Dark Paradise:A Political Romantic Suspense

By: Winter Renshaw


There’s a name for girls like me: Sugar Baby. I’m used to being passed around the sexually depraved, middle-aged senators of Washington D.C. like candy, but when I meet him - the mysterious man who buys my exclusivity for three months for price that should frighten me more than his demands - everything changes.

He's younger than the others. His touch is softer. His lips sweeter. His need fiercer. He has only one requirement...

A blindfold to protect his identity...and to protect me from the danger I'd face if our affair leaked to the world.

No phones. No light. No real names. He says I'm his dark paradise, and we have to keep it that way. He promises I'll thank him someday.

But what is he really hiding? And what happens if I find out?


This one’s for my readers! I promised you this book earlier in the year, and then it kept getting pushed back due to other projects. For that, I’m sincerely sorry, but here it is!

You’re patient little lambs, and I heart you all. xoxo



{Present Day}

Today’s the day I sell my soul.

“I believe I speak for an entire nation, Ms. Buchanan, when I say we’re on pins and needles as we wait for the release of your memoir. What made you decide to write this tell-all?” The woman interviewing me cocks her head and offers a look that makes me want to open up to her, but the concern in her eyes is for the viewers at home.

And she should be concerned. This book is going to change everything for a lot of people.

I never wanted to write it.

But what choice did I have?

“Well, Denise, I believe it’s important to know what goes on in our nation’s capital when no one’s looking.” I keep a light cadence in my words just like I practiced all afternoon. My PR team says to keep my interviews spry to counteract the bomb I’m about to drop. It’s not every day that the carefully crafted images of an American blue-blooded family are shattered.

This is my big moment. I’m experiencing a historical moment in real-time. Clips of this interview will play out on countless documentaries someday, and my name will forever be linked to his. For better or for worse, I’ll be unforgettable.

Just like I always wanted.

“I’ve had the privilege of reading a few excerpts from your book, and I must say to the viewers at home, there are some extremely heavy allegations.” She repositions herself before resting her chin across the top of her hand. We’re just a couple of girls having a conversation. Denise Stone makes it easy to forget we’re being filmed for a nationally televised special, but I suppose that’s why she’s paid the big bucks. “What would you say to the naysayers who might accuse you of looking for a big payday?”

“We’re fortunate enough to live in a free country.” I deliver my lines like I rehearsed and ignore the fact that I’m melting under these hot lights. “No one has to read anything or believe anything they don’t want to. The only thing I’d like everyone to know is that my book, my memoir, is one hundred percent factual. Every word of it is true.”



{One year ago}

I look like Jackie. I make love like Marilyn. It’s a dangerous combination in a city of power-hungry, sex-starved politicians.

“Don’t take another step.” His voice is low and void of inflection. The heavy hotel suite door slams behind me. My crystal-encrusted heels anchor into the dense carpet, my body paralyzed by the assertion in his command. The room is pitch black save for the sliver of streetlight breaking through the heavy drapes. In the corner stands a man, or rather, the outline of a man. I can’t see his face. “There’s a blindfold on the table to your left. Put it on.”