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.”

but chuckle.

sure are, and an extremely hot

head, I laugh with

her water and meets my

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

my rescue

Should we get you

nods toward the couch. “We’re in

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

frown. “You sleep

so scandalized, Mr. CEO. Keep in mind

“I guess that’s true.”

unpaid has never bothered me before now. Mostly because I’ve never considered what that means, or the sacrifices people would

white sheet I find folded on the

with her shirt unbuttoned down the front and her hair 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

hips and help

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

or maybe that she’s too drunk for sex, which I would agree

confuses things between us.

I let her lean on me as she adjusts the blankets to her liking while I turn

more innocent somehow.

What in the world?