The Bachelor Towers: Books 1-3

by Cardello, Ruth

  My sister asked me for help, and she’s never needed a thing from me. I will not let her down.

  “I’m going to keep up with the checklist,” I assure her. “How hard can it be?”

  “Penny,” she barks. It’s easy to see why people at work call her Kylie the Killer. She has earned every opportunity in her life, and she’s done it by using that exact tone in her voice. I have a sudden image of her high school boyfriend, Evan. He carried things for her, ran her errands. Is that a boyfriend or an intern? I smile and wish I could share that thought with Kylie. She wouldn’t find the joke as funny as I do. Or funny at all, most likely. “The checklist is mandatory. Just like the two interviews and applications I filled out in order to even be considered. If the old man didn’t die and leave the co-op to his niece, I would never have gotten a shot. But there are still bylaws and community rules I can’t break or they could boot me out. And trust me, I’m sure these guys will be looking for a reason to get rid of me. You have to abide by every one.”

  “Remember what Dad always says,” I sing out cheerfully. “Today’s worries are tomorrow’s wrinkles.”

  “And that’s why Mom divorced him,” Kylie groans, clearly not interested in my happy-go-lucky demeanor. “She needed someone she could rely on.”

  “Well, okay then.” We’ve had this discussion before as well. “You can rely on me,” I say, wishing I knew how to make her believe that.

  “I’ll be home next month,” Kylie says, and I think there’s a little hint of her softening but I’m sure I’m only imagining that. “Call me if anything goes wrong. I mean anything. I have very little service out here, but leave me a message. I check mine every hour on the hour.”

  I’m sure you do.

  “Bye, Sis.” If I don’t hang up, Kylie never will. She’ll find a thousand ways to ask me the same things over and over again. All it really boils down to is, can a flakey, fun-loving girl like me do what I’m told? Kylie, after all these years, isn’t sure. It’s fine though. I’m sure enough for the both of us.

  When I’m off the phone, I hear some voices in the hallway and stiffen. It’s probably my insufferably arrogant neighbor. He’s likely running a hand through that shaggy, sandy-colored hair or flexing his bicep enough to stretch his formfitting tailored shirt. He is exactly the kind of man my sister would go for—if she wanted some—and besides the boxy jaw, gorgeous eyes, fit build, I just don’t get it. He might tick all the classically handsome boxes, but I have always put personality above looks.

  I’d like to go back out there and give him a piece of my mind about how he acted in the elevator, but there’s a tiny voice in my head warning me against it. I don’t like that I find him attractive.

  I decide to shower and put some dinner in this gourmet-chef-style oven. That’ll put him out of my mind. Food is my friend.

  Although I am really good at multitasking . . . and indulging in a little fantasy never hurt anyone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dalton

  Why would Brockton’s niece want to destroy the haven her uncle had created? Because she’s a woman, and women are heartless.

  My tie suddenly feels like a noose, and I yank it loose. This day had been perfect. A home run. I sweet-talked one of my overseas suppliers into cutting my company a deal on our next order. I totally flipped the terms on him, and by the end of the conversation he was thanking me. I had a hot-towel shave so damn close my cheeks are as smooth as glass. My newest suit, necessary because my workouts are showing impressive results, had been tailored to perfection by the company on site at the Bachelor Tower. The only thing that could have made the day better would have been if my dick doubled in size, but it was already above average so that would have been overkill. Don’t want to scare the ladies away.

  But that fucking woman . . .

  Her tight pants and her pouty lips are staking a claim in my thoughts.

  I grab the Scotch off my wet bar and am pleased to see the concierge staff brought up a bottle that’s been aged longer than I’ve been alive. Just like I ordered.

  Before I can take a sip, someone is knocking on my door. It’s her I bet. She knows I’m here. She probably raced to change her clothes and freshen up.

  Adorable, but unnecessary. It wasn’t what she layered over that tight little body that interested me. Whatever she put on will be in a pile on my floor soon enough.

  “Dalton, have you heard this shit?” Randy asks me as he barrels through my door before I invite him in. “There’s a woman in the apartment next to you.” His shoulders stiffen as he paces. Randy keeps his head shaved to try to cover up the fact that his hairline is fading faster than snow in July. But for everything he lacks in looks he makes up for in blind and unwavering arrogance. He’s exactly as vapid and self-centered as I like in an acquaintance. It makes things easy. He’s too occupied with himself to bother me with petty chatter.

  “I know,” I say, pouring him a glass. I don’t ask if he wants one because our friendship, if you can call it that, for the past two years has been built squarely on the understanding that I don’t share. Not women. Not stories about my life. And I expect the same in return. I’m not looking to hear about your parents or who you fucked in high school. You see me, give me some Scotch or pass me a cigar, and then we shoot the shit about stock projections or something of fucking value. That’s it. Randy gets those rules so I tolerate having him around.

  “She can’t stay,” he barks out. The vein in his forehead that throbs when he makes a bad trade on the market is starting to pulse. He takes a long drag off the glass and starts nervously swirling the amber liquid. He glances at the bottle, and I can see him making a mental note. He’ll have the same vintage Scotch delivered to his place tomorrow. He can’t stand when I have something he doesn’t. I can’t imagine giving a shit about what the people around me have. What I do, I do for myself. I never look around to see what the guy next to me thinks is important.

  “Should we knock down her door and put her out on the street?” I joke, but I see Randy gives it some thought. “Don’t sweat it. There is no way this will fly. Gary Brockton’s niece will have a revolt on her hands once everyone finds out what she’s done. She’s sneaky, I’ll give her that. Somehow she kept this under wraps. Now that it’s out in the open, she doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “I hear this new broad is a CFO of some digital software company, so you know she’s an uptight bitch.” Randy flops onto my leather couch and kicks his feet up onto my twenty-five-thousand-dollar art deco coffee table. I don’t say shit to him about it because I do the same thing at his place. Things are just things to me. I make sure my place looks as though it matches my level of success, but I don’t really give a shit about that table. Some designer picked it out and used my checkbook to buy it. If it gets damaged, I’ll buy another one.

  “The woman next door isn’t the CFO of anything. You got some bad info.” I chuckle remembering her cheap handbag and beat-up sneakers. “Unless CFO stands for Cute Fuckable Opportunity. But she’s not in charge of anything. Trust me.”

  “You saw her?” he asks, all his anger washing away as he cocks a brow and inspects my reaction. “You’d hit that? Not if I get her first.”

  Now he’s getting annoying.

  “She’s not your type,” I counter. “Mine either.” This last part isn’t true, but I shouldn’t have admitted I’d fuck her. Randy paces his success against mine—in business and in the bar downstairs. Sometimes I toss him a small win so he’ll fucking calm down. If I cared to give him any advice, I’d tell him to stop giving a shit about what everyone else is doing. All it does is slows you down. While Randy is in a constant dick-measuring contest with every sack of testosterone that passes by, I’m getting my shit done and leaving him in the dust.

  Not with the woman next door, though. Would I hit that? None of his fucking business, but I might hit him if he goes anywhere near her.

  “I’m going over.” He pops to his feet and slaps his hands together as th
ough he’s readying for something big. “If she’s gone by the end of the week I better take a run at her now.”

  “Good luck.” I shrug, pretending I don’t give a shit. My poker face is what makes me successful, and I’m surprised by how much I’m relying on it right now. Sure I want to punch him, but is the woman next door worth it?

  Probably not.

  “Did she shut you down?” He’s way too excited by this possibility. The best he can usually do is try to keep up with me. The idea that she might want him and not me is downright thrilling to him.

  “No,” I scoff. “Are you fucking crazy? I told you, not my type. You’ll see.”

  He’s out my door and in the hallway before I can put my glass down.

  Idiot.

  When I hear him knocking on the door I grind my teeth. It’s stupid, but I’m heading out into the hallway too.

  “Heeeeyyy.” He draws out the word as she opens the door and eyes him warily.

  She, however, looks different than before. Her hair is down and soaking wet, and she’s shed her workout clothes for some sweet cotton pajamas. Not silk. Not lace. Straight-up cotton.

  Somehow sexy.

  “Hey,” she replies suspiciously.

  “I’m Randy,” he hisses out, trying to sound casual as he leans against her doorframe. “Consider me the welcoming committee. What’s your name?”

  “Penny.” She looks past him, recognizes me, but I can’t tell by her expression if she sees my added presence as a good thing or not.

  “So you’re moving in?” Randy asks like she’s a new dish he just discovered on the menu.

  She crosses her arms over her chest to block his sleazy appraisal. “No,” she answers coolly. “My sister is, but she’s in China for business. I’m taking care of the place until she gets back.”

  “Oh, you’re only here for a little while,” Randy says, lighting up at the new information. His game is pathetic. “You should let me show you around. Do you know much about The Bachelor Tower?”

  “Not really, but I’m sure they have a concierge here for that. I mean maybe the guy who presses your suits or the one who refills your ice cube trays could give me a tour.” The bite in her tone is so fucking sexy. She’s shooting Randy down viciously, and it’s making my night.

  “Feisty. I like it,” Randy says, throwing me a look over his shoulder like I’m a part of this train wreck. I’m going to drive my fist into his smug face in a second.

  “So, your sister is a CFO? Which company?” I ask, trying to bring some civility to this shit show and distance myself from Randy.

  “Although I’d love to have this conversation another time, it has been a long day.” She references her night attire as if it’s a deterrent and not the invitation I see it as. I’d pop the buttons right off that cute little outfit with one swipe.

  “Penny,” I say, letting her name slide across my tongue. Her eyes flash and lock with mine as she bats her long lashes my way.

  With only that one fiery look, I can see my hands gripping her thighs as I part her legs and yank her to me. If she likes the way I say her name she’ll love the way I eat her pussy. When I make her come, when I lap up every bit of her sweetness, she won’t know what hit her. It’s clear to me, just from that long beat that passed between us. It’s on. I’ll have her.

  “Get dressed,” Randy cuts in, pouring ice water on our scorching moment. “I’ll buy you a drink downstairs.”

  “Looks like you already have a drinking buddy,” she says, tipping her chin in my direction and the glass of Scotch I’m still holding.

  “Forget him. He’s a douche.” Randy tries to eclipse me by puffing up his chest but he’s too scrawny to block me. “Let’s make this a party for two.”

  “Sounds about right,” Penny agrees, her green eyes meeting mine. I’m rock hard for her. If she’s agreeing to dropping this to a party of two, she’s clearly talking about me and her. I’m quick to realize how wrong I am as she dismisses us both with a sarcastic smile. “Enjoy each other.”

  The door slams an inch from Randy’s nose, and I watch the dumb ass try to figure out what just happened.

  “What a bitch,” he grumbles as he straightens his tie and slinks away. “You coming to the bar? Let’s go get some ass that doesn’t come with an attitude.”

  Thankfully he doesn’t notice I’m hard as fuck right now for that attitude.

  I should go. I could be back up here in an hour, balls deep in some woman I’ll call cupcake so I don’t have to learn her name. The rules would be clear, like always. She’d know I didn’t want her spending the night. In return, I’d uncork my best bottle of red wine. She’d have an orgasm or two and bragging rights of making it into the Bachelor Tower, and I’d get Penny out of my head. Win/win.

  Penny. Fuck. Even her name is adorable.

  I should be fantasizing about some tiny black thong tossed by my bed. Instead, I can’t shake those fucking cotton pajamas. Her wet hair would brush over my chest as she rode me, those plump lips would look even sweeter wrapped around my cock.

  When I hear the chime of the elevator in the distance, I know Randy is gone.

  Downstairs is a slam dunk. Mindless. Easy. Mine for the taking.

  So why the fuck am I knocking on Penny’s door again?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dalton

  “He’s an ass,” I explain, gesturing toward the direction Randy retreated.

  “Okay,” she replies, her eyes wide with expectation. “Thanks?” It’s obvious she’s wondering why the hell I’m back. That makes two of us.

  “Give your sister a heads-up.” I’m telling myself I’m doing a public service. Yeah, I want to fuck her, but that doesn’t mean she won’t benefit from a reality check. “She should start looking for a new place to live.”

  “She has a place.” Penny gestures inside the apartment as though she’s talking to someone who needs visual aids to understand. The movement sends her tits jiggling beneath her cotton nightshirt and I wonder if every woman looks this sexy in pajamas or if it’s just her. The idea that it might be just her is scary as all hell. “Thanks for your concern,” she says, clearly not meaning it.

  Shit, she’s about to close the door. “How long will she be gone?”

  Penny’s eyes narrow as if I asked her for her social security number and her mother’s maiden name.

  “If it’s more than a week, she won’t have a place by the time she gets back.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a fact. This is an all-male building. It has been for decades. I get what she’s trying to do, but it’s pointless.”

  “It used to be all-male. It’s not anymore.”

  She’s outright glaring at me now, and it’s so fucking hot. I know women don’t like to hear it, but damn, sometimes a little fire lights a woman up. I remind myself that my presence at her door is partially a good deed. I’m not big on charity, but just because I don’t want Penny or her sister living next door doesn’t mean I want them thrown to the curb either. Finding real estate in the city is a bitch, and if she doesn’t start now, it could be a nightmare when they’re tossed out of here. “I know people with substantial real estate holdings in the city. Tell me an area she’d like to live in, and I can make it happen.”

  She puts her hands on her hips which—thank you, God—strains the cloth of her nightshirt over her excited nipples. That’s a good sign. She may not like me, but she wants to fuck me. We’re making progress. “There’s no good way to say this. No woman has ever lived in this building. No woman will ever live in this building.”

  “Wow. Personally, I can’t imagine a woman wanting to. You’re a clear example of what happens when testosterone goes unchecked. However, my sister is brilliant. I’ve seen her stack of legal documents and the notarized lease agreement that tells a different story. She won’t get thrown out.”

  If I gave a shit about anyone, I’d actually feel a little sorry for Penny. “Do you know who lives here?” There ar
e over a dozen high-powered lawyers, one judge, the sons of three powerful politicians, and those are just the beginning of the resistance. “Your sister could have signed her name on the constitution, and they’d nullify it. She needs to look for a new place to live.”

  “And you need to—” The smoke alarm in her apartment starts to blare. This is an older building, but it’s been completely upgraded with the latest technology. “Shit, I forgot I was cooking.”

  I don’t smell smoke yet, and that’s a good sign. “The alarm system is wired into the fire department. You have about sixty seconds to shut it down before they head this way and make a scene . . .”

  “Damn,” she gasps, then turns on her heel, leaving the door open, and sprints back inside. It’s not an invitation, but I know how to shut the alarm down quicker than she will, so I follow her in. “Where is it? How do I turn it off?” she calls desperately over her shoulder.

  “Front closet.” I pull open the door, revealing the emergency key pad and enter an override code. The siren stops. Now I smell the smoke. Whatever she had planned for dinner must be charred to shit. “I’d pull whatever you have in the oven out before this goes off again.”

  Her flushed cheeks blaze a little hotter as she moves to the kitchen and wrestles on the oven mitts. I follow her because she hasn’t kicked me out, and who knows how fast we could make it from the kitchen to her bed. She opens the stove and bends to reach inside. Until that moment, I didn’t realize pajama bottoms could cling so deliciously to a woman’s ass. I lean over her and turn on the exhaust fan above the stove. She’s the perfect height to fuck from behind. It’s like it was meant to be. That’s about as close to serendipity as I’m willing to get.

  “Thanks.” Penny throws a chicken breast that’s burnt to a crisp into the sink and turns the faucet on. “Kylie is going to kill me if she finds out about this. I haven’t even made it one day without almost burning the place down.”

  “No reason for her to find out. There’s a delay on the alarm. No one will know unless you tell them,” I say, leaning myself against the granite counter top. This kitchen is exactly the same layout as mine, which is handy. I know the counter height is perfect for bending a woman over and fucking her from behind. The little table in the corner, what did my last hookup call it? A breakfast nook? It doubles as a foreplay playground. I imagine Penny in the chair. Then sprawled on the table. I never tire of pleasuring a woman. And I’d love to pleasure a woman like Penny.