"Okay, so my mom annoyed you, you figured Park City would be an ideal choice, and then you just… took off?" I demanded, trying to gather my thoughts into a logical conclusion. "You showed up here after one phone call with me and completely upended your life? Seems rash."
Spencer's eyes drifted away uncomfortably again. "It was, a little."
"There's more to it," I guessed. "What aren't you telling me?"
He looked at the ceiling, blowing out a breath and then letting his eyes land on me uncertainly. "There is one more… component. But I don't want you to get the wrong idea about it. It wasn't the main motivation for my moving here."
Realization dawned. He'd come back here for me because I'd been sick and needed help, but he didn't want me to read into it. It was one thing to flirt, to be here so I didn't die, but he didn't want me to read into the action too much and develop feelings for him. I'd known Spencer for years, and "unattached" probably had a "See Also: Spencer" under its definition. He didn't want to send me mixed signals, physical attraction notwithstanding.
Something dangerously close to anguish sliced through my emotions, but I quelled it, gathering my features into a semblance of control. "I see."
"I'm not sure you do," he said cautiously. "But could you possibly trust me? Just know that I'm here now, and I've got my own place lined up and a practice starting. We can keep your mother off our backs, and I'll be here if you need anything."
No wonder he didn't want me to make hasty assumptions about his motivations for moving here. It was difficult to quash the sudden surge of hope that flew through me when he said things like, "I'll be here." But I'd become adept at stuffing feelings in boxes, and it served me well when I nodded sagelyand ignored the stabbing pain over his rejection. "I appreciate that."
He was watching me warily like he was worried for me. But what else would I expect from him? Spencer had always been there, always cared for Knox and me even if it was from a distance. "I promise I'm not here to be overbearing or wreck your life." His gaze fell to where he had me pinned against him. Amusement lifted his lips. "Well, maybe a little."
We were back on safe ground. Teasing, I could do. "I would hate to see what you consider overbearing, in that case."
He looked like he was seriously considering the matter. "It usually involves more scolding."
"Morescolding? I practically have third-degree burns."
"You're thinking of scalding."
I shrugged. "Semantics."
"Overbearing Spencer usually involves less cuddling, too," he pointed out.
"We are not cuddling."
He eyed my butt on his abs and then quirked a brow. "In that case, I would love to see what you consider cuddling."
"It usually involves willing participants."
"Semantics." His eyes shimmered with mirth, and he squeezed my hips playfully. "But, alright, point taken. I'll overbear less and you cuddle more, and we can find a happy medium."
"You are an absolutelyoutrageousflirt," I accused, squinting one eye.
"Thank you."
"It's a good thing we're married and I'm immune to your charms." The second I said it, I knew Spencer would take that as a challenge. And I wanted him to. It wasn't intelligent or safe for my bleeding heart, but I couldn't help myself with him, it seemed. The more he was here, the more I wanted him. I couldn'thavehim, but I could flirt. A girl could flirt, right?
A challenging glint flashed through Spencer's dark eyes. With practiced finesse, he flipped us on the couch, so I lay on my back, and he hovered over me. His knee came between mine, and he balanced his weight on either side of me, dipping the cushions low. His cologne surrounded me, that heady combination ofstupidbergamot and whatever manly shit they added to that stuff that drove me wild. My heart tumbled, nearly plummeting to my stomach and then starting back up with an erratic stutter.
Spencer leaned down so his nose brushed against mine. "Charms?"
God, he was going to tease me relentlessly for that. I swallowed thickly. "So I hear."
"Fromwhom?"he demanded softly, a smile crinkling his eyes.
"I don't know," I confessed. "I guess I assumed."
"Assumed."
"That you have them," I clarified tightly, my heart going wild in my ribcage and my head swimming. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him—his square jaw shadowed and scratchy, the sharp bow in his lips that taunted me and reminded me of what I couldn't have.
Spencer bent his head and skimmed a line down my neck with his nose. Pressing his lips to my throat, he whispered, "Why assume when I can show you?"
