DARK PARADISE - A Political Romantic Suspense (13 page)

Camille

I find my answer in his
hesitation, but now I need to confirm it. I move away from the door, my gaze
scanning the room in search of the outline of a lamp. I never agreed to the
darkness, I only did as I was told because he was paying me. Now that this is
over, all bets are off.

My palm slides up the metal rod
of a small desk lamp, searching for the switch at the top.

“What are you doing?” His
question comes half a second too late.

One little click, and “John”
officially has an identity . . .

And it’s undeniable.

Ronan Montgomery stands before
me, an empty crystal tumbler in his left hand and a concerned expression on his
handsome, chiseled face. He’s every bit as beautiful as he looks in the media,
and I’m every bit as paralyzed as I was earlier under the trance of his asshole
younger brother.

“Well.” My throat constricts as
he holds my gaze captive, and I back myself toward a nearby sofa, collapsing on
the rolled arm. The room spins, and my muscles grow weak. This is must be what
it feels like when shit gets real.

“Now do you see why I tried to
protect you? You’ll be forever linked to me the rest of your life, whether you
like it or not. And anyone looking to damage the Montgomery name is going to
use you to do so. Congratulations, Camille. You’ve officially made yourself a
pawn.”

My arms fold across my chest,
but I can’t stop staring at this gorgeous creature across from me.

“I wish you’d have been up front
with me from the start,” I say. “It would’ve been nice to know what I was
getting myself into.”

“Why do you think I hid my
face? My precaution may have been extreme, Camille, but it was necessary,” he
says. “Besides, you’d have said no had I been up front from the beginning.”

“You don’t know that.”

“So you’d have said yes?” His
perfect, dark brows lift as he awaits my response, and my gaze falls to his
impeccably talented mouth.

“I’m not sure.” I glance away
for a second, crossing my legs. “Probably not.”

“My point exactly.”

When I look at him again, I
realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off me yet, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m
meeting him for the first time all over again. In a way I am.

My mind wanders to all the
naughty things this Adonis has done to me in recent weeks.

“Why would someone like you pay
over eighty grand a week for sex?” I ask.

“
Someone like me
?” He huffs, raking his hand along his rugged
jawline. “I believe you just answered your own question.”

“You could have anyone.”

“Maybe I don’t want just
anyone
.” He clears his throat. “It’s hard
enough to find no-strings-attached sex, let alone with a woman who won’t go
running her mouth to the media the second they name her price.”

“So you limit yourself to
anonymous sex because you’re paranoid someone, someday is going to sell you
out?”

“My entire adult life has been
nothing but strategic side-stepping, avoiding black marks on my record, walking
a straight line, and ensuring that five or ten years from now, when I run for
office, there won’t be a single speck of dirt contaminating my past.” He hasn’t
moved from his spot. “You understand how being linked to an escort would have
implications for me, don’t you? For yourself as well.”

“Of course.”

He slides a hand in his pocket
and ambles toward me. “I don’t care that you’re an escort, Camille. I don’t
think you’re any less a woman because you’ve honed the art of pleasing a man.
Quite the contrary.”

Ronan takes a spot on the sofa,
hunching over with his elbows on his knees. He places the empty tumbler on a
coffee table and pulls in a long breath.

“In a perfect world I could
walk down the street next to you. I could take you out, really get to know you,”
he says. “Unfortunately, it’s a luxury I’m not afforded as a Montgomery.”

“I get it. You’re royalty and
I’m a lowly prostitute.” I turn away. “The last thing I’d want to do is tarnish
your
golden
image.”

The warmth of his hand on my
wrist pulls my attention back to him. His dark blue gaze has softened. There’s
strength and calmness in him, and I’m surprised he wasn’t more upset with me
for turning on the light.

“When I first saw you,” he
says, pulling me to the cushion beside him. His free hand lifts to his chest.
“I couldn’t breathe, Camille.”

Our eyes lock as he takes my
hands between his.

“Everything about you was
perfection. You were radiant,” he continues. “Lit from within. I’d never seen
someone so effervescent, and yet you were alluring at the same time. And those
eyes. I never knew eyes could smile like that.”

He brings a hand to my cheek, drawing
the side of his finger across my cheekbone.

“Do you remember the masquerade
ball?” he asks. “Last New Year’s?”

My heart catches in my chest,
and my body freezes.

“You were passing the coat
check,” he says. “And our eyes met. You weren’t wearing your mask.”

The corner of my mouth rises.
“Silver gladiator mask. All black tux. That was you?”

We were barely at the party a
half hour when Trey declared he couldn’t wait another minute to rip me out of
my evening gown. In retrospect, he probably wanted to show me off to a few of
his cronies and then get me the hell out of there before someone who knew his
wife spotted us together.

“I thought I imagined that
moment.” Everything about that night floods my memory. I used to relive that
moment time and again until things grew more serious with Trey, and then I
convinced myself that it was all just wishful thinking–that I had imagined
it into something it wasn’t. That it wasn’t possible to gaze into a stranger’s
eyes and feel something almost otherworldly. I laugh for the first time this
evening. “Ronan, that was really
you
?”

He nods. “I spent the rest of
that evening searching for you.”

“We left.” My nose crinkles. “I
didn’t want to.”

“I couldn’t get you out of my
head,” he says. “I went looking for you, asking around. Nobody knew of anyone
who fit your description, or if they did, they weren’t owning up to it.”

“Smart men.”

“I saw you a couple of weeks
after that night. You were leaving a hotel.”

My eyes roll. I practically
lived out of hotels during my Trey Bancroft phase. The man was insatiable.

“You weren’t happy, Camille,”
he says. “And I knew then that you deserved more than Trey fucking Bancroft.”

“I was mostly happy with him.”
I sigh. “At least while I was blissfully unaware of the fact that he was a
lying, cheating bastard.”

“I sent the letter.”

His stark admission sucks the
air from my lungs.

“The photo of his family,” he
says. “Actually, Oliver sent it if you want to get technical. I’m not proud of
what I did or the way I did it, but you had to know the truth, because he sure
as hell wasn’t telling you.”

I stare ahead, lifting my
fingers to my temples. “Wow. I . . .”

“We did some asking around to
get your name. It took months, Camille. You should know that your name is kept
under lock and key around here.”

I shrug. “They’re protecting nothing
but their own reputations.”

“Anyway, it wasn’t until my
assistant overheard Bancroft talking to another senator over lunch at the White
House Mess.” He clears his throat, adjusting his tie. “Apparently, he was
preparing to pass you along by the end of the year.”

My gaze narrows. “That makes no
sense. The things he was saying to me . . . he was talking about babies and our
future. Not that I wanted that with him, but the man was obsessed.”

“It’s hard telling without
having heard the whole conversation,” he says. “But everything in this city is
negotiable, and everything can be handled like a business transaction. Votes. Allegiances.
Women.”

“That bastard was going to
trade me off.” My voice breaks. Now my meeting with him makes sense. For the
first time, Trey Bancroft told the truth: he never truly loved me.

I sit in silence, sinking from
the weight of this information and what it means. Glancing at Ronan, I
unintentionally catch his stare when he turns my way. This is the most he’s
ever spoken to me, and all things considered, he’s actually not a horrible
person.

“I should be more upset with
you than I am right now.” I worry my lip and study the subtle hollow beneath
his chiseled cheekbone. “And I have a million more questions to ask you.” I
yawn. “But it’s late, and I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to
think
anymore.”

He nods toward the bedroom of
this palatial suite that I haven’t yet had a minute to fully appreciate.

“Stay here tonight,” he says.
“The room’s already paid for.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

I’m too fatigued to turn down
his gesture. “Thank you.”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” he
says as I shuffle to the bedroom suite and begin to pull the sliding doors
closed.

I yawn once more, sliding the
zipper of my dress until it reaches my lower back. Perhaps a small part of me wants
to torture him and subtly remind him that he doesn’t get any of
this
anymore.

This lifestyle doesn’t serve me
anymore. Starting tomorrow, I’m no longer for sale.

He takes the bait, his eyes
glued to my every move, and I let my dress fall down my shoulders seconds
before I close the doors.

I dive between the cool, lux
linens of a heavenly king-sized bed and smile into the pillow as the image of Ronan’s
longing gaze plays in my mind. Everything I thought I knew was flipped upside
down
tonight except for one little fact . . .

Men.

So fucking simple.

Starting right here, right now,
I’m officially retired.

Ronan

“You’re up.” I rise from the
dining table by the balcony as Camille exits the bedroom. Her dark hair is wild
and disheveled, and smudges of makeup line the corners of her dark eyes. A
thick robe covers her body, and I’m positive she’s wearing next to nothing
beneath it.

“What’s this?” She glances at
the breakfast spread I had delivered by room service this morning.

“I thought we could continue
last night’s conversation over breakfast.” I fold my newspaper and place it
aside. Call me old-fashioned, but nothing compares to the feel of newsprint
between my fingers. “Wasn’t sure what you ate in the morning, so I ordered a
little of everything.”

Camille takes a seat, surveying
the lavish spread. I wouldn’t have done this for anyone but her.

“What time is it?” She unwraps
a sachet of Earl Grey tea and pours hot water from a carafe.

“Almost ten. I thought I’d let
you sleep in after the late night we had.”

“Thank you.” Her dark eyes
drift across the table to mine, and she wears the controlled expression of a
woman trying her hardest not to like what she sees.

“Last night was intense.” I
clear my throat.

She takes a sip of her tea.
“Mm, hm.”

“Now that we’ve officially
met,” I say, “how would you feel about continuing this arrangement? We still
have ten weeks.”

Her arched brows lift and she
turns to stare out the balcony window. “I can’t, Ronan. I can’t do this anymore.”

The most beautiful girl in the
world wears sadness in her deep gaze, her eyes narrowing as she focuses on
something in the distance.

“Yeah.” Her mouth pulls into a
wistful smile. “I’m done with all of this.”

“You’re just saying that.”

She faces me, shaking her head.
“I don’t want to feel this way ever again.”

“Which way?”

“Disposable.” Camille’s full
lips smile as tears fill the brims of her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m getting
emotional right now. God, this is embarrassing.”

I lift my napkin across the
table and place it in her hand.

“I’m a smart woman, Ronan. I’m
educated and ambitious and driven,” she says. “All I ever wanted was to be
unforgettable, and I realized last night that I’d been going about it all wrong
this entire time.”

She laughs, dabbing the corners
of her eyes until black streaks mark the crumpled linen in her hand.

“There’s nothing unforgettable
about a woman who accepts a fucking payment plan.” Her fingers rake through her
hair, combing it into a low ponytail and tugging it over her shoulder. “And I
don’t even know why I’m telling you this, but I suppose you have a right to
know. Your perfect little bought-and-paid-for fantasy girl is nothing but smoke
and mirrors.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is me.” She points toward
her teary expression. “The girl with messy hair and a dirty face, the girl
crying and losing her shit in front of the firstborn son of the President of
the United States . . .
this
is the
real Camille.”

“I think you’re having a
moment.” I remain calm. Lydia used to have meltdowns that would make Camille’s
little rant pale in comparison. “And I think you’re saying things because it
feels good to say them. And you should keep saying them. Get it all out of your
system. Because when you’re done, we can continue our discussion on how we’re
going to move forward from here.”

I take a sip of coffee with a
steady hand.

She laughs. “You still want me,
Ronan? This? I’m the antithesis of sexy. No man would ever want this.”

Even with wild eyes and a
throaty voice, I still find her completely fascinating and irresistibly
fuckable.

“I think you’re afraid I’ll discard
you, like the men before me, and I think you’re afraid it’s going to hurt, so
you’re pushing me away before I have the chance,” I say.

Her jaw fastens as she sits
tall, silently digesting my words.

“But let me assure you that
you
, Camille Buchanan, could never be
unforgettable. Not in my world.” I place my coffee cup on a white saucer and
lean into her. “And let’s not forget that this is nothing more than a business
arrangement. Separate your ego from this, and I’ll do the same. You’ll walk
away from this with heavy pockets, and I’ll walk away from this a very
satisfied man.”

“Who do you want, then?” Her
meek words trail softly across the table. “Do you still want me to be the woman
you saw that night at the ball?”

“You act like there are two of
you.” I laugh. “You’re one and the same, and to be honest, I find this
wild-eyed version of you to be surprisingly endearing.”

It’s not every day that I get
the privilege of seeing someone’s true colors.

“God, I’m so embarrassed.” She
buries her face in her hands.

“Don’t be.”

Her hands slide down her face
and land in a puddle in her lap. “I can’t believe you still want to continue
after all of this.”

“The only thing that’s changed
about our little arrangement is that you know who I am now. I don’t want the
last two weeks to be for nothing, and if you leave . . . if you walk away now,
then what was the point? We can salvage this—maybe even make it into
something better than it was ever supposed to be.”

Her shoulders lift and fall,
and our stares lock until she stands and cinches the belt around her robe.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’m going to take a shower,
and then I’m going to think about this.” Camille holds her head high, pressing
her shoulders back. Amazing what a good cry and vent can do for a woman in her
darkest hour.

“I’ll be here.” I lean back in
my chair, crossing my legs wide and reaching for my coffee. “Waiting.”