Holiday Risk

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  "Miss me already?" he asks playfully.

  "Spencer," his name comes out breathlessly, like I finished running a marathon rather than walking the distance from my porch. The way my heart beats against my ribs, it feels the same. "How far away are you?"

  "What happened?" His voice deepens, growing an edge normally lacking from Spencer’s speech.

  “Spencer," I whisper into the phone, peeking out the curtain to make sure there’s no one in my driveway. I drop the fabric, allowing it to fall loosely.

  "Well, what happened?"

  "Frankie ate soap."

  "Okay.” He doesn’t sound as upset as I expect.

  "She threw it up." His lack of reaction opens the floodgates, and everything from the last two days bubbles up. "I found a dead body. I had to talk to the police. We slept together!” We were both under the covers, it counts! “Then Frankie ate my soap. Regina is reporting our relationship to Pearl. Do we even have a relationship? And then some guy knocked on my front door and said I’m going to end up like Kevin.” I suck in a deep breath. “And I think Kevin was the dead guy!”

  "Whoa, calm down. It's okay." He uses soothing words like I'm a small child ready to have a breakdown. He might not be far from the truth. "Tell me about the guy."

  "Don't you care about Frankie?"

  "No, she ate a bar of deodorant when I first brought her home. I called poison control and waited for her to puke it up," he's quick to respond. “I’m sure the soap will be fine.”

  “What?”

  A vehicle pulls in my driveway and stops close to my front porch, but I’m too scared to check the window.

  "Open the door, Joslin."

  With Spencer’s reassurance, I release the deadbolt. He and another equally tall male calmly walk into my house—like my life wasn't threatened a few minutes ago. And while on the topic of annoying, does the military only accept tall people? Is there some kind of rule written down somewhere that in order to be in the military, you must be tall and hot? Maybe it’s just SEALS.

  Frankie run circles and jumps, her paws hitting Spencer’s friend in the thigh.

  "Joslin, this is Sloan. He's on the team."

  Sloan tips his black-beanie-covered head in my direction. "Hey."

  Wonderful. Just what Pelican Bay needs. Another monosyllabic tall guy with a military background.

  "Yeah, hey. Is no one concerned that a bad guy was on my front porch?”

  Spencer tosses his phone to Sloan. "He was likely casing the place to see if you were alone."

  "Well I was." The words come out a little louder and snottier than I intend.

  Spencer places his hands on my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes. "And that will never happen again."

  "Oh."

  Oh.

  "Sloan and I will take care of things here. You head into the bedroom and pack a bag.”

  "A bag?" What do I need a bag for? I get a few feet closer to my bedroom, but then turn back to watch both men lean into each other, whispering back and forth. "You're calm. Why are you so calm?"

  Sloan lifts his head. "Comes with the job."

  I blow out a breath of air loaded with frustration. "I deliver babies!" I yell to no one in particular and stomp off to my bedroom.

  Spencer laughs, following me down the hall. It's super annoying, but also totally hot.

  "This is my expertise. If I had to deliver babies every day, you'd find me in a corner, crying. I only survived the plane because there was no time to think about what we were doing."

  “I’m not crying.” Yet.

  “No, you aren’t.” He smiles and runs a finger down my cheek.

  The big gym duffel I use to cart clothes to and from the hospital is packed and ready to go if I ever need to grab it quickly. I like to plan like that. The problem is that bag is currently in my locker…at the hospital. Thankfully, I spot a small rolling suitcase in the back of my closet. One I used when Regina and I went to Vegas two years ago for her twenty-fifth birthday. Moving quickly, I pack it with enough clothing to get me through a day—one set of pajamas, a pair of pants, and a shirt, including fresh underwear and socks.

  "Oh no." Spencer leans over, looking in the mostly empty case. "You’ll need much more than that."

  "How long will I be gone? My pipes will freeze." It's December. I can't leave the place for long. Even with the heat on, the pipes underneath my kitchen sink will freeze because the wall faces the outside and there's no windbreak.

  Spencer disappears into my small walk-in closet. He returns, his arms full of clothes still on the hangers. He shakes the stack over my bed, causing most of the hangers to fall out, and then shoves all the clothes into the suitcase. There's absolutely no rhyme or reason to what he grabs. An assortment of jeans and T-shirts. I swear I saw a flash of gold, which could only belong to a never-worn swimsuit I purchased two years ago but decided wasn’t my style. I don’t have the self-confidence to draw that much attention to my ass.

  "Sloan will be stationed here, so the pipes are fine." Spencer crams the last shirt in and turns to my dresser, opening a few doors.

  "Stop! I can pack those." I throw my back against the dresser, closing the drawer almost on his fingers. There aren’t just cute, see-through items from Victoria's Secret in my underwear drawer. I also have the big granny panties from Hanes that get worn during laundry day and period weeks. Plus, no woman wants a hot guy going through her underwear drawer on principle alone.

  When he steps away while giving me a weird look and half smirk, I slip open the drawer just enough so I can see inside and grab a few pairs of underwear, stuffing them into a big ball in my hands and then under my arm. Socks and a few bras come next.

  I hurry over to the bag and shove them in using the same method Spencer packed with. In the middle of my last shove, the house phone rings, which is odd because I only ever get telemarketers or the seven o'clock phone-tree call to my landline. Pearl says she doesn't like the reliability of cell phones in Pelican Bay. Her theory is landlines have worked for generations, and she doesn't plan to change anytime soon.

  The ringing quits and then a deep, male voice yells from the front of the house. "Joslin, it's for you."

  Spencer gives me a questioning look until I shrug as an answer. I don’t know who it is either.

  I take the receiver from Sloan's outstretched hand in the kitchen. "Hello?"

  "Hey! It's Tabitha Thompson."

  I mouth, "It's Tabitha," to Spencer, and he visibly relaxes. "Um, hi."

  "I'm Ridge's girlfriend."

  "Yeah, I know." It's a small town. We all know who she is.

  "It's the damn phone tree, isn't it?" she grumbles. "Anyway, I heard you were in trouble."

  In trouble. Am I? "Maybe."

  "Well, Spencer will take care of you. Trust him."

  A quiet falls over the line. Spencer leans on my breakfast bar, waving his hands to tell me to hurry it up. Maybe he thinks I’ve settled in for a long-winded best friend talk, but before this, I’m not sure I’ve actually exchanged words with Tabitha.

  “On second thought," Tabitha continues, "ask him if he's put up any cameras."

  I rest the receiver on my shoulder and ask Spencer as he continues waving his hands to get my attention. "Did you put cameras in my house?"

  "No." He’s startled like the question comes from completely out of thin air, but then when another moment passes, one side of his lips tip into a smile.

  "He said no," I report back to Tabitha on the phone.

  "That means yes." There's a clatter of metal behind her. "Have you ever left him at your place alone? Never mind,” she responds before giving me time to answer. “I'll come help you look later."

  "…Okay."

  In the background, someone yells Tabitha. "I’ve got to go, but come to the bakery when you're free. We'll chat."

  The line goes dead before I agree or disagree to plans with Ridge’s new girlfriend. Spencer stands at the entrance to my kitchen, waiting. He carries the rollin
g bag by the handle and practically pushes me out the door.

  "Where are we going?"

  He opens the door to his big black truck, tossing my suitcase in the extended cab portion. "My place."

  I pull myself into the truck, hesitating before shutting the door. "Your place?"

  Good Lord. How will I survive another night in Spencer's bed?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “So how are we going to do this?” I ask, standing beside Spencer’s imposing bed but making no moves to get myself under the ruffled covers.

  “Like last time.” Spencer’s eyes rake me up and down, but not because he’s checking me out. It’s definitely more him making sure I’m not suffering from shock or an alien abduction.

  Whatever the reason, his leering gaze forces my arms over my chest. My lips pinch together, and I look sheepishly at the top of the bed. I’m wearing on one of his long T-shirts—NAVY written in big, bold font across the front—underwear, and a pair of shorts. It’s way more clothing than he’s sporting with his black boxers covered in small four-leaf clovers.

  As if the universe needed to give me more signs of him getting lucky tonight.

  “We haven’t done this before.” I’m not one of those simpering-virgin types, but a few alcoholic beverages might help. Plus, why did I eat a second helping of fries at dinner? It was stress eating—there’s no other explanation.

  Spencer grabs the edge of the covers and throws them back, exposing his black sheets. “Woman, what are you talking about?”

  “The sex.”

  “The what?” He stops messing with the covers, his hand stalled in midair.

  “Sex!”

  “Sex?”

  “It’s what you do in a bed.” My hand waves frantically back and forth over the king-sized bed like the lunatic he surely believes I am now.

  “It’s been a stressful night. I didn’t know that was on the table.”

  "I see. Well, normally, that type of activity happens in bed. Doesn’t it?"

  Spencer pats his empty side of the bed and then, in one quick movement, flies under the covers, the bottom half of his body disappearing. I'm left with a view of his gorgeous chest as he tucks the sheet tightly around his waist.

  I run a hand through my hair to stop it from shaking. "Have you done it in this bed a lot?" He opens his mouth to answer, but I jump back into the conversation. "Don't answer that. I'm a nervous moron." I attempt to laugh off my stupidity, but it sounds more like the Joker on acid.

  "How long has it been?"

  There's only one thing he could be asking about. I do some quick math in my head and carry a one… "A while."

  "It's been a tiring day. I'm not going anywhere, so there’s no need to rush anything with you. Just come here and get some sleep."

  Disappointment washes over me, and I forcibly bite my bottom lip to keep it from sticking out. "Okay." I lift the covers back and climb into the empty side, trying to play it cool.

  His bed makes the space between our two bodies feel vast and barren. I’m nervous about the whole sex thing, but I was looking forward to it, too. "Could we at least cuddle?"

  I wait for Spencer to laugh at my ridiculous request, but he doesn’t. A smile tugs at his lips, crinkling the skin around his eyes. The covers get pulled taunt, and the bed jiggles as he shimmies his body closer to mine.

  “Joslin, I will cuddle you all night long, but let’s not call it that. We’ll think of something cooler…manlier.” One of Spencer's arms slides beneath my neck, and the other wraps around my middle from above.

  "Good night." He places a small kiss in the place where my neck meets my shoulder and my body shudders.

  Casually, I push back into his body. With a deep breath, I gather up all my courage into a little ball in the middle my belly and use it to ask for what I want. "I could go for another one of those."

  "Yeah?" Spencer asks but doesn't wait for a reply before he kisses me twice more in the same area. His tongue swirls up my neck and I shiver.

  I slide my body back again, this time making full contact. Something pokes me in the middle of my back and I smile. Maybe Spencer is into this more than he let on.

  His hand lowers and slips beneath the fabric of my long T-shirt. I tense, waiting to figure out his next move, but Spencer’s hand doesn’t advance. He rubs circles on my upper thigh, never moving higher, even as my insides scream for him to make a move.

  Well, more of a move.

  With courage and a renewed sense of confidence, I shimmy my lower half against him.

  “Joslin, we can wait.” Spencer places another kiss on my neck, his hand moving higher as he asks.

  I love hearing him say he has plans to be around longer, but it doesn’t curb my appetite. If anything, the no-pressure approach makes me want him more.

  His fingers slip beneath the thin material of my shorts. My thighs tighten with nerves, and my legs clamp together. It's not that I don’t want to do this—I do—but what if I’ve forgotten how? Thatcher and I haven't dated in quite a while. Just as the worry builds to almost incapacitating me, Spencer bites my earlobe and pulls. It's enough pain and pleasure to flip me back into our moment.

  The tension in my legs evaporates, and when I moan into the pillow, Spencer seizes the opportunity, slipping his hand between my legs. "You sure about this?"

  "Definitely," taking a page from his book, I squeeze my hand between our bodies and palm his dick. Through the material of his boxers, his erection is hard but moves smoothly under my fingers as I stroke him through the thin fabric.

  My concentration fades after Spencer slides two fingers inside of me. My hand stills, squeezing twice when the bottom of his palm makes contact with my clit. He doesn't wait for my approval, and sets a quick and punishing pace that has me withering on the bed.

  His fingers twist and turn. It doesn't take long until the pressure builds to unbearable points. The tingles start in my legs as I release his dick. I reach up to grab the back of his head and pull on his hair when the orgasm overtakes me.

  "Hmmmm." Spencer places a few more kisses on my neck, his tongue trailing over the heated skin between each one. "That was beautiful."

  Embarrassed by the gorgeous man getting me off in under two minutes, I squeeze my hands under his boxers in a messy attempt to wiggle them off his legs.

  "Wait," his hand stills mine. "I have bad news."

  I twist my head back to see his face. “What?” Hundreds—no thousands—of horrible things a man could say after that phrase compete for space in my brain. I’d rather not hear any of them. A ball of dread grows in my stomach, and I bite my lip with worry.

  "I swear I'm not feeding you a line, but I don’t have any condoms in the apartment.” He raises my hand from his hip, placing it on the bed. “I’ll pick some up in the morning, and we can do this all over again tomorrow."

  "Really?" If his next line is some attempt to get me to have sex without a condom, I’m out of here.

  Or worse, maybe he doesn’t want to have sex with me at all.

  "I wasn't prepared for this."

  "You don't keep condoms in the house?" I ask, my eyes narrowing on his ridiculously handsome face.

  He laughs, but it's a nervous sound that makes me believe this isn’t a line at all. "I haven't been here long. There haven’t been a lot of opportunities to meet ladies."

  I stare at him for a minute longer with one eye more closed than the other, quietly inspecting his story. When he doesn't push me again, I decide he’s legitimate. "Well, you're in luck because I happen to have some on me."

  I dig around the large opening of my purse, on the floor on the side of the bed where I threw it earlier in the evening. There's a reason I carry around a bag bigger than some small dogs. I've got a lot of shit to carry. Important shit. When I roll back over on the bed, the strip of condoms unravels, the six or seven in a strip looking like a Jacob’s ladder as it fills the space from my hands to the covers.

  Spencer's eyes widen. "Do you always c
arry around a box of condoms in your purse?"

  My face heats and I shrug. "It's a new development." I leave out the part where Regina bought them for me so when I found a hot, new boyfriend, we could have a night of wild sex—her words, not mine.

  "Why?" he asks.

  If possible, my cheeks get warmer, and thankfully, most of me is hidden by his oversized T-shirt. “For when I met a guy worthy of using them.”

  "I'm choosing to take it as a compliment."

  I roll over so our bodies are chest to chest, and Spencer’s lips cover mine before I work out a witty comeback. His fingers get tangled up in the hair I threw into a loose bun. When the kiss deepens and his tongue invades my mouth, his other hand disappears underneath my shirt as his fingers tease one of my nipples.

  He rolls the T-shirt up until it's caught underneath my arms and I have to tug it off, the material dropping to the floor beside the bed. His lips leave my mouth, and there isn’t time for me to mourn the loss before they cover a nipple. My body jerks when he sucks, bringing us closer.

  His hard dick rubs against my pubic bone, reminding me our lower halves are still way too covered. I fumble with his boxers, this time, successful in getting them off when he lifts his hips and helps.

  "Condom." He reaches around, feeling the bed for where I dropped the strip.

  There's a crinkle and then a tear as he pulls one off. With firm hands, Spencer pushes on my shoulder until I’m lying on my back; his body looms over mine. I raise my butt and he slowly peels down my underwear, my feet raising in the air, my toes to the ceiling when he’s successful. Spencer stops. His eyes roam over my body like he just unwrapped a Christmas gift.

  Still holding my legs in the air by my ankles, Spencer drapes them over one shoulder. One hand lazily traces circles against my skin, up and down my leg, making me thankful I took the time to shave when I showered this morning. Using his teeth, Spencer rips open the condom wrapper and, with one hand, covers his shaft.

  He lines our bodies up, and I stare into his eyes as he enters me. I'm stretched further than ever before as he continues to push deeper. I drop a leg from his shoulder, making it easier and, with both my hands, latch on to his forearms, my nails digging into his skin.