âI canât date you, Max.â
âI canât stop wanting you, Cara.â
She lifted her long lashes, her crystal-blue eyes looking directly into his. âTry, Max. Summon up some of your famous fortitude, and try.â
He couldnât help but smile at that. âIâm not here for inside information. I was genuinely concerned about you.â
âAs I saidââ
âYouâre fine. I get it.â
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 Cranshawâs 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 presidentâs illegitimate daughter, Cara struggles to hide her unexpected pregnancy, since Max has made his opinion on fatherhood crystal clear.
Itâs 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
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 âHail to the Chiefâ 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 couldnât 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.
âLadies and gentlemen,â cried the master of ceremonies above the music and enthusiastic clapping that was spreading like a wave across the hall. âThe President of the United States.â 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 bandâs volume increased. And the crowd shifted, separating to form a pathway in front of President Morrow. Cara automatically moved with them, but she still couldnât 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 couldnât let him see the confusion and alarm sheâd been feeling since her doctorâs visit that afternoon. Resolve, she ruthlessly reminded herself, not hesitation and definitely not fear.
âHeâs running late.â Sandy Hanifordâs shout sounded shrill in Caraâs 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 presidentâs entourage, Sandy was stationed here as liaison to the American News Service event.
âOnly by a few minutes,â 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 didnât change her job tonight. And it didnât alter her responsibility to the president.
âI was hoping the president would get here a little early,â Sandy continued, her voice still raised. âWe have a last-minute addition to the speaker lineup.â
Cara twisted her head; Sandyâs words had instantly broken Maxâs psychological hold on her. âCome again?â
âAnother speaker.â
âYou canât do that.â
âItâs done,â said Sandy.
âWell, undo it.â
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 networkâs ball was a tradition, so heâd 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-fiveâwell, ten fifty-two as it turned outâthen 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.
âWhat do you want me to do?â asked Sandy. âShould I tackle the guy when he steps up to the microphone?â Sarcasm came through her raised voice.