Various States of Undress (2 page)

Carolina turned her head. In the faint light spilling from the built-in china cabinets on the wall, she looked delicate and vulnerable. At first. Then he noticed a crease between her dark brows and her hands jammed onto her hips. She was anything but vulnerable—especially at this moment. He shifted in the doorway.

“Flip on the lights, Jason,” she commanded. “I need to look at my watch. Something tells me you’ve just given me five minutes down here, and I need quite a bit more time than that.” Her chest rose as she filled her lungs. “Roger!”

Jake flipped on the lights. A gasp from the other side of the room was accompanied by more giggles and then rustling as two people emerged from the drapes covering a window. The gasp of course, belonged to Roger and the giggles . . . Jake raised an eyebrow. Damn. It
was
a skank. Or at least a skank in training.

“Babe, it’s not what you think,” Roger said, holding up his hands in appeasement. The skank lurched forward and grabbed his arm for support, but he shook off her hand. “She attacked me.”

Jake glanced at her, but he couldn’t even remember the name of the very young and very flirty girl who answered phones in the White House communications office. Most of the other agents just referred to her as Trouble. She was drunk; her bra straps were hanging loose around her shoulders and her fake rack sat like a shelf on top of the neckline of her tight dress. He tried not to stare, but how could he not? Why would a woman do that to herself? The girl couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. Why did she need double-D boobs?

He tore his gaze away and focused on Carolina. She stood still as a statue, staring. In fact, nobody spoke. The only sound in the room was the hum of the lights and Roger’s pathetic panting. Finally, Carolina stepped forward.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said in an even tone, devoid of emotion.

Good girl
, Jake thought. Make that arrogant prick squirm. Carolina was so calm. Always composed, and very courteous. Even if she forgot his name most of the time. And even if she took photos of him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could feel a smile coming on and he rubbed his jaw, blocking it.

“I think it goes without saying that the engagement is off,” Carolina continued in her quiet voice.

Roger, who had been helping stuff Trouble’s breasts back into her dress, dropped his hands as if the well-endowed receptionist was covered in oozing scabs. He scuttled forward. “Carolina. Listen to me. She followed me down here and I was trying to get rid of her,” he said.

Quickly, Jake scanned the hallway behind him and stepped into the room, pulling the door closed. Carolina glanced back, and he saw the tears forming in her eyes. Uh oh. On instinct he took a step toward her, but she shook her head and swiveled back to Roger.

“Frankly, I couldn’t care less. And I’m not interested in listening while you make up a story. I’m too tired.”

“Babe . . .” Roger straightened his bow tie and stuffed his hands into his tux pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Jake knew the loser was trying to hide an erection. But Roger was so stupid he didn’t realize that all he was doing was mimicking thrusting. Jake noticed, though. Carolina noticed it too. She rolled her eyes. Jake bit back a laugh.

“We’re finished here,” Carolina announced, turning on her heel. Jake nodded at her once and gestured toward the door. “Just take me home,” she whispered, her eyes filling completely. A fat tear plopped on the carpet in front of her and she swiped at her eyes with impatient fingers. At the doorway, she stopped. “No. I’ve changed my mind. Take me to my dad’s office, please.” Her voice was thick.

Another trill of giggles erupted from the corner, followed by a loud “Shh!” from Roger. “But you told me she wouldn’t care,” Trouble whispered. Carolina froze, an angry blush spreading across her fair complexion. Uh oh. Before Jake could block her path, she swiveled around and marched across the room. She didn’t stop until she was eye to eye with the skank.

“You’re right. I don’t care. I stopped caring about five minutes ago.” Carolina gave her a brittle smile. “I hope you enjoy him.” Her gaze flicked over Roger’s crotch. “But something tells me it’s doubtful.”

Roger’s weak chin descended, his mouth falling open. “That was a low blow.”

“Literally,” Carolina shot back. She put a placating hand on Roger’s sleeve. “Oh, and you’re not welcome at the White House anymore. I’ll tell the guards at the gate on my way out.”

Roger sputtered as he pulled her hand away. “Wait a minute. I
told
you it’s not what you think.” He blinked as if wounded. “You’re always jumping to conclusions. I’m not sure what to say, Carrie. Where’s the trust? Aren’t you the least bit sorry?”

As Jake watched, Carolina’s soft brown eyes turned hard as stone. She stared at Roger. “Are you seriously hoping that I’ll blame this . . . this . . .
situation
on myself? Go screw yourself.”

Trouble’s eyes went wide. “This is getting too weird. Roger, you
said
that as long as the ring ends up on her finger, she doesn’t care who you party with. She’s getting some on the side, too. Isn’t she?” Trouble’s mouth dropped open. “Ohmygod, Roger. You’re a liar.”

For a moment, Carolina was still and then to Jake’s horror, she launched herself at Roger, a war cry ripping from her throat. In the blink of an eye, Roger crumpled like a paper cup and Carolina was straddling him, her small hands landing surprisingly accurate slaps on his aristocratic cheekbones.

“Bastard!” she screeched. “How dare you?” A sob caught in her throat, and Jake reached out, caught her around the waist and hauled her upright. Beneath his arm, her small breasts pillowed as she leaned forward. He shoved the awareness of their warmth from his mind and pulled her back a couple of steps.

“Let me go, Jason! I’m not finished.”

Jake turned her body around and muttered into his sleeve. “Care Bear on the move. Oval Office permission requested.” She didn’t resist when he opened the door and walked through with her. Footsteps sounded at the end of the hallway, and Carolina’s tear-streaked face snapped up in alarm. Approaching, head down, cell phone to ear, was the White House deputy communications director.

“Get me
out
of here,” Carolina whispered, ducking her head into his shoulder.

Shit!
Jake’s jaw clamped tight. How the hell had he let this happen? For two weeks he’d been in the inner circle and screwing up was not an option. But he clearly had done just that. He shouldn’t have let her jump on top of Roger. The asshole might have hit her back.

Visions of being bumped back to a desk job in a remote corner of rural Oklahoma ran through his mind.
No.
The youngest agent ever to make First Family detail was not going lose that position right after it had begun. He was only thirty years old and he did
not
need for his career to be cut short. Especially not because of Roger Chapman. He needed to fix this.

“Good evening, sir,” Jake began, turning Carolina to the side. Her shoulders were shaking and he gave them a light squeeze.

“Hardly.” The bald man stopped walking and held his phone to his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“We have a situation, sir,” Jake answered. Carolina’s arm snaked around his middle and his stomach tightened. He cleared his throat. “A member of your staff and Mr. Chapman were just discovered together and it wasn’t a . . . business meeting.”

The deputy chief closed his eyes briefly. “Lord.” He stepped around Jake and poked his head into the China Room. “Young lady. My office. Ten minutes.” He pointed a finger at Roger. “And you. Stay here.” Nodding at Jake, he continued down the hall, muttering into the phone.

After the echo of the footsteps diminished, Carolina raised her head and swiped at her cheeks. She let out a deep breath. “Thanks.” Her soft lips quirked up in a smile. “Is there a bathroom down here? My dad hasn’t been president long enough for me to have explored the whole house.”

Jake nodded. He glanced back into the room once more, noting Roger sitting on the floor like a baby, cradling his cheeks in his palms.
Asswipe.
He deserved a trip to the dentist—courtesy of Jake. Trouble leaned against the wall, deflated. Except for her chest. He almost felt sorry for her, but any woman with the smarts to get a job in the White House should know better. She was a fool, but Roger was worse. He was a complete idiot.

A wry voice from the command center spoke into Jake’s earpiece. “Chapman’s presence has been requested by POTUS.”

“Copy that,” Jake muttered into his sleeve. Pointing a finger at Roger, he said, “Oval Office. Try not to shit your pants, sir.” Then he shut the door.

Carolina stood there, her eyes wide. “That was . . . remarkable, Jason.”

He gestured down the hall. “This way.” He couldn’t help but smile, though, and when he felt her gaze on his face, he glanced down. “It
did
feel good. But I shouldn’t have.”

She sighed. “I’ve been thinking that very thought since the minute you intervened. I hope you know that you weren’t at fault back there. A mac truck couldn’t have kept me from launching myself at Roger.”

Jake could have, but he didn’t say anything. Truthfully, he shouldn’t have let her into the room in the first place. But how could he have known that flirty little Trouble would be such an outrageous slut? Or that Carolina would bitch-slap her fiancé and call him a bastard? Still, according to his training, he was supposed to be ready for anything. Even that. He glanced down at Carolina with mixed admiration and concern. She deserved his complete, professional protection. And unless the job was yanked away from him, he fully intended to continue guarding her with his life.

When they reached the bathroom, she let go of his arm. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Fulton.” He felt himself smiling again and stilled his face. “It’s my pleasure.”

“No need to call me Miss Fulton,” she said, “Please call me Carolina. I mean, I call you Jason. It’s only fair.”

He coughed. “Thank you, uh, Carolina. No need to call me Jason, though.” The smile returned to his lips and this time he let it stay. “Since my name is Jake.”

Chapter Two

A
S SHE SANK
into one of the brocade sofas flanking her father’s desk, Carolina automatically folded her hands in her lap and pressed her thumbs together. Hard. The initial horror of what she’d done had diminished to the point where she didn’t feel as if her brain was frozen, but that wasn’t a good thing. Not at all. She would rather be numb.

During the thirty minute wait to see her father, she’d had time to think, and it hadn’t been about the pleasure of hearing the crack of her palms on Roger’s face, although that had been pretty great. It had been about the possible repercussions.

She glanced up at Roger sitting across from her, stone-faced and arrogant in his elegantly fitted tux. He stared with displeasure at a portrait of George Washington—almost as if he thought it had been painted by a kindergartner instead of Gilbert Stuart. Asshole.

At the thought of kindergartners, the blood drained from Carolina’s face. Oh,
God
. Grad school. Her career. How was she going to explain to her thesis director why she had decided to scream “bastard” and attack another person as if she was a member of a grade-school gang. What kind of elementary education major did that—especially a daughter of the president of the United States. She bit back a groan.

When she’d learned a few minutes ago that the news was going to leak, her stomach had dropped to the tips of her party shoes. Apparently, Roger’s little girlfriend-on-the-side hadn’t been very discreet when she’d been escorted out of the White House and several guests had witnessed the girl’s teary protestations, including her outrage that she’d been fired on the spot. Apparently, she thought that all the blame should lie on Carolina, who, according to Miss Mostly Drunk, had jumped on Roger out of nowhere and beaten him to a pulp. And then, of course, she’d let slip that Carolina had called Roger a bastard. Only part of those events were true, but some of those guests, no matter how refined they thought themselves to be, would spread the news—and fast.

The door to her dad’s study swung open and Phil Garber, the communications director stepped into the room and closed the door. Tall and thin with watery eyes, he took a deep breath and sat on the edge of a wing-backed chair near Carolina.

“Good evening, Mr. Garber,” she said in an automatically pleasant voice. As if the shit were not about to hit the fan.

“Good evening,” he returned. But he didn’t smile. “The president will be in shortly.”

On the opposite sofa, Roger shifted and coughed.

Carolina caught his eye and gave him a sweet smile.
You’re going down in flames.

He blinked and looked away. Her smile got wider. He knew it. Good.

As the study door opened again, Carolina stood and smoothed her hair behind her ears. She turned to watch her father walk into the Oval Office, and, as usual, a swell of pride raced through her middle. This time though, it was followed by fear. Not of what her dad would do, but of what he must be thinking of her. She’d never attacked anyone before in her life, much less the man she was supposed to marry.

Patrick Fulton perched his broad frame on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. He looked at Roger first, his expression unreadable. Then his piercing blue eyes turned to Carolina. He winked. She let out the breath she hadn’t known she had been holding.

Roger coughed. “Sir, I just want to let you know that—”

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” the president interrupted in his deep baritone. “I just got off the phone with Senator Davis.” He pointed at Roger. “Your boss says you’re fired. I agreed. If I were still your boss, I’d not only have fired you, but I’d have kicked you into next week too. But I think you’re off the hook on the second part since the senator is too much of a lady to plant her foot in your ass.”

Roger gaped like a guppy. “But, I—”

The president pushed off his desk and walked forward to grab Roger’s hand in a strong grip. “Good luck. You’ll need it.” He turned to his right. “Phil?”