A faint thud from across the street drew her attention. Spencer was carrying a duffel bag, headed toward his truck. She watched him open the large toolbox in his truck bed, rifling through it before closing it again. He grabbed the bag, opened the truck door and tossed it inside.
He slammed the door and looked across the street.
She froze, panic sinking in. She wasn’t ready to deal with him, not yet.
He lifted his hand in a wave.
Lucy waved back.
After a moment’s hesitation, he headed across the street. And every step he took stirred up some new, conflicting emotion. It was easier when she just wanted him. Now...she shook her head. That was all. She wanted him. Nothing else. Want might be an understatement. Her body craved him like her lungs craved air.
He was red-nosed when he climbed the steps to her porch. But all she could see was the huge bruise along his right cheek, the taped cut on his eyelid and the gash across the bridge of his nose. She was up, reaching for his face before she realized what she was doing. “What happened?”
He stared down at her, closing his eyes as her fingers touched the bruise. “It’s nothing,” he said gruffly.
She blinked, pulling her hand back. He had a dangerous job. This probably wasn’t all that unusual. “Tell me this has nothing to do with Dean.” Had she caused a rift between him and his cousin?
He snorted. “Dean didn’t do this. He wouldn’t have gotten in this many punches.”
Relief washed over her. Not that she preferred him getting beaten up on the job.
He saw the boxes on the porch and frowned, his whole demeanor changing. His jaw locked, his hand—resting on the porch railing—tightened around the wood. “Going somewhere?” His voice broke—she heard it.
And when his blue eyes locked with hers it was impossible to breathe.
He had no right to look...like that. Like he cared. Like she’d hurt him. He had no right to make her hurt for him. Words failed her, so she stared at him, confused and frustrated. And angry.
She was vaguely aware of Lucy saying, “I think I need to go pick up the pizza,” before she left.
Spencer’s gaze bounced from her to the boxes and back again. He seemed braced, waiting for something.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t know what to say. Or how to read him. After last night, everything seemed upside-down. Only one thing was certain—she wasn’t up for any more life-altering revelations.
So why did she want to reach out for him? Maybe it was the wariness on his face or the hint of sadness in his eyes... Whatever it was, she wanted to comfort him. Dammit. She hugged herself.
His voice was rough. “Tatum—”
“On your way to work?” she asked, cutting him off before more things were said.
He sighed, his eyes narrowing. “Not until tonight.” What was he looking for?
“Oh, well...” She stepped back, putting space between them. “Good time to get your Christmas shopping done...or something.” Since she couldn’t seem to be near him without touching him, she needed to remove herself. Her fingers were already longing to trace his stubble-covered jaw, to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, to hold him close until his posture eased. All of which were very bad ideas. “See you later,” she said, stepping around him and going inside.
But once she was inside, she froze. She didn’t want to think or get emotional, but she didn’t want him to leave. Don’t go. She swallowed down the knot of fear and sucked in a deep breath. “Shit... Spencer—” she called out.
He was through the door in an instant, closing the distance between them as he pressed her against the entryway wall. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth to his. She wanted his kiss, his tongue, his touch—she craved him beyond reason.
His arms were steel around her, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, couldn’t think.” He cupped her face between his hands, pinning her with the raw hunger of his gaze. “I need you so bad it hurts.”
She tugged his hair, ignoring all the possible ways she could interpret his words. It was easier to pull his head back to hers. He devoured her mouth, stealing her breath, making her light-headed. He carried them to her room, kissing her as though his life depended on it. She wanted him like this, fierce and hungry for her. Once she was pinned between him and her bedroom door, she reached down between them, unbuttoning his pants. His gaze bored into hers as her fingers freed him from his boxers. Her fingers wrapped around him, slowly. He was hot to the touch, smooth.
He let go of her long enough to tug her pants off. And then he was there, lifting her, his hands bracing her hips, parting her so he could fill her in one thrust. They groaned together, the sweet friction pulling her under. She smiled, her head falling back against the wall, savoring each stroke against her inflamed flesh.
“Don’t stop.” She pressed her ankles into his buttocks.
“I won’t,” he said, nipping her earlobe.