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“What do you say we get the food delivered upstairs, baby? Spaghetti carbonara in the privacy of our suite?”
Christine bites that sexy bottom lip of hers again and I want nothing more than to follow up with a gentle bite of my own.
Meeting my eyes, she nods her head and softly says, “Yes, Mr. Stanton. I’d like that.”
In a flash, I’m up and gesturing to the waiter for the tab. After all, the sweet woman has given me the “go” signal, and now I’m going to sample these pregnant curves to my heart’s delight.
6
Christine
Damon’s so different from what I expected. I know Clarissa said that City Girls works with an elite clientele, but I took that to mean men of the upper class who have deep pockets and nothing else. I was honestly expecting someone short, fat, and ugly, not to mention old. After all, I’m a realist and money doesn’t care who it belongs to. You’re just as likely to get an old dude who looks like Willy Wonka, and not a handsome billionaire like George Clooney.
Yet Damon’s gorgeous with his night-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and athletic build. He’s tall and charismatic, and I see the way the women at the bar follow him with their eyes. Even more, their gazes then flick to me and I can see the envy there. They think I’m Damon’s very pregnant wife, and the jealousy burns them up from the inside out, while making my heart sing.
It’s so terrible to feel this way and yet I’m enjoying it. I love being seen with Damon, and I adore the possessive way he slings an arm around my waist, ushering me forwards. I love how he kisses the crown of my head while inhaling my scent, and the way his big hands trail over my belly as if he can’t help himself.
At that moment, the baby kicks as we take the elevator up, and he chuckles with amusement.
“He’s quite the little soccer player, isn’t he?”
I nod, blushing.
“Definitely.”
Then, the bell dings and Damon ushers me into a long hallway which only has one door on the right.
“Here we are,” he growls, fishing in his pocket.
I stare at him.
“There’s only one room on this floor?” I ask in a choked voice, still scanning the hallway. He nods and grins while swiping the keycard.
“Yep,” is his declaration. “The penthouse is a floor through. I wanted only the best for you, Christine.”
I swallow as we enter, and my eyes go wide while taking in the suite. To be honest, the place is probably quadruple the size of my studio apartment, and that’s only including the parts I can see. There’s a chef’s kitchen with marble countertops on the right, complete with gigantic, stainless steel appliances. In the living room, a large leather sectional dominates the space while facing a beautiful brick fire place with a massive television mounted above it. The floors throughout are a dark, cherry shade, complemented by beige and cream accent rugs.
“My goodness,” I breathe while looking around. “This is quite the place.”
Damon grins while dropping his eyes on a bowl in the foyer.
“Yeah, I like the Redwood Hotel,” he growls. “The owners went all out when they redid this place. Do you know them? Clay and Casper Richmond?”
I let out a muffled laugh.
“Oh no. I’m a girl who works in a book store, so I wouldn’t know folks like that. Or at least, I used to work in a book store,” I amend.
Damon shoots me a look.
“Which one? I love books, actually. The real kind and not the ones on your Kindle.”
I laugh as we move into the living area.
“I know what you mean. Everyone’s glued to their Kindle or their phone these days, and it’s pretty annoying. What happened to the days when you could strike up a conversation with someone on the subway based on the book they were reading? Now, it’s impossible,” I smile.
He grins.
“Exactly. Although I’ve never picked up a girl while riding the subway.”
