Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

Chapter 18 Dominic

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.

what you really had,”

fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Waffle and juice and,

“Presley!” Lacey screams.

very startled

. . forgot my power cord,” she

hollering her name over and over. Presley is

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,

with their significant stares. I heave a sigh and relent. “Come say

let her use the chair and lean over to one side, one hand on the desk, so I can

are you two little monkeys?” Presley

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

is freakish sometimes. That whole finishing

“Wow, so polite. Did your daddy

her head as Lacey chirps,

As if I needed another reminder that I’m never home to do

me an

Nanny Franny is great, isn’t

erupt into giggles and shouts of “Nanny Franny!”

you want to show them your picture?” Francine

eyes go huge.

with a chaos of circles, lines, and scribbles in all colors

looking lost, and I hold back a snort. It’s not her

cool dog,” I say. “And I like how

away. “I love dogs. Did you see all this

Emilia

lick people because they don’t know how to kiss right,” Lacey

they start yelling over

take turns talking,” I

settle down only slightly, but I can’t bring myself to quash their energy further. It’s impossible not to smile while watching

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