“Hot. Really hot. And hard.”

“No way. Slow and sexy.”

“Girl, please. Look at his posture.”

“Looking.”

“And that says ‘slow’ to you…how? That man likes being large and in charge.”

“Can’t we just wish he prefers both? A lot of both?”

“Maybe he’ll let one of us explore the issue further.”

“After we’re done with the dog-and-pony show tonight.”

“You mean after Tracy’s done with it?”

That was it. The banter between her two closest friends finally made Tracy Rhodes choke on her “soothing” cup of tea. She set the cup down on the dressing table, swiveled in the high makeup chair, and unloaded two rounds of exasperation at Gemini Vann, aka her Chief Counsel, and Veronica Gallo, her Media Secretary. At the moment, however, they were distracting thorns, numbers one and two. “Not helping with the ‘relax’ segment of the schedule, girls.”

Relax. If that were possible. Down the hall, an army of Las Vegas Convention Center staffers readied a hall that would soon seat thousands. In a little over an hour, all those seats would be filled—with people waiting to hear what she had to say. About a subject she knew all of three damn things about. Okay, two and a half. She needed all the help she could get.

That officially nixed relaxation.

Calm. Maybe calm was achievable—though that depended on getting five minutes of deep breathing. Time sure as hell laughed at that one. Sound check was in ten minutes, followed by half a dozen this-can’t-wait phone calls and then a meeting with local schoolchildren. And space? Fifteen people in a twelve-by-twelve dressing room might be someone’s idea of space, but she wasn’t that someone.

There were a lot of “someones” she never thought life would turn her into by now.

Widow.

Single mom.

Entrepreneur.

Vice president of the United States.

Annnnd there went the possibility of calm.

Before her nerves could start their usual run with that, Gemini came to the rescue, holding out a bottled water. With eyes half a shade lighter than hers and the same somewhere-between-blond-and-brunette hair, many mistook Gem as her sister. Neither of them refuted the claims. Why bother when it might as well have been truth?

“Better to ask forgiveness, right?” The woman’s blue-silver gaze sparkled. “So…errrmm…sorry, boss?”

Tracy took a second to think of a good zinger as comeback. It was all the opening needed for the strawberry blonde poised at the other end of the mirror. Veronica, actually looking like a Veronica instead of the shortened version of Ronnie she preferred, pointedly cleared her throat. “You mean sorry, Madam Vice President, right?”

Gem snorted. “She was my pinky-swear bestie long before she was DC’s darling. She’ll be the same long after they’ve moved on to the news cycle’s next favorite flavor. Still”—she nodded Tracy’s way—“sorry, Madam Vice President.”

Tracy stifled a chuckle. “You’re forgiven, Madam Counsel to the vice president.”

Gem glanced across the room again. “Just for that, I’m ogling the new guy again.”

“Not if I beat you to it.” Ronnie sneaked in a long stare at the cluster of men near the door—“men” seeming the worst ration of a word for the sight. At least ten better definitions came to Tracy’s mind for the dark-suited group.

Giants.

Fighters.

Leaders.

Alphas.

Rulers.

Annnnd that did it. She was now a member of the gawk-a-thon too. And that was a surprise…why? With the turn her life had taken in the last year, there’d barely been time for a little self-induced fun in the sheets, let alone activities like—gasp—a date. And if she could even find the time for that? What then? One couldn’t trade small talk about the job over dessert and coffee when most of that information was classified. One couldn’t invite a guy up for a nightcap when Secret Service was opening the car door and the street address was One Observatory Circle.

Even if that wasn’t the case, she had to consider Luke.

Like she did in every decision she made. In every breath she took.

Well. Speak of the handsome devil now.

No. Not a devil. Despite the glints in his eyes and the cant of his grin, her son would always be her perfect gift from heaven. A little extreme? Of course. A thought process she’d have to revise one day? Definitely. But not today and not now, even if staring at Luke meant she had to keep looking at the suited hunks, now engaging him in caveman-worthy fist locks and shoulder bumps. The lump in her throat swelled bigger as she watched his attempts at reciprocation, all gangly limbs and fifteen-year-old bravado, clearly worshiping the warriors who joked around with him—

Until he locked gazes with the new arrival to the gang.

The one who made the others, even with their linebacker shoulders and towering thighs, look like his wimpy kid brothers.

The one who still had Gem’s and Ronnie’s tongues dragging on the floor.

The one who turned her kid into a speechless slab.

Especially the next moment, when he turned and gripped Luke in a thoroughly masculine handshake. With their hands locked, the man’s fingers stretched halfway to Luke’s elbow.

“Holy shit,” Gem rasped at the sight.

“Holy something,” Ronnie seconded.

“Sssshh,” Tracy admonished. “He’s talking.”

And she didn’t want to miss a second of it.

Because his voice was the most alluring thing about him.

Dear. God. That. Voice.

Deep as his dark, watchful eyes. Formidable as the shoulders straining at every stitch of his jacket. Warm as his caramel-colored skin but cool as his control. It was the kind of voice she could imagine in the front lines of battle—but also at the pulse points in her neck. And other places on her body…

Holy. Cow.

Well…holy something. Cows weren’t exactly at the mental forefront at the moment. Stallions, maybe. Or mambas. Maybe even werewolves.

No, no, and no.

Pumas.

Dark ones.

Ding, ding, ding. When the metaphor fits…