Page 15 of Mister Daddy
The thought scares and exhilarates me. Shit. What’s happening? Usually, I’m counting down until the woman beside me leaves, and can’t wait to see the door slam after she’s gone. But with Abby, everything’s different. Ms. Porter has me begging for more, and I have no idea what’s going on. It’s unsettling, to be honest.
Carefully, I toss away the covers to find my phone and slip on a pair of boxers from my drawer. I bring up my friend Steve’s number and shoot him a text.
Shit.
He immediately texts back.
What’s the problem, man? Too many hot women? Oooh, I feel sorry for you.
Hardly, I text back.I just met a really sweet one, and she’s still here.
He sends me a frowny face.You having trouble kicking her out of your bedroom?
I pause for a moment. What do I say? Abby looks so peaceful and lush, slumbering in my sheets. Her pinkness peeks at me, and I can’t believe this curvy goddess is mine to enjoy.
No, I text back.I like having her here.
His reply is immediate.Then what’s the problem?
I guess there’s no problem, come to think of it. After all, this cruise is going to end, and then Ms. Abigail Porter will be out of my hair for good. Yet, the conflict I feel inside at that thought has me confused. What do I want? This slew of emotions is all so new, and I admit, I’m feeling pretty lost.
Suddenly, my phone dings again, but it’s not Steve. My secretary, Flora Havisham just sent me a text.
High stakes poker during island stop. Buy-in paid.
I curse under my breath. Damnit. I’d forgotten about the tournament. We have an exclusive casino on the island that hosts high-dollar, high-stakes tournaments. Obviously, there are reasons for the casino. For one, private islands aren’t hampered by any sorts of rules and regulations with respect to gambling and wagers. Countries get high handed and terrifyingly detail-oriented when you say you want to open a casino for guests to gamble away their money. But when you own a private island? Everything goes, and as a result, we invite our most elite customers to join. Hell, whenever I’m on the island, I throw down a hand or two. The ante is enormous, but what’s a couple million to a billionaire?
Secondly, our guests expect this sort of thing. Too many people have seen the James Bond movieCasino Royale, not to mention some of the old Roger Moore and Sean Connery flicks. They expect the opportunity to dress up in tuxes and to masquerade as a high roller, even if they’re only putting down ten thousand, tops. But it doesn’t matter. My cruise line seeks to provide a getaway from real life, and with these poker games, my company answers those longings to live a secret James Bond life.
I text Miss Havisham a thanks and check for other emails about work. There are a few updates on the new ship, some questions about executive decisions from the board members, and examples of new ads we’re going to run. It’s business as usual and terrifyingly familiar to me. After all, I started this shop from the ground up doing everything myself, so I like to have a hand in all of the different parts even now. Of course, I no longer look over every tiny decision like I did when I bought my first boat, but I still have a lot of say in what goes where. I care about this outfit more than anything in the world, and I want to know that I’m doing what I can to ensure its success.
Plus, it’s worked out well for me thus far. I’m not about to change the habit now.
Once I’m caught up on work, I use the bathroom and make a move to climb back into bed with Abby, but her open eyes startle me.
“Morning,” she says, her voice cloudy from just waking up. “You been up long?”
“No.” It’s not technically a lie. I’ve been up less than an hour, which isn’t long in the grand scheme of things.
“Good, good.”
An awkward silence settles over the room. No. It shouldn’t be awkward with Abby. If it is, she might leave.
“Are you hungry? I can order room service.”
She stretches. “Not right now. I’m going to use the bathroom.”
Her naked body slides from under the comforter and sways into the bathroom. I keep my eyes sealed on the door even after she disappears. To say I’m turned on would be the understatement of the century.
I try to get my blood pooling somewhere other than my crotch with a few deep breaths and naked grandma thoughts. It works until she walks out of the bathroom as nude and sexy as she was when she walked in.
Abby takes her crumpled dress from the floor and slips it over her head. It lands slightly askew but still hugs her curves exactly the way a dress should.
There’s no point in trying to hide my growing erection at this point.
“I should get going,” Abby says when she’s fixed her dress. Her nipples pebble beneath the fabric. She didn’t bother to put on her bra.
I close the distance between us and gently hold her arm. “Stay for breakfast, at least.”