Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 17

Dominic

The next day, I come back to the hotel early. Well, right on time by normal standards, but I had to politely fend off a dozen offers of dinners, cocktails, anything that would keep me listening to pitches for another few hours. Not that I mind skipping out. I have a five-thirty date I wouldn’t miss for the world.

When I enter the suite, Presley is on her laptop, her lips pursed in thought. Working, of course—both of us are always working. She looks up when she sees me, her lips curving into a grin.

I’m still not sure how I feel about what happened between us last night. I have the sense that I’m playing with fire and will most likely get burned.

But I return her smile, my lips twitching as I take her in—with her black leggings and oversize sweater and messy bun. She looks every bit the college coed she was not long ago, and I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t tempting as hell.

“How was your day, dear?” she teases.

I chuckle. “Just fine. Yours?”

“Same,” she says cheerily.

There’s a lot we need to talk about, but first I need to do something else. “Can I borrow the desk for an hour?”

“What?” She looks back at her laptop. “Oh, sure, no problem. I can use the bed.”

I repress a quip about how we used the bed last night and it most certainly didn’t involve working or checking email. Now isn’t the time. And as today wore on, last night’s events had started to . . . not sit right with me. But I don’t have time to examine my selfish actions right now.

I pull out my own laptop, open up video chat, and call home. After a few rings, the faces of Lacey, Emilia, and Francine fill my screen.

“Daddy!” my girls cry ecstatically, and the sound of their loving voices calms the uncertainties inside me almost instantly.

“They’ve just had their breakfast,” Francine informs me.

“What did you eat?” I ask.

“Poo-poo,” Lacey stage-whispers, and they both collapse, giggling.

“Come on, you guys,” I say, but my mouth twitches up despite myself. Their laughter is just too infectious to resist.

“Tell your papa what you really had,” Francine says.

Emilia fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Waffle and juice and, um—”

“Presley!” Lacey screams.

I glance back at a very startled Presley caught halfway across the room.

“Uh . . . forgot my power cord,” she mumbles.

Now that Emilia has spotted her too, both girls are hollering her name over and over. Presley is watching me helplessly for some cue as to how to handle this explosion.

Francine fixes me with one of her patented looks. She has many looks that I’ve learned to read over the years since my girls were born, and this one ranks among the most powerful—the expression that says, What the hell are you up to, Dom?

Christ, all these women with their significant stares. I heave a sigh and relent. “Come say hi to them.”

A tender smile spreads over Presley’s face. I stand up to let her use the chair and lean over to one side, one hand on the desk, so I can still see the screen. Though I’m focused on Emilia and Lacey, I can’t shake the awareness of how close Presley and I are and how good her hair smells.

“How are you two little monkeys?” Presley asks.

“Good-how-are-you,” they chorus proudly.

Their twin bond is freakish sometimes. That whole finishing each other’s sentences is real.

Presley grins in delight. “Wow, so polite. Did your daddy teach you that?”

Emilia shakes her head as Lacey chirps, “Franny.”

Ouch. As if I needed another reminder that I’m never home to do anything with them.