The shoreline curved and Piper’s hotel came into view. As he approached, he wished he’d asked for her number instead of giving her his. But he’d rolled the dice and she needed to be the one to make the call. Stop second-guessing yourself, Barrow.
He came to a halt and peered up at the ten-story art deco hotel. The top two floors were penthouse suites with wraparound balconies. She was probably in one of them. Lifting his shoulder, he used his sleeve to wipe at the sweat dripping down his temple. What had he thought? That she’d be waiting out there like Juliet for his Romeo? She probably wasn’t even awake.
Disgusted with himself, he left and headed back the way he’d come. Tonight he’d be Clay’s wingman at that honky-tonk joint. Piper wasn’t the only woman in Miami.
Even if he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head.
Clear your thoughts.
After another mile he finally slipped into the zone, his body on autopilot. Sounds faded except for the rhythmic thud of his feet hitting the packed sand. He concentrated on the air inhaled through his nose and exhaled from his mouth. By the time he returned to his hotel, he’d restored equilibrium.
As he jogged up to the rear entrance, he spied a guy lurking off to the side. Pulling out his hotel key card, Neil kept one eye on the suspicious figure as he took the steps up from the beach.
“Lieutenant Barrow!” The guy jumped forward and stuck a minirecorder in his face. Neil barely stopped the heel of his palm from connecting with the moron’s nose. “How long have you and Piper been lovers?”
“What?” Neil stared at the guy in disbelief.
“Were you the reason Piper broke Brad Benton’s heart?”
“You people must be hard up for a story.” Swiping his key card, he yanked the door open and entered the hotel.
He was stepping out of the shower when three hard knocks rapped on his door. He dried off, wound a towel around his waist and then checked the peephole before opening the door for his friend.
“Seen the morning headlines?” Clay strode in, tossing several tabloids onto the desk.
Neil glanced at the first one. A grainy and unflattering photo of him with Piper as they were getting out of the cab took up the entire top fold of the front page. The caption was ridiculous.
The Hero and the Bad Girl!
He slid the top tabloid aside. The second one was worse. It featured a similar photo, only in this one he had his arm around her as they headed into the hotel.
Troubled Supermodel Shows Off New Lover!
Neil shook his head and continued to read. “Piper’s new man is a navy SEAL and son of conservative Senator Barrow from Virginia.” Oh, wouldn’t his father love that.
A Model of Good Behavior? “Has Piper reformed or is the SEAL taking a walk on the wild side?”
“I think this one’s my favorite.” With a wink, Clay grabbed up the last one. Neil snatched it from him.
Pipsea! Piper Caught in Steamy Affair With Navy SEAL.
What the— Pipsea? Their names had been shipped? No, wait. It wasn’t even his name, but his profession.
Clay sauntered over to the minifridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “So I get to call you Pipsea now?”
“You do and it’ll be the last thing you remember.”
“You know your old man’s gonna have a fit when he sees this, right?”
As if on cue, Neil’s cell rang. He checked the ID and then sighed, thumb hovering while he glared at Clay. “What’d you do, conjure him up with some weird voodoo spell?”
Clay looked offended. “Hey, just because my grandmamma was Cajun—”
Neil grinned and clicked Accept. “Barrow.”
“Hold for Senator Barrow, please,” a woman’s voice said, then silence. He almost hung up. But he’d only be put on hold the next time. He clicked Speaker and tossed the phone on the bed while he went into the bathroom to dress, still on hold.
When he emerged, Clay was lounging on the club chair, flipping through the tabloid and munching on a granola bar, also from his fridge.
“You already eat everything from your own room?”
Clay opened his mouth to answer.
“Neil, what have you done now?” His father’s voice boomed over the phone.
Clay signaled a five-minute warning to go time, and then stepped out to the balcony.
Thankful for the rescue he knew would be coming in five minutes, Neil grabbed his phone and took it off speaker. “Good morning to you, too, sir.”
“How could you get your name in the tabloids? If you’re going to cheat on your wife, couldn’t you at least be discreet?”
“Ex-wife. And you should know better than to believe anything you read in those rags, Dad.”
“Whether it’s true or not is irrelevant. What matters is public perception.”
“The truth doesn’t matter? Spoken like a true politician.”
“Maybe you can afford to be flippant, but my staff is fielding calls from every major news outlet. And thanks to your impending divorce, my poll numbers are already down. Or did you forget this is an election year?”
Neil never forgot election years. His father never let him.
“Neil? Did you hear me? Drop that Piper tramp and come back to your wife before it’s too late.”
Tramp? Neil ground his teeth. “Tell Mother I won the yacht race for her charity.” He hung up.
* * *
PIPER SLEPT LATE.
She’d lain in bed for hours last night thinking about the evening. Was that what a real date was like? At first, it’d been...nice. There’d been no game playing. No hidden agendas. Neil might’ve tried to take her dancing, but he hadn’t turned all macho when she’d ended the night early.
She hugged her pillow and relived the feel of his strong arm around her as he’d tried to shield her from the paparazzi. Another first. Not feeling so...alone. For a few blessed moments she’d let go and let someone else bear the burden.
If she was honest, that was probably why she’d scurried up to her room on her own last night. The energy that had sizzled between her and Neil in the lobby when she’d looked into his eyes? It had frightened her how badly she’d wanted to invite him up to her room. But that would’ve changed things between them. And not for the better.
A few months ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about sleeping with a man like that. But after the nasty incident at the cruise terminal, she’d had an epiphany of sorts. She’d looked back on her behavior the past five years, ever since she’d gotten control of her own money. And she’d been rather ashamed of herself. What would Nandan think of her?
Once she finally had fallen asleep her dreams were of her brother. Always of him. Always a variation of the same nightmare she’d had since landing in London. She and Nandan climbing over the great mountain of rubbish in Delhi—amazing how the stench could smell so real in a dream. Nandan joyously finding a half-eaten roti. They’d shared the flatbread that day. A good day. But the dream always distorted into her searching and searching for Nandan, wandering the streets, calling her brother’s name until she woke up crying.
Wiping her eyes, she sat up and padded to the bathroom to splash water on her face. A quick brush of her teeth, then she pulled on her workout clothes and went to the hotel gym for her