Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

Her eyes search mine.

I smile softly and then step forward to take her into my arms. “Alone at last.”

Charlotte

He’s here, and I’m finally in his arms. Arms that are big and warm and hold onto me tight. The smell of his aftershave is all around me. He’s tall—so much taller than me without my shoes on—and his hair is messed up to perfection.

Leaning down, he kisses me slowly and with just the right amount of pressure. He smiles as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

“I’ve been through torture tonight watching you with him.”

“He’s just a friend.”

“Does he know that?” He takes my hand and leads me farther into the apartment.

This is my house. I should take the lead—be brave for once.

“Would you like a drink?” I ask with fake confidence.

He kisses my fingertips, his eyes locked on mine. “Please.”

Oh, he’s just so…

I guide him to the kitchen where he stops me and spins me toward him again. I stare up at him and feel the air leaving my lungs. Spencer has this intensity about him that I’ve never seen on him before tonight. I don’t know if it’s because we are completely alone for the first time, because we’re sneaking around, or because we’re in my apartment and we both know that anything could happen. But everything feels magnified tonight. Every glance, every smile, every touch.

Perhaps it’s my nerves that are making everything seem so… extreme.

He takes my face in his hands. “I have to kiss you. It’s been too long since I’ve felt your lips.” His mouth dusts mine, and his tongue slowly slides out and runs across my lips. I feel the thrill of it all the way to my toes. He goes deeper and his tongue connects with mine, softly, as if coaxing me to come out and play.

I smile against him and put my arms around his broad neck.

He walks me backwards into the kitchen, and then we stop for a moment, and he holds me in his arms, looking down at me.

The air swirls between us and we stare at each other as we drink in our close proximity.

His eyes are smouldering, and I can feel the power his body is emanating, he licks his lips, and I can see he’s debating whether or not he should take this slow.

Please…

“Where are your wineglasses?” he asks smoothly.

“R-right,” I stammer. “Good idea.” I point to a cupboard in a fluster. I need a drink… or ten. I take two champagne flutes, grab a bottle of Grange, and pass them over to him.

He smirks when he sees the label. “The good stuff.” Little does he know I just ordered this in a panic from room service only twenty minutes ago. The cork pops, and he pours the bubbly liquid into our glasses.

He passes me a flute and then holds his glass up in the air.

“What are we toasting?” I smile shyly.

“Our first date.”

“This isn’t our first date.”

“That other one didn’t count. That was just a practice run. I completely screwed that up. Erase it from your memory. I want a do-over.”

I smile, relieved that he acknowledged our last disastrous date and I clink my glass with his. “To do-overs,” I whisper.

He touches my glass and takes a slow, controlled sip. His eyes hold mine and he slowly licks his lips.