Mr Spencer (Mr. Book 2)

I quickly close the email and sit back in my chair.

He can’t stop thinking about me.

Well, the feeling is completely mutual. I’ve thought of nothing but him since Saturday night. I stare at the computer screen for awhile, wondering what to do.

He really hurt my pride the other week at my house, but worse than that, he hurt my feelings. I don’t like the power he has over me, nobody has ever had the ability to hurt me before.

But I know he could do a really good job of it… will do a good job of it.

I blow out a dejected breath. Spencer Jones may be the most fun man I’ve met in a long time, but we are better off just being friends. I already know what the future holds for us. I don’t want to be one of his harem. He made it very clear that he isn’t interested in virgins.

And even though I told him that my virginity ship has sailed…. I also know deep down in my heart that telling him I was no longer a virgin was an appalling lie, and he isn’t actually attracted to women like me.

He likes the challenge.

I would too if I were him.

God, I can’t believe that he actually thinks I may have slept with Wyatt. That’s laughable.

“Do you want to come up to level fourteen, Lottie?” Sarah asks.

“What for?” I frown.

“It’s Callam’s birthday. They‘re having cake.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I smile.

“How old is Mr Hot Dick turning?” I ask.

“Who cares? All I know is that he’s old enough to do terrible things to my body.”

I giggle as she pulls me towards the lifts and we get inside.

“I just wish he would get with the program and do it already.” She sighs.

“You should ask Callam out?”

“Yeah.” She thinks for a moment. “Maybe I will.” She shrugs. “If I used my brain and had some foresight, I would have popped out of his birthday cake.”

I burst out laughing, getting a vision of her covered in whipped cream and popping out of a huge cake. “I don’t think level fourteen is prepared for your level of hotness, Sarah.”

“I know, right?”

The ceiling of my room is plastered with fancy, swirling circular shapes, and my apartment is dead quiet as I stare up at it. It’s the early hours of the morning, but I can’t sleep. I’m preoccupied with this weird feeling—one of realisation. It’s as if my eyes have finally been open to what I’m missing out on by being a Prescott.

Working, laughing, and being asked out every hour at work by gorgeous men have all made me happy—the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

And this isn’t even my life.

It’s one big fat lie.

I roll over and punch my pillow in disgust. Who am I kidding? Most people on the planet would give their right arm to have what I’ve been born into and the privileged life that I live.

I’m being ungrateful, I know I am. I mean, I do appreciate everything that I have.

I stare into the darkness as a tear rolls down my face and onto my pillow.

I feel so lost.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me? Maybe I need to go back to my grief counsellor?

Yes…that’s probably it. I’ll call and make an appointment tomorrow. I haven’t been for over a year now.

I get out of bed and walk to the bathroom to stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Big blue eyes and pale skin stare back at me. My blonde hair is in a high messy bun, and I’m wearing odd pyjamas. There’s nothing special about me. I’m just a normal girl who happens to have four-billion pounds in the bank.

I storm back to bed and pull the covers over me to stare up at the ceiling again.

I’m lonely as hell.

My email pings. Spencer Jones again.

I smirk and look around guilty. It’s 4:00 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon, and I hate to admit it, but I’ve checked my emails every half an hour today.

I don’t want him to email me, but then I kind of do.

Dear Lottie

I am so sorry to hear that you’ve had a terrible accident and broken all of your fingers and are unable to email me back.

I smirk.

I shall however, as usual, pick up your slack and continue with my reasons as to why you should have dinner with me.

11 – I am a specialist in broken finger first aid.

I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud. He’s an idiot.

12 – I don’t have a YouPorn profile.

I frown. What does that mean?

13 – I have nice feet

14 – I can fold a fitted sheet.

15 – I have huge muscles.

I roll my lips to hide my goofy smile, why does he have to be all cute and adorable?

16 – I read ten books a week.

Pft, I highly doubt that.

17 – I’m nocturnal.

18 – I manscape.

He manscapes.…. My shoulders begin to bounce as I try to hide my giggles.

19 – I am on the navigation team for Santa Claus’s sleigh.

I burst out laughing, unable to catch myself.

Sarah looks over. “What’s funny?”

I close the email quickly. “Nothing, I was just…” I pause as I try to think of something. “I was just remembering something I watched last night.”

“What was it?” She keeps typing.

“Oh, just this weird guy was playing tricks on people.” I widen my eyes, good grief. “It was hilarious,” I add.

She raises her eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hmm, sounds it.” She stands. “I’m going to the bathroom. Does anyone want a coffee while I’m up?”

“Please,” we both say.

I drop my head to desperately try to stop myself from laughing out loud. Spencer’s on the navigation team for Santa Claus. Now I really have heard it all. I click the email open again and read the last reason.

20 – Because I know you like me, too.

I click it shut immediately. How does he know that? I’ve not given him any reason to believe I’m interested in him.

Shit. I stare at my computer for a long time.

What do I write back? I think for a moment.

Dear Mr Spencer,

Thank you for taking the time to outline your personal attributes, which I must say, are very impressive indeed. However, unfortunately, at this time, your application for a dinner date has been unsuccessful.

I wish you luck with your future endeavours.

Santa Claus’s navigation team? You really are an inspiration.

I must go as I’m typing this with my nose due to my severely

broken fingers and I am in terrible pain.

Lottie: xoxo

I hit send with a hint of sadness. Damn it. I hate that my pride won’t let me go out with him. He has no idea how much he kicked my confidence to the kerb.

And besides, I’ve only just started to have fun. If I begin to run around with him now it will just bring attention to me, my plan, my job, and my time in London will come to an abrupt end.

It’s a hopeless situation, anyway….it is, what it is.

Now is not the time to start something with Mr Spencer.

My email pings.

Dear Miss Charlotte,

I reject your rejection:

Give me your phone number immediately or

I’m calling you at work on your work number and asking for Charlotte Prescott on 07826653350

My mouth falls open. He wouldn’t, would he?

“W-what’s our work phone number?” I ask, trying to act casual.

Paul looks up. “07826653350.”

My eyes widen, shit…. he knows the number. I immediately type back.

Don’t you dare call me at work!

Sarah is sitting beside me, and she is waiting for you to call her.

But of course, you are too much of a coward to do that.

I hit send in a fury. God, this man drives me mad. I close my email in disgust.

Sarah’s phone immediately rings, and my heart drops. Damn it, what have I done?

My phone rings at the same time, shit.

I quickly answer it. “Hello.”

“Hello, Charlotte. It’s Alexander,” the deep voice purrs down the phone.

Alexander is Edward’s best friend. Edward said he would be checking on me. I glance over to Sarah to see who she is talking to.

“Hello,” she answers, and her face breaks out into a smile. “Hi, Spencer.”

It’s him.

“How are you?” Alex asks me on my call.

“I’m great, busy with work,” I add. “And you?” I glance back at Sarah.

“Oh, that’s okay, I know you’re busy,” Sarah says. She listens for a moment. “Oh.” She sighs.

Damn him.

“We need to catch up while you’re in London,” Alexander says.

What I really need to do is hang up so I can listen to Sarah’s conversation properly. “Yes, we do,” I agree in a rush.

“What are you doing Saturday night? I have my mother’s charity ball on. You must come,” Alexander suggests.

Sarah drops into her chair. “Oh, I see.” She smiles sadly. “She’s a lucky girl,” she says.

What the hell is he saying to her?

“Of course, Alex.” I exhale. “I’m really busy though, I’m at work.”

“Okay, I’ll let you go. I will message you with the details.”

I watch Sarah, and she frowns as she listens. “He said that?”

I need to end this call. “Yes, Alex. Sounds great, see you Saturday.” I hang up in a rush.

Sarah is smirking as she stares down at her desk.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She smiles. “I’ll have to think about it.” She listens for a moment. “Thanks for letting me know. Yeah, it’s okay. I completely understand.”

She hangs up and turns to me. “Well, that’s that.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Spencer Jones just dumped me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that he wasn’t over his old girlfriend and it wasn’t fair to start something with me.”

I stare at her. That was the last excuse I ever thought he would give. “Oh.”

“He said that Richard had asked him if he could call me because he felt that he and I had hit it off.”

“Really?” I smile in surprise. That was nice of him to say that to boost her confidence.

She shrugs and tries hard not to smile, but I can tell she’s flattered. “I don’t think I’ll go out with him, though. He isn’t really my type.”

“I thought Richard was hot.” I smile.

“Really?” She frowns.

“Yes, really.”

My email pings again.

Lottie,

I need to talk to you. You are worrying me. I don’t understand what’s going on???

Please give me your number.

Spence

I blow out a dejected breath. He doesn’t know what’s going on because I hardly know myself. I loiter around work for a half an hour, and finally come to a conclusion: there’s no harm in talking to him I suppose.

Mr Spencer

My number is 07712345678

A reply comes back immediately.

I have a business dinner on tonight. I’ll call you when I get home around 9pm.

Spence

xoxo

I stare at the hugs and kisses, and I feel my heart flutter. He’s calling me tonight. I want to spin around on my chair in excitement.

I won’t, of course. I’ll pretend, even to myself, that this is an inconvenience.

I click the email closed and turn my attention to Sarah and Paul. “You guys want to go to the pub for drinks after work?” I ask.

Paul shrugs. “Yeah, why not? May as well. I’ve got nothing but mouldy cheese in my fridge at home, anyway.”

Sarah smiles and types away on her keyboard. “Yes, but can we go to the Grange?” “Sure, but why?”

“That place is Hot Dick City.”

Paul rolls his eyes. “I take it you’ve gotten over that other chump in the last half an hour then?”

“God, yes.” She fixes her hair. “His loss. I’m way too hot for him, anyway. Spencer bloody who?”

I glance at my watch: it’s 9:30 p.m. Maybe he isn’t going to call after all.

I make myself a cup of tea and sit at the kitchen island. I love this apartment. It already feels like home.

My phone dances across the bench and an unknown number pops up.

It’s him.

My heart begins to race, and I blow out a deep breath to try and calm myself down.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” his mischievous, deep voice says down the phone. I find myself smiling just from the sound of his voice.

“Hello, Mr Spencer.”

He chuckles. “Always so formal.”

I press my lips together, too nervous to speak in case I say something stupid.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Nothing serious. I just wanted to see what it was like working in another environment where people didn’t know my father. You won’t say anything, will you?”

“To who? I don’t know any of your family’s aristocrat peers.”

“I know,” I murmur, suddenly feeling stupid.

“Does your father know where you are?”

“He knows I’m in London, but he thinks I’m working at my regular job. Edward and Dad are overseas for six weeks. I thought it was a good opportunity to have some fun.”

He inhales sharply. “By fun, you mean sex?”

I smirk. Why does he always have to be so upfront? “No, I mean spend time with Beth, my friend. Work a different job. Meet new people, things like that.”

“Haven’t your guards snitched on you?”

“No, they don’t know what I’m doing, either. They stay on the ground floor of my office building and meet me on my breaks or when I finish.”

He hesitates. “Let me get this straight—you’ve moved to London for six weeks and are pretending to be someone else and nobody at all knows?”

I run my finger along the edge of the kitchen counter. “Beth knows, and now… you.”

“And what about him?”

I frown. “Who?”

“The man you slept with?” He’s clearly annoyed.

“Oh.” I scrunch my eyes shut. God, this is the biggest lie I’ve ever told. “No, he doesn’t know.”

“So, he’s still communicating with you as Charlotte.”

“Yes.”

He stays silent for a moment. “I take it you are in a relationship with him then?”

My eyes widen. “N-no,” I stammer. “No, it was just a one-time thing.”

“Why would you give your virginity to someone for a one-time thing?” he snaps, and I can hear tension in his voice.

Shit…. I close my eyes. “It just happened, Spencer. It’s over now and I would rather not talk about it, please.”

“Is that why you moved to London and are carrying on with this façade? You were hurt? Or were you just running away from him?”

“No. It really was a one-time thing, and now it’s over. Did you call me to talk about my past because I’m quite sure there is a lot of your history that we can discuss instead.”

He falls silent, eventually speaking softly. “Can I see you?”

God, I would like that.

“Perhaps we could go out to dinner when my father gets home?” I offer.

“Why not now?”

“Because if I’m seen with you, my guards will tell my family, and then I’ll be watched extra carefully. I’ve come this far with this fake identity and I want to carry on with it for the full six weeks. I’m really enjoying my job, and the friends I am making.”

“You don’t think I’m worth the risk?”

I roll my eyes. “You are being very high maintenance tonight, Mr Spencer. Did you call me to nag me to death?”

He laughs out loud. It’s deep and intoxicating, and I feel myself smiling goofily down the phone.

“Well, I’ve never been called that before.” He chuckles.

“There’s a first time for everything.” I smile as I sip my tea.

“What are you doing now?” His voice has dropped to a sexy, playful tone.

“I’m sitting at my kitchen bench in my pyjamas with a face mask on, drinking tea.”

“Good grief, woman. Lie to me.”

I giggle. “Okay.” I pause and try to think of a good lie. “I’m on a yacht.”

“Yes,” he whispers.

I try and stop myself from laughing. “I’m sailing through Croatia. The sun is setting, and I can hear the water lapping at the side of the boat.”

“Yes,” he purrs.

“With my husband.” I smile.

He makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong lie. Try again.”

“What lie are you hoping for?” I chuckle.

“Something along the lines of you being naked and thinking about me.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, that one.” God, he’s fun. “Well, you have to ask me again.”

“What are you doing now, my beautiful Charlotte?”

The sound of him calling me beautiful makes me smile. “I’m taking a bubble bath.”

“And?” I can tell he’s smiling.

“Drinking champagne.”

“Are you lying back against the edge?”

I get a vision of myself naked in the bath, drinking champagne. “Yes,” I breathe.

“Is your hair up?”

“Yes.”

“Is the room full of steam?”

I feel arousal start to tear through my blood stream. “Yes.”

“What are your legs doing?” he whispers.

I swallow the lump in my throat. God, this man makes me think naughty things.

“They’re open, my knees touching the sides of the bath,” I whisper.

He inhales sharply.

We stay silent as we both picture the setting; my sex begins to pump.

“Have you ever touched yourself while you thought of me?” His voice is husky, aroused.

I cringe. “Yes,” I breathe. He could make me orgasm just by talking to me like this.

“I’m going to call you tomorrow night at 9:30, angel, and I want you in the bath, naked with your legs wide open so we can continue this conversation.”

My eyes widen.

What?

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

Silence hangs between us.

Eventually, he replies, “Goodnight, angel.”

I press my hand on my chest as I try to control my breathing. I don’t want him to know how much he turns me on with his voice alone, and I most definitely don’t want to get off the phone. I want to play more games tonight.

“Goodnight, Spence.”

We both wait. I just want to ask him over to my place, and I know that’s what he’s waiting for.

Not yet.

“Goodbye,” I whisper, and I force myself to hang up.

Beth’s eyes nearly bulge from their sockets while she sucks her straw. “What do you mean, lie to him?”

I shrug and laugh. “Just what I said. I told him I had pyjamas and a face mask on, and he said lie to me.”

“Oh, this guy is fun, I like him.”

The two of us are at dinner and I’m filling her in on the latest Spencer gossip. I hate to admit it but I have been wearing a goofy grin all day…. the man makes me giddy.

“So, tonight, you have to be in the bath when he calls you?” she asks.

I shrug. “Apparently.”

She smiles broadly. “Get in the bath and ask him to come over to wash your back.” She chews her food. “With his dick.”

We both laugh out loud. “Can you imagine?”

“Do you reckon it’s big?’

I giggle and snort my wine up my nose. “Beth?’

“Seriously. He’s so over confident, he would have to be packing heat.”

I laugh myself into a coughing fit. “Packing heat?” I cough. “Who the hell says packing heat?”

She puts her finger up. “I do.”

I laugh and shake my head, and then she falls serious.

“Go home, get naked, and get into a big hot bath then wait for Mr Size Thirteen to call.”

I raise my wineglass in the air, and she clinks hers against it. “Mission accepted.”

The room is filled with steam as I lie back in the deep bath. I’m so aroused, I might orgasm when the phone rings… and right on cue, it does.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Are you in the bath?” he asks seductively.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Are your legs open?”

Just get straight to the point, why don’t you? My eyes close. I’ve never had anyone talk to me like this before. It’s insane.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Run your fingertips down over your stomach.” I can tell he’s already aroused too.

“Did you call to talk dirty to me, Mr Spencer?” I tease.

“Shut up and fucking do it.”

“Is that filthy mouth of yours always so bossy?”

“Angel, you have no idea.”

I smile and I dust my fingers down over my stomach.

“Tell me what you feel?” he asks.

Oh God…

“My skin.”

“Is it soft?”

“Yes.”

“Lower.” He exhales.

I drop my fingers between my open legs.

“Circle your four fingertips over your clitoris.”

I shudder, because just hearing him say that heats my blood. No man has ever spoken to me like this. I do as he asks, and I close my eyes to let the pleasure take over.

“Imagine it’s me who’s doing it. My open lips are on your neck.”

My head falls back.

“Talk to me,” he whispers through ragged breaths. “I want to hear your voice when you’re aroused.”

My fingers get to work, and I moan softly, my legs parting wider, seeking his invisible touch.

“Hmm, fuck yeah.” He hisses.

I smile at the arousal in his voice.

“Are you going to come for me, angel? Because I’ve been coming for you for two weeks.”

“Hmm.” I smile, my eyes still closed.

“I’ve had to imagine I was with you during sex or I couldn’t come.”

What?

My eyes snap open. “You imagined you were having sex with me when you were inside another woman?” I snap.

“Oh… shit… I mean…”

“You’ve had sex with someone else since we met?”

“Ah…” He hesitates as he tries to get himself out of this. “So… so did you, Charlotte,” he stammers. “Did you imagine it was me?”

My blood begins to boil. “No, Spencer. I did not.”

“You should have. I’m way better in bed than him.”

I get out of the bath in an instant. The water sloshes all over the floor. “No, what you are is an idiot!” I snap.

“I know. Wait. What are you doing?”

“Ending this call.”

“Don’t hang up on me,” he pleads.

“Go and do what you’ve been doing with the others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagining having sex with me is as close as you’re ever going to get. You big, stupid jerk.”

I hang up, wrap myself in a towel, and then I storm out of the bathroom.

The man is a first-class idiot.

I watch my phone dance across my side table while I lie in bed.

It’s late on Thursday night now, and Spencer has been calling me non-stop since our disastrous call on Tuesday.

I don’t want to answer. I mean, what is there to say?

While I’ve been pining over here for him, he’s been out screwing around, imagining my face when he was with someone else.

I’m shocked and appalled, but if I’m being totally honest, a little relieved that he had to imagine me to climax. That’s God punishing him for being such an asshole.

And why does he have to be so damn honest all the time?

It’s infuriating.

Beth thinks I should speak to him, and that in his eyes, I have double standards because he thinks I slept with someone else, too. She thinks I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe I am.

But maybe I’m just not cut out for casual dating, and this was just the gentle reminder I needed. He had me naked in the bath touching myself, for Christ’s sake. Talk about being putty in his hands.

The phone stops vibrating, and I stare at the ceiling, a sad, dejected feeling sweeping through me. I feel like I’m back to square one with him—below square one, because now I know he’s having sex with other women.

Maybe I should have answered his call and had it out with him. Perhaps it would make me feel better?

I exhale heavily and pick up my phone to start scrolling through Instagram when the phone starts to vibrate in my hand again.

I stare at it for a moment.

Screw it. “Hi,” I answer.

“Are you fucking serious?” he snaps.

I stay silent, unsure what to say.

“Okay, firstly… don’t you dare hang up on me.”

I roll my eyes.

“Secondly, yes, I am well aware that telling you I imagined you during sex was probably the stupidest thing to ever come out of my mouth.”

“Who was she?”

He hesitates.

“I want to know who she was.”

“Her name is Sheridan, and she’s an old friend. She lives in America.”

I get a vision of a beautiful woman with my Spencer, and jealousy twists in my stomach.

“You know her well?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I don’t know if I want to know the answer to this question, but I ask anyway. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”

“Do we have to talk about this?” he asks.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you want me to listen to what you have to say.”

“Ten years.”

My eyes widen and my stomach drops.

“It’s never happened before,” he says softly.

“What hasn’t?” I frown.

“I’ve never thought of someone else when I was with her.”

I stay silent, waiting for him to go on.

“I wasn’t prepared for it.”

“Do you think of other women often when you’re having sex?” I ask, confused.

“God, no. I’ve never done it, I just told you. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s constant, and it’s driving me fucking insane to be honest.”

I twist the quilt between my fingers. “So, Sheridan is your girlfriend who lives in another country?”

“No, she’s just a friend.”

“Who you have sex with?” I’m trying to understand the dynamics of their relationship.

“In the past, yes.”

“What about your future?”

“Charlotte, the only person on my mind at the moment is you. If I were with you and it bothered you, I wouldn’t be with anyone else.”

If it bothered me? What the hell?

“It would bother me, Spence, of course it would bother me. I don’t like to share.”

“Then you won’t.”

I get a lump in my throat, and I want to believe him.

Silence hangs between us.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m on a yacht, sailing around Ibiza.”

I smirk at the make-believe games he plays. “Yes.”

“And I’m working out a plan to come and kidnap this girl in London who I’m obsessed with.” His voice has dropped to his playful tone.

“What are you going to do with her once you have her?”

“What wouldn’t I do with her, if I had her.” He breathes out heavily.

I smile softly.

“I’m sorry I thought of you while I had sex with someone else,” he tells me. “It wasn’t fair.”

I frown, and for some stupid reason, my eyes fill with tears. No, it wasn’t.

“I won’t do it again, angel, I promise.”

I listen.

“Can I see you?” he asks.

“Erm.” I run through my schedule in my mind. “I have something on tomorrow and Saturday night,” I tell him.

“Sunday night?”

“We’ll see.” I sigh.

“Lottie.”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever felt like you know someone better than you actually do?”

I bite my bottom lip to stifle my smile. That’s exactly how I feel with him, and I don’t know where this attachment to him is coming from because it shouldn’t be there. I really don’t know him at all. After a pause, I reply, “Perhaps.”

“I’ll see you Sunday then?”

“Yes.” I find myself smiling like a fool.

“What am I going to do with myself ‘til then?”

“Why don’t you have a bath and spread your legs.” I smirk.

“Already done that. My dick is chaffed from jerking off to thoughts of you.”

My mouth falls open. “Spencer Jones, you are the crassest man I have ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And I’m not crass, I’m just honest.” I can tell he’s smiling.

“Goodbye, Spencer.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come over here and make up in person?”

“I’ll see you Sunday.” I smirk.

“That you will. I’m excited to see you.”

I don’t really want to say goodbye to him. Making up with him in person does seem like way more fun than this. We both stay silent and eventually I have to end the call.

“Goodbye, Spencer,” I eventually force out.

“Goodnight, angel. Dream of me.”

The line goes dead, and I smile goofily into the darkness.

I have no resistance to this man. None.

I walk into the ballroom with Alexander. It’s Saturday night, and we’re at a charity auction. I would rather be out with Beth, but I did promise Alexander I would come. Besides, it will keep my father and Edward appeased.

Alexander stops to talk to someone, and I look around, freezing on the spot.

Oh no.

Spencer is by the bar.

What the hell is he doing here?

His wavy hair is messed-up to perfection, and his square jaw and piercing blue eyes meet mine. Wearing a black dinner suit, he looks so handsome, and I feel myself melt a little.

He raises an eyebrow at me, and then just as suddenly as we connect, he snaps his eyes away from mine.

Spencer

“You never know what the future will bring.” Leoni smiles.

“I guess.” I sigh as I look around.

Charlotte—My Charlotte has just walked into the ballroom on someone else’s arm.

What?

Alexander York?

My skin prickles. You have got to be kidding me.

Him—my archnemesis. We’ve known each other for years and hated each other for just as long. We met at a party years ago. Alex did some trading for me on the stock market and they turned bad. Then I dated someone he wanted, and it’s gone downhill ever since. We’ve had harsh words on more occasions than I care to remember, and right now, I want to kill him with my bare hands.

“Yes, the universities are wonderful over there,” Leoni says.

I inhale sharply as I try to focus on what she is saying, although I’m quite sure she can see steam shooting out of my ears.

Was it him?

Did she sleep with Alexander fucking York?

My nostrils flare in fury and I tip my head back to skull from my beer. This woman will be the death of me. The two of them walk through the crowd, and Charlotte finds my gaze and falters, as if shocked.

She’s wearing a gold crystal-beaded dress, and her thick honey hair is set into large curls. She looks curvy, glamorous, and beautiful.

Perfect.

My cock instantly hardens with appreciation…and she’s fucking here with someone else.

I put my hand into the pocket of my black dinner suit and stare at her, my eyebrow rising involuntarily.

I’m livid and force myself to look away.

Leonie keeps banging on about the most boring thing I’ve ever heard and Charlotte stands still, her hands both clutching her gold purse nervously as Alexander stops to talk to someone. She can’t even look at me, while I can’t look away.

I’ve caught her out. This is why she won’t see me. She’s fucking him.

Agreeing to the date on Sunday night was probably just to shut me up.

I want to storm over there and drag her out of here.

I inhale deeply, trying to get a hold of myself. It’s been a long time since a woman has gotten to me like Charlotte Prescott has. If ever.

I don’t like it, I don’t trust it, and I don’t fucking want it… much to Masters’ and Seb’s amusement. They’ve told me that I am, without a doubt, the stupidest man on Earth to say that to a woman. I agree with them.

Lesson learned.

I tip my head back and drain my beer.

Alexander keeps talking then Charlotte says something to him and walks over to a table. When she gets there, she turns and walks back to the bar where I am standing, approaching me slowly.

“Excuse me.” I smile at Leonie as she talks.

“Oh, sure.” She frowns.

“Hello, Spence.” Charlotte smiles up at me.

“Hi,” I push out.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she says nervously.

I stare at her, physically biting my tongue from, once again, losing control and showing my feelings.

“You’re here on a date?” I ask flatly.

Charlottes eyes widen. “No. God, no. Alexander is a family friend, that’s all.”

I stare at her as she dusts my arm with her hand. “Honestly, I swear.”

Relief fills me, and I smirk, feeling stupid.

“Were you jealous?” she asks.

“Green-eyed monster jealous.” I sip my beer.

She’s all big lips and dimples, and I feel my lust for her all the way to my balls.

“I wish I was alone with you,” I say. Damn it, why does this woman make me blurt shit out?

Her eyes hold mine. I feel like she wants to say something, but she remains silent.

“How was your day?” I ask to make conversation.

“Good.” She smiles. “I was waiting for a phone call. Weren’t you calling me today?”

I smile, my anger dissipating. “I was waiting until I got home tonight and was naked in my bed.”

Her breath catches.

“I wanted to touch myself to the sound of your voice,” I confess.

She smirks and the air between us crackles, our eyes locked.

“You are a scoundrel, Mr Spencer,” she whispers.

I dip my head, pick up her hand, and I kiss the back of it. “At your service, my lady.”

Her hand stays in mine for an extended time and eventually good manners prevail. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”

She smiles. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Back in a moment.” I walk to the bar and wait in line to order our drinks.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” someone growls from behind me.

I turn to see Alexander York. “I’m getting a drink, you idiot, what does it look like?”

“I mean what the hell do you think you’re doing talking to Charlotte Prescott?”

I turn to him as my anger begins to pump. “Charlotte is none of your concern.”

“The hell she isn’t. We’ve been family friends all of our lives, and she’s way out of your fucking league.”

Unable to help myself, I smile smugly. “What’s the matter, York? You jealous?”

“Fuck you.”

I really want to say, that’s what she’s going to do later, but I hold my tongue.

“I saw you kiss her hand. What do you think you’re doing with her?”

I turn to him, raise our two champagne glasses, and throw him a wink. “Whatever the fuck I want to.”