Tatum tossed him a quick smile and then settled back on her heels when he walked away. Her head turned to take in the game filling the TV screen behind the bar. Her arms were folded, but her feet kept moving. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. The woman was constantly in motion, even when she stood still. Not that he minded. How could he when every bounce had her tight jeans hugging the delectable curve of her ass?
Desire scorched through him and settled painfully against the straining zipper of his fly. Damn, he wanted to take her home and burn that temper off between the sheets.
He was so caught up in the view of her straining thighs and round rear that it took him several moments to realize the guy sitting on her right had taken advantage of her proximity by wrapping his arm around her waist.
Evan shot up in his chair, feet planted on the floor ready to vault up and protect her.
But Tatum beat him to it.
Slamming her palm down over the guy’s wandering hand, Tatum tossed him a blistering look and said something he couldn’t hear.
“Who is that guy?” Evan asked without taking his gaze off her.
“Who?” Brett asked even as Gage was saying, “No clue, never seen the guy before.”
That damn itchy, uncomfortable sensation crawled up the back of his neck. “That usual?”
“It isn’t unusual.”
“We are a tourist town,” Dev said.
Brett shrugged. “But December isn’t exactly the height of our season.”
The guy in question didn’t take Tatum’s hint, snaking his hand out to touch her again the moment her attention turned back to the bartender.
Evan didn’t wait for anything else to happen. In a few, ground-destroying strides, he was across the bar. The guy’s fingers had barely brushed against her before he snatched the offending digits away.
Applying pressure, Evan twisted the guy’s wrist. The man whimpered, his entire body shifting with the move in an attempt to relieve the painful squeeze.
“Keep your hands off my wife.”
Tatum gasped, whipping around. Her green eyes catalogued the situation with lightning speed. He would have expected to see gratitude. Instead, they narrowed to tiny slits, and the glare wasn’t directed at the grabby asshole.
“Let him go,” she barked, glancing pointedly where he held the guy prisoner with little effort.
Growling, Evan did what she wanted, throwing the guy’s arm away with disgust.
“You’re married?” Mr. Grabby frowned, his words slurring as he looked accusingly at Tatum’s left hand. “You aren’t wearing a ring. How’s a guy supposed to know if you don’t wear your ring?”
Grabby sent Evan a pleading look, searching for male solidarity and understanding.
Evan wasn’t in an understanding mood.
All around them conversation had stopped.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Tatum cocked out a single hip, the glare ramping higher. “I suppose, technically, I’m married.”
“Technically,” Evan ground out, his jaw aching with the effort to hold in the spew of words threatening to erupt. “Technically?”
“Technically,” Tatum countered, her voice calm and cool.
Oh, he’d show her technically.
Without sparing a single thought to their audience, Evan swept her into his arms. Her eyes went round, realizing a few beats too late just what he intended.
Bending her backward, he bowed her over the bar and claimed her mouth.
And that was all she wrote. The kiss might have started because he was angry and frustrated. But the second he touched her, everything else evaporated.
As it always did with Tatum.
The pub could have exploded around them and he wouldn’t have noticed, not once he had her soft sweetness opened for him.
Her hands slammed onto his shoulders. Evan had no doubt she’d meant to push him away. But she didn’t. She had as much success controlling what they had together as he did—which was absolutely none.
Her fingers gripped him, hard enough that he thought he heard the seam of his shirt tear. Not that he cared. He’d buy a new shirt every damn day if he needed.
One of his palms settled between her shoulder blades, preventing the bar from biting into her flesh. The other sneaked down, cupping the ass she’d been tormenting him with not five minutes ago.
She whimpered and opened her mouth wider, inviting him deep inside.
He had no idea how far they would have both gone, except someone loudly clearing their throat cut through the sensual fog hazing his rationality.
Evan glanced behind Tatum to take in the bartender, a knowing smirk playing across his lips. Plunking several glasses onto the bar at Tatum’s back, he said, “Five chocolate cake shots,” and walked away.
Around them, the noise started up again, although it held a manic edge—voices overly animated and bright, conversations that weren’t really about anything, so everyone could pretend they weren’t paying attention, even though they totally were.
Evan grabbed the shot glasses and stepped back. Tatum’s hands slid from his shoulders. Her eyes were glassy, as if she’d already downed all five shots.
Pulling in a deep breath, he watched her steady herself. Hated to see the desire melting from her expression.
Stepping out of her way, Evan let her pick a path back to the table. He dropped the shot glasses in front of each of the women who stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless.
“Enjoy, ladies,” he purred before walking back to his own table.
They weren’t far enough away to muffle the sound, and whichever one of her friends said it didn’t really make an effort to try, but Evan couldn’t stop the smile of satisfaction that tugged at his still-tingling lips when he heard, “Holy shit, girl, that was hot.”
* * *
GOD, IT WAS HOT. Two hours later at home, her body still ached from the force of Evan’s kiss. How could he so completely blindside her? After all these years?
Hell, her brain had shut down and she’d forgotten they were in the middle of the pub with half the damn town watching.
No doubt the Sweetheart telephone tree had already been activated to spread the news to anyone unlucky enough to miss the show in person.
Groaning, Tatum squashed her eyes closed and fought the rise of a blush. She wasn’t normally the kind of woman to get embarrassed. She’d gotten over caring what other people thought of her a long time ago. She hadn’t had the luxury of time to spend on stupid things like that. Not when her mother was dying and her dad was losing his mind.
Perspective could be a dangerous thing.
But here in Sweetheart...life had been easier. Calmer. She’d taken the time to get to know the people. And whether she liked to admit it or not, what they thought of her mattered.
And not just because she was a business owner in the town and a tarnished reputation could hurt her bottom line. They were her friends.
Flicking off the heels she’d been wearing since early morning, Tatum let out a soul-deep sigh of relief and tossed her purse onto the bench just inside the front door, not caring where it landed.
She collapsed onto the sofa, and relaxed into the soft cushions.
She loved going out with her friends, but it definitely drained her. And seeing how Hope had glowed and Gage had barely taken his eyes off his new wife...had made her happy. Not that they weren’t sickeningly in love long before the wedding.
Evan entered the house, quiet and contained. He’d been that way all night. Actually, he’d been that way for days, and that was draining her, too. His constant alertness caused her own instincts to go haywire, like a magnet pulling a compass needle off point.
She closed her eyes, just listening, letting the sounds of him filter in. The quiet click as he closed her front door and twisted all the locks. The clink of her purse chain as he hung it on the hook nailed to the wall, which she never actually used. The soft tread of his footsteps across her floor.
She wa
nted to be upset with him, and maybe tomorrow she’d uncover the irritation that had set her on edge all afternoon. But right now, it had completely disappeared. Damn the man.
Her temper wasn’t a match for Evan’s kiss, which was not news to her. It’s why she’d tried to stay away from him all night.
Rather unsuccessfully.
Oh, she’d kept her physical distance, but she’d been mentally distracted. Even with her back to him, she’d known exactly where he was and what he was doing. She’d always been aware of him in that preternatural way and she’d stopped wondering why a long time ago. They were connected.
Unfortunately, that connection was working against her right now.
Her brain might be screaming that everything was not okay, but her body didn’t seem to give a damn. It just wanted him. Now. Often.
She had a driving need to touch him. To assure herself he was there—and alive. The need bothered her. It seemed like a weakness, one she struggled desperately to conquer. But never did.
Time with her friends had helped to center her, though. She’d really needed those few hours to relax and unwind. To try to forget the tangled mess her life had become.
A tiny voice in her head whispered that a tangled mess was a hell of a lot better than sleepwalking through life, which was what she’d been doing for the last three years.
The problem was, the same voice kept taunting her that the grief and numbness weren’t really gone...simply waiting patiently to return.
Beside her, a light clicked on. The warm glow washed over her closed eyelids.
He was standing there, watching her. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it. She could feel his gaze sweep across her and the way her body reacted to his study. Her nipples tightened. Her core ached.
But she didn’t move. They both waited, the pressure a physical thing filling the room.
She heard him shift. The air caught in Tatum’s lungs. What would he do now? And how would she react? What did she want him to do?
Take the decision out of her hands. Give her mind a break from the round robin of swirling emotions and thoughts. Give her a respite from the confusion, anger, hope and need she’d been struggling with since he had walked back into her life.
Tatum tensed, waiting for a caress. Or his mouth.
Instead, he scooped her off the couch into his strong arms.
Her eyelids flashed open, the light blinding her for a moment. Her hands scrambled to find purchase as the couch fell away from her. It felt as if she was floating, and the only thing tethering her to the earth was Evan’s arms.
He cradled her against his body, one arm tucked beneath her bent knees and the other a strong band running beneath her shoulders.
She peeked up at him, momentarily stunned. Not because he had picked her up. She wasn’t supermodel thin, but she exercised at Sweetheart Sweats on a regular basis. Plus, her husband was a badass with the muscles to prove it. He could easily move her around any way he wanted.
No, it was because of the way he watched her. It made her mouth dry and her eyes prick. Oh, there was lust, too, but mixed with something more. Something she’d missed so much and hadn’t let herself see before now.
The love they’d both lost.
“What...what are you doing?”
“Taking my wife to bed,” he said in a husky tone.
“I don’t...” She had no idea what lie she was going to tell, but the words wouldn’t form. She did. She did want. Did need.
His long strides ate up space, carrying her straight to the bedroom they’d been sharing for the past several days.
Gently, he lowered her into a sitting position on the bed and knelt at her feet. His fingers found the fly of her jeans, making quick work of the button and zipper. The backs of his fingers slipped across her skin, his heat making her muscles jump and blood sizzle.
With nothing but a single, glancing touch, she was on fire.
Tatum tried to get control by sucking in a ragged breath, but there was no control to be had.
Evan urged her up onto her feet again. He stayed right where he was, on his knees, his head perfectly aligned with where she needed him.
He didn’t glance up at her, but focused squarely on his mission. Hooking fingers into the relaxed waistband of her jeans, he tugged them over her hips, leaving her panties. Not that they were very useful. She could feel the dampness soaking them. They’d been that way since their kiss.
Restless, Tatum shifted on her feet, bringing her satin-covered mound closer to his mouth. But Evan didn’t seem to notice. Or at least, he made no move to do anything about it.
The soft puff of his warm breath was pure torture.
Palms spread across her waist, he slowly guided her down onto the edge of the bed. Tears pricked her eyes. It somehow felt like a metaphor for another precarious edge she was balancing on.
Evan tugged her jeans off one leg at a time, and she tried not to shudder when he brushed the slopes of her thighs.
He remained between her spread feet, staring at the floor. She could see the rise and fall of his broken breaths. The stuttering flutter of his pulse at his throat.
And she realized he was trying to get control.
But that’s not what she wanted.
For the first time since he’d picked her up, Tatum touched him. Threading her fingers into the silky strands of his black hair, she tugged until his face rose to her.
Their gazes collided, and she sucked in a rough breath. That’s what he did to her. He made her forget how to breathe. Forget everything but the way he could make her body burn.
He made no attempt to hide the smoldering hunger lighting up his eyes. Her hold on him tightened. She had to be pulling on his hair, but he didn’t even wince. It was as though he couldn’t feel anything but his desire for her.
Tatum understood. There wasn’t room for anything else.
And still he didn’t move. He knelt at her feet, silently begging her to give them what they both wanted. He didn’t try to push, yet they knew he could. The kiss they’d shared tonight had demonstrated how fully he could consume her if he wanted.
Tonight wasn’t about that kind of unbridled consumption. The first night, she’d goaded him into giving her an orgasm. And their encounter in the workroom at Petals had been all barely banked heat. At every turn, he’d pushed her. Pursued her. Used her physical reactions against her and given her little choice.
Tonight, he was giving her everything.
But that meant she had nothing to hide behind when the night was over and morning rolled back around.
If she told him to leave, Evan would.
But she didn’t want him to go. The mere thought of it lodged a pain deep in her chest. It was a familiar ache, one she’d lived with for so long.
Tonight, she wanted it gone.
11
HANDS TWISTED IN his hair, Tatum used her hold to urge him up. Now it was her turn to stare at him. He was gorgeous.
His momentum dislodged her grip on him. Her hands dropped, trailing down his body as he rose, to snag in the waistband of his jeans. Tugging at his shirt, she pushed it up, revealing the tight plane of his abs.
She leaned forward, intending to run her tongue along the peaks and valleys, but the moment she got close, she realized she needed to do something else.
Placing a kiss right above his belly button, she set her forehead against him and wrapped her arms around his hips, just holding him to her.
She breathed in the spicy, clean scent of him. The muscles beneath her contracted. It was his turn to bury his hands deep in her hair, holding hard enough that it should have hurt. But it didn’t. She didn’t feel any pain, only the relief she’d been desperately holding at bay for days.
Her shoulders shook and an unexpected sob burst through her lips. She tried to smother it, but it was too late.
“Tatum,” he breathed, his own voice husky with regret, loneliness and shared pain.
He lifted her head up and stared into
her eyes. His thumb brushed slowly across her cheek, spreading a trail of wetness. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized she was crying.
“Baby,” he whispered. “Please don’t.”
She shook her head, unable to explain that she couldn’t stop.
Gathering her into his arms, he folded them both onto the bed. Her legs were draped across his lap, her face buried deep in his neck. One hand rubbed rhythmically up and down her back. The other held back the fall of her hair, giving him access to rain soothing kisses across her temple, cheek and nose.
“Honey, stop. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
She curled her fingers harder into the front of his shirt, desperate to hold on.
He murmured to her, incoherent words that probably would have made sense if her mind wasn’t caught in the tornado of emotions she’d been denying for days.
Somewhere in the maelstrom, words began to pour from her mouth. All the things she’d sworn she was strong enough to keep buried inside. How devastated she’d been. How hard it had been to keep moving, one day after another, without him. How pissed she’d been at him for dying and leaving her alone. How guilty those thoughts had made her feel afterward. How numb she’d been every day since.
How bone-deep scared she was.
Eventually, she quieted, the flow of words drying to a drip and then stopping all together. He just kept touching her, as though the soft scrape of his callused fingertips over her skin could give her comfort.
The thing was, they did.
The weight of everything she’d been carrying lifted, finally freeing her. Until it was gone, she didn’t realize how heavy the burden had been. Or that she’d been carrying it since long before Evan’s death...it had started with her mother’s illness and had never quite disappeared.
She’d had to be so strong, first for her parents and then for Evan as a military wife. She wasn’t immune to the pressure. His job scared her—it had then and it did now. But she refused to be like some of the other wives, letting that fear steer her life. So she’d pushed it down. Pretended it wasn’t there.
Bring Me to Life Page 13
