Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

. . . and then she trips. I catch her before she kisses the floor instead of me.

“Okay, I think it’s time to go,” I grunt out, then call to Bianca, “Can I drive Presley home?”

“Fine with me. I was planning to leave with my guy.” Bianca looks over toward a guy seated in the booth nursing a beer, then pats Presley on her flushed cheek. “Just make sure to text me when you get home, okay, babe?”

Presley flashes her an unsteady thumbs-up.

I give my ticket to the valet and wait with her at the front doors until it arrives, then escort her outside and into the passenger seat. She drapes herself over me as soon as I’ve slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

“Sorry, guess I had too much,” she mumbles into my ear.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re highly entertaining and educational.” For instance, I’ve learned tonight that copious amounts of alcohol make Presley extremely silly and touchy-feely. The surprises never end.

She pouts. “Are you laughing at me?”

“You’re tough enough to take it.” I peck her on the cheek.

She shakes her head, now smiling at me.

The drive to Presley’s apartment takes less than twenty minutes, and then I’m helping her up the front steps and inside.

I head to the kitchen and retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge for her. “Here. Drink this. You need to sober up.”

She smirks at me, accepting the water bottle. “Yes, Dad.”

help but chuckle. “I

sure are, and an extremely

head, I laugh

and meets my eyes. “Thank

means the promotion, but as I told her before, she earned

rescue tonight,” she

get you to

nods toward the

is ancient looking and sags in the middle. A thin cotton blanket is draped over the back of it, and a pillow

sleep on

so scandalized, Mr. CEO. Keep in mind that until today, I was working full-time in an

“I guess that’s true.”

I’ve never considered what that means, or the sacrifices people would have to make.

make up her bed for her, draping the white sheet I find folded on the coffee table across the sofa, and lay out her blanket and pillow. If there’s one domestic thing I’m good

wild around her shoulders. I watch as she strips off her work clothes and then help her tug an oversize T-shirt over her head. She’s still a little unsteady, and I don’t know

hands on her hips and help her across

have sex with you tonight,” she says, giving me an exaggerated

I’m somewhat taken aback since I didn’t plan on sleeping with her while she was in this . . . state, but

she’s about to tell me she’s on her period, or maybe that she’s too drunk for sex, which I would agree with,

confuses things between us. Doesn’t

me as she adjusts the

innocent somehow.

What in the world?