“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.
His father.
Spencer grabs my hand and pulls me behind his back, as if I need protecting from his dad.
“Don’t speak to her. Don’t you dare fucking speak to her,” Spencer growls.
The man’s face falls. “Son…”
“Don’t call me that!” Spencer snaps.
I look between the two men as they stare at each other, and my heart drops. Spence is so hurt. What on earth did his father do?
“When are you going to forgive me?” Arthur asks.
Spencer glares at him. “When Hell freezes over.” He turns and storms off, dragging me along behind him. I have to practically run to keep up.
He’s physically shaken.
I stay silent as we walk, and once out of sight, Spencer turns to Wyatt and Anthony. “That man is not to come near Charlotte under any circumstances, do you understand me?”
Wyatt and Anthony look back at Arthur to get a better visual. “Okay.”
Spencer clenches his jaw as he turns and powers through the people.
“Where are we going?” I call.
“Home,” he says sharply. “I want to go home.”
*
I lie in the deep hot bath between Spencer’s legs. It’s late.
Spencer has said about five words since we saw his father four hours ago.
He stares straight ahead, and his jaw is continuously clenching.
His hands run over my breasts and back down to my stomach again and again, while he remains lost in thought.
I turn and kiss his bicep softly.
“When was the last time you saw your father?” I ask.
“Ten years ago.”
I frown, that’s a long time.
Spencer takes the soap and lathers his hands before he begins to wash my back without saying another word.
“You don’t get on?” I ask.
“I despise him.”
“Why?” I whisper.
He stares straight ahead for a long time, eventually kissing my temple. “When my mother was pregnant with her last child…” He pauses and frowns, as if it pains him to say the next words out loud. “He got her baby sister pregnant.”
My eyes widen. “He was sleeping with your mother’s younger sister?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Two.”
I frown as I process the information. “What happened?”
“My aunt was seventeen…” His voice trails off. “She killed herself before the baby was born.”
My mouth falls open. Dear God.
“How old was your mother?”
“Twenty-two with three children under three.”
I roll over to face him. He stares at me, his eyes cold.
“And you have always hated him?”
“Just the opposite. I loved him once,” he says sadly.
My heart drops.
“Every sports game, every school concert, I would look for him.”
I lie down on his chest as I listen, I hate this story.
“For years I would lie in bed every night crying, and I’d pray to God that I could be smarter so that Dad would come back and love me.”
My eyes fill with tears as I imagine him being so small and crying himself to sleep. “Spence,” I whisper.
“When I was twelve, my mother met my stepfather, and for the first time in my life I had a man around who was actually interested in me. Then, as I got older and I understood the dynamics of what Dad had actually done, I got angry and started to hate him for being who he was. What kind of man sleeps with his pregnant wife’s sister? My aunty was only seventeen when he started sleeping with her.” He shakes his head in disgust. “What kind of man walks away from his own children?”
He drops his head back to the edge of the bath, lost with a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s transgressed to that time. “Masters, Seb, and I found out where Dad lived when we were fourteen. We went to his house and broke in when he wasn’t home, and we smashed up everything he owned.”
“Did that make you feel any better?”
“No.” He clenches his jaw tight. “I hate that I’m like him.”
I frown instantly. “What? You’re not like him, Spencer.”
His sad eyes find mine. “Yeah, I am. All my life, all I’ve ever heard is how much I’m like my father.”
“Only in the way you look,” I huff. “Spence, if you were like your dad you would have taken my virginity without a single thought for my wellbeing.”
He runs his fingers through my hair as he looks at me.
“Spencer, is this why you’ve never let yourself get close to anyone?”
He blinks in surprise.
“You’re so scared that you’re like your father, the thought of hurting someone horrifies you and you’d rather be alone.”
He clenches his jaw, and I know that’s exactly how he feels.
I crawl up over him. “Baby,” I whisper. “You’re nothing like your father.”
His eyes search mine. “How do you know?”
I smile. “I just know. If you were like him, you’d be on your fourth wife by now and have six kids to six different women.”
He stares at me.
“You haven’t even had a girlfriend before, you big dope.”
A trace of a smile crosses his face.
“When I look at you I see an honourable man with good morals—a man I am proud to be with.”
We stare at each other for a moment before he crushes his arms around me and holds me close. I smile into his neck.
I think I just found Spencer Jones’s baggage.
*
Big, warm hands slide around my waist from behind, and the smell of his heavenly soap lingers around me.
“Good morning, Mr Spencer.” I smile as he turns me to him.
He’s wearing a navy suit, his hair messed up to perfection yet again. Wearing his expensive shoes and watch, he looks every bit the multi-millionaire businessman that he is.
One thing I’ve learnt about my man over the last week is that he has two distinct personalities. There’s the carefree, funny Spence I first met who makes me laugh, and then there’s the serious businessman of Spencer Jones. He’s strong, deliberate, and he doesn’t take shit from anybody.
Both men are beautiful, and both men are mine.
He grabs my waist and sits me up onto the counter, spreading my legs around his body. He holds my jaw, angling me the way he wants me, and kisses me deeply as he slides his hands beneath my robe.
“Let’s go away for the weekend.”
“Really?” I smile up at him. “Where to?”
“I don’t know, I’ll surprise you.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I smile playfully.
He pulls my hips forward so I can feel his erection through his trousers. “How about I surprise you here on the kitchen counter with a bit of hard dicking?”
I giggle. “I am completely dicked-out.”
“There’s no such thing.” He bites into my neck. Goose bumps scatter up my arms.
It’s early on Monday morning, and after spending the most wonderful weekend in the history of all weekends, it’s time for us to separate and go back to work.
“I have to go, angel,” he whispers.
I smile and nod as our eyes search each other’s. I feel so close to him, and I know he feels the same. There’s this tenderness between us. I can feel it in his touch. When he thinks I’m asleep, his hands roam over my body in reverence, and he kisses me softly… continually… and he doesn’t even know I’m awake.
He worships me.
He’s so beautiful.