Page 44 of British Daddy to Go

“In the penthouse,” he explains simply. “That’s the top floor.”

I stop walking. “You can be mad at me, but don’t talk down to me. I know what a damn penthouse is.”

Sean sighs. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Once we get to my apartment, we can talk, and I won’t be angry at you anymore.”

I certainly hope that’s true. I’ve never been good at having people angry with me. I prefer to have everyone like me. That might stem from the fact that my sheltered life has kept me from forming meaningful relationships, so I seek them out from the people I’m around, no matter our compatibility, or lack thereof.

Is that what I’ve done with Sean? We’ve had a lot to talk about on our various dates. He got along really well with Jenna on our double date the other night. That must mean we have some level of compatibility, right?

Now I’m worried for another reason. If I keep this up, I might develop an ulcer. Imagine my parents’ reaction! They’d never let me leave the house again out of fear that it would stress me out too much. My already small level of freedom would become nonexistent.

I’m overreacting. When did I turn into a dramatic girl? Maybe this relationship is changing me in more ways than I realized.

Sean greets his doorman and leads me to the elevator. He presses a special button to bring us all the way to the top of the thirty-floor building. I have enough trouble living on the second story of our seventh floor apartment. I can’t imagine living so high off the ground! Though I bet the view of the city is incredible from up there.

“Here we are,” Sean says when we exit the elevator directly into his masculine apartment. The smell of leather hits me immediately. My thrift store shopping parents would never buy a leather couch unless it was used and probably on its last leg of life. Sean’s couch looks brand new, though it does appear well-worn.

“This isn’t what I expected,” I admit, taking in the apartment. Everything is dark and manly, but it’s not modern like I thought it would be. Jenna has shown me photos of the apartments she’s designed in this part of the city. They’re usually all straight lines and polished silver, not dead cows and black appliances. The more I look around Sean’s apartment, the more it makes sense, though. Everything in this place screams Sean to me. “But it fits you.”

A laugh spills from his reluctant lips. “Thanks, I think?”

“Definitely a compliment. I can see you sitting on that couch, unwinding after a long day.”

“That’s where I unwound after I met you.”

I stare at a worn spot on the couch. That’s probably where Sean likes to sit. It has the best view of the large windows and his flat screen TV. “Was that a long day?”

“The longest,” he admits. “Because I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to see you again.”

“Are you sorry you did?”

Sean shakes his head. “Will I be later?”

“I hope not.”

“Then let’s talk,” he says. “After I pour us some wine.”

Wine sounds like a really good idea. While Sean prepares our drinks, I finish my visual tour of the penthouse. The blinds are drawn, so I can’t take in the city. Instead, I focus on the interior. To my left, there’s a wide hallway leading to two closed doors. One is probably Sean’s bedroom and the other the bathroom.

To my right is the kitchen and dining area. Even with the overhead lights on, everything in the kitchen looks dark. How does he cook in there with such terrible lighting? The appliances are probably more for show than anything else. Guys with a lot of money don’t have to cook for themselves. They either hire someone to do it for them or go out to eat.

“Do you like what you see?” Sean asks, startling me. He holds out a glass of white wine for me. “I know it’s not much…”

I can’t help but laugh. “If you saw the inside of my apartment, you’d know this is a lot. You could fit two of my apartments into this one. Including both floors.”

“It gets lonely, though,” he admits, “having this much space and no one to share it with.”

“It’s time to talk,” I say. His smoldering eyes fall, and I wish I could take back the words and get him to look at me like that again.

Before I can stop myself, I rush forward and kiss him. If he’s pissed at me after our talk, this might be my last chance for a while. I’m going to savor it.

Sean kisses me back passionately, and before I know it, I’m lying on the couch with Sean balanced above me, and we are decidedlynottalking.

I giggle into his neck. “I didn’t expect that to happen. We really do need to talk.”

“I don’t think so,” he whispers, nibbling on my ear lobe. “I like what we’re doing just fine.”

The problem is, he might not like me as much in ten minutes. It would feel cheap to keep going, only to have my first walk of shame be through an expensive lobby. What will the doorman think of me? How many other women have been in my position?