The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

Dominic

“Good night. I love you.”

I haven’t even hung up my phone before Presley bursts into the bedroom where I came to have a little privacy. Every evening, Emilia and Lacey need a good-night from Daddy before they can settle into bed. Fran started this ritual, and it’s one that I look forward to . . . I just wish the timing of it had been better. I didn’t want to leave Presley alone on the balcony after our moment, but there was no choice.

“Who was that?” Presley’s cheeks are stained pink.

Standing next to the bed, I pocket my phone. “I was just about to rejoin you on the balcony.”

She stands her ground, and I take a step closer.

“It’s really not your business,” I say, keeping my tone even.

“Are you seeing someone else?”

Fuck, she’s even hotter when she’s angry. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Then who were you talking to?”

I swallow. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” she asks, her hands falling to her sides. She seems genuinely perplexed. But there’s no way in hell I’m telling her I was on the phone with my two toddlers.

“It’s not personal, Presley. There are very few people who know about my private life. I can count them on one hand. I like to keep it that way. The phone call was a family matter.”

Presley opens her mouth to object and then snaps it shut. She seems somewhat saddened by what I’ve said; the color drains from her cheeks and her gaze drops to the floor at her feet. “A family matter,” she repeats.

Could I have hurt her feelings?

“Trust me,” I say, not entirely sure what I mean. “It has no bearing on our arrangement.” I take a step toward her, and her eyes flash up to mine.

“Right,” she says, her voice cracking under the guise of strength. “Just because we’re sharing a bed doesn’t mean that we’re sharing our lives.”

Sharing a bed? Why didn’t it occur to me that there was only one bed? Or that we’d be spending the night in it together? Well, that’s going to be one hell of a cock tease, complete with my least-favorite bedtime story ever, Goodnight Hard-On.

“Well, you’re welcome to the floor, if you’d prefer,” I say, flashing her a smile.

She scoffs and swats my arm. “No way.”

That little move has her wobbling a bit, so I steady her with one hand. I lean in so my words are a whisper in her ear.

“In that case, I promise to uphold your purity.” I squeeze her arm slightly, noting the goose bumps rising on her skin.

She leans back a little to meet my eyes. Searching.

“I’m not so pure,” she says in a low voice, and fuck if I don’t feel all my blood rush from my head into my sorely neglected cock. “I’ve done things before.”

“Makes sense. Men must be lining up,” I say, fighting off a smirk.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, her proximity, or Oliver’s words finally getting through to me, but suddenly, I don’t want to hide the attraction I have for her. It’s not like she didn’t feel it when she was splayed over my lap earlier today, my dick hard against her warm center. And for some reason, when I’m with her, it’s easy to forget she works for me.

“So what if they are?” she asks with a playful look, her head tilting.

The dim light of the overhead fixture catches her eyes, and I’m struck speechless for a moment. She’s beautiful. Stunning, even.

“What are you waiting for, then?” My mouth is just inches from hers now. There’s no more eye contact, just the connection of our mingling breaths.

“Love.”

Are you fucking serious?

I pull back. I’m about ready to ravish this woman, and as soon as she brings up the L-word, I’m as soft as a bowl of pudding. Turning away, I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Fuck. I need some space.

“What?” she asks, bewildered by my shift in mood.

“It’s a fraud.” I turn back with a shrug.

“What is?”

“Love.”

“So you’ve had your heart broken,” she says, her voice like a nurse’s just before administering a shot.

And yeah, I’ll admit, it stings that she’s pegged me so quickly.

“More than once,” I say, not trying to hide the cynicism in my voice. “I’m not exactly looking for the ‘real deal’.”

Been there, done that. Women have tried before to save me from myself, from my doubts and self-made walls, to no avail.

“That’s why you hire escorts,” she says.

Presley has me cornered and she knows it. I’m on her examining table, and she’s going to keep poking and prodding until she gets the complete diagnosis.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

“Tell me about your past relationships,” she says.

“Pass.”

She rolls her eyes. This may be a casual conversation to her, but it’s pretty jarring for me. I realize I have my fists clenched at my sides. Fighting for control, I relax my hands.

“You’re not married are you?” she asks, voice unsure.

My eyes flash to hers. “God, Presley, of course not. Do you really think what happened in the limo would have if I were married?”

She takes a deep breath, shaking her head. “I didn’t think so. But I had to ask.” She steps toward me, her eyes like flashlights into my darkest corners. “Okay, let’s try an easier question. What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for someone?”

“I’m not really romantic.” I rub my thumb across my lip, my eyes never straying from her.

“Come on, there must have been something.”

“An all-expenses-paid trip around the world.”

Her eyes widen, and her jaw hangs open. “Seriously?”

“And a thousand Persian roses, with little dewdrops made of diamonds. Oh, and one time, horseback riding, but we were both naked—”

She bursts out laughing. “All right, fine. I get it.”

I can’t help the genuine smile tugging on my lips.

She’s still giggling when I slide one arm around her waist to assist with her lack of balance, and help her sit down on the edge of the bed. Our bed.