Page 5 of Cruel Dynasty

Spencer looked away, the telltale muscle in his jaw tightening. He was holding something back. I was beginning to learn his ticks.

“Out with it,” I murmured, and his eyes flashed to me in confusion. “Whatever you aren’t saying, just say it. I promise not to run.”

“You enjoyed it.” The words were half accusation and half reminder. “I felt how wet you were. Tell me the truth, how far would you have gone with both of us?”

I swallowed, knowing no answer could erase the truth of the matter. That was why he had taken me so roughly that night. He needed reassurance that I belonged to him—that I was his to enjoy and no one else’s. But there was one thing he couldn’t see.

“As far as you wanted me to,” I replied in a clipped tone. Picking up the martini, I downed it in a single gulp. “You don’t seem to understand, Spencer. I’m yours to do with as you please. You wanted me to suck off your brother and you wanted to watch. So, tell me the truth, how far did you want to take it?”

The shadows in his eyes darkened, and he opened his mouth. “You want the truth, Kerrigan?”

My mouth went dry, but I nodded.

“I would have—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a smiling Cyrus Eaton—the world’s worst hotel manager—interrupted. “Your suite is ready. Please let me know if you need anything else this evening.”

Staring into Spencer’s eyes, I wondered if I might need a ride home. Not to Hampstead, but to West Bexby. I hadn’t left much there. I’d never had a lot to begin with, but I was starting to question if any of this was worth the price it would exact in the end. Was ten million pounds worth my soul?

3

One of the many perks of the Westminster Royal was private lifts available only to their most important guests. The drawback was that there was no one else to distract you if you were in the middle of an uncomfortable disagreement with your fiancé. Spencer had barely looked at me as we made our way to the upper floors of the hotel. I had expected him to return to the topic we’d been discussing when the hotel manager interrupted us, but he seemed to be studiously avoiding it—and me.

The lift deposited us on a private floor with only one door. Spencer unlocked it and pushed it open, stepping to the side to let me pass.

I took one step into the room and gasped. It was practically a flat. In actuality, it was likely bigger than most flats in London. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up the outer walls. Sheer curtains had been drawn to reveal glimpses of the city below. There was a sitting area meant for entertainment and a small bar where a bottle of champagne was chilling in ice. Spencer crossed to it and picked up a note placed beside the bucket. He read it, snorted, and tossed it back on the counter.

“It seems Mr. Eaton is quite apologetic over his behavior earlier,” he explained to me when I arched an eyebrow.

I nodded, still struck temporarily mute by my surroundings. Every time I thought I was used to the insane world of the rich and the famous that I’d found myself in, I was surprised. There was a sense of dominance standing here, kilometers above the city, watching the tiny lights of cars and life below. No wonder businessmen always wanted the penthouse suite. It had to do a lot to fuel the ego. I wandered to the window and watched the London Eye turn for a moment, mesmerized by the way its lights reflected on the dark surface of the Thames.

“You act like you’ve never been in a hotel room before,” Spencer noted a curious strain of surprise in his voice.

“It’s the view,” I lied. “I don’t usually stay in the city.” Another slip-up and this one he’d nearly caught. Kerrigan wouldn’t be impressed with this view. Not given the life she lived. I had to find a way to curb my shock when I found myself in unpredictable situations. The question was how?

“Why would you with your house so nearby?” He bought my cover-up easily. Spencer stripped off his jacket, tossing it over a nearby chair. “I’m going to order room service. What do you want?”

“I’m fine.” Any lingering hunger I’d felt had vanished at the bar. A twisting sense of nausea replaced it.

“You barely ate dinner tonight.” His words were blunt, lacking the concern that might have seemed inherent to the observation.

“Excitement,” I murmured. I pressed my hand to the glass, marveling at how I could blot out the individual lights below with the tips of my fingers.

“What’s your excuse now?” he growled.

I closed my eyes, searching for the right words, and decided there were none. Spinning around, I slumped against the window. He was standing in the shadows, making it hard to see his face. Somehow that made it easier to be truthful. “I feel sick.”

“Because of our fight,” he guessed, his temper cooling a little.

Was it a fight? It hardly felt like enough to be called that, but why else would it have had this strong of an effect on me? I supposed that meant it was, so I nodded. “I can stop wondering what you were about to say.” I cleared my throat, nerves bubbling inside me. “I asked you how far you would have let things go.”

Spencer didn’t move from where he stood, so I couldn’t see his reaction to bringing this topic up again. There was a long pause, and I began to wish I’d left the subject with the empty martini glasses at the table.

“All the way,” he finally said softly. The dangerous edge had left his voice, making his words sound hollow. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he wished he didn’t. “I would have let Holden fuck you. Part of me still would.”

A lump of tears formed in my throat, and I swallowed but it did nothing to dissipate the heat. I didn’t know why this bothered me so much. I’d been turned on when he’d hinted at his darker desires regarding sharing my body with Holden. The night I’d been with both of them, I’d been the one to encourage the encounter. I’d egged them both on, taking the role of temptress willingly. Even now, arousal ticked inside me, betraying that I couldn’t deny I was attracted to both men.

“Do you even know why?” I asked after a moment. “Why do you two do that?”