Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 9

Presley

“London is colder than Seattle, right?” I ask Bianca. She’s lounging across her bed next to an impressive pile of sweaters in all shapes and colors. I leave for England with Dominic this afternoon, and in my distracted state, I’ve procrastinated packing the necessities. Like clothes. And toiletries. Which means I’ve emptied my suitcase and duffel bag onto her bed so she can help me pack.

Bianca pulls out her phone and scrolls briefly. “The weather app says it will be rainy. That doesn’t necessarily mean cold, though. Sixties during the day and fifties at night.”

“Hmm, all right. So maybe something a little breathable. Like this?” I hold up my favorite, a peach-colored cardigan in a clunky knit.

Bianca squints at it. “I don’t think that’s gonna be breathable enough.”

“Really? I like it,” I say, examining the texture between thumb and finger. I wore this cardigan through most of my time at Brown. It’s been through some of the best and worst times of my life, from late-night essay-writing to early mornings at my favorite coffee shop.

“Presley,” Bianca says, sitting up with a huff. “You don’t need sweaters. You need lingerie.”

“What?” I practically snort.

“Didn’t he say you wouldn’t be there strictly for business? I’m just reading between the lines.” She wiggles her eyebrows in my direction.

“Just because I won’t be there only for business doesn’t mean I should only pack underwear.”

“It’s not underwear . . . it’s lingerie. I know you have some. I’ve seen it.”

She’s right. She was there when I bought it. We’d gone to a discount boutique to look for something for her latest sexcapade. Naturally, I ended up in a dressing room as well. I remember turning around, looking at myself in the mirror, admiring the way the lacy pink bodysuit hugged my slight curves. Although it took me a minute to get used to it, I liked how it looked on me. The sheer silk fabric caressed my skin like a kiss. My nipples were almost completely visible, perky and curious in this new getup. The thong sat high on my hips, with garters stretching down my thighs. Looking over my shoulder at my reflection, I knew I had to buy it—even if I had no one to wear it for.

“I’ve never worn those,” I admit.