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.

and an extremely hot dad. You’re like

head, I laugh

finishes her water and meets my eyes. “Thank you for

as I told her

for coming to my rescue

Should we get you to

toward the

looking and sags in the middle. A thin cotton blanket is draped over

sleep on

waves her hand. “Yes, and don’t look so scandalized, Mr. CEO. Keep in

“I guess that’s true.”

because I’ve never considered what that means, or the sacrifices people would have to make. One of those sacrifices—at least in

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 at, it’s tucking someone

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 why, but I

hands on her hips

with you tonight,” she says, giving me an exaggerated wink once we

I didn’t plan on sleeping with her while she was in this . . .

maybe that

things between us.

me as she adjusts the blankets to her liking while I turn that question over in my

innocent somehow. “You won’t buy the cow if you’re already

What in the world?