The Penthouse Pact Read online

  “Okay,” he said, and nearly bit off his tongue. He’d be fucking done for if he had to scoop her out of the tub wet and naked and tuck her into her bed.

  “I’ll stay close,” he said, trying not to sound like he’d just taken sandpaper to his throat. He crooked two fingers. “At least let me show you where the bathroom is, and help you run the bath.” She stood and followed him back down the hall. He flicked the light on and stepped in. Towels were folded nearby on the shelving unit, and he reached for a big one.

  She took the cotton and brushed it over her face. A small smile touched her mouth. “Mmmm,” she murmured. Would she make those same sexy sounds in bed when he was between her legs? Fuck. “How do you get them so fluffy?”

  “Cleaning service,” he bit out a little too harshly. He started the tub and held his hand under until he got the temperature just right.

  She looked around, her gaze cataloging the big bathroom, then she met his glance as he sat on the edge of the big whirlpool tub. “You wouldn’t happen to have any bath salts would you?”

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who uses bath salts, Layla?”

  “No, not really, but I thought maybe one of your girlfriends—”

  “No bath salts,” he said again, making a mental note to add it to the list of things he needed. And as far as girlfriends went, he never brought a woman to his place. That somehow made it personal, and he avoided those intimacies at all costs. It wasn’t just the bachelor pact he kept in his back pocket to remind him that everyone wanted something from him. He was anti-marriage long before that. He had his parents to thank for his jaded views on love, relationships, and…manipulation. Christ, his own mother trapped his father by getting pregnant with him. They were separated now but still making each other miserable.

  So yeah, sex at a hotel was much less personal, and no woman had complained yet, especially when they went to Seattle’s finest and champagne and caviar was involved.

  “Layla?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you like caviar?” he asked.

  Why the hell am I asking her that?

  “Uh, not really,” she said. “Wait. Why? Have you changed your mind on the Chinese takeout?”

  “No.” He raked his hand through is hair. “What kind of soda do you like?”

  “Anything at all.” She shrugged. “I’m easy.”

  I’m easy.

  Oh Jesus.

  Chapter Four

  A noise sounded in the hallway, and Layla stilled, the water settling around her naked body. She lifted slightly, and when a dark figure passed, and a closet door opened and closed, she sank back into the water. She had no idea how long she’d been luxuriating in the big Jacuzzi tub, but from the wrinkling of her fingers, she guessed it was time to get out.

  She was about to reach for the plug when a shadow passed in the hallway. A soft knock inched her door open even more. “Layla?”

  She sank deeper into the water and wished she’d had some bubbles to cover her nakedness. If he wanted to see her, no doubt he could. “Yeah.”

  “You okay in there?” he asked, real concern in his voice.

  Water splashed as she sat upright. “Just getting out now.”

  “Okay, Gregory called, and the food is on its way up.”

  Talk about service. A girl could get used to this kind of luxury. But she was only here for one night. By rights, she shouldn’t have agreed to stay, but she couldn’t let him hunker down at her place, either, and risk her landlord showing up. Plus, she had a hard time saying no to Parker. Or rather he wouldn’t let her say no. Damn bully.

  “Coming now.”

  She pulled the plug and reached for the big, fluffy towel, bringing it to her nose to inhale the fabric softener. While one part of her didn’t want to be here with the arrogant, but oh-so-hot guy, there was another part of her that was intrigued by him, his sterile house, and the way he felt responsible for her. She mulled that over for a moment, along with everything she knew about him, and a delicious idea formed in the back of her mind.

  Pay him back for always ignoring you.

  Okay, so maybe if he was forcing her to be here, she could use the time to annoy him, and make it impossible for him to overlook her. Really get under his skin before she left bright and early tomorrow morning while he still slept.

  Game on.

  She slipped from the tub, patted herself dry, and pulled on the shirt. Fresh laundry soap, and something else—rich and decadent—filled her senses. Her fingers worked the buttons all the way to her knees, as she did a slow turn to give herself a once-over in the mirror. The shirt was white and a little on the thin side, but not see-through. If she had bigger boobs that curved the cotton, she might be concerned with a bra. But she didn’t, so she wasn’t going to bother.

  Besides, she wasn’t interested in getting involved with Parker, and she was hardly the kind of glamorous, big-breasted woman who could be found on his arm. She’d rather be flat-chested than pump herself full of crap just so some guy could get off on her boobs. Like she would ever change for some man. A laugh crawled out of her throat.

  “Layla, everything okay?”

  She covered her mouth to stifle the sound. Once she had herself together, she yelled, “I’ll be right out.”

  As she searched for a brush, the elevator pinged from the other room. After a quick check at the door to make sure Parker wasn’t standing there, she slowly opened his top right drawer. Why did she feel like she was doing something naughty? She was only looking for a brush, for God’s sake, and since he didn’t pack a comb in her bag—her fault for not getting her bathroom things, but still—she had no choice but to borrow one of his.

  Back at her place, her drawers were clunky and barely stayed on the rails, and she had to tug hard when opening them, but his slid open easily, smooth and slick like him. She almost laughed, until she saw the way his items were all lined up like obedient little soldiers, or junior software developers under his command. OCD much? She really would like to get hold of that list and add Stuck-Up-Suit to it.

  She grabbed his brush and ran it through her long hair, tugging out the knots. As she struggled with a particularly rebellious one, she winced and noticed his medicine cabinet wasn’t shut quite tight. Should she? She stole another quick glance at the door, a nervous sensation dancing around in her stomach. Looking for his brush was one thing, but going through his medicine cabinet was just plain snooping. And wrong. Then again he’d looked over her files at the hospital, right? Invaded her privacy?

  Ran her over.

  Moving as quietly as possible, she gave a little flick to the corner, opening it a little more. Oops. What would she find inside? A box of condoms? Ointment for some rash that stumped a team of doctors? Inside, she found a bottle of aspirin and allergy medication. How anticlimactic. She at least expected to find a spare toothbrush for one of his girlfriends. Then again this was the spare bathroom. He probably kept all his personal stuff in the one off his massive bedroom.

  “Layla.”

  Parker’s voice was right outside the door, and she jumped back. She quickly shut the cabinet, and it hit with a hard thud as the bathroom door inched open. When her gaze met with a set of intense eyes, her pulse leapt. She blinked at him, trying to pull off innocence.

  “You didn’t answer. I was worried,” he said.

  “I’m okay. Getting kind of hungry actually,” she said, trying to distract him as his gaze went from the medicine cabinet to her—her bare legs specifically.

  “Ah, your cuts. Did you want to bandage them first?”

  “No, they’re not bleeding, so let’s eat. I can do them later.” She grabbed the sweatpants, tugged them on, and tied them snug at her waist. The soft wool socks were still in their paper packaging, so she opened them and pulled them on. She wiggled her toes, and that’s when she realized Parker was still standing at the door watching her.

  “These are nice and comfy.”

  He scrubbed his chin. “Ah, good.�
�

  Plastering on an innocent smile—like she hadn’t been snooping through his things—she shook her hair from her shoulders and walked toward him.

  “Mmm, smells good,” she said as she followed him to the kitchen, finding enough take out to feed an entire army.

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he said.

  She widened her arms. “So you ordered everything on the menu?”

  He shrugged and reached for a can of soda. He held it up. “This kind okay?”

  “Perfect. Where are your glasses?”

  He scanned the dark wood cabinets in the kitchen. “Ah…”

  She peeked into the containers, checking out all the yummy food. “You don’t know?”

  “Of course I know. I just forgot. I don’t normally eat at home.” He reached into the cupboard, produced two glasses, and handed one to her. She stifled her laugh as he rooted for plates and utensils.

  When he finally found them, he set them on the kitchen island counter, and gestured for her to sit. She slid onto a plush leather stool but when she glimpsed her red, scraped knuckles, the room spun. She gripped the sides of the granite counter top and closed her eyes.

  “Whoa, you okay?”

  She slowly opened her lids and tried to regroup. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t like the sight of blood.” She blinked and turned her gaze away from her knuckles.

  “Hang on.” Parker spun around and grabbed a paper bag near the sink. She examined the contents as he dumped them onto the counter in front of her, and her heart gave a little thump when she zeroed in on the bath salts. “Let’s bandage you up first.”

  She picked up the gauze and turned the unopened package over in her hand. “Did you just buy these?”

  “Yeah, give it here.”

  She handed it to him. “When? I didn’t hear you leave the apartment.”

  “The concierge. He did a delivery.”

  “Oh, okay. That was nice of him.”

  “His number is on the fridge. If you need anything at all and I’m not here, just call it okay.”

  “I hardly think that will happen. I’m out of here tomorrow.”

  “Right.” He took one of her hands in his, and she tried not to notice the size of them, or how hard he was trying to be gentle with her. She wasn’t a Barbie doll who could break for God’s sake, but the way he was trying to be tender made him look so damn adorable. Maybe she should cut him some slack.

  His brow furrowed as he examined them closer. “Did they put ointment on them at the hospital?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He reached for the antibacterial cream, screwed the top off, and punched the opening. Big hands fumbled with the gauze. She flattened her hand on the countertop, and he put ointment on his finger and slowly applied it, rubbing light soft circles that generated heat deep inside her. Dammit. Her nipples puckered, and with her free hand, she tugged the shirt away from her body. He’d better not get the wrong idea. Her body might be reacting, but she didn’t want him. She didn’t even like him.

  “Sorry if it hurts.”

  “It’s okay. I’m kind of tough.”

  “You? Tough?”

  She straightened, taking offense. “Yeah.” She’d pretty much been on her own since her father left them at birth. Her mom checked out emotionally at the time, and eventually overdosed when she was only five. Layla briefly pinched her eyes shut. She never wanted to find herself uneducated, alone with a child, and penniless. After her mother’s death, she went to live with her grandmother, who wasn’t much of a caregiver and had developed early dementia. By the time she was a teen, she was the one working two jobs, taking care of her grandmother, and trying to save for school. There was no money left after her death. It all went in to paying back taxes on the house, and settling debt. “Are you saying I’m not?”

  “Hell no. The women I know would never pick themselves up and go to class after getting hit by a car. They’d milk it for months. You’re tougher than any of them, and most guys.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  He angled his head and eyed her for a moment, staring at her like she was a string of code he was trying to figure out. “So you like being tough?”

  It was either that or curl up in the fetal position and feel sorry for herself. Since she wasn’t one to lament about her lot in life, or indulge in a pity party, she struggled along. Someday, once she got her degree, things would get better. She was sure of it.

  “It’s what gets me through the day,” she said. He picked up her hand again and wrapped the gauze all the way around, then reached for the tape. When he said nothing in response, she asked, “What gets you through the day?”

  “Grande Americano, extra shot,” he said flatly.

  She laughed at that, even though she didn’t doubt it. “Not one of those girls you mentioned earlier? You know, the ones who aren’t so tough.” Shit, as soon as the words left her mouth, she gulped air, trying to take them back. “I mean…” Why the hell would she ask that?

  “How’s that?” he asked, drawing her attention to her hand. Clearly he wasn’t about to answer her stupid question.

  “Good.”

  He crooked his finger. “Now the other,” he said, his voice a soft command.

  She lifted her hand from her lap and held it out. “Your food is going to get cold.”

  “That’s what microwaves are for.”

  “Microwaved egg rolls are nasty.”

  “Then I’ll eat yours.”

  “No way. Egg rolls are my favorite.”

  “Good thing I got ten of them.”

  “Ten? Are you insane?”

  His gaze lifted from her hand and slowly moved over her face. He leaned into her, his breath warm on her cheeks. “I’m beginning to believe so.” As they stared at each other, his eyes darkened, and his breathing seemed to change, become more labored. Her body responded to the intense gaze, and she shifted restlessly. As an unexpected burst of heat sizzled through her veins, her skin came alive. A tremor zinged through her, and she squeezed her legs shut. She’d once read a sexy book where the girl said her loins were on fire. She had no idea what that really meant until now.

  She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, but then shut it again when his phone pinged. She let loose a breath, thankful for the distraction, and Parker blinked, like he was trying to snap himself back to attention as he reached into his pocket. Face completely sober now, he slid his finger across the phone.

  “This better be important.” A pause and then. “I told him the numbers didn’t add up.” He stepped away as he talked, and Layla could only hear muffled sounds as he barked into the phone. Yikes, she certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of his rants. No wonder there was a list of names for him.

  As he talked, she divvied up the food. It was still hot enough that she didn’t have to nuke it in the microwave. She set the counter for two and even found some placemats in one of his pull-out cupboards, making it a little cozier. Her stomach grumbled as she waited for Parker to return, so she nibbled on the crunchy end of her egg roll. Delicious.

  Five minutes later, he stepped into the kitchen and stood there for a long time staring blankly at the room as he ran fingers through his hair, like the short strands were the source of his anger.

  “Um, you ready to eat?” she finally asked, breaking the quiet.

  His hand fell, and he nodded. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes,” he said, but the fine lines creasing his forehead told a different story. It wasn’t her business, so she wasn’t going to ask. He came around to her side of the counter and looked at her plate. Dark brows pulled together. “You waited for me?”

  “Of course.” When his frown deepened, she felt a little foolish. It’s not like they were on a date or anything, so she probably just should have eaten, but it didn’t feel right to go ahead without him. “You didn’t want me to?”

  “You
didn’t… I just.” He shrugged. “Let’s eat.”

  They both reached for the plum sauce at the same time, and as his hand brushed hers, electrical jolts lit up her body. Good Lord, why was she reacting to him this way? He was a bully who annoyed the hell out of her and was the last thing she needed in her life. No way would she ever give her heart to a man, and risk him up and leaving with it. She’d let nothing distract her from her work or education. Paying her rent and getting her degree were the most important things in the world to her.

  He withdrew his hand. “Go ahead.”

  She grabbed the small plastic container and covered her egg roll and rice with the sauce, then handed it to him.

  “You put plum sauce on your rice?”

  “I like sweet things.”

  His eyes fixed on her mouth, and the muscles in his neck grew taut. “Yeah, me, too,” he said, tearing his gaze away. For a moment she wondered if he was talking about food or something else—something sexual. He licked his finger, and once again she squirmed. “Eat up,” he said, like he was dismissing her.

  Okay, being surrounded by luxury and more food than she could eat was clearly messing with her brain. Obviously, there was nothing sexual going on between them.

  Good, because she didn’t want that, either. Pushing all unwanted erotic thoughts of Parker to the back of her mind—where they belonged—she picked up her fork and dove in with enthusiasm. She couldn’t remember the last time she had Chinese takeout, or so much variety to choose from. Where the heck did she start? She nibbled on a rib and followed it with a big drink of her soda to wash it down. They sat in silence for a long time, and her thoughts strayed back to the hospital.

  “So your mom is going to be okay?” she asked.

  He exhaled sharply, his knee briefly touching hers under the counter. “Yeah.”

  She forked a heaping helping of rice into her mouth and looked at him. “Why do you say it like that?”

  “It’s just… Well, she’s okay, and I’m glad about that, but this is the third time this month I’ve been called to the ER.”