Mr Spencer (Mr. 2) - Page 138
* * *
We’re in bed facing each other. It’s late but we don’t want to sleep.
We’re holding hands and staring at each other in the semi lit room.
It’s my sixth day with Spencer, and it’s been six days of utter bliss.
Six days of having this wonderful new person in my life who pleases me beyond anything I’ve ever dreamt of.
Tonight, over drinks in a bar, we wrote a business plan together. He helped me with costings, and we worked out steps in order of what I needed to do.
I think I’m really going to do this.
I feel like I’ve met the other half of myself.
I smile softly at him, and he reaches up to brush his thumb over my bottom lip. “What are you thinking about, Angel Leroo?”
I giggle at him remembering my lie from the other day. “I’m thinking that being a ballerina is really hard work.”
His eyes dance with delight. “What other job would you consider doing?”
“Maybe I could be your private call girl?”
His eyes flicker with arousal. “We would have to do a lot of training to get you up to ca
ll girl standards.”
I crawl over him and rub my sex along his length. His eyes hold mine as the electricity buzzes between us. “Can we start now?”
“As a matter of fact, we can.”
* * *
“Just a few more stores,” Spencer says. He’s leading me through the shopping centre on Thursday night.
“I’m tired,” I moan as he pulls me along. God, the man is on a shopping spree from Hell. We’ve looked in at least a hundred shops in the last two hours… at least that’s how it feels.
“Stop whining, woman. You’ve got hours to go before bedtime.” He gestures to Wyatt and Anthony, telling them that we are going across the street. He’s grown accustomed to having them with us a lot more easily than I thought he would.
“We’re not having sex tonight,” I warn him.
“So you say.” He smirks. “You’ll do as you’re told.” He cranes his neck. “I just want to look in this toy shop up here. I think they might have what I’m looking for.”
I smile as I walk behind him. Who knew that Spencer Jones, the player, would be so worried about getting just the right gift for his five-year-old niece?
He can act tough all he wants. I know better. The man is a pussy cat.
“Spencer?” a man says from somewhere behind us.
We turn on the street, and Spencer’s face falls immediately. He steps back as if he’s just received a physical blow.
The man is in his mid to late fifties. He’s good-looking and well dressed.
“You got a hug for your old man?” the man asks. Spencer stares at him, but he doesn’t reply.
The man turns to me and smiles, holding his hand out to shake mine. “Hello, I’m Arthur.”
My eyes widen. He is the mirror image of Spencer… or vice versa.
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