The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair #1)(32)

“Love.”

Are you fucking serious?

I pull back. I’m about ready to ravish this woman, and as soon as she brings up the L-word, I’m as soft as a bowl of pudding. Turning away, I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Fuck. I need some space.

“What?” she asks, bewildered by my shift in mood.

“It’s a fraud.” I turn back with a shrug.

“What is?”

“Love.”

“So you’ve had your heart broken,” she says, her voice like a nurse’s just before administering a shot.

And yeah, I’ll admit, it stings that she’s pegged me so quickly.

“More than once,” I say, not trying to hide the cynicism in my voice. “I’m not exactly looking for the ‘real deal’.”

Been there, done that. Women have tried before to save me from myself, from my doubts and self-made walls, to no avail.

“That’s why you hire escorts,” she says.

Presley has me cornered and she knows it. I’m on her examining table, and she’s going to keep poking and prodding until she gets the complete diagnosis.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

“Tell me about your past relationships,” she says.

“Pass.”

She rolls her eyes. This may be a casual conversation to her, but it’s pretty jarring for me. I realize I have my fists clenched at my sides. Fighting for control, I relax my hands.

“You’re not married are you?” she asks, voice unsure.

My eyes flash to hers. “God, Presley, of course not. Do you really think what happened in the limo would have if I were married?”

She takes a deep breath, shaking her head. “I didn’t think so. But I had to ask.” She steps toward me, her eyes like flashlights into my darkest corners. “Okay, let’s try an easier question. What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for someone?”

“I’m not really romantic.” I rub my thumb across my lip, my eyes never straying from her.

“Come on, there must have been something.”

“An all-expenses-paid trip around the world.”

Her eyes widen, and her jaw hangs open. “Seriously?”

“And a thousand Persian roses, with little dewdrops made of diamonds. Oh, and one time, horseback riding, but we were both naked—”

She bursts out laughing. “All right, fine. I get it.”

I can’t help the genuine smile tugging on my lips.

She’s still giggling when I slide one arm around her waist to assist with her lack of balance, and help her sit down on the edge of the bed. Our bed.

“Whoa, there . . .”

As soon as she’s settled, she releases a pleased sigh, her cheeks rosy with laughter. I kneel on the carpet before her, our hands intertwined in her lap.

“You’re so graceful,” I say, lifting an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up. I already know I’m not anything like your fancy escorts.”

“No, you’re not.”

Her face galls, but then I lift her hand to my lips, and press a soft kiss there that’s reminiscent of our first date. She sucks in a quiet breath, her chest rising with anticipation.

Looking at her now with her long dark hair mussed, her little black dress pushing and pulling at her body in all the right ways . . . I want her. Before I can think too hard about it, I lean into her and inhale against her neck. She shivers.

I could tease this woman forever and never get bored.

Presley isn’t in the mood to be teased, however. She yanks at my tie, her lips making contact with my throat as she kisses a little line across my Adam’s apple.

I release a sharp exhale and lift her chin, pressing my lips to hers. Presley’s hooded eyes sink closed.

My kisses start soft, just chaste presses of my lips to hers. But ever eager to please, Presley parts her lips, and then I’m tasting her. Wine mixes with the sweet flavor of Presley as our tongues touch. She makes a soft, hungry noise in the back of her throat as I thread my hands through her silky hair, tilting her head back.

Pressing hot, hungry kisses against her neck, I’m eager to hear more of the sounds she made in the car. I promised I’d take my time with her, but she’s testing my patience like no other woman has.

My lips never leave her skin as I lay her back onto the bed, and we roll into the center together. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt. Her body is so warm, so soft. I want to pin her down, press myself against her, claim her . . .

When she murmurs my name, I drag my teeth lightly across her collarbone, and her hips jolt. My hand slides down her side to cup her round ass, pulling her firmly against me. The way she rubs against me, I can tell that she feels my hard length against her thigh.

“Tell me,” I whisper as I kiss down her chest.

I can tell she’s aching for me to touch her breasts. I want to, but not as badly as I want her to want it. Massaging her perfect ass with one hand, I trail the other in a tantalizing line down her breastbone. Lower and lower, I drag my fingertips lightly over the soft material of her dress.

“T-tell you what?” She can hardly speak, she’s so turned on.

“What sort of things have you done before?” I slide my fingers up the back of her dress, over the skin of one smooth thigh, and reach the dangerously soft skin of her hips and waist. I play with the string of her thong, lifting it from her hip bone and pulling it down, ever so slowly. From my vantage point, I can see her chest rising and falling.