Penthouse Prince

by Kendall Ryan

  “Personally, I think the people forming the minds of our future generations shouldn’t be doing it just as a backup plan,” I reply curtly. Frankly, I shouldn’t even dignify that overused teacher joke with a response, but I’m not just going to sit here and act like my profession is a punch line.

  Keagan’s brown eyes widen to twice their normal size. “Wow, you, uh, really care a lot about this.”

  “Of course I do,” I mumble, pinching off a bite of bread and popping it between my lips. Maybe if I’m chewing, I’ll be able to hold back all the snarky comments I’d like to spew across the table right now. Plus, the sooner the food is gone, the sooner this first date finishes dying its slow, painful death.

  “Well, I think that’s really great. I’m hoping to get back into working with planes someday. Maybe I’ll become a pilot or something. But until then, having the summers off is nice, right? Two-month vacation.” He holds up a hand across the table, like I’m supposed to high-five him or something. After a solid ten seconds of me ignoring it, he dejectedly pulls it away.

  “I’m working this summer, actually,” I say. “Nannying.”

  As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them. The last thing I need is for Keagan to ask any questions about Grier, or worse yet, her father, who has been occupying my thoughts nonstop for this entire date.

  I reach for my menu, trying to busy myself with selecting an entree instead of continuing the conversation about my summer employment. But just the word spaghetti reminds me of Lex and our entirely emoji-based conversation.

  My heart squeezes at the memory. Can I do a single thing, anything, without him waltzing through my mind?

  I swore turning Lex down was the right decision. But now, sitting across the table from my complete dud of a date, I’m not so sure. Keagan is cute enough, smart enough, a decent overall guy, I guess. But being around him . . . I feel nothing. Add in the fact that he doesn’t like kids, and I just can’t see a future with this guy.

  I glance up over my menu, catching my date in the middle of the not-so-subtle act of scratching his balls, and I sigh.

  Maybe Keagan isn’t the man I’m looking for after all. I need someone nurturing and strong, yet sensitive. Someone who values my work in the classroom. I’m not just looking for any old guy to spend the night with anymore. I’m looking for someone I can build a life with.

  I’m looking for a man like . . . Well, like Lexington Dane.

  “Uh, hello? Corrie?”

  For the second time tonight, I reenter reality with a jolt. A reality where, unfortunately, I zoned out staring across the table at this guy, making a less than savory face.

  “Please, it’s Corrigan,” I mutter, burying my face in my menu again.

  A wicked smirk tugs at his lips, his brown eyes narrowing in a challenge. “What, you don’t like it, Corrie?”

  Good Lord, for a man who doesn’t like kids, he sure acts a lot like one.

  I drop the menu, folding my arms over my chest. “No, I don’t. You can’t just give someone a nickname without even knowing them. What if I called you ‘Kegel’? Would you like that?” I smile a little, proud of my own joke.

  Unfortunately, Kegel here takes that as permission to press things even further. He props his elbows on the table, leaning in closer than feels comfortable. “I don’t know,” he whispers, sweeping his tongue over his lower lip. “Does that mean you’re thinking about me being between your thighs?”

  “Enough.” With a huff, I shove up out of my seat.

  I take back everything I thought about him being a half-decent guy. He’s a jerk who deserves to have the rest of this glass of crappy wine thrown in his face. But I’m not going to do that. Not even crappy wine deserves a fate that dire. Instead, I’m just going to get out of here as fast as humanly possible.

  “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

  With a quick “see you in the fall,” I grab my purse and put these beautiful wedges to work as I hightail it straight to the door. I don’t even bother to look back before click-clacking my way straight out to the car and gunning it home, turning the radio up all the way to drown out my own thoughts.

  What an absolute creep. I can’t believe that man is allowed to work with children.

  Back at home, I dejectedly remove my shoes, returning them to their rightful place in the back of the closet, then change into my pajamas and wash off my makeup. My new Saturday night plans involve ordering Chinese for delivery and watching TV until I fall asleep on the couch.

  But just as I’m pressing ORDER on my kung pao chicken and crab rangoon, a text from Lex pops up on my screen.

  Did you make it home safe?

  I can’t suppress my smirk as I type out my response. Does he really think he’s being sneaky by asking me that? I know what the real question is, and I’m not afraid to call him out on it.

  Are you actually wondering that, or are you just trying to see if my date went into overtime?

  Lex’s response comes right away.

  Is there an option C, all of the above?

  I let out a loud belly laugh. “Well played. Well played.”

  I’m safe at home. Thanks for checking.

  I set my phone down on my coffee table and reach for the remote, ready to scout out tonight’s binge watch. But before I even get a chance to press the power button, my phone buzzes again with his reply.

  Maybe if I had even an ounce of chill, I’d let the text sit and make him wait for a minute or two. But I can’t deny it—I really want to talk to him. And the giddy feeling in my stomach agrees. Unfortunately, when I swipe open his text, he’s looking for details on my evening.

  How’d the date go?

  I tap my thumb against the side of my phone, choosing my words carefully. It feels more than a little weird to be texting Lex about a date with another guy, but if he specifically asked, I guess I can accommodate him.

  It was fine.

  Just fine? he replies.

  I pause, questioning the sanity of giving him any more details, but with a date as bad as tonight’s, I have to tell someone. Maybe I can just give him a general idea of the night.

  It was fine. We went to Luigi’s, but he turned out to be kind of a dud.

  Luigi’s? Isn’t that a cheap chain place?

  A smile pulls at my lips. I figured that would be the detail he’d latch onto. Before I get a chance to reply, he shoots me another text.

  If that’s the best he can do, you’re better off with someone else.

  I heave out a sigh, staring blankly at my phone.

  Lex is right. I would be better off with someone else. But the only someone else on my mind lately is the one I shouldn’t want.

  16

  * * *

  LEXINGTON

  I haul in Grier’s last bag, once again amazed by everything a toddler needs for an overnight stay. “Am I forgetting anything?”

  Mom chuckles. “I can’t imagine what else there could possibly be.”

  “She’s had her afternoon snack, so you have plenty of time to cook dinner if you start soonish, and she should be set after that. But since you might stay up past her usual bedtime, I packed a couple of applesauce cups just in case, but you’ll want to give her those before her bath because she’ll get—”

  “You already said all that five minutes ago, sugar,” Mom says gently, interrupting.

  Practically vibrating with anxiety, I look at Dawn. “And you’re sure you’re okay with this? If not, I can take Grier right back home, no problem, and you can keep the extra pay.”

  She’s clearly amused. “I promise it’s fine. I already agreed to help out, and I love kids.”

  Grier grins at me from her throne, a.k.a. Mom’s lap. “Me ’n Gamma sumba . . . subber . . . summer party!”

  “Yes, my sweet pea, we’re having a slumber party. And it’s a summer party too.” Mom kisses the top of her head. “We’re going to play fun games and eat yummy snacks—”

  Grier wriggles a
nd flaps her arms and shrieks in Mom’s embrace, absolutely ecstatic.

  “—and Daddy definitely doesn’t have to worry about us, so he should just leave us to it and enjoy his night off.” Mom gives me a pointed look, smiling.

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “All right, all right, I’ll stop hovering and go. Have a good time, and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

  When I get home, the house seems huge and empty and dead silent without my little spark of energy shooting all over the place. It hasn’t hit me until now that this will be the first time we’ve ever been separated for so long.

  Tomorrow morning, I’ll pick her up and hear about all the fun she had with Grandma, and will bring her back home to our usual routine. And tonight . . .

  “Now what?” I ask aloud, and laugh at myself.

  I’ve barely had any free time at all for over two years, let alone twelve uninterrupted hours, so I’ve forgotten all the stuff I used to fill that free time with, and I’m drawing a blank. Eventually, I remember there was an interesting-sounding movie that came out last month. I search my streaming services until I find it, pour myself a splash of bourbon on the rocks, and sit down to watch. But I’ve gotten maybe ten minutes into it when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Christ, never a moment of peace,” I mutter, getting up to answer it.

  But my annoyance evaporates when I find Corrigan on my porch.

  “Hi,” she says, holding up a large shopping bag. “Sorry for not texting or anything, but I just saw this at the store and I thought it would be great for Grier.” She looks around me, scanning the dim living room. “Where is she? Did you put her to bed early?”

  “She’s having a sleepover at Mom’s tonight.” I take the bag and look at the box inside. It holds a tiny stepstool with an attached potty seat, bright purple and decorated with dancing cartoon monsters in a rainbow of colors.

  “I figured she’s about the right age to start potty training soon, so I thought it’d be useful to help her climb up there.” Corrigan smiles.

  “Wow, thank you. This’ll make my life a lot easier—and the design’s just the kind of thing she loves.” How like Corrigan to buy a gift both cute and practical. I try not to read too much into the fact that she was clearly thinking of me, as well as Grier. “How much do I owe you?”

  She holds up her hand. “No way, don’t even think about trying to pay me back. Count it toward Grier’s next birthday or something.” Her gaze flicks over my shoulder again. “What’re you watching?”

  “Terminal Honor 3. Just a dumb action flick, but it’s not the kind of thing I can watch with Grier around, and I figured it’d go well with bourbon.” An idea pops into my head, and I voice it before common sense can ruin it. “Want to join me?”

  She considers, then slowly says, “You know what . . . why the hell not?”

  After stashing her gift in the dining room, I pour an extra drink and set it on the coffee table, then sit down next to her on the sofa.

  And from that moment on, I do not retain a single goddamn thing about this movie. I’m far too painfully aware of the exact distance between us, the occasional faint whiffs of sweet floral shampoo I catch, how her tight leggings show off every curve of her ass and those long legs, and how fucking badly I need to touch her.

  “Hey,” she murmurs, her voice like honey. “I dare you to drink every time something blows up.”

  I snort. “We playing truth or dare now?”

  “No, inventing a drinking game. I’ll do it too.” She raises a challenging brow in my direction.

  How can a guy say no to that? “You’re on.”

  As if on cue, a car explodes into an inferno. She laughs, and we each knock back a sip.

  Long before the movie is over, I realize two very important things. One, that we’ll both probably be dead if we keep this game up. And two, bourbon does fuck-all to distract me from Corrigan’s unfair sex appeal. The stirring in my pants is a testament to that fact.

  “Hey, do you want to play truth or dare for real?”

  She blinks at me, then laughs. “Is this high school?”

  “You can always say no.”

  “Hmm . . . sure. Sounds fun.” She rearranges herself on the sofa, this time facing me, one leg tucked under her. “Truth or dare?”

  I rub my chin, which by this late hour feels like sandpaper. “I choose . . . truth.”

  She punishes me with an exaggerated frown. “Wuss. Okay, let me think.” She considers for a while. “What’s your biggest turn-on?”

  Every single thing about you. “It’s a tie between nice legs and dirty talk.”

  She gives me a look. “Come on, that’s it?”

  “You didn’t ask me to write a novel.” I chuckle. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

  “Truth,” she says primly.

  “Hey, you can’t criticize me for choosing truth and then choose the same thing.”

  Her only response is to stick her tongue out at me. Call me crazy, but even that I find sexy. I can’t help but wonder if I kissed her right now, if she’d taste like bourbon.

  Searching for a suitable revenge, I ask, “What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

  “That’s easy,” she immediately says. “As a student teacher, I called one kid the wrong name for a month, and when he got up the courage to correct me, I automatically said, ‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry,’ in front of a whole class of first graders and my mentor.”

  I offer her a sympathetic smile. “Damn. That does suck.”

  “Sarah Jo still makes fun of me for it at least once a week.”

  I chuckle and shake my head at her. “My friends in New York would do the same thing.”

  She opens her mouth, and for a second I think maybe she’s going to ask me about my friends, about my life in New York, but then her mouth closes and some unreadable expression flickers in her eyes.

  The moment passes and her smile fades. “Truth, Lexington . . . Did you love me?”

  I swallow hard, my throat bobbing with emotion. “Of course I did.” When she doesn’t respond, but her gaze drops to my lips for the briefest moment, I blurt, “I dare you to kiss me.”

  Her gaze jumps up to meet mine. “What?”

  “You heard me.” I scoot a little closer. If she refuses, I promise I’ll drop it, stop pushing her, but I can feel it. There’s still something between us, no matter how hard she tries to deny it.

  For a second, I’m certain she’s going to say no. But then, with an expression like she’s bungee jumping for the first time, she leans in and touches her lips to mine.

  It’s soft. Barely a kiss at all.

  But she doesn’t withdraw after a second like I expect. She just . . . lingers, but I don’t dare advance—not yet. Everything in me clamors for more, and when she shifts closer, I finally give in and open to her.

  And another miracle happens. Her lips part too.

  I eagerly take the invitation to touch my tongue against hers. She lets out the smallest, softest sigh, and if it would have been possible to stop before, I sure as hell can’t now.

  Fuck.

  Every horny teenage fantasy I ever had about Corrigan rushes to the surface. My arms tighten, pulling her closer toward me. The feel of her soft breasts pressing against my chest drives me insane. I nibble her lip, and she nips back a little harder, and suddenly we’re devouring each other, the kiss devolving all at once into a hot, messy feast of lips and tongue. My body reacts accordingly, growing hot and hard.

  Her feel, her taste, her smell, her sounds of pleasure and desire, it all brings decade-old memories and emotions rushing back with the force of a late-summer hurricane. But at the same time, everything is an intoxicating surprise. She’s changed, grown up into a woman, and I’m eager for the experience of learning everything about her all over again.

  My hands roam, eager to linger over every detail both familiar and new, every curve, every inch of creamy skin. I run the pad of my thumb down the column of her neck
, stopping until I can cup the weight of one breast in my hand. She rewards me with a soft but rough noise that jolts straight down my spine and into my dick.

  Okay, slow the fuck down, Lex.

  I pull back, breaking our connection, and Corrigan makes a small confused noise. Her eyes flutter open, and everything I see reflected in them makes my heart throb.

  Desire. Hunger. Certainty.

  She wants this as much as I do.

  But it’s not just a beautiful woman I’m seeing before me. I’m seeing her, the true her she hides from the world. I’m seeing the possibility for something real developing between us, something even bigger than what we shared before.

  My mouth moves to her neck, where I leave open-mouthed, sucking kisses.

  Corrigan squirms. “Lex . . .”

  Lex, not Lexington.

  “Too fast?” I murmur, praying she’ll tell me it’s not, that she wants to keep going.

  When she breathes out the word no, I almost die of happiness on the spot. It’s rare for me to have a kid-free evening, and to spend it with Corrigan—doing this, of all things—is a dream come true.

  She touches my chest, her fingers flexing into the material of my T-shirt. I haul it off over my head. Her tank top comes off next, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning.

  Her breasts are high and full, nearly spilling over the cups of her delicate lace bra. She’s gorgeous. And I still can’t believe she’s letting me touch her.

  “Shit,” I murmur, filling my hands with her breasts. “God, look at you . . .”

  Corrigan arches, her eyes drifting closed as I rub my thumbs across her nipples. A small choked gasp pushes past her parted lips. With a mischievous look, she bites her bottom lip and begins unbuttoning my jeans.

  Holy unexpected plot twist.

  My cock jumps, eager for her touch. And when her hand pushes past my boxers and touches my bare skin, I groan out my relief.

  “Wait.” My voice is little more than a deep rasp in my throat.

  Her fingers still, and she meets my eyes with a look of confusion.

  “As badly as I want this, and believe me, I do . . .” I draw in a deep breath. “This isn’t all I want. You know that, right?”