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Hail, hail, the return of the prodigal party girl!
But, what the hell? One friend is dead. And Johnny Austin almost dead.
Who can blame her? Certainly not me. I’m ready to crawl into a bottle just over a rocky relationship . . .
“I was looking for someone,” Payne said, “and they’re clearly not here. Thank you for the offer, Camilla Rose. But I should head home.”
“Please stay. Just for one drink?” she said, stroking his arm. She then took one of the olives and slipped it slowly between her lips.
My God, he thought. My brain really is not working.
She made that look damn suggestive—borderline seductive.
But it couldn’t have been.
She smiled and gave him a questioning look.
He glanced beyond her toward the crowd. He thought he recognized a couple of somewhat famous faces.
“I really can’t. But, thank you.”
She saw where his eyes went.
“You’re right. That is a boring scene,” she said, touching his arm again. “Listen, I’ve been thinking since we spoke and there’s something else I really should tell you.”
“Great.”
“Not here. Not in public.”
“Okay. Where?”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the bar, then turned the opposite way.
“Follow me,” she said, and began walking quickly toward the lobby, sipping her martini.
As she went, Payne’s eyes automatically dropped to her derriere. The black satin dress clung to her firm hourglass figure. She turned a corner.
She really is one stunning woman.
But where the hell is she going? Not to her room?
I would really be an unmitigated bastard if I wound up sleeping with her.
Especially since I am engaged. At least, I think I’m still engaged.
No, not a problem—jumping her is not even a remote possibility.
But given that I’m even considering the idea, however remote, with all that’s happened today, proves that I am an unmitigated bastard.
He came around the corner in time to see her going into the entrance to the condominium lobby.
Oh boy.
Not only absolutely proves that I am the poster boy for unmitigated bastards but also that a stiff prick hath no conscience.
Keep repeating: Listen to what she has to say, then leave . . .
He went through the lobby and found her standing just inside an elevator. She held out her right foot, the high heel shoe keeping the doors from closing. She motioned for him to move faster. Standing behind her was an attractive, well-dressed couple, each holding what appeared to be a flute of champagne.
