DARK PARADISE - A Political Romantic Suspense

by Renshaw, Winter

  Unless John was drunk, and then . . .

  I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never seen him in that condition.

  “Do you want privacy? Is that what you want?” he asks.

  “The way you kiss me,” I say. “It’s very distinct.”

  His eyes flash. “You like it.”

  His response is more of a statement than a question.

  I nod, biting my bottom lip like I’m some kind of coy schoolgirl. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I’m throwing tactics and techniques out the window at every turn. When he looks at me with that intense blue stare, I can’t think straight.

  “Do you want to go somewhere private?” he says into my ear.

  My chest tingles. I’m finding it difficult to speak at the moment. My mind runs a million miles per hour, and any attempt to listen to my gut instinct is quashed by the loudness of my thoughts and the haywire nerves sprawling along every inch of my body.

  Keir rises, reaching to take my hand. I place it in his, and he pulls me up and into him, slipping his hand around the small of my back. He leans into me again, and I inhale his sexy scent for the millionth time tonight. I could bathe in it.

  “I want to take you home with me.” His words send a pulse between my thighs.

  I don’t know what to say. I mean, I know what I want to say . . .

  That’s obvious.

  But all I can hear are Araminta’s words echoing my mind, and I know damn well the fantasy of being with a Montgomery brother is likely a million times better than the reality. Less dangerous, too.

  Keir guides my face to his, and I linger in his wonderfully wicked gaze before making my decision.

  “Look at me, Camille. You can trust me.”

  “What . . . did you say?”

  “You can trust me, Camille.” He smiles, dimples anchoring his cheeks.

  I want to hear his voice without all of this external noise. I know John’s voice, and I know the way it feels rumbling through his chest and filtering through a silent room. It’s crisp and clear, low and virile.

  “Come,” he takes my hand, nodding toward an agent who follows us down a long hall.

  Warm jealousy displaces my excitement when I ponder the idea that Keir is, in fact, John, and that he possibly spends his free evenings in bars, picking up women who fawn all over him because he’s one of the most irresistible bachelors on the face of the planet.

  I know so little about John that such a scenario wouldn’t be entirely implausible.

  Keir yanks me around a corner while his agents block the hallway. No one’s getting in. No one’s getting out.

  It’s not as quiet as I’d hoped and there’s a ringing in my ears, but at least we’re away from prying eyes. In all my years, I’ve never been keen on exhibitionism.

  His mouth covers my collarbone, his teeth grazing my flesh. My head dips back and waits for his lips to travel a natural path. From my collar to the center of my neck, his kisses grow harder, greedier. Keir’s free hand caresses my left breast, massaging until it hurts just enough to feel good.

  The room spins a moment later, and I’m not sure if I’m drunk or drunk off of sheer infatuation and physical delight. All signs point to everything.

  “Come home with me.” His lips leave me as our eyes meet once again.

  “I shouldn’t.” My mind overrides my body for a moment. I’ve had a few drinks. I don’t want to do something I might regret.

  In all my years in this city, I’ve never gone home with a man just because I wanted to. Cheap and easy has never been my modus operandi. Giving away the goods for free is the worst thing a woman can do with a man who looks this good and kisses like this. He’s probably never had to work for a single lay in his life.

  “Aren’t you curious, Camille?” His dimpled smile makes me forget and miss John all at once, and then I scold myself for missing someone I don’t even know. “You can trust me.”

  Those words . . .

  “Why do you keep saying that?” My brain attempts to piece together his words as if they’re riddles.

  “Because there are very few people a beautiful woman like you should trust in a city like this,” he says. “And I’m one of them. Trust that I know how to make you feel incredible, Camille. Know that out of all the women here tonight, you’re the only one I would remotely consider bringing home with me.”

  I stare into his dark blue eyes and run my fingers against the hollow above his jaw.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I test the waters.

  “There are plenty of things I’m not telling you,” he says. “Just as there are plenty of things you’re not telling me. Isn’t it better that way? More mystery. More excitement.”

  “It depends.”

  “On . . . ?”

  “What drew you to me tonight?”

  He sighs, scratching the spot above his temple. He’s growing frustrated with my questions, or perhaps the fact that I’m not as easy as I look.

  “I told you, you’re the most exquisite woman here tonight, and there’s something familiar about you.” Keir takes a strand of my hair and twists it around his finger before letting it fall. “Tell me, Camille. Am I familiar to you? Haven’t you ever looked at someone and just known?”

  There’s a flurry in my chest and the air around me grows thinner.

  “This is a game to you, isn’t it?” I ask. “You speak in codes.”

  “Everything’s a game.” His answer comes quickly, and he smirks, leaning in to taste my lips. “Leave with me, Camille. You want to. I can see it in those curious, dark eyes of yours.”

  My thighs squeeze as his words penetrate my apprehensive little fortress. If Keir is John or if he isn’t, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Or it’s all the same.

  Funny how Keir showed up in my life the second it became clear that “John” was finished with me.

  “Okay.” The word feels uncertain in my mouth, and the pounding from the music has caused some kind of temporary, mild deafness. Everything sounds tinny and hollow and far away, even my own voice.

  He slips his hand around mine and leads me out a back door to a waiting limousine. A driver stands next to the passenger door, and I climb in first. I hear Keir tell the driver to take us to the Hightower apartment, and my heartrate skyrockets.

  He enters the running car, his eyes intense and determined, and takes the seat next to me. Pulling me into his lap, he grips my face and guides my mouth to his. The car pulls away a moment later, city lights streaking past the windows in a multi-colored blur.

  “You’re taking me to the Hightower?” I ask between kisses, my fingers digging into his scalp.

  “Yes.” His hands cradle my ass, pulling me close enough that I feel the growing bulge in his pants.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” My words are buoyant and breathless. I’m disgusted with myself for craving validation that I’m still worthy of being wanted by a faceless man. “You’re him.”

  Keir’s lips are against my neck, his hands tugging up the hem of my dress. He slips a finger under the crotch of my lace panties and glides it between my folds.

  “Tell me you’re him,” I whisper into his ear.

  “Do you want me to be?” His voice is low, monotonous. Void of infliction. I’ve heard this voice before. I know it.

  My eyes squeeze as my hands trail along his strong jaw and perfect nose, and my hips grind against his prodding fingers.

  “I need to hear you say it.” I breathe in his scent as it fuses with mine.

  And then I ask myself why it matters. I’m not John’s anymore, and I certainly don’t have feelings for a man whose face I’ve never seen. A flood of questions rushes through me all at once, demanding my attention when I’d much rather be focusing on the way Keir’s hands own my body and his mouth takes whatever it wants without asking.

  Thoughts of John refuse to be dismissed.

  My bruised ego chooses this moment to remind me that I’m inferior. Mediocre. Worthy only of
rejection. I find Keir’s lips once more, as if his tongue against mine could possibly reinflate my self-esteem.

  “What do you want me to say, Camille?” His hands snake up my sides as his words breathe hot on my skin. The car pulls to a stop, and I glance out the window to see the well-lit Hightower sign. “I think you know exactly who I am.”

  His voice reverberates from his chest to mine, a low hum laced with wicked desire. The driver opens the passenger door and offers his hand. Two agents step out of a black SUV that must have been following us the whole way here.

  Keir’s words play on a loop in my mind. “I think you know exactly who I am.”

  He could be saying what I think he’s saying . . .

  Or he could be stating the obvious; that he’s Keir Montgomery.

  He leads me by the hand through the front door, the security guard nodding us through, and by the time we find the elevator, he jerks me in, slams the close button, and brushes me up against the far wall.

  With Keir’s hands in my hair, I can’t think straight, nor do I want to. Lust dizzies and consumes me, clouding out my busy thoughts, if only temporarily.

  “I have a confession to make.” His whisper against my ear saturates my senses and renders me immobile. Keir’s hand travels between my thighs, brushing against my sensitive core from outside my lace panties.

  “What is it, Keir? What’s your confession?”

  His teeth nip my earlobe, and the elevator door dings and parts. “I hoped I would run into you tonight.”

  My swollen lips tingle as he drags me by the wrist to the familiar door of the Hightower corporate apartment.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my words breathless.

  He scans his fob against the lock, pushing the door open. The place is fully illuminated.

  “I may know more about you than I’ve let on,” he says, kicking the door closed behind us. Keir’s fingers work to drag the zipper down my back, but I step away. His perfect mouth pulls into a haughty smirk. Keir makes arrogant look as sexy as it’s ever going to look. “I know who you are, Camille. I’ve heard of you many times, and let’s just say you have a reputation for being . . . the best.”

  His words sink into me. He isn’t John. Then again, my intuition tried to tell me that all night, I just didn’t want to listen.

  “How do you have access to this apartment?” I swallow the hard lump in my throat.

  Keir laughs and flicks the light switch until the place is dark and the city night twinkles from the picture window behind him.

  “What kind of question is that?” His gaze lands on my shaking hands, and he takes them in his. “And why are you trembling, Camille?”

  All these random puzzle pieces belong to the same puzzle, but none of them fit together. The way John came into my life and disappeared without explanation. The missing journal. Bancroft writing me off. And now Keir Montgomery picking me up in a bar and taking me back to the very same place where John claimed I’d be safe.

  Nothing about this is random coincidence.

  And the key fob.

  If John were truly done with me, he’d have asked for it back.

  “I should go.” I pull away from him and hurry toward the door.

  His handsome face sours as he follows. “Camille . . . ”

  I’m done. I’m done with John. I’m done with this job and this city.

  “I can’t sleep with you, Keir.” I grip the doorknob and feel him behind me. The heat of his breath down my spine is a wordless protest.

  His hands rest on the curve of my hips before gripping the zipper. He pulls the metal slider up the chain before gathering my hair in his hands. He guides my ear to his mouth, and I shudder when the warmth of his lips meets the side of my neck.

  “How much do I have to pay you?” he growls. “You’re a hooker, and I want to fuck you. What’s the going rate these days?”

  Never before has the truth hurt with such blinding intensity. My eyes burn with the threat of tears, and I’m grateful he can’t see my face in its weakened state.

  “You can’t afford me.” My jaw clenches.

  “Everybody has a price.”

  “I’m not for sale,” I say. “Not anymore.”

  His hand slides down my hip, snaking around to my front where he pulls at the hem of my dress.

  “God, you’re so fucking wet right now.” His fingertips press against the outside of my panties. “It’d be a shame to let that go to waste, especially when you were just seconds from giving it away for free.”

  “Please let me go.” I steady my words so he can’t hear the quaver in my voice. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  His free hand snakes up my other side, caressing the underside of my breast and pulling me back against him. What a foolish woman I am, believing for one moment that Keir Montgomery picked me out of a bar because I was especially worthy of a night with him.

  “We’re cut from the same cloth, you and me,” he says. “We know how to make someone feel like they’re the only person in the room. We know all the right moves, all the right things to say. People are naturally drawn to us. Not everyone can be as charismatic and alluring as we are, Camille. We see things in others that no one else does. It’s our fucking superpower.”

  His breath drags down my bare back, followed by a biting kiss.

  “Sex with me would be explosive, and you know it,” he says. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to spend a night with your equal? To fuck someone truly worthy of this exquisite little pussy you’re packing?”

  I already have.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I huff.

  “I speak the truth.”

  “For the first time tonight.”

  “When I pulled you aside earlier,” he says, spreading my thighs apart before dragging a cupped palm across my ass. “What did you think I wanted with you? What’d you think would happen when you left with me?”

  I pull in a deep breath, clenching my thighs back together. “You reminded me of someone I know. I thought maybe you were . . .”

  My ridiculous thought fails to finish itself.

  He laughs. “Who else would I be? I gave you my name. I never once said I was anyone else, did I?”

  Nope.

  I hate that he has a point.

  His fist tightens around my hair, giving it a good tug before letting me go.

  “Anyway, I’m bored with . . . this.” Keir backs away, and I release a harbored breath. “You can go now, whore.”

  I don’t recall leaving the apartment, riding the elevator down, or bursting out the front door, but before I know it, my heels are clicking down the pavement at near-jogging speed, and a man runs after me.

  A stoplight at the corner holds me up as I scan the area for a Metro sign. I should have enough left on my Metro card to get home from here.

  Heavy footsteps tromp in the distance, growing nearer with each second.

  “Ma’am, stop,” a man’s voice says, slightly breathless. I turn to see one of Keir’s agents coming toward me, his hand in his pocket. “This is for you.”

  He pulls out my phone and then glances around before presenting a plain white envelope stuffed with cash. He offers no explanation. He doesn’t need to. I know what this money buys, and that would be my silence.

  “I don’t want it.” I wave it off as the crosswalk signal turns white and a thirty-second countdown begins.

  The agent’s mouth takes the shape of a frown. He won’t be satisfied unless I take the bribe.

  “Fine.” I yank Keir’s dirty money from the man’s hand, shove it in my bag, and trot across the street. If I didn’t take it, I’m sure he’d pull as many strings as it took to ensure my silence was scared into me.

  As soon as I spot a Metro sign, I pull out my phone to text Araminta. She’s probably wondering where the hell I ran off to, despite the fact that she regularly pulls this stunt with me.

  I linger outside the Metro station and try my best to peck out a qui
ck text with shaky fingers, but before I get a chance to press the send button, a blocked call comes through.

  “Camille.” John’s voice comes through on the other end when I answer. “Where are you right now?”

  TWENTY

  “John”

  “I thought you were done with me.” Camille’s words snap like a broken elastic. She’s angry with me but I know better. The root of all anger is hurt. “You disappeared without any kind of explanation. I had no way of contacting you. What was I supposed to think?”

  Her voice quavers until it fades away. The sound of a traffic symphony plays in the distance.

  “Where are you?” I ask, kicking off my shoes as I crawl into my bed. Although I have no intention of making Keir’s lifestyle a habit anytime soon, it did feel good to have a couple of drinks. I haven’t felt this relaxed in ages, and perhaps it’s the reason I was able to break down and call her tonight. “We need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss.” She exhales into the receiver. “I’m thinking it’s best we go our separate ways from here.”

  I huff. “Is this because you hadn’t heard from me in a few days? Or because you’re fucking Bancroft again?”

  “Excuse me?” Her words are slow, drawn out. “I would never sleep with him again, and I resent your accusation.”

  “Then why did you meet with him last week?”

  “You’re having me followed now?” Her incredulous laugh fills my ear. “Nice, John. Nice.”

  “So you admit you’re still involved with him.”

  “Not. At. All.” A horn honks in the background. “I met with him to ask him to leave me alone, to stop following me.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “It’s none of your business, John. Bancroft is my business, and I handled it. And I do not appreciate being tailed. I’m one of the most private and trustworthy people this city will ever know, and if you’re too paranoid to believe that, then we have no business associating.”

  “My apologies.”

  I’m met with silence, deservedly so.

  “Let me make it up to you,” I say. “I’m not ready for this to be over yet. Are you?”