Tate stared up at the canopy of her bed in the Queen’s Bedroom. It was too overwhelming to stay in such a historic room as the Lincoln Bedroom so she was happy when Birch agreed she could stay in this feminine room. However, it wasn’t history or even the beauty of the room keeping her awake. It was Birch. When she first started working with him, she couldn’t stop thinking of him as the president. But now she couldn’t stop thinking of him as a man—a man who had ordered her to spend the night with him. Sure, not in the same room, but a part of her wished it was. Okay, a large part of her wished it.

Tate reached for her tablet to study her apology speech again, but decided against it. She didn’t want it to seem rehearsed when she gave it tomorrow morning. Letting out a frustrated breath, Tate shoved the covers off and quietly opened her door. Whenever she was anxious, she turned to food. It wasn’t a good habit, but it didn’t mean it was going to stop her from raiding the private kitchen across the hall from Birch’s room.

Tate padded barefoot down the carpeted hall. She tiptoed toward the kitchen so as to not wake Birch and then froze when she pushed open the door. The light from the refrigerator highlighted Birch’s bare back as he stood reaching for something inside. Tate thought about sneaking quietly out, but the muscles rippled down his back as he moved. Before she knew it, he was turning toward her.

Birch couldn’t get back to sleep. Thoughts of Tate had plagued his mind every time he closed his eyes. He saw her with that prick, Fitz, when what he really wanted was Tate straddling him. He wanted to see her toss her head back in pleasure as she moved upon him. It was a mixture of jealousy, desire, and guilt that kept him up.

He had had a moment earlier to find out if Tate felt the connection that he did, but he’d blown it. Instead he’d thought about his wife. From that time on, Birch had thought about nothing else. He’d looked at a picture of his wife as the guilt almost drowned him. But as he was drowning, a life ring had been tossed to him from the last place he’d expected—his wife.

As the guilt swamped him, the image of his wife appeared behind his closed eyes. They were laughing as they hiked the trails by their home shortly before he was deployed. They stopped at an overlook and gazed at the vast mountains dotted with a few patches of reds, oranges, and yellows as the first days of autumn made themselves known. Birch felt the pressure on his heart as he saw his wife turn to him and smile. He remembered that day so clearly. “The beauty makes my heart sing for it inspires love. There’s room in our hearts to love many, isn’t there?” her figure said to him, her hand reaching for his face as she slowly disappeared. Birch had awoken with a start and now couldn’t get back to sleep.

He headed to the kitchen even when his heart had wanted to lead him down the hall and into Tate’s bed. He trailed his hand over the marble island and headed for the refrigerator by the small window overlooking the darkened lawns. He had just opened the door when he heard the small sound of surprise from behind him. His body was at full attention at the one soft sound Tate made. Everything in him screamed out to take hold of something good in the world and never let go.

Instead of running to her, Birch turned slowly around. Tate stood there in a fitted V-neck jersey for her hometown Georgia Vultures football team. The V-neck drew his attention to her breasts, but the short jersey danced around the upper part of her thighs. As she took a few slow steps into the kitchen, Birch’s eyes moved lower, taking in her shapely legs.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Birch asked as he let the refrigerator door close behind him. He stepped over to the island and gripped the cold marble to keep from reaching for her.

“No, I couldn’t.” Tate stepped up to the other side of the island and paused.

Looking across the island, Birch saw her breasts rising and falling as her breathing increased. “Why couldn’t you sleep, Tate?” Birch asked, his voice deepening at the same time it softened.

“I was thinking of you. Birch, are you mad at me?” Tate asked, bringing her eyes to his.

“No, I’m mad at myself,” Birch said, taking a step around the corner of the island. “I’m mad that I can’t stop thinking of that picture.” Her head dropped in shame as he took another step toward her.

“I know. You should see the things these people who don’t even know me are writing on the Internet. I knew it would be bad. I was prepared for it, but the names they are calling me . . .”

Birch stopped next to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tate, look at me.” When she looked up, she didn’t have tears in her eyes as he thought she might. She had determination and a look that didn’t sit well with Birch—resignation.

“You don’t deserve the things people say on social media. Turn it off. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the person standing in front of you, not someone hiding behind a computer screen. I’m what matters, and I’m not mad because you’re in the photo or that you released it. I’m mad because I’m not the man in the photo with you.”

Tate was about to argue that she really wasn’t a slut like everyone on the Internet was calling her when Birch’s words replayed in her mind. “You’re mad that I’m with Fitz?”

Birch nodded, and she felt his warm hands tighten on her shoulders, bringing her a step closer to him. The tips of her breasts brushed his bare chest as she dragged her eyes up to his. “I’m mad because I want to be the one you share your bed with. I want my name on your lips as you cry out in pleasure. I want to be the man with you, Tate.”

“But—” Tate thought of him being the president, which was more of a strike against him than for him. She thought of all the times in the meetings he had sat by her. How he had always asked for her opinion. How he worried about her safety. How he seemed to see the real her, not the televised façade she put on during conferences, but the woman who was still finding her place in their group. And as she thought about the support he’d given her and the encouragement to have confidence in her position in the group, Tate knew the feelings she felt had been returned all along.

“Tate?” Birch asked softly, and Tate realized her unseeing gaze had dropped to his chest. She looked back up, his face now filled with uncertainty, and Tate knew she’d do anything to remove that uncertainty forever.

Tate lifted her hands and tentatively put them on his chest. She felt the heat from his body and felt the beating of his heart as she rose up on her toes and tilted her head back. Words were so overrated at times like this, and talking was the last thing Tate wanted to do. Instead, she pressed her body against his and took his lips in hers.

Birch dropped his hands from her shoulders and wrapped them around her back. He lifted her from the floor as he held her tight against him. Their tongues met and did all the talking that needed to be done. Tate felt her body catch fire. Her blood pulsed with need as Birch moved his hands to her ass, lifting her so her legs wrapped around his waist.

Tate moaned into his mouth as she felt the heat of his erection through his shorts. Her body instinctively ground against him in response. Birch turned, holding her against him before setting her on the edge of the island so he could reach for her shirt. His hands trailed up her stomach, and his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts as his hips moved against her.

“Tate,” Birch gasped as he moved his hands to the bottom of her shirt. “Tell me to stop if you want me to. If not, know this is not just for tonight, but that I’m all in.”

“Don’t you dare stop. I don’t know what this is between us, but I’ve felt it, too.” Tate arched her back as he stripped the jersey from her and tossed it on the floor. Tate closed her eyes and threw her head back as Birch’s hand cupped her breast and his tongue circled her other nipple. She felt his hand drop from her breast as his tongue continued to wreak havoc on the other.

Birch lightly trailed his fingers up her thigh. “Please,” Tate panted.

His fingers slipped around her panties at the same time he sucked her nipple hard into his mouth. Tate cried out as she felt her body begin to tighten. “Now, Birch. I want you now!”

Birch had her in his arms as her body ached for him. His mouth was on hers as he carried her out of the kitchen and across the hall to his bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him, but Tate didn’t hear it. He lowered her onto the bed, and as he reached for a condom, Tate slipped her panties off.

“Are you sure?” Birch asked one more time. “We can try to be traditional, go on a date or something.”

Tate smiled up at him. “Our situation isn’t exactly traditional, but my feelings for you are. So yes, I am sure.”

Birch pushed his shorts down and rolled the condom on. Her body tightened and ached all at the same time in anticipation. The mattress dipped as Birch slid onto the bed next to her. “I’ll always be here for you, Tate.”

“I never thought you wouldn’t. Birch?” Tate asked as he propped himself up on his elbows to look down at her.

“Yes?”

“I want you. Now, tomorrow, and when things get rough. And we both know they will. I won’t run,” Tate said, knowing that when this got out—and she was under no illusion that it wouldn’t—things would become near impossible for them.

“I know. You’re stronger than that,” Birch said, running a hand down her side and stopping to cup her hip as his eyes stayed locked on hers.

Birch kissed her at the same time Tate’s breath caught as he entered her in one smooth thrust. She grabbed his shoulders and hung on as the world shifted. When they cried out each other’s names, Tate knew they had both changed forever tonight.

Whore. Press Suck-u-tary. Slut. Bitch. I’d fuck her. Disgrace.

Tate disabled the Internet connection to the computer in her office. She wouldn’t let nameless morons who sat in judgment of others when their own lives were far from perfect ruin her day. This was her honeymoon period, the beginning of a relationship when everything was perfect. This is what she and Birch were experiencing, and that’s what she wanted to focus on.

They had made love multiple times through the night and once again in the shower that morning. Locked in his room, there was no press or judgment, just the passion two people shared and the freshness of a relationship both knew was something more than a casual fling. But all of that ended when she reached her office and turned on her computer.

Emails told her she was going to hell. Faceless people called her names on social media. Jokes that weren’t at all funny on talk shows questioned her morality and ability to do her job. As if having sex ever prevented someone from doing a job. But Tate couldn’t respond. There were simply too many to battle, and she didn’t want to give them the power to admit they were getting to her. Instead, she was going to make her statement in ten minutes.

Birch had wanted to be there, but Tate had refused to let him come. This was something she had to do alone. She had to show people she wasn’t ashamed, and she could stand up for herself. She released the picture and that gave her a certain power as well.

Tate applied her lip gloss and headed for the press briefing room. The entire White House staff looked nervous as she walked by them. It was as if she were heading for the gallows. Tate lifted her chin and looked them in the eyes as she passed.

As she came around the corner of the room, the sound of reporters talking stopped for a brief second before erupting into a barrage of questions.

“Are you having a sexual relationship with the president?”

“Did you hear the joke on Late Night about you being a slut?”

“Are you going to resign?”

“Are you and Fitz Houlihan still together?”

Tate grabbed the podium, and they quieted down. Her body shook, but she refused to show it. Her legs were barely holding her up. However, her voice was steady as she looked out at the packed room eagerly waiting for every scandalous detail.

“My name is Tate Carlisle. I believe many of you have forgotten that I am a human being based on the type of questions you are asking. I’m going to give a brief statement, and I’ll answer respectful questions only. That picture was taken on a private beach while I was in long-term relationship with my former agent, Fitz Houlihan. We were blackmailed with the picture and paid off the person who had taken it two years ago. Apparently not all copies were destroyed, and I’m not surprised. Since the release of this image, which I am not ashamed of, I have been called all sorts of vile names. Why? Simply because I had sex with someone I loved at the time? I’ll make this simple. This invasion of my privacy changes nothing. I am still the press secretary, and I will do my job regardless of what salacious things are said about me. I am proud to serve this country, and I will be proud doing so for the rest of my time at the White House. Thank you. Questions?”

Hands shot up, people yelled, and Tate almost wobbled off her heels. For the next five minutes, she answered only the questions that had any journalistic value. Yes, the president supported her in her job. Yes, she believes there are problems with respecting people’s right to privacy. The resort was in the Caribbean, and a fisherman took the photo. She was with Fitz for years until he broke up with her when she was fired from BBN. And yes, Fitz now represents Claudia Hughes. That timely question came from Flint Scott, who leaned against the wall with his man-bun and an old-fashioned notepad.

Flint raised his hand again, and Tate called on him immediately. “Brent Eller from Tinselgossip.com told me that an anonymous source sent the picture, and when he looked into Fitz Houlihan, the man identified in the photo, he discovered rumors that Ms. Hughes is now in a relationship with Mr. Houlihan. It also appears that their relationship started immediately after your firing—an unjust firing, my sources within BBN say—which was pushed for by Ms. Hughes.” People turned to look at the reporter from BBN as if he could respond for Claudia.

Tate suppressed the desire to pump her fist in the air. Bless Flint and his research. “Is there a question, Mr. Scott?”

Flint looked up from his notebook. “Yes, do you believe Ms. Hughes had you fired so she could enter a personal and professional relationship with Mr. Houlihan, who is commonly known to refuse to represent competing clients?”

Tate looked shocked. “No, I can’t believe that. Claudia was a mentor to me at BBN and has been one of my role models through my journalistic career. No more questions, thank you.”

Tate walked away from the podium praying she didn’t shake out of her heels and fall on her face. That was easily one of the hardest things she ever had to do. She felt slightly guilty at manipulating the press just the way Claudia had been manipulating the people. But soon it would be over. Soon they’d have the advantage on Mollia Domini through the power of the truth. Whatever Tate had to go through to achieve that end, it would be worth it.