Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

“It’s seven nights, Presley. You can do as you please while I’m busy during the day, but in front of Roger, out at dinner, we’ll
pretend we’re still dating.” I fix her with a sharp look. “Assuming you can handle that.”
She sucks in a breath. Was that a tiny shiver or just my imagination?
“So . . . when you say ‘pretend we’re dating,’ I assume . . .” Her voice is quiet. “I assume we won’t be doing anything date-like for
real.”
“No. That time is over. If you accompanied me to London, it would be for work only. Plain and simple. You’ll obviously be
compensated handsomely for your time away.”
Presley drops her gaze. She’s trying to hide it, but I can tell she’s hurt.
Hell, if it stings me to say those words, it must feel a hundred times worse to hear them. But I’d rather err on the side of being a
little too harsh than lead her on. I can’t make her think that this offer is about anything emotional, anything beyond keeping Roger
in a happy, cooperative mood.
“Just to be crystal clear,” I say, “I want to emphasize that you’re absolutely free to say no. Your job doesn’t depend on agreeing to
this trip.”
Sure, she came on to me a few days ago, but for all I know, maybe she’s totally over the idea of sleeping in a hotel room with me
ever again. The thought triggers a twinge of hurt that I immediately squelch. I can’t unduly influence her decision just because
she thinks it’s what I want . . . even though I do want it. So damn badly.
She still doesn’t respond, just keeps studying my office carpet, looking torn. I can practically hear the gears spinning in her agile
brain.
After another few moments of silence, I wave my hand airily. “There’s no rush. You have a few days to think it over. My flight
doesn’t leave until—”
“I’ll do it.” Her tone is firm.
I blink. “What?”
Presley looks up again, still unsure, but determined. “I want to go to London with you.”

She’s caught me off guard. I didn’t plan on that. I expected hesitancy, and instead she’s given me urgency. I hate it . . . and love it
too.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t be angry or let it affect our work relationship if you’d rather not.”
“I know,” Presley replies, like it’s so obvious it goes without saying. “You wouldn’t hold my career hostage just to get your way.
You’re not the kind of man who’d do something like that. I trust you . . .” She hesitates. “And I want you to trust me again.”
She said want. Not need. Maybe I’m reading way too much into one little word.
Or maybe I’m not.
“What else do you want, Presley?” I can’t resist asking.
I tell myself it’s not because I’m desperate to hear about her feelings—I just need to know for sure why she’s agreeing to do this
again. Is it entirely about earning her way back into my good graces, or is there more to it?
Pink creeps over her cheeks, but her voice is strong when she answers. “I’m not sure.”
I purse my lips, then slowly nod. That’s fine. Lust isn’t dangerous in and of itself. The most likely scenario is that nothing will
happen between us. And worst case? Say we do fall into bed together. Two mature adults can fuck without things getting weird
and complicated, right?
“Okay. I’ll have Beth reserve an extra plane ticket for you.”
“What about the hotel?” she asks.
The corner of my mouth twitches up. “We won’t need two rooms. You’ll be staying in mine, remember?”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Her blush deepens.
I suppress a smile. “You can go back to work now.”
After she’s gone, I’m still staring at the door, suddenly not sure whether I made a genius win-win decision or a huge mistake.
There’s a very fine line between the two when it comes to Presley.
Can we really prevent emotions from getting involved here? I have no freaking clue, but I guess I’m about to find out.

Sighing, I shake my head. I’m way overthinking this—everything will be fine. It’s just to please Roger, I tell myself.
At the very least, her company let me unwind from the hectic work that awaits and keep my mind off all the miles between me
and home. Being away from my girls displeases me, and so any distraction will be a welcome one.
And I can’t think of a better distraction than Presley in my bed.