Chapter Twenty-Seven
Isabella finished applying lipstick and studied her reflection. Her makeup was heavier than usual—smoky eyeshadow, black mascara, bold mauve lips. The woman in the bathroom mirror wasn’t the same painfully shy introvert from thirteen years ago.
She wasn’t even the same woman from a week ago.
Danny had seen to that.
The dress had been a splurge—a sleek black, high-neck gown with delicate beaded pink tulips and long green stems spreading from the sheer neckline down the bodice to her waist. Talia had picked it out, insisting it was perfect for her.
Her hair was in a low French roll, accented with two crystal hair combs.
Peridot earrings that matched the green on her dress hung from her ears.
Danny filled the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame. The cut of his black tuxedo emphasized his broad shoulders and trim waist. His shaggy hair had been tamed to smoothness and gathered behind his head.
Their eyes locked in the mirror.
He was so incredibly handsome—her pulse stuttered.
His blue eyes darkened as his gaze traveled the length of her dress. “Stunning.”
Her grip slipped on the lipstick tube at the blatant appreciation in his voice. She set it down and turned to face him. “I’m ready.”
The words were meant as reassurance. As much for him as they were for her. Whatever the night brought, she’d done her part to make her father’s fundraiser a success. By tomorrow, the campaign would no longer dictate her schedule.
Maybe it was time to stop playing it safe and start reaching for what she wanted.
Like the man standing in front of her.
If they could find a way to make this work after tonight was over.
He angled his body just enough to let her pass.
She leaned in slightly, catching his scent.
Citrus, sea breeze, and driftwood.
“You smell good.”
“So do you.” His voice took on that low, rumbly quality that sent a shiver arrowing to her core. “Sweet tea and jasmine.” He gave a lazy grin. “You’ve become a true Southern girl.”
The perfume she’d used tonight matched the body wash she normally contented herself with.
He’d noticed.
Absurdly pleased, she sent him a sultry smile.
His body stilled. “If we had time…” He let the words trail off, but it was enough to make her knees soften beneath her.
After the gala.
After she knew everything had gone off without a hitch.
Then he could finish that thought.
Outside, an earlier storm had blown through, lowering the temperature several degrees but increasing the humidity.
Danny had gotten his beloved Consuela back from the repair shop early in the day.
She slid into the Mustang and waited for him to crank on the A/C before her hair frizzed and makeup slid off her face.
They drove in silence. Each mile closer to the venue added another layer of tension to the air in the car.
“Caleb and Tavari are already at The Waverly.” Danny checked on her briefly before returning his attention to the road. “Remember, stay inside the security perimeter.”
His tone was casual.
The warning wasn’t.
Her fingers tightened around the black clutch in her lap. “I’ll be in the ballroom making sure everything’s set up, then at the reception area greeting guests with my parents.”
She rested her other hand on his upper thigh to ground herself, the smooth weight of his black trousers gliding beneath her fingers. And beneath them, solid muscle. Strength.
After tonight, her part in her father’s career was over. The spotlight would follow him from the halls of Congress to his campaign appearances, leaving her to return to her normal life.
Olivia Flores’s poison pen would find another target.
And Omar Hassan? He was a victim of his father’s actions, too.
He’d barely gotten his father back from prison before the man died.
A part of her could almost feel sorry for the son.
Maybe Omar’s decision to approach her had been an impulsive one, driven by grief.
Until Dìleas located him, Danny would stay in Charlotte.
A traitorous part of her hoped he’d never be found.
All thoughts of Hassan fled when Danny turned the corner and The Waverly Grand Hotel’s main entrance came into view.
The hotel’s polished stone exterior and expansive glass entrance projected wealth and power—a sharp contrast to the crowd gathering just beyond the interlocking metal crowd-control barricades.
Signs bobbed, chants filled the air. A twenty-something man, dressed head-to-toe in black, gripped a megaphone. His voice—louder, sharper—rose above the chorus. “No justice. No peace. No wars.”
Do you ever feel exposed?
Isabella’s fingers flexed, eager to dig into her own flesh. Anchor herself in pain. She stilled the impulse, focusing on the feel of Danny’s thigh beneath her palm.
Three black SUVs sat parked in the circular entryway, along with two Charlotte-Mecklenburg police cruisers.
Caleb stood at the entrance of the parking garage, dressed in a suit, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, the vehicles, and every person approaching the hotel.
Danny brought down his window.
Caleb leaned in. “We’ve had the hotel clear level two of the garage for gala attendees. Valet has set up in front of the elevators that have direct access to the ballroom level. Security will check names against our verified list, then escort the guests from the elevators to the check-in desk.”
“What’s the ETA on Senator Strickland and his wife?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
Isabella twisted in her seat, looking back at the gathering crowd. The media would show up soon. They’d want to capture the scene—black SUVs and limousines carrying politicians and high-profile business leaders against the backdrop of protesting citizens.
She’d throw herself into final preparations and be too busy to worry.
Danny parked the Mustang. When they stepped off the elevator and into the hallway where the check-in and reception would take place, Tavari was waiting.
He handed Danny what looked like a black walkie-talkie. “The Waverly’s head of security wants to see you.”
Isabella leaned in and kissed Danny on the cheek. “Go. We both have things to do.”
His hand snaked around the back of her neck. He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Remember. Don’t leave this area.”
“I won’t.” She admired him one last time before turning away. A clear wire protruded from his ear, disappearing beneath his suit coat. Before they’d exited the car, he’d placed his weapon in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
Stepping into the ballroom, Isabella caught sight of Melody Santos conversing with a member of the wait staff while others put the finishing touches on the tables.
The honor guard practiced by the stage, carrying the Stars and Stripes, the North Carolina state flag, and the dark blue Navy flag with its eagle-and-anchor insignia in honor of her father’s service.
She paused, taking in her hard work and meticulous planning.
A podium with the North Carolina state seal stood center stage, with deep blue velvet curtains as a backdrop.
The floral centerpieces at each round table seating eight had been her design—white dahlias, pink carnations, and sprigs of blue limonium.
The event program, printed on crisp white cardstock, topped each place setting.
She’d enlarged photos of her father at various stages of his career, and had them displayed on pedestals around the ballroom.
Melody glanced up and made eye contact. She lifted her hand in a wave. “What do you think?”
A slow smile spread across Isabella’s face. “Looks fantastic. We’re ready.”
Danny scanned the reception space outside the ballroom while Grant Marks, the hotel’s head of security, updated him on final security preparations.
“The police are handling the protest outside. We have a guard stationed at the elevators in the parking garage checking names off a verified list. Vetted campaign staff members will meet guests when they get off the elevators and escort them to the check-in tables. The escalator’s deactivated, and I’ve got hotel security stationed on the first floor to prevent anyone from accessing it. ”
“Make sure both sets of exit stairs are covered.” Danny did a comm check of his earpiece and listened in as agents took their positions.
Everything was in place.
So why did his scalp still prickle?
“Senator Strickland, his wife, son, daughter-in-law, and their security detail have arrived,” Caleb’s voice came through his earpiece.
“I’ll meet them at the elevator.” Danny strolled down the carpeted promenade, taking a peek inside the ballroom to catch a glimpse of Bella.
He’d nearly swallowed his damn tongue when he first saw her all dressed up tonight.
Her gown wasn’t revealing, but it didn’t need to be.
He’d memorized the curve of her hips, the shape of her breasts, the gentle swell of her abdomen beneath the black fabric.
When this night was over, he’d take great pleasure in peeling that gown off her body, kissing every inch of soft skin he exposed.
Right now, however, he needed to corral his thoughts so he didn’t meet the Stricklands sporting a hard-on for their daughter.
The elevator doors slid open. Graham Strickland, his wife Janet, his son Rory, Rory’s wife Annalise, and two members of the senator’s security detail stepped onto the floor.
“Trip.” Janet Strickland looked elegant in a royal blue gown, her blond hair in a refined updo. Bella would age as gracefully as her mother had.
Danny ignored the use of his childhood nickname and bent to allow the older woman to kiss his cheek. “Mrs. Strickland.”
Rory, clad in a black tux, was a carbon copy of his father except for the blue eyes he’d inherited from his mother. He clapped Danny on the back. “Hey, man. Haven’t seen you since high school.” His face slackened, then his lips pressed together in a grimace. “Well, except for…”
Greece.
They exchanged a look, and Danny nodded. “It’s great to see you again,” he said. Rory had been a year ahead of him in high school.