Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

Dominic

I’m woken up by two tiny, adorable heathens climbing on me and demanding pancakes. Part of me wants to be annoyed, wants to roll over and keep sleeping, or maybe chastise them for waking me up by climbing on me. Instead, there’s a smile on my lips even before my eyes open.

Presley isn’t far behind them, her hair wet from the shower, looking so much better than she did yesterday. When I ask how she feels, she admits she’s starving too.

Surprised, but grateful to see them all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again, I cook up a full breakfast, pour orange juice, and brew coffee. My three former “patients” wolf down their breakfast like they haven’t eaten in days. I enjoy mine at a much more leisurely pace, but I’m sympathetic; a diet of broth, crackers, and bananas is hardly satisfying. I’m thankful it’s Saturday and I don’t have to rush off to the office once they’re finally feeling better.

Now they’re watching TV while I rinse our cups and syrup-smeared plates and load them into the dishwasher. Shutting its door, I ask Presley, “Want more coffee while I’m up? There’s at least a cup left in the pot.”

“Yes, please,” she says emphatically. “I’ve missed it.”

“After one single caffeine-free day? I’m pretty sure based on those parameters alone, that makes you an addict,” I tease, bringing the pot to her proffered mug.

“Hey, it’s no fun dealing with a wicked withdrawal headache on top of the flu.” She takes a long sip with a happy sigh. “Ah . . . my hero. Thank you.”

I’m not sure what’s changed between us, but it’s obvious something has. When I saw her sick and sleeping on the floor at the foot of Lacey’s bed, something inside me shifted. And I can feel it now too. We’re more comfortable together, more in sync than we have been. What started as a chemical thing—a lustful attraction—has given way to more, despite all my best efforts.

“I’m bored,” Lacey says with a pout.

“Outside?” Emilia asks excitedly.

I don’t blame them for being restless after a day stuck in bed. “Sure, let’s go out and do something fun. How’s the park sound?” It’s not exactly an adventure, but I’m reluctant to go too far in case they aren’t totally recovered.

When girls cheer, Presley laughs. “Looks like it’s unanimous.”

a picnic lunch and get everyone dressed. “How about we take some stuff to feed the ducks too?” I suggest. As expected, I’m met with enthusiastic shouts, so I grab the rest of the loaf we used to make

is bad for ducks,” Presley says. “I read somewhere that it’s like junk food—it doesn’t have the

blink. “Really? I had no

taps at her phone for a minute before saying, “Whole grains, veggies,

doing research, even on your

with a self-deprecating chuckle. “What can I say? Ducks

forcefully, and Lacey

We should never hurt animals, and that includes giving them bad food,” I tell them both before turning back to Presley. “I wasn’t making fun of you—well, maybe I was, but that habit is also one

was that? I sound like I’m giving an

say, “You seem to know at least

you.” She gazes up at me, and her confused look makes something inside

Dom,

and try to clear my head. Having her so close, here in my home, helping with my daughters,

rummaging through the fridge and pantry, we assemble a mixed bag of oats, corn, peas, and lettuce. Then we head out on the short walk to the

set out our picnic. My antsy girls want to run off right away to feed the ducks, but I say, “Eat your lunch

energy. If I didn’t know better, I’d have no idea they were lying in bed barfing all day yesterday.” I blow

fair that you never caught it at all,”

get sick as a dog and you can spend a whole weekend bringing me tea and soup and cleaning

bicep and gives it a squeeze, then looks self-conscious. “Sorry,

bring myself to get too worked up about it. Warmed by the sun, listening to the trees rustle in the breeze and my daughters’ giggles . . . I’m

on my shoulder, so I leave my