The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1) novel Chapter 13

After dinner, I call a car and we slip inside. The silence in the limo is deafening. How did we go from such friendly conversation to complete silence?

Having an idea why, I clear my throat softly. “You don’t have to be uncomfortable.”

She nearly jumps at the sound of my voice.

Nice work, Dom.

“Don’t I?” Presley asks, laughing softly.

“I understand if you are.”

“No, I . . . I’m uncomfortable with how easy it was.”

“How do you mean?”

“Sitting there, talking business. Flattering the client. Being your date.”

There’s that word again. Why don’t I want to correct her when she uses it?

“You were good at it,” I say in a low voice. Arousal stirs in my veins, and I take a breath to remind myself why this is a terrible idea.

“Thank you,” she says with a soft smile. Even in the dark of the limo, I can see her eyes sparkle. “It was my first time. Doing something like this, I mean.”

She’s a good girl, just as I suspected. She’s probably never broken one rule, done anything outside of her straight-A, Miss Responsible routine in her entire life. So, why does that thought make me want to bend her over my desk and spank her ass?

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” I say, trying to keep my tone cool.

“No, I just wasn’t sure how it would go. Pretending with you, I mean,” she says, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so chatty about this with you. Duh.”

She’s so fucking cute.

“It’s no trouble. I’m interested.”

“Well, thanks. I’m glad you were my first.” She blushes immediately. “I don’t mean that, like, sexually. I’ve never had a first— I mean— Shit.” She buries her face in her clutch with a groan. Her voice is muffled when she says, “Can you pretend I didn’t just say that?”

“Sure.”

I say one thing, but as usual, my body does another. My cock sure can’t forget that little piece of treasured knowledge.

Presley hasn’t had sex? Unless I misunderstood her, I think she just implied she’s a virgin. She’s never fucked anyone? Never been fucked? With each racing question, my dick pulses.

Well, shit.

This dinner was incredibly successful on the business front. Not exactly a personal victory for the front of my pants, however. I’m still as horny as fuck, if not more than before. Goddammit.

We pull up to her apartment complex. I climb out of the car, walk around, and open her door. She quietly steps out. The distance between us is maddening, but I maintain it all the same.

“Have a good night,” she says softly, almost breathless.

Am I making you nervous, Presley?

“You’re not done with me yet.” I offer her my arm.

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Don’t worry. I just want to walk you to your door.”

“Oh. All right.” She bites her lip, stifling a soft laugh, as she loops her arm through mine.

I can’t remember the last time I walked a woman to her door. It’s certainly not something I do when I’m out with an escort. It should bother me that this feels much more like a date than It should. Presley’s my employee, for Christ’s sake. But I guess I’m still riding a high of how well she did winning over Roger.