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He and Patton had worked side by side with their little brother but neither of them had ever suspected Russell of being corrupt. Even after the night Russ was mowed down, Spencer had a hard time coming to terms with the truth. His little brother had been the bad guy.
Tatum was staring up at him, her fingers stroking the intricately detailed design and easing the crushing weight of his memories.
“I’m sorry about Russ.” There was no doubting her sincerity. “He was a character, always the jokester.”
She was right. Russ had always been the class clown—the one everybody loved. Being charming was a very useful way to divert suspicion.
“To lose your brother and father in the same year...” She paused, sliding her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry you had so much grief all at once, Spencer.”
He stared down at her, loving the feel of her in his arms. Missing her. How many times had he picked up the phone to call her, only to hang up? “Things were tough for a while,” he admitted. “But you get up every day, you find a way to keep going.”
She nodded. “You have to.” Her voice was thick.
There was a sheen to her eyes. She knew all about grief. She’d lost everyone she’d ever loved. If he could chase away her suffering he would. So he kissed her, a long, slow kiss that instantly stirred his desire. “I’m glad you’re back, Tatum.”
“I’m thinking my stunt in the shower might have something to do with that,” she teased.
“I’m not complaining,” he murmured.
Her green eyes searched his before she said, “My body feels awake when you’re around. I feel awake.” Her fingers stroked across his chest and down his stomach.
“It’s a damn good thing because I’m not planning on getting much sleep tonight.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out the door and down the hall to her bedroom.
4
TATUM WATCHED THE lone drop of water run down Spence’s neck. Even his neck was muscular. He was one hard, rippling mass of sheer power. And yet, wrapped in his arms, she felt only safe and secure—almost treasured. And there was no denying the hunger he had for her. She wanted him crazy for her, the way she was crazy for him. She bent forward, licking the drop of water from his skin.
She landed in the middle of her bed, the cool air hitting her exposed skin—right before his hands clasped her hips and tugged her to the edge of the bed. She was still reeling when his tongue stroked over the tight bundle of nerves between her legs.
“Spencer,” she hissed, her hands
fisting in the blankets beneath her.
“Turnabout is fair play,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing along the inside of her thigh.
His tongue was magic, teasing her until she was out of her mind. His fingers joined in then, stroking deep inside of her. He moved with a purpose, setting a rhythm that was both blissful and maddeningly taunting. It built, her need, until she couldn’t hold on.
“Please, Spencer,” she gasped, so close. “Oh, please.” She reached for him, her hands holding on to his wet hair. His rhythm stayed the same, but the pressure... His mouth, his fingers pushed her over the edge. Her body spiraled, her lungs emptying of all air as she gave way to sensation. Her grip tightened on his hair as her climax found her. She lay, shuddering and stunned, as he kissed his way back up her body.
She was still reeling when his lips pressed against hers. She felt him, hard and ready, against her thigh. Her gaze met his, the heat of his hunger making her quiver once more. He was big...bigger than Brent. And she wanted him, all of him. Now. “I’m ready,” she whispered, her fingers gripping his arms.
“Protection... In my pants, in the bathroom.”
“I’m protected.” Her hands tightened on his arms.
“I’ve waited so long, I can wait a while longer,” he murmured against her lips.
“Why?” she asked, wrapping a leg around his hip.
He smiled down at her, his hands cradling the side of her face. “Maybe I want to drive you crazy for me.”
“You have,” she answered, her heart in her throat. She could feel him, so close. “I want you, Spencer.”
His eyes fluttered closed before he gripped her hips and lifted her, opening her for him. When his eyes met hers, he moved into her, slowly filling her. She gasped, her hands resting on his chest as she concentrated on relaxing. Her body strained to accommodate him, the pressure building and emptying her lungs. She closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath.
“Tatum,” he growled, stilling. “Look at me.” His hands tightened on her hips.
She did. The look on his face was almost pained. He thrust deep, so deep, never breaking their gaze. She cried out, unable to stop herself. It was too much. Too good. Too intimate. She wanted more. He thrust again, his raw groan forcing a soft cry from her lips.
