DARK PARADISE - A Political Romantic Suspense (15 page)

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours.” She sighs. “Always.
Anyway, it should’ve been me last night. I’d have gladly taken one for the
team.”

I hope she never has to.

Ronan

“What. The. Hell.” I corner
Keir
outside the solarium Saturday afternoon after checking
out of the hotel. “Did you
do
last
night?”

The bloodshot whites of his
eyes and the telltale stench of day-old alcohol on his breath tells me he was
in a bad state last night, but it’s no excuse.

“No clue what you’re talking
about.” He adjusts the Windsor knot of his tie and runs a palm down his
cashmere sweater. My brother’s biggest talent is the ability to dress himself
to the nines, even in the throes of a head splitting hangover.

“Why,
Keir
?”
I invade his space like I own it, backing him against a nearby wall. For the
moment, we’re alone. But it won’t last long. “What the hell was going through
that arrogant little brain of yours?”

His lips pull into a stupid
grin and his hands fly up in protest. “She wanted me, Ronan. Maybe not at
first, but the second she thought I was you, she was all over me.”

A kitchen staffer wheels a cart
of food past us, and I back off my brother though my eyes still burn into his.

“You knew exactly what you were
doing.” My teeth clench. “You don’t deserve her, and you’re nothing but a
goddamned weasel,
Keir
. It’s all you’ll ever be.”

“I’d rather be a weasel than a
sellout,” he snarls. “You’re a conformist. You live your life based on what John
Q. Public would think, and to me that makes you nothing more than a coward, Ronan.
You’re the one who doesn’t deserve Camille. Send her my way. I’ll take her out
and show her a good time, not keep her locked away in some hotel room like
you’re ashamed of her.”

“I’m
protecting
her,” I say.

Keir’s face scrunches. “Who are
you trying to kid? You’re protecting yourself.”

“I don’t expect a simple-minded
prick like you to understand half of what my arrangement with Camille really
means.”

My brother laughs, his hand
holding his lower abdomen. “Wait a minute, are we pretending now that she’s not
just some really expensive prostitute? Are you acting like you actually give a
damn about her now, or are you taking the most convenient stance for the sake
of this argument? I mean, I know we’re a family of fucking politicians, but
that’s the oldest trick in the book. You can do better than that.”

 
I won’t pretend to understand how a man
could grow obsessively infatuated with a mysterious beauty, track her down, buy
her exclusivity for twelve weeks, and then claim the arrangement is purely for
sex. Maybe it started that way. I’ll admit I was drawn to her for selfish,
superficial reasons at first. But now that I’ve spent a little time with her,
I’m seeing there’s much more to her than meets the eye, and it would be a shame
for me to prohibit myself from enjoying every facet of my time with Camille.

“I won’t discuss her with you.”
I adjust the cuffs of my jacket and turn away, only when I round the corner, I
nearly collide with Lydia, of all people. Not in the mood for pleasantries or
anything remotely cordial, I release an audible groan and attempt to sidestep
her.

Her ruby lips widen, and her
lashes flutter. “Were you just talking about me?”

“What?” My brows furrow. “No,
no.”

She trails a finger across her
conservatively exposed décolletage and pouts her bottom lip. “Oh. Then who were
you talking about? I heard you say you weren’t going to talk about ‘her.’ Are
you seeing someone, Ronan?”

My mother peeks her head around
the corner, staring at the three of us before batting her hand.

“My goodness, why is everyone
standing out in the hall? Come on now.” Judging by the slight giggle placed in
my mother’s tone, she’s in an exceptionally good mood today. “The photographer
is waiting. We need to pose for some photos and then your little social hour
can resume.”

Any time my mother is in the
same room as a camera, she can’t help but smile and flit about like she’s Mary
fucking Poppins. She hangs on my father’s arms and refuses to call him by his
first name, Harris, opting for Mr. President instead, because she thinks it
makes her more relatable to the voting public.

We file into the solarium and
smile for photos which I’ll probably never see, because my mother is having
them published in God-knows-what newspaper in God-knows-where, but at least
it’s done and I can go about the rest of my day.

I check my watch. Oliver should
be buying the disposable cellphones any minute and having Camille’s delivered.
In a little more than twenty-four hours, I’ll see her again.

“You’re smiling, son.” My
mother’s voice is low as she leans into me a minute after the photographer
finishes up. “I saw that you and Lydia were chatting in the hallway.”

She steps in front of me,
partially so she can capture my full attention, but mostly so she can trap me
in this corner of the Sky Parlor. Mother’s hands smooth out the lapels of my
jacket and she tilts her head while wearing a toothy smile.

“I just want you to know, it
means the world to the President and me that you’re speaking to Lydia again.
It’s a small step, I know, but someday you’ll be grateful.” Her dark blue eyes
rest on mine. “One of these days, it’ll be you in the Oval Office, and it will
be painted portraits of you and Lydia gracing these hallways. I know it
probably isn’t the life you’ve always dreamed of, but you were born to lead, Ronan.
You’re my quiet calm in the storm. Nothing rattles you. And you have a good,
strong heart. Our family’s legacy is going to live on because of you and all
the wonderful things you’re going to do for this country.”

She wipes away the tiniest
sliver of a tear, which is the most emotion anyone will ever get out of Busy
Montgomery, and pats my shoulder.

“Lovely speech, Mother, but I’m
not reconciling with Lydia.”

In an instant, her saccharin
expression melts and her frown lines deepen. Before she has a chance to
respond, my father calls for her from across the room.

“This conversation isn’t over.”
She slicks her hand over the top of her hair and strides away in her meticulously
lint-rolled navy pantsuit. The small crowd of people steps aside when they see
her coming. No matter her surroundings, Busy Montgomery can command a room like
no one else. Sometimes I wonder who’s really in charge of this country. My
money’s on the woman standing twenty feet away with her hand on my father’s
forearm and flashing that signature smile that lights up the room.

A vote for my father is a vote
for Busy. She’s setting herself up for her own turn in the Oval Office. I
should’ve known. This was always about her. Every photo opportunity, every
pre-planned PR maneuver, every humanitarian platform and political agenda . . .

The only thing more concerning
about a manipulative ice queen running the country is the fact that Busy
Montgomery has never met a goal she couldn’t conquer, and she’s not afraid to
obliterate every bump in the road on her way there.

Camille

Well this is different.

Six hours ago I boarded a
direct flight from Dulles Airport to Des Moines, and a half hour ago I checked
into the most adorable little historic hotel tucked away in the heart of a cozy
downtown.

It feels safe here. Everyone
smiles. No one’s in a rush to get anywhere.

The hotel lobby makes me feel
as if I’m stepping back in time. Crystal chandeliers, oriental rugs, and
polished mahogany paint a picture of another era, yet my room is modern and
luxurious.

I’ve barely settled in, and
already I don’t want to leave.

After freshening up and
dressing for the cool, December weather, I wheel my bag to my room and then go
for a walk around the city. Evergreen wreaths tied with red ribbons hang from
street lamps, and several local businesses have colorful lights in their
windows. Huge snowflakes fall from the sky and melt when they land on my face.
A light dusting of snow sticks to the ground, and out of nowhere, I’m flooded
with warmth that summons a nostalgic giddiness I haven’t felt since childhood.

It’s easy to ignore those
pleasantries back in DC. Everyone’s so busy and constantly on the go. We’re all
too busy doing everything we can to stay ahead and to stay relevant than to
stop and look around.

The disposable cellphone Ronan
gave me almost a week ago buzzes in my pocket, and I try not to read into the
fact that I’m smiling. As much as I try to deny the fact that he makes me
unreasonably happy, life has a way of smacking me in the face with those
reminders on a daily basis. At the end of the day, he’s still my client, and
this is still strictly about sex, but it’s different with him.

“Hello,” I answer.

“How was the flight?”

“Smooth and uneventful,” I say,
kicking my boots along a powdery sidewalk. The snow has picked up a little
more, blanketing everything around me in a glaze of white. “I’m all checked in.
Just out walking around, taking in the scenery.”

“Where are you right now?”

I glance around for a street
sign and take a few steps to the north, squinting. “Grand and Fourth Street?”

“All right. Stay there.” Ronan
hangs up, and I shove the phone back into my coat pocket. I’m blanketed in
silence as the streets empty out, and I tap my toe against the slick concrete.
The sound echoes just enough to give me a little reassurance. I’ve never seen a
downtown area so vacant before, and I assume the bulk of the employees head
straight for their suburban family homes come five o’clock.

A black Lexus pulls up to the
stop light beside me, and the passenger window rolls down.

“Camille,” a man’s voice says.

Crouching down, I peek inside
the dark car. It’s Ronan. I fight a smile and climb in beside him.

“I didn’t know you drove.” I
click the seatbelt, my gaze catching on two steaming Styrofoam cups in the
holders between us.

“Of course I drive.” He smirks,
pulling back into the street.

“Where’s Oliver?”

“I gave him the night off,” he
says, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “I thought we could spend some
time together, just us. I got us some hot cocoa. Thought we’d take a little
cruise, see if we can’t find a country road and get a little lost.”

I laugh. “Ronan, this is so
unlike you.”

His lips jut. “Not at all.
You’ve just never spent time with me outside a hotel room.”

Bringing the cocoa to my lips,
I blow through the vented lid and take a sip. Ronan drives for miles, until we’re
past the downtown city lights and endless suburban streets. He pulls onto a
highway that stretches forever, and we’re surrounded by nothing but a twinkling
black sky and the vision of giant snowflakes dancing across the windshield.

“This reminds me of rural
Tennessee,” I say. “More snow here—a little flatter, but all the country
roads, driving for miles and miles, and the endless night sky.”

“It’s peaceful.” His hand
relaxes on the steering wheel as he studies the road. “Wide open and private.
Nothing like we have back home.”

“I used to think DC was
magical. All the history and charm. So much power and prestige in sixty-eight
little square miles.” I exhale a wistful sigh and rest my forehead against the cold
glass of my window. “My second semester at Georgetown, I had this professor.”

I tuck my head and look at Ronan
from the corner of my eye.

“I don’t know why I’m telling
you this.” I laugh. His silence tells me he’s tuned in. “Anyway, there was this
exercise we did in class sometimes. You find someone of the opposite gender and
try to get them to believe you’re in love with them. One day, we were
odd-numbered, so I had to partner up with him.” My fingers dance across my lips
as my body tingles. “He said the most beautiful things to me, Ronan. Things no
one had ever said before. He professed his love for me, and I believed it. I
believed it because I felt it. It was that real. The way he touched my hair,
the soft drum of his voice in my ear, the sincerity in his grey eyes.”

My eyes water just thinking
about how real that moment was for me.

“And when it was all over, he
stood up, smiled and snapped back into professor-mode,” I say with a soft
chuckle. “That’s the moment the magic died, Ronan. So many people spend their
lives searching for this larger-than-life love that makes you feel on top of
the world, but how great can it really be if you can evoke that feeling with a
few well-spoken lines? I knew then that everything could be faked, that fantasy
would always be better than reality.”

“Love is overrated,” he says.

I nod. “You summed up my entire
story with three little words.”

“Shall we head back?” he says,
pulling off onto an exit a half hour later.

My shoulders fall. I could
drive around for hours with him and talk about life.
Araminta’s
too busy to sit around and wax poetic, and it’s rare to find a man who actually
understands the art of listening.

“Sure,” I say, visions of drifting
off to sleep filling my head.

His hand finds my knee in the
dark car, inching up until his fingers graze my inner thigh.

“Oh,” I say with a grin. Of
course that’s what he meant. The flurry in my belly rivals the snowflakes
outside. As relaxing as this country drive is, going to bed with Ronan would be
the perfect nightcap.

***

Ronan lifts my arms above my
head, pinning my wrists against the door inside my hotel room. His lips graze
across mine as his free hand works the button of my jeans.

“I’ve been waiting all day for
this,” he breathes.

Me too.

This is will be the fourth romp
of ours in less than a week, and I’m quite certain he’d meet me every day if
his schedule permitted. And I’m not even sure what he does with his days, I
just know he’s busy. Always coming and going, meeting people and spearheading
campaigns. I think he’s the president of several different councils, but I
don’t pry. The only things he’ll tell me are things I could easily find on
Google anyway, and none of it matters. I’m not interested in how he spends his
days, only his nights.

Ronan releases my wrists and
hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, tugging them off along with
my lace thong. A moment later, his hands slick up the length of my body,
burrowing beneath my shirt until my breasts fill his palms.

We find ourselves in a blur of
tangled clothes, unbuttoned shirts, and bare skin. His fingers invade my core,
his touch transporting me somewhere else entirely. Fucking Ronan is meditative.

I don’t think, I just feel, and
I feel it all.

His steady strokes between my
thighs halt my breathing. My legs shake until I can no longer stand, so I fall
to my knees and take his cock in my hand. Bringing his swollen erection to my
mouth, I devour his length, pumping and stroking and licking until I taste a
preview of his sweet and salty arousal.

Ronan’s fingers sweep through
my hair, gathering it into his fist and pulling me into a standing position.
His hand on my lower back guides me into him, and our bodies press together
seamlessly.

His lips on mine are urgent,
and I breathe faint moans into his mouth when he teases my clit with his
hardness. Just once, I’d like to feel a man bare inside me. I imagine it would
be the ultimate sinful pleasure, but it’s a rule I’ve never dared to break.

He pulls away for a moment, and
returns with a condom. Ripping the packet with his teeth, he sheaths himself
and circles my waist with his needy grip. He spins me to face the wall, and I
brace myself.

A flood of wetness is the only
precursor to the slow and tantalizing insertion as my body accepts his. We’re bound
together, joined with a fusion of heat and lust, and every muscle in my body
liquefies as my cheek presses against the smooth wall before me.

Ronan’s hands on my hips pull
me against his cock, thrust for thrust, and his hot kisses run the length of my
spine. I’m covered in
goosebumps
, my body quivering.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,
Camille.” He groans as his fingers snake to my front and glide between my
thighs. The tips of his fingers circle my clit, pressing harder as he thrusts.
His other hand takes my right breast, pulling the budded nipple taut until it snaps
back. “Do you have any idea how much it turns me on when I see the way your
body responds to mine?”

Arching my lower back so he can
fill me to the hilt, my body tenses and relaxes as pain and pleasure wash over
me in waves. His breath against my ear, the hint of a grunt, and the slapping
of skin is an erotic symphony meant only for us.

“I could do this all night.”
His teeth drag across my earlobe, followed by the swirl of his tongue.

Without warning, Ronan pulls
out. Grabbing my arm, he flips me around to face him, and my heart sputters
when I see the chiseled lines of his perfect face. Each time feels like the
first. It’s a view of which I could never see myself growing tired. He takes my
ass in his hands before hoisting me up around his waist and pinning me on the
wall. Positioning his cock, he slides into me again.

I bury my smile in the warm
crook of his neck, kissing the bulging muscles that roll as Ronan Montgomery
fucks the hell out of me.

I’m getting close with each plunge.
With my back straight against the wall, I stare into his beautiful blues and
slip my fingers into his thick, dark hair. I want to taste his lips and look
into his eyes, but I can’t do both.

Ronan’s fingers dig into the
flesh of my thighs until it hurts, and I know our bodies are syncing.

With palms along his strong
jaw, I press my mouth onto his and let go, riding the wave, feeling everything
as he empties into me. I feel his mouth pull into a slight smile a moment
before he relaxes his hold on me, and my thighs slide down his.

Just when my knees threaten to
give out, he pulls me into his arms, leading me to the bed where we collapse
into a contented heap.

Love. Love is for suckers and
losers.

This is the real thing. This is
what makes the world go round.