Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2)

Chapter 29 Dominic

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.” Original from NôvelDrama.Org.

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.”

We pack 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 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“No, bread is bad for ducks,” Presley says. “I read somewhere that it’s like junk food—it doesn’t have the right nutrients—and it makes the water dirty.”

I blink. “Really? I had no idea. What foods are good?”

“Um, let me check.” She taps at her phone for a minute before saying, “Whole grains, veggies, stuff like that.”

“Always doing research, even on your days off,” I say, amused.

She shrugs with a self-deprecating chuckle. “What can I say? Ducks are important.”

Emilia nods forcefully, and Lacey says, “Don’t hurt ducks.”

“You’re all absolutely right. 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 of the things I lo—” I swallow the forbidden L-word just in time. “One of your many impressive qualities.”

The hell was that? I sound like I’m giving an employee performance review.

Trying to get back to 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 to double-check and be totally sure of the facts.”

“Oh . . . thank you.” She gazes up at me, and her confused look makes something inside my chest ache.

Way to be an asshole, Dom, when she’s here helping you.

I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. Having her so close, here in my home, helping with my daughters, is seriously messing with me—although the last thing I want to do is send her away.

After some 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 park, Presley holding Lacey’s hand and me holding Emilia’s.

At the park, we spread our blanket at the top of a grassy hill and set out our picnic. My antsy girls want to run off right away to feed the ducks, but I say, “Eat your lunch first, then you can go play.” They inhale their PB&J sandwiches as fast as they can before scampering downhill toward the pond.

“They sure have a lot of energy. 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 Francine when she said it would only last twenty-four hours.”

“It’s still not fair that you never caught it at all,” Presley says.

“My deepest apologies. Next time, I promise I’ll get sick as a dog and you can spend a whole weekend bringing me tea and soup and cleaning up my vomit.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” 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 public.”

“It’s all right.” I can’t 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 too relaxed to really be bothered by anything. I reach out to squeeze Presley just to prove how okay it is.

She lets her head rest on my shoulder, so I leave my arm draped around her. Together, we watch my girls play.

Lacey chucks as much food as her little hands can hold into the pond, drawing an army of gabbling waterfowl. Emilia takes a different approach, trying to tempt the ducks closer by holding out a small amount or dropping it at her feet. Whenever one approaches, she squeals in delight, startling it away, but it always returns.

When the sun begins to sink, I call to the girls, “Time to go home!”

“Awww,” they whine.

“The ducks will still be here tomorrow. Besides, aren’t you getting hungry?”

They look at each other, then reluctantly nod and walk over.

Back at the apartment, I put on cartoons to keep the little ones out from underfoot while we cook dinner. I check the pantry. We don’t have a ton of options, since I’ve been too busy nursemaiding three

people to shop.

Presley, peeking over my shoulder, asks me, “What are we going to make? I’m not a super- experienced cook . . .”

“Neither am I. They can be picky sometimes, but for the most part, they’re good eaters.” I’m still rooting around in the cabinets.

“Hmm . . . when Dad was working late, I used to make cheesy rice for me and Michael.”

“That sounds promising. How do you make it?”

“It’s mostly self-explanatory—boil a bunch of rice, dump in cheese and salted butter and whatever random veggies we had on hand, and stir it up.” She checks the freezer. “Corn and broccoli will work great. And we can set some rice aside for rice pudding.”

I make an uncertain noise. “They’re not the biggest fans of broccoli.”

“Covering it in cheese might change their opinion.”

I shrug. “Fair enough. Let’s do it.”