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.”

ducks too?” I suggest. As expected, I’m met with enthusiastic shouts, so I grab the rest of the

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

had no

taps at her phone for a minute before

research, even on your days off,”

self-deprecating chuckle. “What can

and Lacey says, “Don’t hurt

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 of the things I lo—” I swallow

I sound like I’m

the sweet spot between dangerously intimate and bizarrely stiff, I say, “You seem to know at least a little bit about everything, and you always put in the effort

at me, and her confused look makes something inside my chest

be an asshole, Dom, when

so close, here in my home, helping with my daughters,

of oats, corn, peas, and lettuce. Then we head out on the short walk to the park, Presley holding Lacey’s hand and me

blanket at the top of a grassy hill and set out our picnic. My antsy girls want to run off right away to feed

If I didn’t know better, I’d have no idea they were lying in bed barfing all day yesterday.” I blow out a relieved sigh. “I’m glad you all recovered so fast. Guess I should have believed

never caught it at

and you can spend a whole weekend bringing me

She playfully grabs my bicep and gives it a squeeze, then looks self-conscious. “Sorry, I didn’t think. We shouldn’t be doing stuff like that in

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

her head rest on my shoulder, so I leave my