Clandestine Read online

  I don’t comment. “Who bought it?”

  “I don’t know. They wanted to remain anonymous. Randall wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Are you the developer?” I level Henry with my most heated stare.

  “You know I am.” His voice is defeated.

  “We’re done. I won’t ever work with you again.”

  “Bloody hell, I figured you’d react like this.” He throws his hands up in the air. “What did you want me to do? I can’t walk away from a project right now.”

  “Listen to me, you fuck. We had an agreement. An understanding. You shitting all over my deal is going to have some consequence.”

  “I had to take it. I don’t have those luxuries right now, Spencer. You know I don’t,” he mumbles. His face is pale and his eyes are wide. If I’m not mistaken, a bead of sweat is collecting on the side of his face. He’s scared. Rightfully so. He should be. I clench my jaw, and he shudders as he waits for me to say more, but I’m done with him. When it becomes painfully obvious by the silence in the air, the pussy turns his back and walks away like the coward he is.

  But he was right about one thing. I wasn’t necessarily bought into that property. There were a lot of downsides to it. The location was subpar. There were dilapidated buildings that would need to be demolished, which would have driven up the costs. If I’m being honest, whoever bought the property did me a favor.

  But I don’t like to lose.

  I need to get the hell out of Manchester. Maybe I’ll have better luck in London.

  I’ve been sitting in the hotel lobby bar at what is known to be the “hottest” hotel in London for the past hour nursing a tumbler of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and making plans. Knowing the competition is important when expanding into a new region, so that’s what I’m doing. I came to buy a property, and I’m not leaving Europe until I do. The future of Lancaster Hotels depends on an international expansion. My father was stuck in his ways and did nothing. Once I took over however, he finally admitted he was wrong. I won’t let him down. Not after all the trust he’s put in me.

  I’m about to call it a night and head to my penthouse to do research when a beautiful blonde walks in and sits four seats down from me.

  She doesn’t look at me. Not. Once.

  I’m a cocky bastard, and I won’t apologize for it. Women love me. Well, they love my money. I’m Fortunes Businessperson of the Year. I made Forbes 40 Under 40. I was People’s Sexiest Man this year and listed on Cosmopolitan’s 50 Hottest Bachelors. I’m a big fucking deal, and this woman didn’t even look twice.

  I look her over, unabashed. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’m good with faces, and if I really searched hard, I’d recall it, but the truth is, it doesn’t matter who she is right now. I’m intrigued regardless.

  Her long, tanned legs are crossed at the knee, and the white lacy dress she wears hikes up on the side, showing a good portion of her toned thigh. My gaze moves up her torso, stopping at her exposed neck. There’s something sensual about a woman’s neck. I bet if I leaned in and ran my nose up to her ear, she’d quiver under my touch.

  Her golden locks hang over the opposite shoulder in light waves. I can’t see her eyes, and it’s probably a good thing or she’d know just how brazenly I’m staring.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s not like I didn’t just get laid. I can’t even blame that for my lack of propriety. A steady stream of one-night stands should be keeping me sated. Maybe I need something more?

  No.

  The last fling I embarked on that was longer than a few nights ended badly. No matter how many times I told her I wasn’t looking for anything serious, she didn’t listen. In the end, when I said it would be our last night together, she hurled a red-soled stiletto at my head. I haven’t had the time nor inclination to engage in another affair.

  “Can I get you another, sir?” The bartender leans too far over the bar, making sure my eyes are level with her robust cleavage.

  I should say no. I need to do work and hit the sack, but I don’t. Instead, my gaze finds the beautiful blonde at the end of the bar again.

  Blue eyes. Full red lips.

  Breathtaking.

  I internally smack myself, needing to pull it together. I’ve seen plenty of pretty women in my life, and I’m no longer a hormonal teenager. I’m about to order her a drink when she glances down at her phone and then abruptly leaves the bar. Damn shame.

  “Another?” the bartender says, pulling me out of my dirty thoughts.

  “Yep.” I’ll need a whole bunch more to turn this crap day around. Or a distraction. Scanning the bar, I look for one. Not one of the women still left in the room holds a candle to the blonde.

  The bartender sets my scotch down and I make work on it. Half way through the glass, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from my assistant.

  Lucy: Pierce is in London.

  Great. Just what I fucking need. With one gulp I empty the glass and stand. I need a damn cigarette, but having to walk through the hotel lobby and out the front door is out of the question. I don’t want to speak to anyone. There’s got to be a better place.

  “Closest exit? One where I won’t be bothered,” I ask the bartender as I hold up my cigarette.

  “There’s a private area right down the hall for the staff to take a break. I’m sure no one would mind if you use it, Mr. Lancaster.” I smile at that. Of course they wouldn’t. They know who I am.

  Making my way out of the bar and down the hall opposite the lobby, I see a door with the words Staff Only. I push it open and find that the bartender is wrong. I’m not alone. Standing against the wall is the blonde from the bar.

  It seems my night might be turning around.

  “I’m pretty sure this area is only for the staff,” I say to her.

  “How do you know I don’t work here?” Her American accent catches me off guard. I expected something else. Because of her hair and eyes, I thought she’d be Swedish.

  “Looking at your clothes, it’s obvious.”

  A small twitch in her cheek tells me she wants to smile, but instead, she purses her lips and runs her hands over her dress showing just how much it clings to her perfect body. “And what’s wrong with my attire?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “It’s rather short, don’t you think?” It’s the perfect length in truth. Short enough that if I fuck her right here in the back alley, it won’t get in the way.

  “It has to be.”

  “And why is that?” This I’m interested in hearing.

  “It needs to be short enough to show off my new shoes.” She winks.

  With that, I let out a hearty laugh all while I let myself trace her legs with my eyes until I see that she’s wearing a pair of sexy as fuck shoes. I imagine them digging into my back as I press into my bed and have my way with her. Pulling my gaze back up I meet her stare.

  She gives me a coy smile. Her teeth are biting her lower lip. Her pupils are large and the way she looks at me, I knew if I wanted to, I could push her against the wall right here and now.

  “You’re trouble.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Well, they definitely call attention to your . . .” I smirk at her. “Shoes.”

  She doesn’t answer, just takes a drag of her cigarette. The action calls attention to her full lips. Lips I’d like to kiss right now.

  I pull out my own cigarette then start searching for a match.

  “Here.” She walks closer to me, her hand extending to light me up. I use the small move as an excuse to brush my finger against her skin. To see how she’ll react to my touch. When I see her noticeable shudder, satisfaction courses through me. Good. I like that she’s affected by me.

  “I don’t usually smoke.” I shrug. “But it’s been that type of day.”

  “I hear you.”

  Just as I take my first puff, she snuffs hers out and then moves closer to the door. “Thanks for keeping me company,” she says o
ver her shoulder.

  “It was my pleasure . . .” I open the door for her. “I hope we meet again.” And I do, but next time I hope she’s naked and bent over the arm of the couch in my suite.

  I take a few more drags before throwing it to the ground and stomping on it. As luck will have it, when I enter the bar she’s back to sitting in the same spot as before.

  “Join me,” I say across the bar.

  She stands and sits in the seat beside mine. “Hi.” She extends her hand in introduction and I take it in mine.

  “I’m—”

  “Nope,” she interrupts all while shaking her head.

  “No name?” I inquire.

  “Nope.” She puckers her lips in a flirtatious manner. “It’s more fun this way.” She winks, and I laugh. No name. I’m okay with that. More than okay, actually. Her handshake is firm, but her skin is silky soft.

  “Well, then nice to meet you.” I level her with my sexiest smolder. She appears unaffected. What the fuck? “Drink?”

  She nods, and I motion to the bartender to get us another round. When the martini is placed in front of her, she turns to me.

  “Thank you.” I watch as her lips touch the glass. My pants tighten and I have to shift to get comfortable. “Where are you from?” she asks me, and I clear my throat at her question, trying to compose myself.

  “New York. You?”

  “The same.” She draws out the words, looking at me closer. “You look familiar,” she appraises.

  “I get that often. What brings you to London?” I ask, steering the conversation back to safe ground.

  “I was involved in a photo shoot, but it ended. So I flew here.”

  “Ah. Model.” She doesn’t look like any models I know, and I know my fair share. This girl is curvaceous and stunning. She’s also down-to-earth and funny. Traits I rarely find in models.

  “Was. It doesn’t seem to be working out well for me.”

  I raise a brow.

  “I’ve just parted ways with my agency and was supposed to meet a guy here for another job opportunity, but he seems to have stood me up.”

  “His loss.” Our eyes lock, my mouth parting into a smirk. “My gain.”

  She smiles and I swear the fucking wind is knocked out of me. She’s gorgeous. Not the fake, overtly sexual girls I’m used to. No, she’s demure, sophisticated, utterly fucking gorgeous. She blushes under my scrutiny and I can’t help but grin.

  We both reach for our drinks, tipping it back faster than the first. “What about you? What brings you to London?”

  “Business, but I don’t want to talk about me. I want to hear more about you.”

  “What do you want to know?” By the way her cheeks sink in and the small line forming between her brows, I can tell she doesn’t want to impart any personal information. That’s how I like it.

  “Are you in London alone?”

  “I met friends here.”

  “And where are these friends now?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m happy right where I am.”

  I like her answer. I move closer, placing my hand on the back of her chair. My finger grazes her exposed skin, and she lets out an audible sigh at the touch. Good. After Manchester, she’s exactly the distraction I need. She doesn’t care who I am. Doesn’t seem hell-bent on chaining a ball to my leg, which is just the kind of girl I’m interested in.

  “I like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “That you don’t care what people think.”

  She takes the rest of her cocktail in one more sip. “And I like this drink.” She winks, and I can’t help but laugh. “So are we going to have another?” Her lip tips up into a smirk and it’s by far the sexiest thing I have ever seen. She’s so different from the women I know. It’s refreshing.

  “Another round,” I say to the bartender then turn back to the intriguing stranger. “Have you ever been here before?”

  “Is that the best line you got?”

  “Beautiful, I don’t need any lines.” I return her smirk with my own. “If I want you, I’ll have you.”

  “Oh is that so?”

  My finger presses once more onto her flesh, and this time I’m met with a wave of goose bumps. I lean close to whisper into her ear, so close I can almost taste her skin. “I always get what I want.”

  And I do.

  And I want her.

  By cocktail number four I’m feeling good and ready to take this somewhere a little more private. “Would you like to come up to my room for one more drink?” I hang the invitation in the air, hoping she’ll oblige.

  She studies me closely. “One more drink?” she probes.

  “One . . . or more if you like.”

  Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip, and I imagine what that tongue would feel like if she took me in her mouth. I feel myself harden to the point of pain. Fuck. I’m losing what little control I have left.

  “Okay.”

  I’m in the sexually charged, overtly tight confines of an elevator, with the Spencer Lancaster.

  Of course I know who he is. It’s not as if I’m a yearly subscription holder to Cosmopolitan or anything. He’s the hard ass CEO who every single socialite in New York City is supposedly after. I’d never admit to him that I know who he is. From what I understand, the playboy has an ego that needs to be popped.

  I ignored him when I first entered the bar for that reason. I don’t like arrogant assholes, and I know his reputation is just that. Asshole is not something I need to get tangled up in. But, I found him to be . . . different. So far he’s been completely down-to-earth and even charming.

  That is how I find myself standing a mere two inches away from one of the best looking men I’ve seen in my life. The electrical charges pulsing between us are maddening. It’s a heady and foreign feeling. I’ve never fawned over a man. Ever. Spencer Lancaster is proving to challenge me.

  “Don’t,” he says roughly.

  I look at him, eyebrow raised. “Don’t what?”

  “You know what.” He stares at me with the intensity of a blazing inferno and I’m waiting for him to reach out and engulf me in flames.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll take you right here in this elevator,” he growls.

  Tingles run down my body. He’s a gorgeous man. I’ll admit. But that hasn’t ever been enough to incite these types of reactions in me. He’s turning my world on its side in a matter of minutes, and at this very second I want to tip over the edge so he’ll keep his promise and take me right here, so I do my signature move, dashing my tongue out and swiping at my bottom lip slowly and seductively.

  Faster than I can comprehend, he’s pushing my back up against the wall. His lips hover over mine as he runs his hand up my side, stopping right below my breast. I whimper at his touch. A groan escapes him at our connection, but he doesn’t kiss me. Just hovers, letting his breath tickle against my skin.

  “Say you want this,” he demands as he pushes my dress farther up my thighs, exposing the fact that I’m not wearing panties.

  “Yes. I want this.”

  He growls. The rough pads of his fingers grasp at my skin.

  Teasing me.

  Leaving bruises.

  Desperate to touch me, to be inside me.

  They get closer and closer.

  The anticipation is torture, all-consuming as I mentally beg for him to breach me.

  My breath comes out in shallow bursts.

  The tip of his finger is there. Lifting my hips up, I try to bridge the gap, but just as he begins to dip inside, the elevator pings, notifying us we’ve reached the top floor. He doesn’t disconnect from me. Instead, he moves us backward out of the elevator, only stopping when we’ve reached his door. He pulls the key hurriedly from his pocket, opening the door and ushering me inside.

  I’m barely over the threshold when I’m spun around, back hitting the wall. His hands run up my body. His gaze glides over me hungrily. He leans in, placing his nos
e in the crook of my neck, and tingles race across my body at the simple touch.

  I gasp when his firm hands literally sweep me off my feet. “Where are you taking me?” I giggle.

  “To bed.”

  My lips part in a silent invitation for him to taste my mouth, and he answers my invitation, accepting with a vigor that’s unsurpassed. It’s not soft or silent. It’s frenzied and primal.

  He grabs me, pulling me to him, slamming his mouth back to mine. With his free hand, he lifts my jaw to deepen the kiss. Now with no space between us, I can feel the hard planes of his body against mine. I can feel the beat of his heart, the breath in his lungs, the passion in his veins. He’s desperate for me and I’m desperate for him.

  Our tongues collide. A wicked dance of sensation and desires.

  I’m lost, drugged. Intoxicated by this man.

  Time stands still. It’s irrelevant with his lips pressed to mine. I’m not sure how long we stay here. How long he makes love to me with his mouth, but with a strangled groan, he pulls away, and I cry out from the loss. Never wanting the kiss to end.

  Spencer walks us backward until my legs hit the bed and I’m pushed down. Lifting my eyes, I meet his gaze. The look reflected back is predatory. A caged beast ready to be let loose. He steps forward and then stops, his legs only a mere inch from where I lie. My breathing is erratic, my chest heaving.

  He tugs his shirt off. His body is perfection. Tanned and toned. I want to touch him. I need to touch him. But he’s too far away, and the look in his eyes tells me not to move. So I don’t. I wait for him to take control.

  “Take off your clothes,” he orders.

  The heat in his stare leaves no room for objections. I pull away my dress, leaving me in only my bra.

  “Everything.”

  Slowly I remove the rest until I’m naked before him. His gaze rakes across my body.

  “Perfect.”

  My cheeks blush, the embarrassment of my body on display rushing to my head. But the voices inside me telling me to cover are soon silenced by the pads of his fingers skimming my knees, pulling my legs apart.