Various States of Undress Read Free Page A

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