Mr Spencer(11)

“My ex-husband.”

Spencer’s eyes shoot up.

“Got you.”

“I didn’t realise you were a comedian,” he replies dryly. “He gets to call you Lottie and I don’t?”

“Comedy is one of my hidden talents.” I smirk as I read the menu. “And I’m Charlotte to you at this point.”

His eyes hold mine and a trace of a smile crosses his face. It’s as if he just accepted a silent challenge that I don’t know about. “I’ll add it to the list then,” he mutters.

“There’s a list?”

His eyes stay glued to the menu. “There is a big list.”

“Of what?”

“Being gorgeous and whatnot.”

I bite my lip as I watch him. Lara was right, he is simply delicious.

Robert comes over to our table. “Can I take your order?”

Spencer peruses the menu, and then looks back up at me. “How far is your house from here?”

“Not far.”

“Okay, shall we have some wine?”

I nod. This feels terribly grown up for a Thursday. “Okay.”

“What’s good on the menu?” He frowns, looking over the choices.

“The Aloft Cab Sav is nice,” I whisper nervously. He makes me feel like a timid little girl.

“Okay, we’ll have a bottle, please.” He closes his drinks menu and hands it over. “We’ll order our meal in a little while, please.”

Robert walks away, and Spencer’s eyes fall to my face.

“Why are you here, Mr Spencer?” I ask him.

He smiles softly and leans towards the table, steepling his hands under his chin. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“You’re on my mind.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I like that he wanted to see me.

Our drinks arrive and we both sit in relative silence, neither of us knowing what to say.

“How old are you, Charlotte?” he asks softly.

“I think I answered that question before. Too young for you, Mr Spencer.” I smile over at him.

“Well, I’m twenty-five,” he says seriously. “With thirteen years’ experience.”

I do the maths. He’s thirty-eight.

“And I’m twenty-four… with no experience.”

His eyes twinkle with delight. Maybe he thought I was younger than that.

We sip our drinks in an uncomfortable silence, once again.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

He frowns as he tries to articulate himself. “And you’re not secretly in love with your bodyguard?”

“Certainly not. You’ve been watching too many movies, Mr Spencer.” I laugh.

He puts his hand on his chest, faking his relief. “That’s good to hear. I can’t compete with bodyguards and shit like that.” He winks at me. “Although I do practice karate.”

We both chuckle and our eyes linger on each other’s. There is this mutual affection between us. For me, it’s that he speaks so unguarded, as though he already knows me, but maybe it’s just all his experience with women that make him this way. He’s not nervous around me like most men, and his confidence is very attractive.

I would give anything to know what’s on his mind.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“That depends.” He leans forward.

“On what?”

“I’m running a risk assessment in my mind as to whether I’m going to get beaten to a pulp if I kiss you.”

I smile bashfully.

It would be worth it.

The moment is broken by the waiter returning with our bottle of wine. He pops the cork and pours a little into both our wineglasses.

“Thank you.” I take a sip. “Hmm.” I eye the glass of burgundy liquid. “That’s nice.”

Spencer holds his glass in the air. “A toast.”

“To what?” I ask.

His eyes hold mine. “Our first date.”

I smile softly.

“May there be many more,” he whispers darkly, clinking his glass to mine before he takes a sip. “You know I wrote your name in my diary on Monday morning.”

I smile. “Why?’

“Because when I want something, I write it down.” He smirks.

I giggle. “That not at all creepy.”

He chuckles.

I take a mouthful of wine and think for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why would you drive all the way out here to see me without calling first?”

“Because I knew if I called you that you wouldn’t want to see me.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and then back up to my eyes with a hunger I haven’t felt before. The air between us becomes electric. God, the way he looks at me sets me on fire.

“Has someone hurt you in the past?” he asks.

I stare at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Physically, has someone hurt you?”

“What? No.” I frown. “Why would you say that?”

“You seemed frightened of me on Saturday night.”

I drop my head in embarrassment. I know he means when I felt his erection. It terrified me if I’m honest, and I hate that he sensed it.