Chatsfield's Ultimate Acquisition (The Chatsfield: New York Book 1)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘Sure.’

  She loaded the things on the tray before looking at Isabelle with her mother-hen look. ‘Everything all right?’

  She forced a tight smile. ‘Of course.’

  Laura pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. ‘You know, you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t fancy him a teensy weensy bit. A man as good-looking as that would set any girl’s heart aflutter.’

  Isabelle felt her cheeks ripen with betraying colour. ‘Looks aren’t everything.’

  Laura made a phfft sound. ‘You’ve got a lot in common both coming from hotel families and you’re not getting any younger. I was married and had three children by the time I was your age.’

  Isabelle gave her a stony look. ‘I’m a career woman. How many times do I have to say it? Not every woman wants the white picket fence, you know.’

  Laura shifted her lips from side to side. ‘Your mom would’ve loved to see you settled with a nice man. Not someone like your father—begging your pardon for speaking out of turn—but he wasn’t Father of the Year material even if he was a damn good boss way back in the day when he was still interested in this place. No, you need a man who’ll stand up to you and for you. Someone who’ll have your back no matter what.’

  Isabelle mentally curled her top lip. ‘I hardly think Spencer Chatsfield qualifies. He’s a seasoned playboy.’

  ‘Ah, but they make the best husbands,’ Laura said. ‘There’s nothing better than a reformed rake. When they finally fall, they fall good and hard.’

  Spencer falling in love? With her? What sort of a deluded fool would she be to dream of that scenario when it had so spectacularly failed in the past? If he was going to fall in love with her he would have done it when she was young and trusting and without a cynical and angry bone in her body. She was no longer that naive and accommodating girl. She was a driven workaholic with achievement and success on her mind, not love and happy-ever-after.

  Isabelle pretended to be interested in the emails on her computer screen but it was all but impossible to ignore her secretary’s hovering presence.

  ‘There’s a certain chemistry between you two, isn’t there?’ Laura said as she placed the sugar bowl on the tray. ‘I felt it as soon as I came in before. The air was all but sizzling with it.’

  ‘You’re imagining it.’

  ‘Am I?’

  Isabelle met her gaze with a steely set to her features. ‘I absolutely loathe the man.’

  Laura’s hazel eyes twinkled. ‘Of course you do. It wouldn’t be such great chemistry if you didn’t.’

  She shifted her gaze back to the computer screen. ‘You’re talking rubbish.’

  ‘You hate him because he’s got the upper hand,’ Laura said. ‘You’ve always been a competitive little thing. It’s because you’ve had to fight to get noticed, being a girl and all. But not all men are like your father and your brother. Mr Chatsfield’s got a certain quality. Yes, he’s determined and a little ruthless but he respects you.’

  Isabelle sat back in her chair with a cynical laugh. ‘What on earth gives you that idea?’

  Laura tilted her head towards the flower arrangement on her desk. ‘Got to love a man who knows how to apologise.’

  She jerked upright in her chair like a puppet pulled tightly on its strings. ‘You read the card?’

  ‘’Course I did. I read all your mail unless it’s marked private.’

  Isabelle pressed her mouth flat. She didn’t want to explain to Laura about her history with Spencer. The only person who knew the extent of it was her university friend Sophie. Not even her sisters knew.

  But her secretary was no fool. How long before she figured it out for herself? How could Isabelle possibly hope to keep her relationship with him a secret if the staff saw her coming and going from his suite and him from hers? After what the press had already reported it would be difficult to pretend it was just to discuss business. Would it damage her reputation with the staff? Or would it enhance it? She knew she had a reputation for being cold and distant. Perhaps they would see her as more human if she indulged in a little fling with the new CEO.

  ‘I’d prefer it in future if you would refrain from reading anything that comes from Spencer Chatsfield,’ she said.

  Laura’s brows lifted. ‘So it’s true what the papers are saying? There is something going on between you two?’

  Isabelle flicked her secretary an irritated glance. ‘Since when has my private life been so important to you?’

  ‘Since you got back from London all those years ago and froze everyone out,’ Laura said. ‘You changed. I noticed it the moment you got back. You stopped smiling. You wouldn’t talk to anyone. You retreated into yourself like a snail does into its shell.’

  Isabelle kept her expression neutral. ‘It was a big change coming back to New York after being in London. I found it hard to fit back in.’

  ‘I thought it was because of your father getting involved with Liliana and them marrying in such a rush, but it wasn’t that, was it?’

  Isabelle gripped the arms of her office chair. ‘Haven’t I given you enough work to do?’

  Laura gave her a look over the top of her multifocal glasses. ‘It was him, wasn’t it? Mr Chatsfield was the one who broke your heart.’

  Isabelle pushed up from her desk and wrapped her arms around her body. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘It’s been hard for you without a mother to lean on,’ Laura said gently. ‘You’ve had to be strong for Eleanore and Olivia while your brother always does what he darn well pleases. But isn’t it time you took a little something for yourself? Had a bit of fun? Lived a little?’

  Isabelle pushed out her lips on a whoosh of air. ‘It’s...complicated.’

  ‘It always is when there’s a man and a woman who want each other but feel they shouldn’t,’ Laura said. ‘But what’s the harm in having a little fling now you’re older and wiser? Who knows? It might work out this time. What have you got to lose?’

  Far more than you realise, Isabelle thought.

  * * *

  Isabelle placed one of her hands over her trembling belly as she stood outside Spencer’s suite waiting for him to answer her knock. It was strange—exciting strange—to be going to his suite for the express purpose of having sex with him. It was so...clinical. Her old self would be appalled. Shocked. Ashamed even. But this wasn’t about making love. This was about having sex. There was a difference and she had to keep reminding herself of it.

  She heard the tread of footsteps and the door opened a crack but instead of Spencer hauling her into his arms as she expected he stood there with a frown knitting his brows. ‘Can we do a rain check?’ he said. ‘Something’s...erm...come up.’

  For a horrible moment she wondered if he had someone else in the room. He was wearing a bathrobe and his hair was damp as if he had not long ago had a shower. Had he shared it with someone? Had he washed her back while she washed his? Who was it? The blonde from the other night? The thoughts flashed through her brain like missiles. It took every ounce of self-control not to peer past his broad shoulder. But then she realised his eyes were wincing against the light coming from the corridor and his face was unusually pale, ashen beneath the light tan of his skin. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Forgive the cliché but I have a headache.’

  Isabelle would’ve laughed at his dry humour except she knew enough about headaches to know what he was currently experiencing was a migraine. The light and sound sensitivity would be excruciating. ‘Have you taken something for it?’ she asked in a soft tone.

  ‘Yeah, I have some prescription meds for it. They’ll kick in soon. I was going to text you but I can barely see straight...’ His words trailed off as he scraped a hand through his hair, wincing as if the touch was painful.

  She touched him ligh
tly on the arm. ‘Here, let me help you to bed. You need to lie flat and keep the lights down.’

  Surprisingly he allowed her to lead him to the bedroom. She drew back the covers and helped him out of his bathrobe so he could lie down. She couldn’t stop herself from drinking in his toned frame and his masculine form. Even though he was far from arousal he still looked magnificent. Her body gave a little quiver of memory of how it had felt to have him plunging deep inside her.

  To see him so weak and vulnerable, so ill and unlike his usual take-charge self, disarmed her determination to hate him. A wave of sympathy passed through her, making everything that was hard and tightly knotted in her loosen like an unwound ball of string. He was under a lot of pressure juggling the Chatsfield chain and now her hotel. Was his family putting pressure on him or was he doing it to himself?

  Isabelle pulled herself up short. Why was she worrying about his stress levels? She was supposed to be keeping her emotions separate. He was the enemy. He had taken everything off her. So what if a little karma was making him suffer for it? It probably wasn’t even a proper migraine. Either way he deserved it for making her stress levels go through the roof.

  Isabelle carefully drew the sheets over him and turned the bedside lamp off. She saw him wince at the sound of the click of the switch. She went over to the windows and gently drew the curtains so the room was in darkness.

  She stood in silence looking at him lying on the king-size bed. He hadn’t removed the condom tower or the velvet ties, and the mirrors above and at the end of the bed were still in place. Even the mask was on the bedside table next to the pump pack of lubricant. The juxtaposition of her strategically placed orgy items with his helpless and vulnerable body suddenly made her feel ashamed.

  She tiptoed out of the bedroom and softly closed the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SPENCER WOKE FROM a deep sleep to find his head was still fuzzy from the migraine medication but the pain had lessened to a mild ache behind his eyes. He gingerly swung his legs over the edge of the bed, testing his balance and nausea level. He rose from the bed and used the bathroom, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. He’d been experiencing migraines since he was twenty-nine. No surprise. The shock of finding out he wasn’t his father’s son had left him with a tendency for tension headaches that could quickly turn into a debilitating migraine. They occurred less frequently than they had, but they were still frequent enough to cause him a great deal of inconvenience.

  Like last night’s date with Isabelle.

  He dragged a hand down his unshaven face, the sound of his stubble against his skin loud in the silence of the suite. He’d been so racked with pain and meds he couldn’t recall much other than that she had helped him get into bed. It was humiliating to have her see him so prostrate. He never let anyone see him like that. Normally he did what he had to do—locked himself away until the migraine passed. But somehow her turning up before he could cancel their date had caught him off guard.

  Spencer washed his face and brushed his teeth to get rid of the stale gym-sock feel in his mouth before coming out to the sitting room of the suite. He stopped short when he saw a small figure curled up on one of the sofas. Isabelle was sleeping with her cheek resting on one of her hands, her legs curled up like a child’s, a scatter cushion cuddled close to her chest as if she had sought its comfort during the night.

  He stood there watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She was still dressed in the little black dress and a three-quarter-length-sleeve cardigan she had been wearing last night. There was a single strand of pearls around her neck and pearl studs in her ears. She was wearing makeup, not too much, not too little—just enough to highlight the aristocratic shape of her cheekbones and enhance the shape and depth of her eyes.

  The classiness of her never failed to amaze him. She had ostensibly been coming to have sex with him and yet she had dressed as if she were coming to a formal meeting.

  He crossed the floor on silent footsteps and stood looking down at her for a long moment. She was so beautiful when she wasn’t trying to gouge his eyes out. Before he was even aware he was doing it he gently brushed back a strand or two of her hair that had come loose from the neat chignon at the back of her head.

  Her eyes suddenly sprang open and she jerked upright. ‘Oh! I must’ve fallen asleep.’ Her cheeks bloomed with colour as she saw he was wearing nothing but a towel hitched around his hips. ‘How are you, um, feeling?’

  He smiled as her eyes stayed fixedly on his as if she wasn’t game enough to lower it to where his body was already stirring. ‘Fighting fit.’

  She rose from the sofa and straightened her crumpled dress, her gaze slipping out of the reach of his. ‘I’d better let you get ready for work...’

  ‘Wait.’ He put a hand on her arm, turning her to look at him. ‘What’s the hurry? It’s early still.’

  Her brown eyes were smudged underneath where her makeup had run. It gave her an adorable panda look that was at odds with her usual well-put-together composure. Her small even white teeth sank into the soft pillow of her lips and his groin tightened with the urge to feel those beautiful lips on his, to feel the scrape of those teeth against his mouth in a playful bite.

  He pressed the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, brushing it across the width of it, watching as the blood ebbed and flowed. He heard her catch her breath, the swift little uptake of air reminding him of the first time he had kissed her. The way she had gasped in surprise as his mouth had met hers, the way her lips had felt like velvet beneath his. The sweet vanilla taste of her and the shy dart of her tongue as he called it into play with his.

  No kissing, remember?

  Why did he feel like he would die if he didn’t kiss her right now?

  He bent his head so he could lower his mouth to the side of her neck just below her earlobe. He felt her shiver against him, her whole body quaking as his lips touched the sensitive skin. She smelt of gardenia or was it lily of the valley? A rich fragrance, redolent of times gone past. ‘Am I allowed to kiss you here?’ he said against her skin stretched over her collarbone.

  She shivered again, her body leaning into him as if pulled by a magnetic force. ‘Y-yes...’ The word was a whisper of sound, soft, breathless.

  He moved his mouth to her earlobe, flicking it lightly with the tip of his tongue. ‘How about here?’

  ‘Yes...’ Her voice came out like a croak. ‘Yes...’

  He took her earlobe between his teeth in a gentle nip, just enough pressure to keep her tethered to him. She shuddered against him, a soft groan escaping from her lips. He brought his mouth down the side of her neck, pausing along the way to nibble at her softly scented skin, listening to every intake of breath, feeling every delighted shudder pass through her body, making his own body taut with burning, raging desire.

  He slipped her cardigan off her shoulders and slowly undid the zipper at the back of her dress, exposing the cap of her shoulder so he could press his lips to it, to swirl his tongue over it as she made little mewling sounds that incited his lust all the more. He could feel his erection tenting the towel that covered him, the pressure of want building at a frantic pace.

  As if she read his mind or his body or both she put her hands to the knot on his towel and it slipped to the floor. The feel of her cool small hand around him almost sent him over the edge. He reined in the urge and concentrated on getting her naked.

  Her dress joined his towel on the floor while he unfastened her bra. He bent his mouth to the upper curve of her right breast, gliding his lips over the smooth, creamy flesh, staying clear of her budded nipple until she begged him to take it by pressing closer with a soft little needy moan. He circled it with his tongue, and then gently suckled it with his mouth, doing the same to the left breast while she tilted her head sideways, her soft little cries of pleasure making his self-control
strain at the leash.

  His hands went to the pair of knickers she was wearing, a scrap of lace that was already damp. He slid them down past her thighs and she stepped out of them, leaning her hands on his shoulders for balance.

  He stroked her entrance with his middle finger, a light barely-there touch that evoked another whole body shudder from her. He slid his finger into her, the tight and rippling grip of her body sending his senses into a tailspin of anticipation.

  She pressed against his touch, searching for more friction. He tantalised her with rhythmic strokes, feeling the swell of her clitoris against his fingers. She writhed and gasped and then came apart in a shocked cry as if the sensations were a total surprise to her.

  He held her by the waist, steadying her as she gathered herself, her cheeks and décolletage still flushed with the rosy tide of pleasure. Then, while holding his gaze in a smouldering lock, she went in search of him again, her fingers wrapping around his length, squeezing and stroking in turn. The pressure was perfect; she had an instinctive feel for his needs. She smeared his pre-ejaculate moisture over the swollen head of his penis, round and round in a tantalising circle that made his legs go weak at the knees. He knew what she was going to do by the look in her glinting brown eyes. The naughty-girl look made his backbone fizz as she went to her knees in front of him.

  ‘Can I kiss you here?’ she asked, her warm breath skating over his rigid flesh.

  ‘You don’t have to—’ He cut off an expletive as she opened her mouth over him, the suction dizzyingly pleasurable.

  With a mammoth effort of self-control he pulled back from her. ‘Not without a condom.’

  ‘But you used to let me...’

  ‘It’s safer with protection,’ he said, leading her by the hand to the bedroom. ‘Besides, we can’t let all those you bought for me go to waste, can we?’

  She gave him a sheepish look. ‘I thought you said they were too small?’

  He laughed as he took one from the nearest packet, handing it to her. ‘Why don’t you do a road test?’