He smiles proudly and looks around. “I do love it.”
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 lin
ger 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.