Page 44 of London Dynasty

“Someone like me?” He smirked and moved a step closer. I took another back. “What does that mean?”

“I think you know exactly what it means,” I said in a low voice. Where was Spencer? What was taking him so long?

“But I want to hear you say it,” he murmured, moving even closer and sending me backward until I hit the counter. I reached behind and gripped its edge, realizing I was trapped. Holden leaned forward planting his hands on either side of me. “You’ve got nowhere to go now.”

I swallowed, refusing to look at him. “I told Spencer I would order food. I’m hungry.”

“I think I can help you with that.” He was close enough now that any movement would bring us into contact. His lips—Spencer’s lips—stared back at me in invitation. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would it feel like it did when I kissed Spencer? Would it be different? Would it be better?

“What did you order?” Spencer’s voice called from down the hall. Footsteps approached and Holden straightened up. He handed me the menus then walked to the couch.

The menus shook in my hands, betraying how flustered I was by the encounter.

“I haven’t decided,” I told Spencer as he entered the room. “Curry or Chinese?”

“Curry.”

“Chinese.”

They both answered at once and I wasn’t sure which one wanted what.

Spencer shot me a lopsided smile that made my heart flip. “My brother and I always want the opposite thing when it comes to food. It’s one of the few ways we’re different.”

“Naw, I’m better looking, brother,” Holden said as he dropped onto the sofa and spread his arms along its back. He spoke to Spencer, but he looked at me. I turned away.

“You’ll have to be the deciding vote,” Spencer said. “Choose wisely.”

I swallowed, wondering why all decisions had to be left up to me. My brain was swimming, so I looked down and chose the menu on the top of the stack. “Curry.”

“Yes!” Spencer pumped his fist and shot a victorious look at his brother. “Clearly, we belong together.”

Holden studied me for a moment as if trying to decide if that was true, but when he finally spoke, he only said, “Get me some Chicken Tikka Masala.”

I placed the order while Spencer grabbed a few beers out of the fridge. It was late enough that the match had already started, and by the time I joined them on the couch, settling in closely to Spencer, they were already yelling at the screen.

“That’s a fucking terrible call!” Spencer yelled as a referee threw a flag on the ground.

“So you both root for West Ham?” I asked Holden, feeling more comfortable speaking to him with Spencer at my side.

“Like he said, we pretty much agree on everything but food. We definitely have the same taste.” Holden winked at me.

Next to me, Spencer was too busy yelling at the television to notice his brother’s flirtations. I took a long swig of my beer followed by another. It was going to be a long match.

Apparently, during any Premier League match, food delivery was couriered by snails. Our dinner still hadn’t arrived as the final minutes were counting down on the clock, and I was three beers deep and beginning to feel buzzed. Spencer and Holden weren’t much better off. Each bad call seemed to result in more drinking. I was too tipsy to know if the referees were as bad as the brothers both thought or if the team was simply living up to its reputation.

“I’m going to use the loo,” I told Spencer, kissing his cheek. He grunted a response, his eyes never leaving the match. I left them discussing whether West Ham would finally be relegated this year.

I’d had enough beer that it felt good to relieve myself. When I finally stood to wash my hands, I looked in the mirror and found my face blurring slightly at the edges. Food needed to arrive soon, or I ran the risk of getting far too drunk. I retied my hair, straightened my shirt, and returned to the living room.

The couch was empty and the match over. I looked around, wondering where they had gone. Opening the fridge door, I pulled out another lager and began looking around for the bottle opener. I finally spotted it sitting next to the sink, surrounded by nearly a dozen other bottle caps. Moving to open it, I felt two strong arms wrap around me.

“You smell good,” Spencer said, nuzzling the sensitive spot behind my ear. A soft moan slipped out of me and I felt his cock stiffen in response. Twisting in his arms, the beer forgotten on the counter, I offered my lips to him. The kiss was deep and slow. My mouth parted and his tongue slipped inside, flicking lazily over my teeth and sending an icy thrill racing up my spine. Somewhere in my drunken haze, I thought I heard an alarm ringing. But I was too lost to him, to lost to this slow, purposeful kiss. It wasn’t like the others. It was full of a longing he had never shown me rather than the hunger with which he’d devoured me the night before.

“Well, then,” his voice interrupted, and I broke away from him as I tried to process how he could be kissing me and speaking to me at the same time.

I stumbled backward as my eyes fell on Spencer standing in the open entry, holding a paper bag. My hand flew to my mouth as my brain caught up with the situation.

“You bastard!” I smacked Holden in the chest. I turned pleading eyes on Spencer, hoping he could see the mistake I’d made, but his face was shadowed. “I’m sorry—”