“Would you like another, miss?” he asks, thick brows lifted as he points to my empty glass.
“Please.” I slide it his way. He swipes it from the counter and shuffles down a few spots.
Rapping my fingertips against the counter, I wait for my refill, finish half, and contemplate my Plan B because I don’t have all night. If Keir didn’t just infiltrate my space for the sake of hitting on me, I’ll have to take a different approach. Gathering my black satin clutch, I unsnap the top and pretend to check my phone. When I’m sure he’s watching, I slide my bag under my left arm and gracefully slide off the stool.
Striding across the dark-as-midnight Goldsmith bar, I dip into the ladies’ room to buy some time. Touching up my lipstick and powdering my nose and dabbing perfume onto the backs of my wrists and behind my ears, I check the time on my phone and wait an extra minute before reemerging.
Keir has a reputation. He’s a womanizer with a healthy appetite for casual liaisons. I’ve done my research. I know where he frequents; Goldsmith being his signature hang out followed by Greenbrier. I know his modus operandi. I know what turns him on, and I know what makes him run for the hills.
It’s now or never.
Either this is going to happen. Or it isn’t.
And I really, really want this to happen. I need this to happen for reasons no one could possibly begin to understand. I need his hands in my hair. His lips pressed hard against mine. My body pinned beneath his. I need him driving himself into me again and again, so hard I forget my name. Forget where I am. Forget why it hurts . . .
Giving myself a final once-over in the mirror, I tuck a blonde wave over my right shoulder and pull the door wide.
Almost instantly, my lips draw up in the corners and our eyes meet. “I was wondering when you were going to make your move.”
“You’re a distraction,” he says, his eyes wild and trained on me.
I smirk. “I beg your pardon?”
“I came here for a drink. Was supposed to meet someone,” he says. “And then I saw you.”
I try to contain the frivolous satisfaction building deep in my chest before it radiates from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.
“Bold,” I say, pushing past him. If this is going to work, he needs to chase me. Men don’t like to be pursued, especially men like Keir.
“Maybe I didn’t want you to get away.” He reaches for me, clamping his hand around my wrist and steering me to a dark corner as a group of women in tight dresses push past us with wide, staring eyes. He doesn’t so much as blink in their direction. “Not before I had my chance.”
“Your chance?” I try not to snicker, though I love the direction we’re headed. “What makes you think you have a chance?”
His gaze holds mine. I allow his aftershave to drown my senses as my hands ache to touch the body of a man they’ve never known.
“I’m Keir,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “I’m Rowan.”
“I know.”
It takes everything I have to keep my jaw from coming unhinged.
“You’re that Aldridge girl,” he says. His stare is magnetic, unapologetic. “Your parents worked on my father’s last campaign. You were away in college. They showed me pictures. A guy doesn’t forget a face like that.”
That had to have been four years ago.
“You want to get out of here?” he asks.
The background blurs, and I exhale. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s dreamier in person than I anticipated, and he makes me feel like the only girl in the room.
“It’s loud, and I want to talk to you,” he adds. “And everyone’s staring at us. Do you want everyone to stare at us?”
I shake my head.
“Then come with me.” He slips his hand into mine and nods at one of his agents. In an instant, we’re slipping out the back door and climbing into a black SUV. His hand rests on my knee as we ride. Everything’s happening so fast.
The city lights are a blur outside the passenger windows, and within minutes, the SUV stops in front of a brick building called The Hightower. One of the agents leaves the front seat and gets the door. Keir climbs out first, then he takes my hand. None of this feels real, and I remind myself this is what I came for.
He pulls me close against him, the heat from our bodies mixing. His lips lift in one corner, a dimple flashing, and he leans in. My heart flutters. He says nothing, only exhales. His breath is warm against my cheek, and the second we step onto the elevator his thumb caresses the inside of my wrist with slow, deliberate strokes. Keir hasn’t taken his hands, or his eyes, off me since we left the bar.
The elevator doors part, and his agents lead us to an apartment at the end of a hall. Keir swipes his key card and the lock beeps. The men wait outside, and we disappear into a dark apartment with a twinkling view of Washington, DC. It’s almost romantic. But I didn’t seek Keir Montgomery because I wanted hearts and flowers and moonlit city skyscapes.
I have an agenda, and I’m sticking to it. I won’t let a little dreamy ambience throw me off my game.
“Drink?” he asks, moving toward a cart against the wall. This man wastes zero time.
“Please.” I place my clutch on a kitchen island and make my way toward the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. I’ve never seen the city from these heights before. Everything seems smaller, less significant. Down below, hundreds of thousands of people are doing hundreds of thousands of things, but up here, it’s just the two of us and we’re a world away from it all.
Keir gently brushes my shoulder, my drink in his hand, and I take it from him.
“Thank you.” I take a sip, tasting rum and sugared lime, and my eyes rest in his.
“I always got the impression you were a good girl,” he says. “I mean, with your parents being who they are and all . . .”
“Can we not talk about them tonight?” I pull another sip and let it linger on my tongue, anticipating the burn, and it feels like a metaphor for this moment.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything but them.” If my father and mother knew I was running around downtown DC in little black dress and screw-me heels, tossing back mixed drinks like I’d done it a hundred times before, they’d have a coronary and a conniption fit, respectively. World renowned parenting experts, their enviable success has been propelled by their highly conservative political affiliations. Together they’ve built a multi-million-dollar empire, complete with workshops, handbooks, textbooks, talk shows, and an endorsement from Oprah Winfrey herself. Their picture perfect family is their brand, and as the oldest Aldridge daughter, I’m the official brand ambassador.
During the week, I’m a button-up, philanthropic good girl, and once upon a time I was a buttoned-up, philanthropic good girl. Now she’s just a role I play, an outfit I wear, and a skin I step into and remove the second no one’s looking.
“All right,” he says, studying me. “What were you doing at Goldsmith by yourself?”