London Dynasty (The Dynasties #1) - Geneva Lee Page 0,45

do one of them before I explode.”

Spencer leaned forward and cupped my jawline, drawing my lips roughly to his. The kiss was rough and gentle, promising and consuming, fire and ice. He forced my mouth open, capturing my tongue with his as he tasted me. The agonizing arousal I felt doubled until I forget where I was and who I was. There was only him and the place where our mouths touched and all the places I wanted to be touching him.

A nervous clearing of the throat alerted us to the return of the waitress.

Spencer pulled back, his palm still holding my face, and handed her the money without looking at the bill. “Keep the change,” he told her, “and have them pull my car around now.”

“Yes-s-s,” she stammered, adding, “Thank you, sir.”

“I think we befuddled her,” I said with a grin.

His thumb stroked my cheek. “Befuddled, huh? Or maybe it was the two hundred pound tip.”

I swallowed down this revelation. “Are you always so generous?”

“No,” he confessed. “Only when I want something, and right now, the only thing I want is my bloody car so that I can take you home and fulfill your request.”

I swallowed again, my mouth going dry at the directness of his words. I’d offered, and he had accepted. Only a short drive and some clothes stood between me and the other side of virginity.

We barely spoke as we made our way out of the restaurant to the pavement as an attendant zipped around the corner with the McLaren. He got out and handed the keys to Spencer with the speed of a man who understood exactly why he’d been summoned to perform his job with breakneck speed. The only thing that could have been more obvious was if he’d given him a fistbump. Spencer didn’t seem to notice. His eyes didn’t leave me until he’d helped me into the passenger seat and closed the door.

But when we pulled away from the restaurant, he turned the opposite direction from which we had arrived.

“Where are we…” I watched as we drove deeper into the heart of London towards the shops and people and busy streets.

“My flat,” he said in answer to my unfinished question.

“Oh.”

“Is that a problem?” he asked, looking from the road to me.

“I thought you lived in Hampstead.”

“I do,” he said as he shifted gears and flew down the street. “Some of the time. I keep a flat in the city to crash when I’m here late and for...privacy.”

“It’s where you take women,” I said, understanding what he really meant.

“Does that bother you? We can go to Sparrow Court, but I can’t guarantee my mother won’t descend on you the moment we step foot through the door.”

“No,” I said quickly. Tonight, more than any other, I wanted this to be about him and me without anyone else there to spoil it. “I was just surprised.”

“I assumed you knew about the flat.” He flipped on a signal before roaring around a corner. A group of tourists jumped back onto the pavement to avoid being hit, but he seemed to neither notice nor care. “I’ll be certain to have my people send over a full list of my assets.”

“That’s not necessary.” I felt stupid for asking him about the flat. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You didn’t,” he cut me off. “You should know about my holdings. What’s mine will be yours someday.”

A knot tightened in my stomach at his words. Nothing of his would ever be mine. Not really. I was only playing pretend. I pushed away the thought.

“Except what you keep in the prenup,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“No prenup,” he said swiftly.

“What?” I asked, staring at him.

“No prenup,” he repeated. “If you marry me, that’s that. Unless you want one.”

“But…” I struggled to express my surprise. Foregoing a prenuptial agreement was the kind of thing that poor people with nothing to lose did. People like me. Not men with titles and money, mansions and sports cars. Not men planning to be the future Prime Minister.

“Kerrigan, your family has more money than mine. I suppose I’d understand if you want a prenup, but your father…Look, if we get married, I’d like one thing between us to be based on trust—not just a transaction. I know it’s old-fashioned, but a prenup feels like an escape clause. I suppose I’ve never believed marriage was something you could take back.”

“No prenup.” It slipped out of my mouth. It wasn’t really my place to promise that, but