I cant date you, Max.
I cant stop wanting you, Cara.
She lifted her long lashes, her crystal-blue eyes looking directly into his. Try, Max. Summon up some of your famous fortitude, and try.
He couldnt help but smile at that. Im not here for inside information. I was genuinely concerned about you.
As I said
Youre fine. I get it.
That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the Mills & Boon® Desire series DAUGHTERS OF POWER: THE CAPITAL. I was delighted to be invited to write the opening book. In A Conflict of Interest, Cara Cranshaws loyalties are tested. She is thrilled by the election of President Ted Morrow, but it means an end to her romantic relationship with network journalist Max Gray.
While Max searches for the scandal behind the presidents illegitimate daughter, Cara struggles to hide her unexpected pregnancy, since Max has made his opinion on fatherhood crystal clear.
Its always great fun to watch a strong hero discover his softer side. I hope you enjoy A Conflict of Interest and all the books to follow in the DAUGHTERS OF POWER: THE CAPITAL series.
Happy reading!
Barbara
About the Author
BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canadas far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul fire-wood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.
A Conflict
of Interest
Barbara Dunlop
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
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For my husband
One
It was inauguration night in Washington, D.C., and Cara Cranshaw had to choose between her president and her lover. One strode triumphantly though the arches of the Worthington Hotel ballroom to the uplifting strains of Hail to the Chief and the cheers of eight hundred well-wishers. The other stared boldly at her from across the ballroom, a shock of unruly, dark hair curling across his forehead, his bow tie slightly askew and his eyes telegraphing the message that he wanted her naked.
For the moment, it was investigative reporter Max Gray who held her attention. Despite her resolve to turn the page on their relationship, she couldnt tear her gaze from his, nor could she stop her hand from reflexively moving to her abdomen. But Max was off-limits now that Ted Morrow had been sworn in as president.
Ladies and gentlemen, cried the master of ceremonies above the music and enthusiastic clapping that was spreading like a wave across the hall. The President of the United States. His voice rang out from the microphone onstage at the opposite end of the massive, high-ceilinged room.
The cheers grew to a roar. The bands volume increased. And the crowd shifted, separating to form a pathway in front of President Morrow. Cara automatically moved with them, but she still couldnt tear her gaze from Max as he took a few steps backward on the other side of the divide.
She schooled her features, struggling to transmit her resolve. She couldnt let him see the confusion and alarm shed been feeling since her doctors visit that afternoon. Resolve, she ruthlessly reminded herself, not hesitation and definitely not fear.
Hes running late. Sandy Hanifords shout sounded shrill in Caras ear.
Sandy was a junior staffer in the White House press office, where Cara worked as a public relations specialist. While Cara was moving from ball to ball tonight with the presidents entourage, Sandy was stationed here as liaison to the American News Service event.
Only by a few minutes, Cara shouted back, her eyes still on Max.
Resolve, she repeated to herself. The unexpected pregnancy might have tipped her world on its axis, but it didnt change her job tonight. And it didnt alter her responsibility to the president.
I was hoping the president would get here a little early, Sandy continued, her voice still raised. We have a last-minute addition to the speaker lineup.
Cara twisted her head; Sandys words had instantly broken Maxs psychological hold on her. Come again?
Another speaker.
You cant do that.
Its done, said Sandy.
Well, undo it.
The speakers, especially those at the events hosted by organizations less than friendly to the president, had been vetted weeks in advance. American News Service was no friend of President Morrow, but the cable networks ball was a tradition, so hed had no choice but to show up.
It was a tightly scripted appearance, with only thirty minutes in the Worthington ballroom. He would arrive at ten forty-fivewell, ten fifty-two as it turned outthen he was to leave at eleven-fifteen. The Military Inaugural Ball was next on the schedule, and the president had made it clear he wanted to be on time to greet the troops.
What do you want me to do? asked Sandy. Should I tackle the guy when he steps up to the microphone? Sarcasm came through her raised voice.
You should have solved the problem before it came to that. Cara lifted her phone to contact her boss, White House Press Secretary Lynn Larson.
Dont you think I tried?
Obviously not hard enough. How could you give them permission to add a new speaker?
They didnt ask, Sandy pointed out with a frown. Graham Boyle himself put Mitch Davis on the agenda for a toast. Two minutes, they say, tops.
Mitch Davis was a star reporter for ANS. Graham Boyle might be the billionaire owner of the network, and the sponsor of this ball, but even he didnt get to dictate to the president.
Cara couldnt help an errant glance at Max. As the most popular investigative reporter at ANSs rival, National Cable News, he was a mover and shaker himself. He might have some insight into what was up. But Cara couldnt ask him about this or anything else to do with her job, not now and not ever again.
Cara pressed a speed-dial button for her boss.
It rang but then went to voice mail.
She hung up and tried again.
She could see that the president had arrived at the head table, in front of and below the stage. He was accepting the congratulations of the smartly dressed guests. The men wore Savile Row tuxedos, while the woman were draped in designer fabrics that shimmered under the refracted light of several dozen crystal chandeliers.
The MC, popular ANS talk show host David Batten, returned to the microphone. He offered a brief but hearty welcome and congratulations to the president before handing the microphone over to Graham Boyle. According to the schedule, Graham had three minutes to speak. Then the president would have one dance with the female chair of a local hospital charity and a second with Shelley Michaels, another popular ANS celebrity. That was to be followed by seven minutes at his table with ANS board members before taking his leave.
Cara gave up on her cell phone and started making her way toward the stage. There was a staircase at either end, nothing up the middle. So she knew she had a fifty-fifty chance of stopping Mitch Davis before he made it to the microphone. Too bad she wasnt a little larger, a little brawnier, maybe a little more male.
Once again, her thoughts turned to Max. The man dodged bullets in war-torn cities, scaled mountains to reach rebel camps and fought his way through crocodiles and hippos for stories on the struggles of indigenous people. If Max Gray didnt want a person up onstage, that person was not getting up onstage. Too bad she couldnt enlist his help and would have to rely on her own wits.
She chose the stairs at stage right, wending her way through the packed crowd.
Graham Boyle was waxing poetic about ANSs role in the presidential election. Hed taken a couple of jabs at President Morrows alma mater and its unfortunate choice of mascot given current relations with Brazil. But that was all fair game.
Cara wished she was taller. At five foot five, she couldnt see the stairs to know if Mitch was waiting to go up on the right-hand side. She regretted having gone for the comfortable two-inch heels instead of the flashy four-inch spikes that her sister, Gillian, had given her for Christmas. She could have used the height.
Where are you going? It was Maxs voice in her ear.
None of your business, she retorted, attempting to speed up and put some distance between them.
You have that determined look in your eyes.
Go away.
He tucked in close beside her. Maybe I can help.
Not now, Max. She was working. Why did he have to do this to her?
Your destination cant possibly be a state secret.
She relented. Im trying to get to the stage. Okay? Are you happy?
Follow me. He stepped in front of her.
His six-foot-two-inch height and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure. She supposed it didnt hurt any that he was famous, either. Last month, hed been voted one of the ten hottest men in D.C. The upshot was he could move through a crowd far faster than she could. Resigned, she stuck to his coattails.
Even with Max clearing the way, they eventually got stuck behind a crowd of people.
Why do you want to get to the stage? He turned to ask her.
For the record, she responded, I dont know any state secrets. I dont have that kind of job.
And since Im not a foreign spy, we should be able to carry on a conversation without compromising national security.
An unmistakable voice came over the sound system. Good evening, Mr. President, drawled Mitch Davis.
A murmur of surprise moved across the room, since Mitch was a known detractor of President Morrow. Cara rocked back on her heels. Shed failed to stop him.
First, let me say, on behalf of American News Service, congratulations, sir, on your election as President of the United States.
The applause came up on cue, though perhaps not as strong as usual.
Your friends, Mitch continued with a hearty game-show-host smile, your supporters and your mother and father must all be very proud.
Cara strained to catch the presidents expression, wondering if he would be angry or merely annoyed by the deviation from the program. But there was no way to see through the dense crowd.
The president is smiling, Max offered, obviously guessing her concern. It looks a little strained though.
Davis is not on the program, Cara ground out.
No kidding, Max returned, as if only an idiot would think otherwise.
She glared at him, then elbowed her way past, maneuvering through the crowd toward the presidents table below the stage. Lynn Larson was going to be furious. It wasnt exactly Caras responsibility to ensure that this specific ball went smoothly, but she had been working closely with the staffers coordinating each one. She was partly to blame for this.
Thankfully, Max didnt follow her.
I expect nobody is prouder than your daughter, said Mitch, just as Cara reached a place where she could see Mitch on stage.
There was a confused silence in the room, because the president was single and didnt have any children. Confused herself, Cara rocked to a halt a few feet from Lynn at the presidents table. Lynn glanced toward the stairs at the end of the stage, as if she was gauging how long it would take her to get there.
Mitch waited a beat, microphone in one hand, glass of champagne in the other. Your long-lost daughter, Ariella Winthrop, who is with us here tonight to celebrate.
It took half a second for the crowd to react. Maybe they were trying to figure out if it was a sick joke. Cara certainly was.
But she quickly realized it was something far more sinister than a joke, and her gaze flew to the corner of the stage, where shed glimpsed her friend Ariella, whose event-planning company had been hired to throw the ANS ball. When Cara focused on Ariella, her stomach sank like a stone. As soon as it was pointed out, the resemblance between Ariella and the president was quite striking. And Cara had known for years that Ariella was adopted. Ariella didnt know her birth parents.
The crowds murmurs rose in volume, everyone asking each other what they knew, had heard, had thought or had speculated. Cara could only imagine at least a thousand text messages had gone out already.
She took a half step toward Ariella, but the woman turned on her heel, disappearing behind the stage. There were at least a dozen doorways back there, most cordoned off from the guests by security. Hopefully, Ariella would make a quick getaway.
Mitch raised his glass. To the president.
Everyone ignored him.
Cara moved toward Lynn as the crowds questions turned to shouts and the press descended on the table.
If you would direct your questions to me, Lynn called, standing up from her chair and drawing, at least for a moment, the attention of the reporters away from President Morrow.
The man looked shell-shocked.
We obviously take any accusation of this nature very seriously, Lynn began. She looked to Cara, subtly jerking her head toward the stage.
Cara reacted immediately, skirting around the impromptu press conference to get to the microphone onstage. Damage Control 101get ahead of the story.
She quickly noted that the security detail had surrounded the president, moving him toward the nearest exit. She knew the drill. The limos would be waiting at the curb before the president even got out the door.