Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

His eyes darken. “As cliché as it sounds, and at the great risk of being kicked out, yeah. This is exactly where I ask you to slip into something more comfortable.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I say.

“Go on…”

“I couldn’t get the zip undone to take it off, and I didn’t want to call for help because I knew you were coming here.”

His eyes widen. “And who do you normally call for help, may I ask?”

“Wyatt.” I giggle.

He shakes his head in disgust. “This is one of those moments where you need to lie to me, Charlotte.”

I laugh. Oh, he’s fun.

“I’ll ask you one more time: who do you normally call for help?”

“Beverly, my assistant.” I smile.

“Much better.”

I smile goofily as I take another drink of my champagne. The air between us is electric. Our lips touch, and I feel so naughty and carefree. We get carried away and he leans forward, accidentally knocking my glass of champagne over. It spills over the bench and onto my dress.

“Oh, fuck!” he barks, and without missing a beat, he begins to unbutton his white shirt. All I can do is watch with my heart in my throat. What is he doing?

He takes his shirt off and wipes the bench down with it.

His chest is broad and tanned, and his stomach is rippled with muscles. He has a scattering of dark hair across his chest, and then a trail from his navel that disappears into his pants. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. I’ve never seen any man, but jeez, he’s one hell of a first.

“We have tea-towels for wiping up spillages,” I say casually.

He kisses me. “I needed an excuse to take some clothing off.” He lays me back over the bench. “You thought that was an innocent spill, didn’t you? It was completely strategic.”

Playful Spencer I can handle. He doesn’t scare me. I laugh out loud, and he slides his hand up my stomach.

“Shit!” He pulls his hand away. “That’s it. This fucking dress is coming off. It has teeth.”

I lie on the bench looking up at him. My hands are above my head, and my blonde hair is splayed out. He smiles and points at me. “Ah, I see what’s going on here. Well played, Charlotte. Well played.”

“What?”

“The old sea anemone dress trick.” He smirks. “That’s an oldie, but a goody, Prescott.”

I giggle.

“You wore that dress knowing full well that I would have to take you into the bedroom and take if off you, didn’t you?”

I smile up at him.

He runs his index finger down my neck, between my breasts, and down to my pubic bone.

Our eyes are locked, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush.

“Didn’t you?” he whispers.

This is it, the moment I’ve waited so long for. I know he thinks I’ve done this before, but hopefully I can fudge my way through it. So far, so good.

“Well?” he asks with a raised brow.