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

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Her fingers trembled as she sheathed him. He wasn’t sure if it was shyness or lack of practice or heady excitement. She went to go down on him but he held her back. ‘No. I want to be inside you.’

  He walked her backwards to the bed, his thighs against hers, watching as her eyes sparkled with arousal. He joined her on the bed, coming down over her with his weight balanced on his arms. She opened her thighs for him, her arms looping around his neck, her eyes going to his mouth. He saw her catch her bottom lip between her teeth as if she only just remembered in time her no-kissing rule. He saw the glimmer of uncertainty or maybe it was regret in her gaze as it came back to his.

  ‘Are you okay with this?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure.’ She said it firmly, as if trying to convince herself rather than him. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? It’s just sex.’

  ‘So it is,’ he said as he entered her with a long slow thrust, his own breath catching as her body wrapped around him, swallowing him whole.

  He began to move, building the pace so she wasn’t rushed, but it took every bit of self-control he possessed to keep from coming. He told himself it was because he hadn’t had a lover for a couple of months. He’d been busy with work and let his social/sex life slide. But he knew it was more to do with the chemistry between him and Isabelle, the fiery combustion of two strong wills that had resisted the pull of attraction up until now. The sheer force of it consumed him, making his thrusts harder, deeper, faster. He heard her gasping cries of encouragement, heard his own guttural groans—a sexy mingling of breathy moans that made him realise with a sharp pang how much he had missed her in the past decade.

  He was so familiar with her body it felt like he had come home to a safe base, a place where he could let himself free knowing she was with him every step of the way. He slipped a hand between their rocking bodies, knowing just how much coaxing she needed to fly. It thrilled him to find her just as responsive to his touch as before. She gave a choked-off cry and came hard, contracting and pulsing around him until he tensed, paused and then flowed.

  The sense of lassitude coursed through him like a warm tide, relaxing every muscle until he felt completely boneless. Her body was entangled with his, her breathing gradually slowing in soft little drifts against the side of his neck.

  ‘I didn’t rush you, did I?’ he said into the silence.

  She moved against him, her hands sliding down to the base of his spine in a gentle caress that made his skin lift in a shiver. ‘No. It was...you were...amazing.’

  He eased onto his elbows to look at her, watching as her gaze drifted to his mouth as if pulled by a force she couldn’t override. ‘You were too. Better than I remembered.’

  She looked at him briefly, then caught the edge of her lip in her teeth, and lowered her gaze back on his mouth. ‘I would’ve thought you’d have forgotten given all the others since. A decade’s a long time. You must’ve had hundreds of women. Thousands, maybe.’

  He nudged up her chin to mesh his gaze with hers. ‘The press exaggerate things. It’s how they sell papers. If I did even half of what they said I’d be worn out by now.’

  She gave him a sceptical look from beneath her lashes. ‘So no one has stood out in all that time? No one special enough to keep longer than a few days?’

  Spencer outlined her mouth with a lazy finger. ‘I had a fortnight with a woman a couple of years back.’

  Her brows moved together in a little frown. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I can’t remember her name.’

  Her frown relaxed but didn’t quite disappear. ‘Did you end it or did she?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged and rolled away, leaning over to dispose of the condom with a tissue from the box beside the bed. ‘I got bored.’

  When he turned back she was sitting upright with her arms hugging her bent knees close to her chest. Her dark hair was tousled, half up, half down, giving her a just-been-ravished look that made him harden all over again. ‘What bores you about your lovers?’ she asked.

  He captured a loose strand of her hair and wound it around one of his fingers. ‘Lots of things.’

  ‘Such as?’

  He unravelled her hair and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Are you hungry?’

  She frowned again. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  Spencer swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t want to talk about his ex-lovers, especially not with her. He wasn’t exactly proud of his track record with women. He knew his restlessness was his problem, not theirs. He had tried not to break any hearts and had always been clear about his intentions. No commitment. He saw sex as a physical need that needed to be attended to as required. Sometimes he used work to take his mind off the physical urge. Other times he indulged in mindless affairs to distract himself from the pressure of work. Sometimes—more times lately than he cared to admit—he’d abstained because it was easier than going through the routine of drink, dinner and mindless sex.

  But making love with Isabelle reminded him of the way sex could be when two people were completely in tune with each other. The physical aspects were lifted to another level; one where there was not just a meeting of bodies but a connection that was like a harmony in a complicated melody. Pitch perfect, gorgeous cadences that made one’s hairs lift on the back of the neck. He’d thought he’d imagined how good they were together, that he’d somehow got her confused with someone else. Or rejigged his memory to make his time with her out to be something it wasn’t.

  But he hadn’t been mistaken or misguided.

  His body recognised hers, responded to hers with an intuitive sense that defied logic. Why was sex with her so satisfying? So exciting he wanted to have it again and again? He could feel the need building inside him, the tightening of his testicles, the flow of blood swelling him even as he fought to quell it.

  He gripped the edge of the mattress, at war with himself. Should he push himself upright and get away from the temptation of her body or should he give in to the desire to lose himself in her, to indulge his senses until they were stoned with the intoxicating drug that was uniquely her?

  As if she knew the war raging inside him she stroked a fingertip down the length of his spine to the crease at the top of his buttocks. He felt her press closer, her breasts brushing his shoulder blades in an erotic caress that made his senses go off like fireworks.

  He turned and pushed her back on the bed, coming over her until his pelvis was flush with hers. His erection strained to get closer, to sink into her hot wet warmth and feel her contract around him. ‘What time do you start work?’ he asked.

  ‘Seven, mostly.’

  ‘That’s early.’

  She trailed her fingertip down the side of his jaw. ‘Just as well we’re not kissing as you’d give me beard rash with all that regrowth.’

  He stilled her hand and turned it over and kissed the middle of her palm. ‘You broke one of your rules.’

  Her eyes flared. ‘I did not!’

  ‘You spent the night.’

  ‘Not in your bed.’

  ‘Same difference.’

  She flashed him a look. ‘No, it’s not. You’re twisting things.’

  Spencer held her gaze for a beat. ‘Why did you stay last night?’

  Her eyes shifted to focus on his chin. ‘I didn’t intend to...I just waited until I was sure you were settled. I must have drifted off myself. It’s a very comfortable sofa. But then all Harrington sofas are.’ Her eyes came back to his with a prideful spark. ‘I chose them specially. They’re handmade. The fabrics are from Italy. Did you know that?’

  He smiled at her attempt to rationalise her behaviour. ‘You don’t think it was a subconscious desire to spend the night with me in spite of your little rules?’

  She flattened her mouth and pulled out of hi
s hold. ‘No, I do not.’

  ‘Have a shower with me.’

  ‘I have to feed Atticus and I need a change of clothes.’

  He watched as she picked up her clothes with haughty dignity, her movement stiff and jerky. ‘I want to see you tonight,’ he said.

  ‘I might be busy.’

  He got off the bed and came over to where she was trying to zip up her dress. He turned her so her back was towards him and pulled the zip up. He swept the cloud of her hair to one side and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. Her whole body shivered against him. He could sense the struggle in her to turn back around and offer herself to him. ‘How about I come to your suite this time?’ he said.

  ‘You can’t stay.’

  He moved his mouth to the spot midway between her clavicle and her ear. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  She tilted her head as he moved his mouth closer to her ear. A little gasp escaped from her mouth as his teeth took her earlobe in a soft little bite. Her bottom was pressed against his erection, tantalising him with the wicked thought of taking her from behind.

  He ran his hands up from her hips to cup her breasts, shaping them, caressing them through her clothes. She made another sound of agonised pleasure and leaned further back against him. ‘You don’t play fair,’ she said in a husky whisper.

  He grazed the side of her neck with his stubble-surrounded mouth, his groin tightening painfully as the cheeks of her bottom pressed harder against him. ‘Nor do you.’

  She drew in a deep breath and stepped out of his hold, turning to face him with her colour high. ‘I really have to go. I have a meeting with the housekeeping staff and there’s the ball to organise and...’

  He pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Relax, darling. You never used to be such a stress bunny.’

  She pulled his hand away from her face, flashing him a glittery look. ‘I told you not to call me that.’

  He hooked an eyebrow upwards. ‘Another rule you want to assert?’

  She compressed her lips. ‘It doesn’t matter how many rules I insist on, you’ll find some way around them. It’s what you do best. You’re like the rest of your family.’

  Spencer shook his head at her. ‘Now that’s where you’ve got me all wrong. I’m nothing like my family. I don’t even belong in it.’

  Her forehead puckered in a puzzled frown. ‘What do you mean?’

  He let out a long slow breath, wondering if he was foolish for letting his guard down in front of her. But he was finding the stress of it exhausting. No wonder he was getting migraines. Pretending to be someone he wasn’t ate away at him, gnawed at his conscience, and just lately it was chewing at his resolve to keep it a secret. Isabelle was a strange ally to be considering revealing all to but she had known him before and after. He had divided his life into those two categories— before he found out he was a bastard and after.

  His life before had been one of privilege and wealth he had taken for granted like his younger brothers. After he found out he wasn’t a Chatsfield his sense of entitlement dissipated. He suddenly realised how different his life would have been if he’d been brought up with his biological father. It might have been full of neglect and abuse, instead of unlimited wealth and luxury. Not that his childhood had been a happy one. How could it be with his mother treating him so distantly and his father even more so? It was only when he found out about his true paternity he’d understood why he had never felt at home. He still struggled with knowing where he belonged and whom he belonged to. Work was his only way of navigating his way through it. Proving himself worthy of the name he had no legal right to possess.

  ‘Spencer?’ Isabelle’s soft voice found its way through the complicated maze of his thoughts. ‘What do you mean you don’t belong in your family?’

  He looked at her uptilted face with her big brown eyes so wide and questioning. Her soft cupid bow’s mouth that he so longed to kiss until he could blank out the misery of always feeling on the outside. What did it matter if she knew who he was? It suddenly didn’t seem so important to keep that side of his past hidden from her. He took another deep breath and this time let it out in a rush before he could change his mind. ‘I’m not Michael Chatsfield’s biological son.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ISABELLE LOOKED AT him blankly for a moment. ‘What?’

  He had turned away from her and was in the process of slipping on a bathrobe and waited until he tied the waist ties before he answered. ‘My mother had an affair as a payback to my...to Michael early in their marriage. I was the product of that affair.’

  She could barely take it in. It was such a shock to her. But how much more of a shock must it have been to him? When had he found out? Why hadn’t he mentioned it before now? He was so much of a Chatsfield to her. She couldn’t envisage him as anything else. He even looked like his brothers...sort of. They were all tall with dark brown hair, although Ben’s was more of a chestnut brown. Their eyes were slightly different but even she and her sisters had different coloured eyes. It didn’t make them any less related. ‘When did you find out?’

  ‘When I was twenty-nine.’

  ‘Twenty-nine?’ Isabelle gasped. ‘How did you find out? Who told you?’

  He rubbed a hand over his face, the action pulling at his features until they were distorted, making him look older than his thirty-four years. ‘No one told me. I might still not have known if I hadn’t overheard my parents arguing about it. I confronted them and the truth came out, but only partially. Only my brother Ben knows. James is still in the dark.’

  She felt a crushing weight against her chest for how he must have felt. For how he must still be feeling. ‘That’s terrible...I mean, it must’ve been such a horrible shock.’

  He gave her a wry look. ‘And then some.’

  She bit down on her lip. ‘Could there have been a mistake? Your mother might’ve been sleeping with both men if it was early in her marriage. Was a paternity test ever done to be absolutely sure?’

  ‘My mother knew from the start. Something about the dates lining up or something. I did my own test to confirm it.’

  ‘Who’s your real father?’

  His expression became shuttered, as if he was already regretting telling her so much. ‘No one important.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to be important, Spencer. He’s your father. You share his DNA. That’s important enough, surely?’

  He gave her a black look. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

  Isabelle swallowed as a host of possibilities of his parentage flooded her brain. ‘He isn’t a nice person, then?’

  He moved to the windows of the suite, standing with his back to her as he looked out at the view. It was at least thirty seconds, maybe even more, before he spoke. ‘He drank. He gambled. He beat up his last partner until she was hospitalised. He’s dead now after a drunk-driving accident and I can’t say I’m unhappy about it.’

  She looked at him standing there, every muscle in his back and shoulders taut with tension. He looked so...so alone. As if there was an invisible wall around him no one could get through. It explained so much about his determination. His ruthless drive to succeed. But why let her in on the secret? ‘Why did you tell me?’

  He turned to look at her but his expression was still unfathomable. ‘You caught me in a weak moment.’

  ‘You don’t have weak moments, Spencer.’

  He cracked a half-smile. ‘Yes, well, where you’re concerned it seems I do.’

  She moved across to where he was standing, stopping just in front of him so she could touch him on the arm as her gaze meshed with his. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For?’

  ‘For trusting me.’

  He raised a cynical brow over one of his eyes. ‘Can I trust you? How do I know you won’t spill all to the press as a payback?’


  Isabelle frowned as her hand fell away from his arm. ‘Do you really think I’d do something like that?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess it’s a risk I’m going to have to take.’

  ‘I wouldn’t just be hurting you, though, would I?’ she said. ‘Your mother, Michael and your brothers, one of whom is married to my sister.’

  He studied her for a long moment. ‘You know the thing that gets me even after all this time?’ He didn’t wait for her to respond but continued in a hollow-sounding tone. ‘I always struggled with feeling wanted in my family. Nothing I could do would ever please my mother or my father. I was a good student. I did well at school and university. But no amount of effort on my part would ever get their attention. It was like they were pretending I wasn’t there.’

  ‘That must’ve been awful for you,’ Isabelle said. ‘Truly horrible.’

  He gave her a vacant smile. ‘Yes, well, it could’ve been worse. I could’ve been sent to live with my biological father and who knows how I would’ve turned out?’

  Isabelle touched him on the arm again. ‘I’m sure you would be just the same as you are now.’

  He put his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, his dark blue eyes searching hers. ‘Why are you being so sweet about this?’

  She looked at his hand covering hers, the darkness of his on the lightness of hers. They were different and yet alike in more ways than she had been prepared to admit. Driven. Ambitious. Disciplined. Determined. Angry and bitter about how life had dealt them a bad hand. ‘Maybe I’m getting tired of being angry all the time.’

  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, making her shiver all over at the tender touch. ‘I’m not proud of how I handled things when we met. The only thing I can say in my defence is I was young and brash and overly confident. I wanted you and wouldn’t stop until I had you.’

  Isabelle found it hard to summon up her angst towards him in this atmosphere of newfound intimacy. The fact he’d shared such an important and potentially damaging secret with her suggested a level of trust unlike any she had experienced with anyone else. It made it so much harder to access her anger and bitterness over the takeover.