Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me 3)

“You could, oh, I don’t know…call Mom and see what she’s up to?”

To her surprise, a hopeful little gleam came into his eyes, but then he schooled his face into a stern expression. “If your mother wishes to speak to me, tell her to—”

“Nope.” She shook her head. This was going to change, starting now. “I’m done mediating your relationship. If you want to say something to Mom, tell her yourself. Same goes for her. I’m not managing that aspect of your personal lives anymore.” She glanced at the monitor showing the lounge—no Nick. Hope swelled in her chest. “And I don’t need you managing any aspect of mine.”

Her father looked at the monitor as well. “You’ll thank me for this one small interference. The Templetons are trustworthy people, as well as excellent judges of character. They don’t merely love their nephew, they think highly of him. We’ve had very candid conversations, and I feel certain he’s an ideal match for you.”

“Yeah, well, I think your ideal match is going to stand me up.”

“He’s a few minutes late. One drawback to doctors…wait. Aha. There he is.”

Arden’s breath hitched as the monitor revealed Nick’s tall, unmistakable frame. He crossed the lounge and took a seat at the bar, scanning the room all the while. The flare of hope she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge flickered out, turning the remnants of her heart to ash in the process.

Oblivious to her pain, her father smiled like a horse breeder inspecting a Thoroughbred. “Tall, strong, smart, accomplished. And ready to settle down with the right woman, according to his aunt. What more could we want?” With a modest shrug, he added, “I have a sense of these things.”

Tears stung her eyes again at her father’s words. Nick was all of those, except the last. Or she wasn’t the right woman. It amounted to the same. “I know him,” she whispered. “It’s not going to work out. He’s not interested.”

“What?” Her father turned to her, eyebrows high. “What do you mean, he’s not interested?”

She shook her head and wiped her tears. The instinct to flee rather than confront returned in full force, driving her to her feet. It was time to leave. Past time. Her perfect Maui escape had left her devastated, and there was no way could she explain this to her father. “You’re going to have to take my word. I-I have a flight to catch. I need to go home.”

“You’re leaving? Now? He’s here. At least go say hello.”

Doorknob in hand, she turned and looked back at her father, and beyond him on the small screen, Nick. A cold, hollow ache settled somewhere under her lungs. “Trust me, Dad. I’m the last person he wants to see.”

…

Nick looked at the clock over the bar and tried to keep the fool’s grin off his face. One hour. No messages—he’d checked with the bartender and the front desk. Arden St. Sebastian had officially stood him up. Now it was time to find out why. After settling his tab, he walked to the lobby and helped himself to the stationery and pen available at the concierge desk.

Czarina,

I think it’s time we were properly introduced. I’m in the lobby.

Nick

He folded the note, placed it on top of the small gift-wrapped box he pulled from his pocket, and approached the front desk. The young clerk he’d spoken to earlier aimed a polite smile at him. “How can I help you, sir?”

Behind her, a dark-haired man in a suit stood flipping through correspondence.

He slid the note and box across the counter. “Could I have this delivered to a guest?”

“Certainly, sir.” She tapped a screen. “The guest’s name?”

“Arden St. Sebastian.”

From the corner of his eye he saw the older man’s head come up and swivel his way.

The clerk frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. Ms. St. Sebastian is no longer a guest with the resort.”

The bottom fell out of his stomach. He didn’t have her number, her home address. Nothing. “I—that’s—are you sure? I was supposed to meet her here…”

The clerk tapped the screen again. “She checked out this evening.”

Through a haze of growing panic at what he’d let slip through his fingers, he saw the older man approach. Nick focused on the clerk. “Did she leave any messages for—”

“Dr. Bancroft?”

He turned to the older man, unreasonably impatient with the interruption. “Yes. Sorry,” he said to the clerk, who shook her head to indicate Arden had left no messages. Fuck.