The Trouble with Mojitos: A Royal Romance to Remember!. Romy Sommer
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Except he hadn’t felt very much like doing anything for anyone in a very long time. Sod them all, indeed.
His glass was empty. He couldn’t even remember drinking that last drink, so the alcohol must be starting to do its job at last. But it hadn’t numbed him enough yet. He could still feel the summons burning a hole in his pocket.
He waved his empty glass at the bartender. “Why don’t you just give up?” he asked, finally catching the barman’s eye.
“Because things always work out in the end.”
He rolled his eyes. What kind of naivety was that? Clearly, she’d lived a very sheltered life if she believed persistence was all you needed to get what you want. Sometimes life just kicked you in the nuts for no damn good reason. “I suppose I could.”
“Could what?”
Not just naive, but slow on the uptake too. “I could introduce you to the mayor.”
“You? I thought you had to have connections to get anything done here. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No.”
She pursed her lips, clearly wanting a more elaborate explanation. She’d have to learn to live with disappointment. If there was one thing he’d learned in this new life that had been forced on him, it was that he didn’t owe anyone anything. And that included explanations.
“So how do you propose to introduce me to the mayor?”
She didn’t give up, did she? Like a mosquito buzzing in a room, tenacious and annoying. But at least the mosquito’s buzz was insistent enough to drive out the awareness of other pains.
He sighed. “I’ll drive you there in the morning, ask to see him. After that, the ball’s in your court.”
“That simple?” Kenzie’s eyes narrowed.
“That simple.” His glass seemed to have a hole in the bottom. It was already empty. Or had the barman not yet re-filled it? The mosquito buzz seemed louder now.
“If I take you to see the mayor, what do I get in return?” Rik asked, not looking at her.
“I have money,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”
He looked at her then, up and down the fragile frame encased in non-branded department store clothing. There was no way she had the kind of money that would mean anything to him. And since he not only had his inheritance, but also the rather handsome payment he’d been given to disappear, money was the last thing he needed.
“Not money.”
The blood ran to the surface of her near translucent skin. “I’m not giving you that.”
He laughed, a mirthless, rusty sound, even to his own ears. “I sure as hell don’t need to bribe you for sex either, honey.”
Though he was sure sex with her would be fun, he’d never needed to bribe anyone for anything. Everything he’d ever wanted had been handed to him on a platter, including women.
But no matter how attractive the idea was, he wasn’t in any fit state for that now. Tonight it wasn’t sex he wanted, but oblivion.
“Keep my car keys safe for me until the morning.” He removed the keys from the back pocket of his jeans and slid them onto the bar counter between them.
“That’s it?” She lifted an eyebrow. She had the most piercing blue eyes he’d ever seen, as clear as the water in the bay where he swam every day. “How do I get them back to you?”
“I’ll meet you in the hotel reception at ten.”
“How can I be sure you’ll be there?”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Because you have my keys.” And besides, he’d had more entertainment in the last half hour than he’d had since he arrived in Los Pajaros. That had to be worth a little effort in return. “I’ll be there.”
She hesitated a moment before she took the keys and hopped off her bar stool. “In which case, I need to get my beauty sleep.”
“Hey Pollyanna … ” She was halfway out of the bar when he called after her. “You might want to wear a dress. A short skirt will get you much further with the mayor than your current ensemble.”
“I don’t own a dress.”
“You could make a stop in the resort boutique first thing in the morning.”
She shook her head and kept on walking, and with a chuckle he turned back to the barman to order another drink.
When it arrived, he stuck Kenzie’s discarded swizzle stick and umbrella into the glass. “Happy birthday to me.” He downed the drink in one long gulp.
@KenzieCole101: Sheesh I’m tired. See you in 8 hours world.
@LeeHill: What’s up Mac? I’m not even asleep yet and I’m 5 hours ahead.
@KenzieCole101: You know I’m useless without a full night’s sleep.
Kenzie woke to the insistent ringing of a phone. Not the chirpy tone of her mobile, but a shrill tring-tring. The room was still dark.
She pushed her long fringe out of her eyes and groped for the hotel phone on the bedside table. “Hello?”
“Miss Cole? This is the night manager. We require your urgent assistance at the beach bar please.”
What the…? “What time is it?”
“It’s a little after 1am.”
He must have the wrong person. Why on earth would she be needed in a bar in the middle of the night? “You have the wrong room.” Her voice was still scratchy with sleep.
“You’re not Miss Cole?” The man’s voice rose in anxiety.
“I am, but I’m sure you have the wrong person.”
The manager cleared his throat. “It’s about your young man.”
What young man?
Oh heavens, he had to mean Rik. What had he done? A tremor of ice ran down her spine and brought her fully awake. But he couldn’t have gone anywhere – she still had his car keys.
“Is he okay?” she asked, struggling upwards and fumbling for the light switch.
“He’s passed out.” And the manager sounded very unimpressed.
She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll be right down.”
She pulled on a sweatshirt and jogging bottoms, tied her hair back in a ponytail, and slid her feet into the espadrilles she’d bought on her first day in Los Pajaros in celebration of having arrived in the tropics. Then she headed downstairs.
Why was she always dragged into other people’s shit? She really had to learn to be less trusting of people. She should have taken one look at that rugged face and those glittering eyes and run as far away and as fast as she could.
But no…she always had to give people the benefit of the doubt. And now here she was, in the dead of night, about to take on someone else’s problems yet again.
The 80s music had long since ceased and the reception lights were on low. But outside the path that meandered between swimming pools and luscious gardens was as brightly lit as Piccadilly Circus on a hot summer’s night.
The thatched bar lay right at the end of the path, where the grassy lawn met the sandy beach. It didn’t look much different than when she’d been there earlier in the evening,