The Two Week Arrangement (Penthouse Affair, #1)

He nods. “Kissing. Hand-holding. That type of thing,” he says way too innocently.

“I see.” My voice is tight, and too soft.

“We could practice that now.” His mouth twitches with a smile again.

I laugh. “Is that so?”

I’m trying to keep my tone light and teasing, but my heart is hammering a million miles a minute, and butterflies have erupted inside my stomach.

I slide a fraction closer to him and lift my chin, and then his hot mouth is on mine.

My lips part and Dominic’s skilled tongue touches mine, leaving me almost dizzy. We’ve kissed before, but it’s never been like this. This fiery, this intense. His hand moves to my jaw, my neck, his hold gentle but thrillingly strong. I nip at his lower lip, earning a rough growl of approval that makes my inner muscles clench.

His hand slides over my neck and collarbone, caressing closer and closer to my chest. I moan into his mouth in anticipation—only for him to avoid touching my breast as his hand skims down my side. After drawing a tingling trail down my waist, my hip, his hand settles firmly on my lower back.

My whimper of disappointment breaks into a squeak when he pulls me to straddle his lap.

“Intern, I’m going to enjoy taking my time with you,” he murmurs near my ear, raising goose bumps all the way down my spine.

• • •

Two hours later, the car rolls to a stop.

I hurry to make myself presentable, but while I can fix my lipstick, there’s not much I can do about how pink my cheeks are. Dominic straightens his tie and smooths his hair, rumpled from me running my fingers through it.

How is he so cool and collected when I’m about to explode from need? But no, when I look closer, his eyes glitter with hunger, and I feel a rush of horny satisfaction that I’ve incited such a response from him.

Our chauffeur opens the door and extends a hand to help us out. If he suspects we spent the entire trip flirting and kissing, he doesn’t betray a hint of it.

A man in a suit has already emerged from the house to greet us. When he starts unloading the trunk, I automatically move to help, only for him to wave me off with a smile.

“It’s all right, miss. I’ll handle your bags.”

With an amused sparkle in his eyes, Dominic offers me his hand. We stroll arm in arm up the winding flagstone path. The impressive house ahead of us, overlooking the breeze-ruffled water, is white with a slate roof and navy trim. The property extends to the shoreline, where a large sailboat floats near a dock, bobbing in the tide. It’s beautiful here. Utterly serene. Too bad I feel anything but relaxed.

Roger appears at the front door, beaming. He’s dressed casually in khakis and a polo shirt. “I’m so glad you two could make it. This is my favorite spot to be on the weekend.” He gives a hearty handshake to first me, then Dominic.

“I can see why,” Dominic answers, releasing his hand.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

Room. Singular, not plural. My stomach flips.

Of course. If we’re supposed to be in a serious relationship, he’d assume we share a bed. I repress a gulp, not knowing if I’m excited or nervous. Maybe it’s a bit of both. As we follow Roger through the house, he points out different features. There’s a library and a home theater filled with half a dozen leather recliners.

He pauses in front of a picture window that overlooks the water. “I’m sorry to say Monica couldn’t make it this weekend. But I think we’ll still have fun.” He winks and continues on, while I try to reset my expectations about what I thought would be a couples’ weekend.

Roger shows us down the hall to a stylish suite that looks half the size of Bianca’s entire apartment, then says, “Dinner will be ready soon. If you’d like to freshen up, please do, and then join us for some cocktails.”

“Us?” I ask.

“In Monica’s absence, I invited a few friends of mine. When you’re ready, I’ll introduce you.”

When Roger and Dominic exit the bedroom, I change into my black dress and matching heels, grateful that I brought something more formal. After I brush my hair and touch up my makeup, I emerge to find Dominic waiting in the hall. I’m grateful he didn’t follow Roger off into the house somewhere and abandon me.

His gaze skims the length of me, but he’s quiet.

“Is this okay?” I ask, my stomach tightening.Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“You look perfect.”

His words hit me square in the chest as he takes my hand to lead me down the hall. But then, I remind myself, he only means I look perfect for playing the part of the serious girlfriend of the young playboy CEO. This is a role I’m being paid handsomely for, and I’ll play it well. That’s all.

As we head farther into the beautifully appointed home, we hear voices. I glance at Dominic, uncertain. His expression is neutral in a way that seems purposely diplomatic. Maybe I’m not the only one who isn’t thrilled with this development. It’s Roger’s house, he’s entitled to invite whomever he wants . . . but I don’t like the unpredictability of adding extra people into the mix, and I’m not sure Dominic does either.

Dominic leads us to a living area dominated by a stone fireplace, where Roger and two gray-haired men sit in leather armchairs drinking cocktails from crystal tumblers.

“Gentlemen, these are the kids I told you about earlier,” Roger says when he spots us approaching. “Dominic, Presley, this is Albert and Ernest.”

He points at each man as he mentions their names, and they incline their heads at us, raising their glasses.

“Now,” he says, “what’ll it be? I can whip up anything you want, so long as it’s a Negroni.” He winks at me.

I chuckle and offer to help, but Roger waves me off, telling me to relax and make myself comfortable.

If only that were possible. This might be a vacation house, but I’m definitely on work time. I think…

I’m standing next to the hottest man on the planet, who also happens to be my boss. I’m pretending to be his girlfriend and will be sharing a bed with him tonight. There’s no part of this situation that’s even remotely comfortable.

While we sip our cocktails, I learn that Albert is a hedge fund manager, and Ernest is the vice president of a petroleum exploration company. Now I feel even more out of my element. I’m a freaking unpaid intern, and very aware of that fact as I listen to them speak. I’m relieved when the man who took our bags reappears to announce that dinner is served.

The chef serves a sumptuous meal of red snapper, arugula salad with pine nuts, and pomegranate parfait. It all looks delicious. So much better than my usual dinner of something overcooked in the microwave.

“My doctor said I had to go on that Mediterranean diet,” Roger says, patting his paunch. “I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would, to be honest.”

As dinner goes on, I start to relax. Their conversation topics—management, financial strategy, cyber security issues, rumors about competitors—prove easy for me to jump into, even if I’m sometimes limited to just asking questions. And Dominic is an inspiring sight, chatting conversationally with a polished flair, totally in his element.

He has this whole brooding spoiled rich boy vibe that should be infuriating. Instead it’s so damn endearing. Watching the way he carries himself, hearing him converse about complex topics so easily—you instantly know he was raised attending all the best boarding schools money could buy. Not only that, if you look closely, you can also tell he was denied the warm affections of his parents from an age that was far too tender. I want to squeeze him in a hug as inappropriate as that seems. Then again that could just be the alcohol I’ve had going to my head.

When our plates have been cleared, Roger herds everyone to his study and pours us each a brandy, but I refuse as politely as I can. I’m already tipsy and still haven’t finished my glass of imported wine from dessert.

Nobody is talking about business anymore; they’ve all moved on to sports, politics, their kids and grandkids, anecdotes about old friends. After about half an hour of smiling and nodding, I excuse myself to the balcony for some fresh air.

Wineglass in hand, I lean against the railing, admiring the nighttime view. Moonlight silvers the lawn and scatters, glittering, over the black mirror of the water. Wind rustles the shadowed trees below, and I shiver a little.

“Here.” Dominic drapes his suit jacket over my shoulders. The men chatting inside are loud enough, I hadn’t heard him approach.

“Oh, thank you.” I snuggle into his jacket, enjoying his lingering warmth. Hugging it around me, I inhale the woodsy, masculine scent of his cologne.

“That dress is hardly made for a cool summer night,” he says. “But I can’t deny it looks incredible on you.”

I decide not to tell him I had to borrow it from Bianca. “You look great, too.”

He looks better than great . . . in fact, he looks downright edible. I want to press close to him, continue what we started in the limo, but I’m too aware of the gaggle of old men laughing and drinking on the other side of the window.

“How do you think we’re doing so far?” I ask, indicating the others with a tilt of my head.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Dominic glances back at them. “My impression is pretty positive.”

“Mine, too. Roger seems happy.”

“And it’s all thanks to you,” he says.

My cheeks warm. “Me? But you . . .” Fit in with them.