Sure enough, the next day Victoria is out of a job and Spencer’s face is plastered all over the tabloids. Headlines read Spencer Lancaster flies high with mystery woman. The article goes on to detail all the sordid details of Spencer and Victoria’s time in the air and then flashes to his latest rendezvous with a mystery woman. I’m nauseous reading it, but it’s nothing I didn’t already suspect. I just feel bad because it’s exactly what Spencer had said. Nothing in his life stays secret, and he can’t trust anyone.
Now our first day in Barcelona is spent with Spencer doing damage control with his publicist. Neither one of us wants people to know that we’re together, especially since it ends in less than seven days.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hear Spencer yell from the other room. “I want her ruined. Those details couldn’t have come from anyone but her.” Huffing ensues followed by more tense words. “No, Clarissa, absolutely not. There’s no way that Marshall would’ve known that. He was busy flying the fucking plane, and he knows better. He’s been with our family for years.” He lets out a growl. “I want her buried along with this story. Take care of it now or find yourself another job. There are plenty of people who would be clamoring over themselves to work for me.”
I busy myself by taking out my Kindle and pretending I’m reading, not wanting him to know I overheard all of that.
He comes stomping in. “This is a fucking shit show.”
My stomach falls. “What?” I can tell by his face what he’s about to say isn’t good.
“I can’t believe the bitch told the press about us. But that’s not the worst part.”
My mouth slacks. I knew it was a horrible idea I should’ve said no to. But honestly, I couldn’t resist him. “What is the worst part?” I whisper, scared of what he will say.
“All of the tabloids know about it and have their dogs out looking to find out who this mystery mile high girl is.”
I cringe. If I didn’t already feel like a prostitute, this just cements the deal.
“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.
I can tell this whole thing is eating at him.
“We’re going to have to lay low in Barcelona,” he says solemnly. “If you want to go home, I can understand. I can arrange for Marshall to take you back.”
The thought of leaving him has me feeling even worse. I’d rather hide for a few more days and enjoy my time with him at night. I’m not ready to let go of our time.
“No,” I say sheepishly.
“Good.” He smiles and then begins pacing. “I never wanted to throw you into my fucking issues.” He stops right in front of me, taking my face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Olivia.”
My forehead scrunches. “Why are you apologizing to me?” I ask.
“I’m the one who put you in their line of fire. Between my fuck up with Victoria, and then my display on the plane, it was all my fault.”
“Stop. I’m a grown woman. I made choices too.”
“Choosing to spend your time with me is a mistake, Olivia.”
“No.” I shake my head. “My time with you has been everything.” Again words slip out of my mouth that I know I shouldn’t be saying to him. But for some reason, he makes me lose all reason. A part of me is nervous about my revelation. That he might reject me, or remind me of what this is, but instead, Spencer devours me with his mouth. Our tongues tangle in passion and anger. For him, I can imagine it’s anger at Victoria, anger at himself. For me, it’s anger because I’m falling against all the warnings. I should do the smart thing and tell him I changed my mind. I should get on that plane and never look back. Forget London, forget Vence, and most importantly, forget I ever met Spencer Lancaster.
But I can’t. I don’t want to.
My anger fuels me to kiss him harder. I want him to remember these lips. I want my memory to burn him at night when I’m gone. This isn’t making love or even having sex. This is desperation.
He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Carrying me to the bed, Spencer never pulls his lips from mine. We fall into a heap on top of the feather mattress, roughly removing each other’s clothes. Panties are tossed, bra is flung, and once it’s all discarded, I watch through hooded lids as he rips open a condom wrapper and sheaths himself. Once he’s finished, I lower myself on top of him, sighing at the absolute relief I feel. He follows with a moan of his own. We never slow in our movements. It’s fast and hard, but we move in synchronicity.
In this position, we’re eye to eye. There’s something disarming about being this vulnerable side to him, but I want him to see just how much he affects me. He holds my hips, helping me to glide up and down. Our eyes lock and I see it. He may never admit it, but in this moment I know he feels the way I do.
I throw my head back and bask in the exquisite feel of him inside of me and the knowledge that I’m not alone in these feelings. He soon follows me over the edge and we lie in our contentment.