Page 39 of London Dynasty

“How does a virgin do that?” he asked me, suddenly alert and staring at me with pride and curiosity.

“I’m not a virgin,” I reminded him.

“You were yesterday.”

I nuzzled against him, wondering how much he would ask about my past. It was full of moments I’d rather not relive. “When you don’t put out, you learn to get good at blow jobs. I had to keep my boyfriends happy.”

“You learned to do that because some wanker was upset you wouldn’t sleep with him?” Spencer shook his head in disgust.

“It kept them happy for a while.” But never for long.

“I can’t believe any idiot ever let you get away.” He kissed my forehead, then sighed. “I suppose we can’t stay in bed all day.”

“Probably not,” I agreed, feeling as sad as he sounded.

“I need a shower. Join me?”

“I need coffee before I can be trusted to do anything,” I told him.

“There’s a bag in the cupboard.” Spencer sat up, and I missed his body immediately. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, threw one more impressed look my way, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

I laid in bed, covers pulled to my chin, and studied the room for the first time. Last night, I’d only had eyes for the bed and Spencer. This morning, I noted how spartan the room was. There was a large television mounted opposite the bed, but otherwise, nothing hung on the walls. No artwork or mirrors or anything that conveyed a sense of Spencer’s private life. The bedside tables held nothing but a lamp on each, and a remote on his side for the tv. I opened the drawer next to mine and found it empty. Between the hollowness of the space and the neutral grey decor, it felt more like a hotel than a bedroom. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that it was also empty, owing in no small part to last night’s activities. Getting out of bed, I found Spencer’s shirt, abandoned to the floor the night before. I slipped it on, buttoned it up, and continued my exploration.

The rest of the flat, which I’d only glimpsed in passing, was equally bare. The whole place was the definition of a bachelor pad down to the pristine, and obviously unused kitchen with its stainless steel appliances and white quartz countertops. It opened into a large sitting room. A U-shaped couch sat in front of a fireplace. Alcove shelves held a few volumes of leather-bound books that seemed more for show than reading. I opened cabinets looking for dishes. I found the glasses and mugs along with a coffee maker and a bag of beans. A quick check of the fridge revealed nothing more than a few bottles of champagne and some leftover containers. I moved them around, crossing my fingers that I might find some eggs—anything to tide me over until Spencer was out of the shower—but it was no use. I’d given up and turned to make coffee when I heard his footsteps behind me.

“Is your fridge always a wasteland? I’m starving. Aren’t you?” I called as I measured the beans into the grinder.

“It’s always like that,” a high voice that was both too feminine and too curious to be Spencer answered.

I spun around, spilling some beans on the floor. They skittered across the tile floor in every direction as I stared at the pretty blonde watching me from the end of the kitchen island. A short silk robe was tied around her waist and her hair was piled on top of her head. It was clear she’d also just gotten up. A hundred questions occurred to me at the same time, but only one seemed important enough to lead with.

“Who are you?” I demanded, too shocked to care about sounding like a bitch.

“Rose,” she said like this meant something before sauntering into the kitchen. She bent to pick up the beans, displaying a perfect, and totally bare, backside to me. Straightening she pulled open a drawer to reveal a hidden rubbish bin and dumped the ruined beans into it. “You must be Kerrigan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” I said slowly.

She turned and leaned against the counter, shrugging her thin shoulders. “Spencer never brags about his conquests.”

“You’re with Spencer?” I asked in a strangled voice. The room started to spin as I tried to process Rose and who she was. Had he brought me back to a flat he lived in with another woman?

“No, I’m here with Holden. Spencer and I are ancient history.” She waved me off like I should know better. “I don’t think Holden knew Spencer would be here or we would have gone to my place instead of his.”

Things were beginning to make sense. “This is their apartment then?”

“I see Spencer failed to mention that, too,” she said dryly.

“We were in a bit of a…” I searched for the right word. One that conveyed my intimacy with Spencer without making me sound cheap. I finally landed on “rush.”

Rose’s blue eyes sparkled. “I bet you were.” She nodded to the coffee maker. “Tell me there’s enough for us. Holden had me up all night. You know how it is.”

I bit my lip and nodded. I supposed I did know, but it felt wrong sharing something as special as last night with her, no matter how nice she was being.

“Rose,” a familiar voice yelled and my body tightened. A moment later, he walked into the kitchen, stopped in brief surprise, and grinned.

His mouth opened, but he stopped himself from saying whatever was about to come out. Instead, he greeted me with a simple, “Good morning, Kerrigan.”

“Holden?” I said, half greeting and half question.