Mr Spencer(93)

We all follow him up the stairs. “Spare rooms, bathrooms, and then at the end is my bedroom.”

We get to his room and I smile so wide that my face nearly splits in two. It’s a huge white bedroom with all different textured fabrics. There’s a king bed covered in white linen, white wingback chairs, a black and white charcoal artwork piece on the wall. The floors are a herringbone timber, too.

“Look around as much as you wish,” he says to the boys.

They walk past him and open the walk-in wardrobe doors, and then they go into the bathroom, leaving me to wrap my arms around Spencer’s waist and smile up at him.

“I like your house,” I beam.

He kisses me softly. “I like you.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Wyatt roll his eyes at Anthony, and I giggle. What must they think?

“Let yourself out, boys, we won’t be needing you again tonight.”

“Okay,” Anthony says before they disappear out of the door. “See you in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Spencer calls.

I would love to be a fly on the wall to see what they say when they’re in private.

“Alone at last.” Spencer smiles down at me before kissing me softly. His lips linger over mine and his tongue sweeps through my open mouth with just the right amount of force.

Dominant, caring… the man is as hot as hell.

“Well, Mr Jones.” I look around his room. “I did not expect this.”

“Expect what?”

“A house that looks like a Vogue home living shoot. You are full of surprises.”

“I’m an architect, what did you expect?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“I designed this building.”

My eyes widen. “You did?”

“Yes, and this apartment was always going to be mine.” His hands run down over my behind. “Just like you were.”

I frown up at him in question.

“You were always going to be mine, Charlotte.”

I giggle against his lips and I walk him backwards towards the bed until he stops me. “Not yet. I’m starving, woman.”

“Party pooper. What are we eating?”

“I’m cheating. I had my housekeeper pick up some Indian food for us. It’s in the fridge.”

“Sounds perfect.” He leads me back down the stairs and out into the kitchen, sitting me at one of the bench stools.

“Red or white?” he asks.

“White, please.”

I watch as he pours our wine and then hands me mine. We clink our glasses together and we smile stupidly at one other. “I like having you here,” he says.

“I like being here.” I reach up and drag him to me. We kiss and my eyes close to absorb every second of it. I really am pathetic when I’m around him.

He pulls out of our kiss. “Stop distracting me, I’m about to pass out from lack of sustenance. Do not kiss me again unless you have a defibrillator in your possession.”

I giggle. “Always so dramatic.”

He takes the Indian food out of the refrigerator and grabs a few saucepans.

“Why don’t you just microwave it?” I frown.

“You must be kidding. Have you ever had reheated Indian food that way?” He frowns.

“Many times.”

He rolls his eyes. “And here I was all this time thinking you were cultured.”

I giggle against my wineglass and watch on as he pours the food into the three saucepans.

“Have you thought about where you are going to live when you move to London?” he asks.

I shrug. “Not really. I guess I’ll have to start thinking soon, though.” I watch him for a moment. “What are your thoughts?”

He continues stirring. “I have a few.” He sips his wine. “The Spencer Jones in me wants you to get your own kickass apartment and decorate it however you want. To have your own things and come and go as you please.”

I smile and wait for him to go on.

“He wants you to gain your independence and live life without the restraints from your family.” He thinks for a moment. “I mean you should. That’s what you should do. That’s the smart thing to do.”

It’s clear he has something else on his mind, though. “And what do you want?” I ask.

His eyes find mine.

“That’s what Spencer Jones wants me to do,” I say. “What do you want me to do?” I ask. “The selfish little boy inside of you… what does he want?”

“Well…….” He pauses, his eyes hold mine as he decides whether to share. “The selfish little boy in me can’t stand the thought of spending even one night without you, and he wants you to move in here.”





15





Charlotte


What?

“I mean…” He shrugs as if embarrassed by my shocked reaction. “That’s only if you wanted to, and I’d completely understand if you didn’t.” He’s speaking way too fast, tripping over his words as he tries to recover.

I smile and remain silent as I watch him.

He continues to stir the pot, shaking his head as he thinks. “That was…” His voice trails off. “That was a bad idea, forget I said anything.”