Holiday Risk

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  Spencer doesn't seem to mind. "You're so tight." He leans closer, short, little kisses shared between us. With a final push, Spencer enters me completely and begins to move, our bodies never fully out of contact.

  Our eyes meet, forming a connection. I refuse to look away and break our link. We’re slow, quiet, and passionate. Intimate.

  Possibly the closest I've ever been with a man.

  His thrusts increase, and I wrap my hands around his neck, ensuring we maintain our level of closeness. My orgasm is a slow and steady build, not quick and overwhelmingly like before. My body gets closer as Spencer changes his motion and our bodies connect exactly where I need. When he lowers a hand between us and uses his fingers to draw circles over my clit, the tension increases faster.

  When I come, it's quieter this time, my head thrown back into the pillow, arms bringing him closer with each wave as it flows through my body. Spencer picks up his pace, each of his movements increasing my pleasure until it's almost too much. When he comes to a jittery stop, I loosen my hold from around his neck and allow them to flop down beside me. Spencer takes up a spot beside me, wrapping an arm behind my head and pulling me to his chest. Our breathing slows together as we lay in silence.

  Spencer wrestles with the covers, his hand falling over the side of the bed momentarily before he lays down beside me. "I will need…" His words come between ragged breaths. "At least fifteen minutes before we make our way through the rest of the condoms."

  I blow a steady stream of air between my lips but don’t object. Who’s complaining about my box of condoms now?

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Joslin?" Spencer's voice carries into the bathroom.

  I spit out the last of the toothpaste and drop the brand-new toothbrush Spencer brought home for me four days ago into the little container next to the sink. "Yeah?"

  "Where's the condom?"

  "Huh?" I squeeze my hair in the towel to quicken the drying process and walk out of his en-suite bathroom.

  "I tossed the condom on the floor. Right here." He points to an empty area on his hardwood floor.

  "What? You threw it… on the floor?"

  Spencer leans over on his knees, searching under the bed. "Yes."

  "The floor?"

  "Yes."

  "You just threw it down?"

  "Yes, that's what I do every time."

  "Every time?" My mouth falls open in disgust. How did I not know this was going on?

  "Yes. What did you think I did with them?"

  My eyes widen when I realize he's serious. "Put them in the trash like a normal person."

  "I don’t have a trash bin in the bedroom." He leans over further to check under the bed, his right arm getting lost as he feels under the space.

  "Obviously."

  Spencer stands up, wiping off the knees of his tight-fitting jeans. "I haven't needed a trash can in here.”

  "Spencer, I've been here five days." We’re on our second box of condoms.

  "I'll pick up a trash can after your shift today." He flops onto the bed and sprawls across it to look on the other side. It’s a great view, leaving his ass firm and clenched.

  "Yeah…about that." Spencer has been my shadow at work every single day. While Ridge and his team have been out looking to break up whatever crime ring left a dead guy at a house in the woods, Spencer’s filing non-confidential phone messages at the nurses’ desk.

  The first few days, none of us at the hospital could complain about having a hot guy follow me around, but now his constant presence is harder to explain to my boss. This has to end.

  Soon.

  I toss the towel into his wicker hamper next to the bathroom door. "I think…maybe…today I should go alone."

  He looks up from searching the other side. "No."

  "No?"

  He slides off the bed and crosses his arms, straightening to his full, imposing height. Sometimes I forget how tall—and intimidating—Spencer is. Even while naked.

  Except I’ve spent the last five days with him. Spencer might look tough, but underneath all that black clothing is a guy who watched two hours of Mary Tyler Moore reruns with me last night. I don’t find him so scary.

  We continue our silent stare-off, and when I don’t give in, Spencer relaxes his posture. “This is serious, Joslin.”

  "Nothing has happened to me. Nothing has happened to anyone. The plants in my house are probably dying." It’s the truth, and he can't deny it. Much to all the guys’ irritation, there hasn't been a peep of any criminal element activity in days. Apparently, even gangsters take time off for the holidays.

  "I didn’t see any plants at your house the last time I was there."

  Damn. It would be my luck to jump into bed with a guy who’s super observant. "They're there."

  "No."

  "But Spencer, the plants." This time, it's me who crosses my arms in defiance.

  It doesn't work. "No."

  "You're crazy."

  "You say crazy, I say keeping you safe. After your shift today, we’ll swing by your house so you can water the plants."

  Hmmm. That could be a problem because when Spencer gets to my house, he won’t find any plants.

  "On second thought," I laugh flatly, "I'll just call Regina and have her stop by. I don’t want to put myself in any unnecessary danger."

  Spencer smiles, and it's a little too smug—like he knows exactly what just happened. "Great. Now let’s get back to the important matter at hand. If you didn't throw away the condom, and I didn't throw away the condom, where is the condom?"

  He makes a good point. Where is the condom? My eyes scan the floor where he pointed to earlier, but there's absolutely no evidence found. I check it again until my attention is stolen by the large black dog who walks into the room. Frankie seems to double in size every day, and it won't be much longer before she meets my hips.

  Both our eyes steady on the mischievous dog as she plops down in the middle of the floor between the two of us. A moment passes in silence, both of us putting the idea together in our heads.

  Spencer pulls his hands through his hair in slow motion as he makes the connection. "No," he says.

  My lips pinch together, because I think yes. "Frankie…"

  The dog in question—the one who eats everything in sight—stands and slowly trots away, headed to the living room. Spencer watches for a few seconds and then sprints after her. "Frankie, stop!"

  I follow the two of them out, but at a much slower pace. When I catch up to Spencer and Frankie, he has his face next to hers, trying to peel her teeth apart and look inside. Of course, Frankie isn’t it having any of it.

  "Open your mouth," Spencer pleads, lifting up one side of Frankie's lips at a time. With her mouth clamped shut, there's not much to see besides big dog teeth.

  I hate to ask the question.

  I really don't want to ask the question.

  But someone has to.

  "Do you think we should call the vet?"

  Spencer stands, wiping the dogs drool on his pants. He sighs and stares down at his troublemaker.

  Frankie has eaten a lot of things; handmade soap, trash bags, anything in the trash, really, and a boot if Spencer's story is to be believed. But this…this is something completely different.

  Can dogs digest latex?

  "No." At first, I think he's answering my unspoken question about dogs and latex, but then he walks to the couch and pulls out a cell phone. "We'll set a timer for thirty minutes, and if nothing happens, then we’ll call the vet."

  It's a reasonable idea except I need to be to the hospital in twenty minutes. Although… "Okay, well, you stay here and watch Frankie. I've got to start my shift. Text me if she's okay."

  Spencer's eyes narrow, and I'm totally busted, but I refuse to admit defeat so early and walk a few steps to the door.

  "Not so fast." His words stop me as I'm about to grab my purse. "Hudson lives in this complex, too. I'll get him to come and sit with Frankie."

&nb
sp; "I don't think you need to do that." I shake my head back and forth for added emphasis, but Spencer's already typing out a message on his phone.

  It takes less than three minutes for there to be a knock on the door. Spencer’s smile is much too big as he walks past me to open it.

  "It took you long enough." He opens the door further.

  "Dude, I was in the shower." A tall and lean but muscular guy walks into the apartment. His dark brown hair is almost black, but his eyes are light blue and give him a soft look overall. “You said it was a 911 situation. What’s up? Is Ridge ready to make a move?”

  "No. I need you to watch Frankie for me."

  "The dog?" Hudson’s question comes off confused.

  Spencer shrugs. "Yeah, the dog."

  "Your text said it was 911."

  "Yeah." Spencer doesn't explain more.

  Hudson shakes his head, the wet locks sending water flying across the room. "Okay, I'll bite. Why do I have to watch the dog?"

  Spencer smirks—the one I'm learning is a direct indication someone should run away. "She has a tummy ache. I think she was in the trash again."

  I put a hand over my mouth so I don’t grimace and give it all away. I bet she has a stomach ache alright.

  "I need you to watch her, and if she doesn't seem better in about thirty minutes, let me know and I’ll take her to the vet."

  Hudson gives Spencer a questioning look. “This doesn’t seem right."

  Spencer tilts his head in the direction of my purse, and I take it as my cue to grab it. "I have to get Joslin to her shift at the hospital. Call me with an update."

  Spencer and I both hightail it for the door, trying not to seem suspicious, but Hudson follows us. We’re halfway down the hallway when he sticks his head out. "Spencer! What kind of update?"

  Spencer takes my hand as we walk down the carpeted hallway.

  “Spencer!” Hudson yells as we walk out of the complex.

  We walk out of the complex, the door closing behind us, and head to Spencer’s big truck in the parking lot.

  "He's going to kill you when Frankie pukes up a condom," I say, closing the truck door.

  Spencer doesn’t hesitate putting the key in the ignition. "Nah. He’s the new guy. It's all part of the job."

  I help deliver babies all day. The amount of bodily fluids I see on a routine basis is astronomical, but even I wouldn't want to be on the cleanup for what is going to happen in that apartment soon.

  Spencer backs out of the parking lot and stops before making a right turn to get to the hospital. "I'll tell you one thing—no more condoms."

  "Agreed." I keep my eye on the apartment complex as we drive away, waiting for Hudson and Frankie to come racing out of the building, but it's all quiet as the parking lot fades into the distance.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The scent of cinnamon and baked goods fills the air as I sit down in a wooden teal chair in Anessa's bakery. I’ve lived in Pelican Bay my entire life, and I've seen this little corner building as many shops over the years, but her cute, pink bakery is, by far, my favorite. The adorable and tasteful Christmas decorations she’s strewn about the place only help. There’s garland over the fireplace, mistletoe in all the windows, a big wreath on the front door, and Christmas music piping from a speaker.

  The one item completely out of place in the little, girly bakery is the group of large, imposing men taking up a considerable amount of space in front of the large window. Anessa's bakery has become the local hangout and meeting place for Ridge’s security firm, even though he owns a state-of-the-art building a few streets over.

  "Here's your coffee. One cream, one sugar, and a kiss." Spencer leans over and gives me a quick peck on the lips, just enough to leave me dazed. "Mistletoe," he says pointing up to the ball of red and green leaves hanging above my head.

  The action makes me giddy. How many big, muscular guys out there would take a minute to be super sweet? Especially in front of his also tall, imposing, big co-workers? Not many, but Spencer definitely has a romantic side. "Did you plan this?"

  He winks. "Of course."

  Spencer takes a large bite of a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles and saunters off to join the circle of other hot guys. It appears my guy likes chocolate.

  I need to make him a batch of my secret recipe chocolate chip cookies.

  And also figure out when I started referring to him as my guy.

  "Is Spencer still stalking your work every day?" Tabitha brushes her hands off on her bright pink, full-body apron, sending a cloud of flour everywhere.

  I work desperately hard to wipe off the dreamy look on my face while I watch Spencer walk away before I answer.

  "It's surveillance," Spencer yells back, making my effort completely wasted.

  "Uh-huh," she says, obviously not believing. "I've told Ridge to hurry up. It’s almost Christmas, and I want him around to make some memories of our first year together. The whole holiday is at risk.”

  The mention of Christmas spikes my anxiety. I’d almost forgotten the holiday was so near. It presents a few logistical issues. I’ve known Spencer for two and a half weeks. Am I required to buy him a gift? And what would I get him?

  "Are you coming to the Christmas Eve parade?" Anessa, with her brown hair falling over one shoulder asks.

  "Yes, you absolutely must come. I hear it's like the highlight of the town festivals." Tabitha’s eyes widen, and she seems a little worked up over a parade that happens every year come snow or shine—normally snow. Very cold snow.

  "I haven’t been in a few years. I guess I could watch."

  Anessa claps her hands together a few times. "After the parade finishes, we can do hot chocolate and doughnuts here."

  "I hope I can actually attend a Pelican Bay event for a change," Tabitha says.

  "You do you have horrible luck when it comes to festivals." Anessa rearranges a few cupcakes in the display case and closes the back.

  A loud, grating buzz comes from the back kitchen, and Tabitha perks up. "Oh, my cookies." She quickly turns on a heel and, without another word, pushes her way into the kitchen.

  Anessa leans over her counter and whispers, "Do not eat any." Her eyes widen and her head shakes to emphasize her point.

  A few minutes of cautious coffee sips later, Tabitha returns from the kitchen, a stack of dark brown cookies laid out on a plate in the shape of a Santa hat.

  Anessa eyes the plate as Tabitha walks by. "Oh wow, Tabitha. They look much better than the last batch."

  Tabitha stops a foot from me, holding the plate out at an angle. From my seated position, the cookies are at perfect eye level, and against my better judgment, I pick one off the top of the pile.

  It's dark brown and brittle. A few pieces flick off as I lower the cookie closer to the small plate my cup of coffee sits on. Burnt doesn't begin to describe the abomination in my hand. It looks like she put the cookie through torture.

  "What kind are they?" I ask before bringing the cookie to my lips.

  "Chocolate chip." Tabitha grins, looking down at the plate. "They’re a little burnt."

  A little burnt is an understatement. That’s like saying the Titanic nudged an icicle.

  Much to my dismay, she doesn't walk away once the cookie is in my hand, but instead continues to stare at me. To help hurry this along, I stick the cookie between my teeth and try to nibble off a small bite. A huge chunk breaks off, crumbs falling all over the table.

  "Still hot," I lie while trying my hardest to chew the cookie and not break a tooth.

  "Two cupcakes, and put them on Spencer's tab," Hudson stops in front of Anessa's display case and points without touching the glass.

  "I have cookies." Tabitha twists the tray in his direction.

  Hudson crinkles his nose at the platter, not doing a good job of hiding his rejection of Tabitha's cookies. "It's okay, Tabs. Ridge doesn't care if his girl can cook. He once dumped a girlfriend over apple pie, so it's probably better.
"

  "What?" I’ve heard more than a few of Ridge’s break-up stories over the years. He’s a hot topic on the phone tree, but I’ve never heard the apple pie story.

  "It was right after he got out of the Navy. Some chick baked an apple pie and didn't put any cinnamon in it. You know Ridge…" We all nod. "They got into a big fight and he told her he couldn't date someone who didn't know how to put cinnamon in a pie.”

  "Who dumped someone over pie?" Anessa asks.

  “Ridge, of course.” Tabitha rolls her eyes with the answer.

  The man in question peeks over at the mention of his name, but then his attention falls back to the phone in his hand as he places it to his ear.

  Hudson laughs. "I spent four years in the military with Ridge. I could tell you a whole book on the girls Ridge left in the dust."

  Tabitha rolls her eyes, harder this time. "Yes, we all know Ridge is shitty with breakups."

  Tabitha moves just right, and a glint in the sunlight streaming through the open window catches my eye. Underneath my table, stuck between the wall and the table base, lays something shiny. I lean down and pick it up, realizing it's a piece of glass when the corner jabs me in the finger.

  "We missed that one." Tabitha leans over and takes the glass from my pinched fingers. She throws it and the tray of cookies in a large trash can on the other side of the counter, leaving the empty plate on top of the display case.

  "Hey Hudson, I've got a job for you," Ridge calls, not lowering the phone he has pressed to his ear.

  Hudson’s face falls. "It better not include a dog." His attention turns to me for only a second, but long enough I notice his scowl.

  Before anyone questions me what that's all about, I turn in the other direction and become super interested in the poinsettias Anessa decorated the counter with.

  Ridge walks over and joins our quickly growing circle. "Nope, got a friend who needs a favor in San Francisco. Best pack a bag."

  "San Francisco?" Hudson’s voice reveals his lack of excitement.

  "He’s emailing the details right now."