DARK PARADISE - A Political Romantic Suspense (10 page)

Camille

“Do you think he dumped me?” I
slick a coat of ballet slipper pink across the nail of my ring finger before
blowing on it. I’m seated on the edge of the bathtub in
Araminta’s
suite.

“What, like you two were
dating?”

“You know what I mean. I’ve
never been dropped cold before. Not a single phone call or goodbye. Maybe he’s
regretting letting me take off the blindfold, but I swear, Minty, I still
couldn’t see anything.”

“He’s paranoid. Forget about
him.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m not
exaggerating when I say it was the best sex I’ve had in my life.” I clasp my
hands together in prayer. “Is it selfish of me to want to keep him a bit
longer? I even prayed about it last night.”

Araminta
makes
the sign of the cross. “Lord, hear her prayer.”

I laugh, fully owning how
ridiculously absurd I sound. I’m sure God, if there is one, has more important
things to do with His time. The last thing He needs to worry about is some
sex-worker sending up requests like He’s some wish-granting genie in a bottle.

“I prayed for a gold Tiffany
locket when I was twelve. Got one for Christmas that year.” She shrugs. “I also
prayed that God would let me marry my high school boyfriend, and let me just
take a moment to thank the man upstairs for unanswered prayers. I looked my ex
up on Facebook the other day, and time has
not
been kind to him. And I heard he cheats on his wife. With men. So . . .”

“I keep checking my phone for
missed calls. My ringer’s at full volume. Nothing’s coming through.”

“If he calls you, he calls you.
It’s out of your control.”
Araminta
slicks a tube of
red Chanel lipstick across her pout, then makes a kissy face in the mirror. Her
blonde hair is unapologetically voluminous, and her dress dips down in the
front
and
back. She doesn’t even have
a date tonight—she just likes the attention. It’s a game to her. She sits
at a bar, by herself, and tries to see how long it takes before someone offers
to buy her a drink. Her record, so far, is a mere ninety-four seconds.

“So am I a free agent now?” I
don’t want to move on from John, but I’ve got a waiting list of potential
clients and a savings account to fill.

“I’d say so.” She clicks her
blush compact and gives the apples of her cheeks a good pinch. “Shall we
celebrate the fact that your beautifully cared-for and meticulously groomed
lady parts officially belong to their rightful owner again?”

I laugh, grabbing her eye
shadow palette and swiping my fingertip along a shimmery taupe. “You find the
oddest things to celebrate.”

“Everything is worth celebrating,
my friend. Life can be one big party if you want it to be.” She twirls in front
of the mirror, peering over her shoulder to check out her backside. “All right.
I’m good. Go get ready, you’re coming with me.”

***

This is the cleanest men’s room
I’ve ever seen in my life.

Not that I’ve seen many.

The line for the ladies’ room
was way too long, and my bladder was two seconds from exploding, so I did what
I had to do.

The man standing behind me in
line promised to guard the door so I could have it all to myself. Funny what all
a sweet smile and a wink can get a girl in this city.

I wash my hands and pat them
dry with a paper towel as someone pounds on the door.

“Hold on,” I yell, though I’m
sure they don’t hear me. This bar is insanely loud, and it’s not from the
music. Everyone is chatting,
their
voices all layered
on top of one another. Everyone loves to hear themselves talk around here, but
no one ever wants to shut up and listen. The pounding continues, and I yell,
“Almost done.”

Crinkling the paper towel and
dropping it in the trash, I check my reflection one last time before heading
back out. I pull the handle and swing the door my way, taking a step and
bumping right into a man dressed in a black suit and speaking into his sleeve.

“Oh. Hello,” I say.

He wears no expression and his
gaze is hidden behind dark glasses. The man turns behind him and motions for
someone to come closer. I squeeze between what is clearly a Secret Service agent
and the doorway and prepare for a long and arduous search for
Araminta
. That woman never stays in the same place for
long.

A second agent marches toward
the men’s room, creating a parted-sea effect. I step aside and attempt to see over
his shoulders, but the man’s broad shoulders block my view for a moment.

Once they get closer, I catch a
glimpse of a man several yards back in a three-piece suit with his head tucked
and his eyes down. Women around me gasp and nudge each other. Some of them
point. Another agent walking behind the man sweeps his arms wide, as if to
create some kind of shield to keep people from sneaking up from behind.

The crowd around me grows
louder, more excited. Women push between other women to catch a closer glimpse.
I just want to get out of this area and find
Araminta
,
but I’m stuck in the middle of it all.

I tuck my clutch under my arm
and wait for the storm to pass. The second whoever that is
is
in the restroom, I can push through all these crazy ladies and order another
drink. Unsnapping my clutch, I decide to text Minty to find out where she is. I
swear this place doubled in patrons in the last ten minutes.

When I’m halfway finished
typing a quick text, I hear a woman behind me shout, “
Keir
!”

Naturally, I glance up.

But before I realize what’s
going on, I’ve been shoved by the rowdy batch of ladies behind me, and I’m
diving headfirst into the Secret Service sandwich containing one Mr.
Keir
Montgomery. My arms fly forward to brace myself so
that I don’t hit the ground like some kind of clueless klutz, only my palms
land on the front of Keir’s suit coat.

I suck in a startled breath.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

His hands take mine, and I
fully expect him to push me off of him like I’m some sort of groupie who flew
into him intentionally. Only he doesn’t move. Our eyes lock, and the first
thing I notice is that his sapphire blue eyes are every bit as intense in
person as they are on TV. His lips spread into a charmed smile, and the second
thing I notice are his dimples.

My heart flutters, and heat
spreads across my cheeks. This so isn’t me. I’m not a girl who gets star struck
or smitten at first sight, but something’s happening to me and I kind of like
it.

The agent behind him taps his
shoulder, and he turns to mutter something. I can’t hear him. It’s too loud in
here. But I think he told him it was okay. The agent backs off, cupping his
hands at his hips and scanning the perimeter. Everyone around us stares and
smiles, and
I’m
certain all these ladies are living
this moment vicariously through me.

“So sorry about that.” I
apologize for what I’m sure is the second time, but I’m not entirely sure I
said it the first time. It all could’ve been in my head for all I know. This
man’s aura is intensely commanding. “Those women got a little excited and
pushed me into your path.”

“I know,” he says. “I saw. You
were texting on your phone, not paying attention.”

My cheeks burn hotter than
before. Was he checking me out? Was
Keir
Montgomery
checking me out? I fight a smile.
Araminta
would be green
with envy right now. He’s just as handsome in person than I’ve ever imagined
him to be.

I remove my hands from his
lapels and back away, offering him a dainty wave and stepping aside. The man
probably has women throwing themselves at him all day long; the least I can do
is let him use the restroom in peace.

Plus, there’s nothing alluring
about a woman who fawns over a man after meeting him for all of ten seconds.

I head back toward the bar
area, scanning the crowd for a buxom blonde with the reddest lips in the joint,
and I do a little bounce and squeal when I see her.

“
Araminta
!”
I grab her from behind, hooking into her shoulders and giving her a shake.

“Good God, what’s gotten into
you?” She spins to face me, her eyes drinking me up and down. “You wander off
for ten minutes and now you’re all giddy.”

“
Keir
is here,” I say. “
Keir
Montgomery.”

Her jaw falls and she whacks
the side of my arm with her clutch. “You’re kidding me.”

She sits up in her stool,
attempting to see above a sea of hundreds, most of them wearing every conservative
shade of black and navy imaginable.

“He’s in the restroom now,” I
say. “I bumped into him on my way out. But he’s here. At Bar Twelve. Tonight.”

Her red lips twist at the
corner. This is the kind of opportunity
Araminta’s
fantasized about for years.

“Let me know when you see him
again. I’d love to introduce myself.” She takes a healthy sip of her martini,
eyes busy scanning.

Her fearlessness both awes and
inspires, but mostly it entertains me.

Several minutes pass, and we
fill the time with idle chat and shared observations about the people around
us. We wait like patient saints, hoping for a sign that
Keir
has made his way back into the crowd. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen. We
check our phones like clockwork.

“Wonder what’s taking him so
long?” she asks.

“Maybe he’s not in there
anymore? He could’ve snuck out a back exit.”

Her face falls and her posture
deflates. She runs a nail along a streak of condensation on the bar top in
front of her until an averagely attractive man in his thirties approaches her
and she snaps out of her funk with a flirty side-eye and a toothy grin.

I stare ahead at the bottles
behind the bar, starting with the ones on the top shelf, biding my time until
Araminta
either leaves with this man or lets him stick
around long enough to buy her a drink before she gives him a polite boot.

I’m midway through counting the
number of cobalt blue bottles when a warm palm centers on my bare back. I turn
around, heart pulsing, only to meet a set of newly familiar sapphire eyes.

“Oh.” I smile as relief pushes
the startle clear through me. “Hello again.”

This place is so damn loud, I’m
not sure if I’m going to be able to hear a word he says, and I so badly want to
hear every word this man is about to say.

My gaze settles on his face,
focusing yet trying not to stare.

Strong jaw. Perfect nose. Nice
lips.

Keir
leans
into me, and I inhale his cologne because this may be the only opportunity I’ll
ever have to know what
Keir
Montgomery really smells
like.

Old money. Leather.
Vetiver
.

The scent is vaguely familiar,
which is odd because I’m quite certain it’s not the kind of cologne a man could
buy at any old department store. Barneys, perhaps. Maybe Bergdorf.

And then it hits me. His scent
reminds me of John. It’s not identical by any means, but I feel like it’s
something John would wear.

For a split second, reality
smacks me in the face and reminds me that John hasn’t called in days, and that
sinking, ego-deflating heaviness washes over me.

“I’m
Keir
,”
he says into my ear, his low voice tickling my eardrum and sending a quick
tingle to my nerves. My skin pricks, and instantly I want to hear his voice
again. “
Keir
Montgomery. What’s your name?”

I lean into his ear. “Camille
Buchanan.”

“You look familiar, Camille,”
he says, pulling away though standing closer than before. “Have we met?”

There’s a wicked gleam in his
deep blue stare that sends a soul-stirring tickle to the deepest part of me.
Half of his mouth lifts, revealing a dimple, and it’s all I can do not to melt
right in front of him.

This man could take me home
right now, hoisting me over his shoulder caveman style in front of all these
people, and I wouldn’t try to stop him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met
before.” My eyes trace the length of his strong jawline before drawing higher
to his lips, studying the way they arch and wondering how they taste. His nose
is straight, perfect. And his hair is thick and dark, the kind made for pulling.

In many ways, he reminds me of
the way I imagine John might look.

I glance away for a moment,
quietly scolding myself for thinking about John right now. He’s in the past.
It’s over and done with. He doesn’t get to stake a claim in the forefront of my
mind tonight and ruin this beautiful moment.

“It’s really loud,”
Keir
yells, pointing behind him. “You want to come with me
to the VIP area so we can talk?”