Free Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) by Helena Newbury

blood and the sound of their screams in my ears.
    “I lost some men, Mr. President.”
    His gaze softened just a little. He’d served himself, long ago: Army, if I remembered right. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the softness was gone. “And then you joined the Secret Service... and you refused to do things by the book.”
    “Three counts of insubordination,” muttered Miller. “And the third one—”
    “The third one would have been assault, if the ambassador had pressed charges,” said the President. “You should be in jail, O’Harra, not protecting anyone. Least of all my daughter.”
    I couldn’t meet his gaze any longer. I stood there staring at the floor with the heat rising in my face. It was useless to try to explain. I’d tried that enough times when it happened and it had gotten me nowhere. Clearly, this wasn’t going to happen after all. I waited for him to order me out: I actually lifted the file I was holding, ready to give it back to Miller.
    But the order never came. I slowly lifted my eyes and found he was still staring at me.
    “My daughter doesn’t eat,” he said. “She doesn’t sleep. She won’t— can’t— leave the building. She thinks you can help her. Can you?”
    “Yes sir, Mr. President,” I said. “I believe I can.”
    The President gave me a long, appraising look. “Then I don’t care what you did,” he said at last. He nodded at the door. “Go to work.”
    Suddenly, the heat of shame was gone, replaced by cool, clean air that filled my lungs. All of the resentment Miller had stirred up faded away. “Yes sir, Mr. President.”
    I walked out of the Oval Office about an inch taller than when I’d walked in. It lasted ten paces, until Miller stopped me in the hallway. “The President is desperate,” he told me. “I have to go along with this; I don’t have to like it. Maybe you got away with things on your old detail but this is the White House and I don’t need a loose cannon on my team. One mistake, O’Harra, one screw up and I’ll personally kick your ass out the door and all the way down Pennsylvania Avenue. You are not going to embarrass the Secret Service again.”
    I felt my hands tighten into fists but I knew that was what he wanted. “Yes sir,” I said. “Understood.”
    “Go to the residence,” he almost spat. “And for God’s sake, learn how to use a razor!”
    I stalked away, only stopping to stash the file he’d given me in my locker and put on my radio. Moments later, I’d reached the residence. And there, right at the end of the hall….
    I slowed to a stop as I reached Emily’s door. I’d been mad as hell when I left Miller but, suddenly, all the rage was draining out of me, to be replaced by something even stronger. It was as if I could feel her presence oozing through the thick oak of the door: a subtle hint of her perfume, an aura of soft femininity.
    I stopped. My hand was already raised to knock but, all of a sudden, I was as nervous as some kid arriving to pick up his prom date. How did she do that to me?
    I knocked. A second later, she opened the door wide and—
    It wasn’t how it had been in the car. Maybe it was because we were alone, this time, or maybe it was the quiet of the hallway but it felt much more intense—way too intense to deny. A good foot or so separated us and yet it felt as if we were already touching. I was immersed in that aura that surrounded her, the sweet warmth of her bathing me. And I could feel her responding, too, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her eyes stroking over my arms, my chest, my face. This thing we’d started... it was like a physical presence between us, the air pulsing with it.
    “You scrub up well,” she said at last.
    I inclined my head. “Reporting for duty, Ma’am,” I said. Inside, I was asking myself what the hell I thought I was doing. This was a bad, bad idea. I’d sworn I’d never let myself care about anyone. But she needed me: I could see how scared she was