Page 18 of One Weekend in Quebec City

My breath catches, my eyes meeting his. “I’d like that, Spencer. I’d like that very much.”

Our conversation flows easily, the wine and the atmosphere loosening our tongues and relaxing our nerves. We share stories, laughter, andglances that linger a little too long. By the time our food arrives, I feel like I’ve known Spencer for years, not days.

The lobster is delicious, the meat tender and sweet. Spencer watches me eat, and it might be the wine, but I find myself enjoying the attention. My body is responding in a way it hasn’t on past dates. I set down my fork, taking a long sip of wine to cool the fireburninginside me.

“This is incredible,”I say, gesturing to my plate. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“It’s my pleasure,”he says, his voice low, husky, sexy. “I wanted tonight to be special.”

“It is,”I assure him, my voice matching his. “It really is.”

As we finish our meal, the tension between us builds a palpable force that seems to draw us closer with each passing moment. I can feel the desire growing, a need to be closer to Spencer, to feel his touch, to taste his lips. To have him touch and taste me.

Spencer pays the bill, and we leave the restaurant; the night air is warm but not humid, a perfect summer night. The city lights twinkle around us, adding a romantic glow to the atmosphere. Spencer takes my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, a natural and intimate gesture.

“Would you like to take a walk?”

I nod. “I’d love that.”

We stroll through the streets, the cobblestones beneath our feet and the gentle glow of the streetlights casting a warm, inviting light. The city is alive with the sounds of laughter and music, the scent of flowers, and the faint smell of the river.

“This city is magical,”I murmur, lookingup at the varioushistoric buildings. “It feels like we’re in a fairy tale.”

Spencer smiles, looking down at me. “It does, doesn’t it?There’s a charm here that’s hard to find anywhere else.”

We walkin silencefor a moment, taking it allin,while Spencer traces circles on the back of my hand with his thumb.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you, Shelby,”he says softly, breaking the silence. “Someone who understands me, who sees past the headlines and the rumors.”

I look up at him, my eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “I see you, Spencer Hollis. And I like what I see.”

He stops suddenly and turns to face me. He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing gently against my skin. “I like what I see too, Shelby Bailey. More than I can express.”

He leans in, his lips brushing gently against mine. The kiss is feather-light, tender, andfilled with promises.

I melt into him, my handsreaching up to touchhis face, deepening the kiss.

The world around us fades away, leaving us lost in the moment.

When we finally pull apart, our breaths heavy and hot between us, our foreheads resting against each other. “I want this, Shelby,”Spencer whispers. “I wantyou.”

My eyes shine with unshed tears. “I want you too, Spencer. More than anything.”

ChapterEight

Shelby

The elevator doors slide open, and Spencer leads me down the quiet hallway, his hand on the small of my back, a possessive, protective gesture that excites me more than I would have imagined. I’ve had other men touch me there and didn’t feel anything.

He unlocks his door and ushers me inside. His suite is as elegant as mine, with the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the furniture modern and sophisticated. The room is bathed in a warm glow from the discreetly placed lamps. The scent of fresh flowers from a vase on the side table mingles with remnants of his cologne, a smoky, woodsy aroma that seems to envelop me as soon as I step inside. The plush carpet beneath my feet feels luxurious under my heels, and the subtle hum of the air conditioning is comforting background noise in the intimacy of the moment.

The door closes behind us, the click of the latch shutting out the rest of the world. The air between us crackles, and I can feel the depth of his desire even with my back to him. It permeates the room and would be suffocating if I didn’t feel it, too.

“Would you like something to drink?”

I nod, unable to speak, and he gestures toward the small bar areatucked intothe corner of his room. The bar is something I don’t have in mine. It must be the upgraded version. The clink of glasses and the soft pop and fizz of a bottle opening are the only sounds I hear as he pours us each a glass of something. I really don’t care what. I’m not that thirsty. At least, not for a beverage.

“Here you go.”

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