“No what?”
“No, I’m not horrified.”
“Can you give me a word in place of horrified then?”
He was here. In front of her. “Happy.”
Spencer visibly softened. “Oh. Oh thank God.” He gestured toward her living room. “Could we talk?”
Again with her muteness, because all she could do was nod, then turn around and take a seat on her couch. Spencer sat beside her, leaving a foot distance between them. He gripped the ends of the couch, then fidgeted his hands along the hem of his shirt, then dropped them back to his side.
“I had . . . things to say and now I’m not sure any of them will make sense and I . . . ” He turned to her. “Frankly, all I want to do is look at you. All I’ve wanted to do for six months is look at you. I had to settle for a keychain.”
She ducked her head and twisted the end of the towel on her legs.
“I’m sorry, do you want to go get dressed? I can wait.”
She did, actually, because sitting here in her towel was making her body think weird things, and she needed at least some pants.
So she stood and held up a finger for one minute and ran to her bedroom. She quickly tugged on a pair of underwear and yoga pants, then threw on a tank top with a built-in bra. She twisted her hair up onto her head in a damp knot and then returned to the living room, where Spencer sat staring at the blank TV.
“Do you want some water? Something to eat?”
He startled. “Uh, actually, water would be nice. Thanks.”
She grabbed two bottles from the fridge and handed one to him, then sat on the edge of the couch facing him, sitting cross-legged.
He took a drink with his eyes on her. “It’s great to see you.”
“You too.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
The question was blunt, but she understood he wanted to know where he stood. She shook her head. “No.”
“Because the hotel is being built elsewhere?”
She shook her head again. “No, I got over being mad at you long before that.”
He cocked his head. “Really?”
“I . . . realized what you gave me in the fall was more important than what happened at the end. I tried to stay angry. I tried so hard. But I couldn’t, not when I remembered everything that had been good about us.”
“There’s a lot of good about us, Sprite.”
She didn’t miss the tense change in his sentence. “I guess so, Posh.” She squinted at him. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed this . . . would end. Long distance wouldn’t work with us.”
“What if . . . ” He licked his lips. “What if we didn’t have to do long distance?”
“I’m not moving to fucking New York.”
“I would never ask that of you. But what if I lived here?”
She stared at him. “What?”
“What if I changed jobs?”
“Changed jobs?”
He shifted closer to her now, and a warm hand settled on her knee, lightly. “I have the opportunity to take the job as the manager of the Royalty Suites in Tory when it opens. I’d live here.” She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that was a little presumptuous after they’d spent only a couple of weeks together, but he cut her off. “I didn’t want to take the job without asking you first. What we had was . . . intense, and something we knew all along had an end date. I want to open it back up, and I didn’t want to do that without your consent.” He moved closer now, so that his thigh rested against her legs. “It’s not just about you either, Alex. I’m tired of New York. Of the empty apartment, of the pace. I thought that’s what I needed to be happy, to climb the infinite corporate ladder. But I fell in love with this town. The past six months I’ve missed it. The parks. Playing washers in backyards. Lying under the stars at River’s Edge. And most of all, I missed you.”
She leaned forward. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you want to move here, work at the new hotel, and continue seeing me.”
His lips twitched. “Maybe a little more than seeing you. I want to be with you.”
“With me.”
“Yes.”
“You . . . could have your pick of women in New York—”
“I don’t know about ‘have my pick’—”
“And you want me. I’m what you want.”
The muscles in his jaw bunched. “Yes, and don’t insult the woman I love.”
She laughed, a giddy feeling spreading through her limbs. “I’m not saying I’m not worth it. Because you showed me I am. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I’m temperamental. I spend a lot of money on lipstick, and I smell like grease a lot.”
“All things I’ve always wanted in a woman.”
She shoved his shoulder. “You can’t be serious about this. You want to move? Here?”
He nodded. “I’m dead serious. If you’ll have me. If you want a posh British boyfriend.”
She ducked her head and ran her fingers over his hand on her thigh. “What would your dad think of that?”
He gripped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I haven’t visited in a long time. I’ve called and we have awkward conversations, but that’s it. With everything that I’d done, I didn’t have anything to show for it. Anything to prove the man that I’d become, that I left everything behind for. But you . . . I think that if I showed up with you by my side, I’d have something for him to be proud of. That someone like you gives a fuck about someone like me.”
“Ah, Spencer, you’re making me cry.” The tears were almost instant, spilling down over her bottom lashes as she pressed her lips to his. His hand slid along her cheek, to the back of her neck, as he reached his other arm around her back and hauled her across the couch into his lap. She straddled him and clutched his face as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, licking the back of her teeth, like he never wanted to separate.
She hadn’t been with anyone since he’d gone, hadn’t even wanted to, hadn’t thought about it, her libido seeming to have fled when he did. But now it was back with a vengeance, lit up by the feel of him hard between her legs. She wanted skin. So much skin. She rucked up his shirt and slid her hands along his abs, up to his chest, and he helped her by taking off the garment and tossing it to the side. She ran her fingers over his tattoo, his nipples, as he moaned into her mouth and thrust his hips up as she ground down.
“I didn’t imagine coming here and shagging you within minutes,” he said breathlessly against her neck as she sucked on his earlobe.
She huffed. “Well, then you have a shitty imagination.”
He laughed and grabbed her arms, pressing her into the couch on her back while he stretched out between her spread legs. She held her hands up as he pulled her tank top over her head and then cupped her breasts, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth. She arched her back, carving her fingers through his hair as he lapped and nibbled.
She loved his weight on top of her, his erection pressing against her, his mouth as he covered her torso in kisses. “I love you, Leslie.”
He froze, his mouth hovering over her belly button. “What?”
She looked down at him, grinning. “I love you.”
He scooted up her body so they were face-to-face. “You’re not supposed to say it for the first time during sex.”
“Oh.” She widened her eyes in mock innocence. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“Don’t be cheeky.”
“Well, then let’s get this show on the road so I can say it again afterward.” She kissed his forehead. “And later over dinner.” Kisses to both of his eyes. “And then again before we fall asleep.” A kiss to his nose. “And then start all over again the next day.” She kissed him on the mouth.
When he pulled back, he shook his head. “Who knew my sprite was a romantic?”
“Your cock. In me. Now.”
“Ah, there’s my dirty girl.”
“Damn right.”
He didn’t waste time after that, shoving her pants down her legs, doing the same to his, and then he was between her thighs, the head of his cock at her entrance, and entering her as he kissed her deeply. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, shoved her face in his neck, and moaned with each of his thrusts.
This was all she needed. Her town. Her shop. And Spencer in her arms.
She’d waited a long time to feel wanted. Loved. And she’d never thought it would come from the United Kingdom.
When she came, she bit down on his shoulder as he gasped into her neck, and they stayed locked together on the couch, hot and sweaty and absolutely so fucking happy.
SPENCER DIDN’T WANT to move. He was still inside Alex, as she clung to him like a monkey. The couch was soft and after the traveling he had done, all he wanted to do was sink down farther and fall asleep. He closed his eyes, thinking he should roll off Alex, allow her to breathe, but he was so tired. And she was so warm . . .
There was a knock at the door, and he jolted, tumbling off Alex and onto the floor with a thud. Alex was scrambling too, saying, “Shit, shit, shit,” as she searched the floor for her clothes.
“Who is that?” Spencer hissed.