trying to make light of the situation. But it was true. She’d worked hard to be what Brent wanted, keeping his books sound, his house tidy and his parties memorable. When he hired “more seasoned professionals” to do his books, the slight daily contact they had was gone. Things had disintegrated by their second anniversary. So why had she held on?
She felt Spencer’s gaze on her and glanced his way. He was studying her, looking for something. But what exactly? Instead of worrying about what he was thinking or feeling, she’d be wise to remember he’d been the first one to replace her with another woman.
Whatever spark remained was purely sexual. Which was fine.
“Good riddance,” Lucy chimed in. “His loss.”
“That’s sweet of you to say,” she laughed, even if it sounded a little forced.
“It’s true,” Mrs. Ryan agreed. “You’ll find the man that deserves you, don’t you fret.”
So not fretting. Worrying over her romantic future wasn’t on her top-ten-things-to-worry-over list. She didn’t know who she was or what she wanted—now wasn’t the time to fall in love. No, that was the main reason it had fallen apart with Brent: he defined too much of her. That, and he’d been screwing the most successful real-estate agent in their wealthy, gossipy group of friends.
If anything, she didn’t want a relationship right now. She needed to figure things out, needed to live a little and try new things—for herself.
Like sex. Last night had been a revelation. She wanted lots of hot sex. But she only knew one person she was attracted to. She glanced at Spencer again.
Could she get up the nerve to really consider such a thing? Roommates with benefits? And ask him if he was interested. The potential for rejection gnawed on her insides.
But last night. She drew in an unsteady breath, flooded with a tangle of want-inducing images,