Cernak was one of the toughest old coots I’ve ever met,” he told Claire. “He was just sixteen when the Nazis invaded Czechoslovakia in ’38. They conscripted him into the navy, but he deserted a year later and stowed away in the hold of a cargo ship. He snuck into this country with less than five dollars in his pocket. Twenty years later, the man owned and operated nineteen dry-cleaning shops and still cussed like a sailor.”
“He must have passed some of that toughness to Stacy. She’s a remarkable young woman, Mr. President. Together, we’ll get her through this rough patch.”
Dawn streaked the ink-black sky when Claire drove down her quiet Alexandria street. As she neared her town house she saw the sleek sports car Luis drove when not on official embassy duties still parked at the curb.
Deep in thought, she hit the garage remote. In the rush to get to the White House, Luis’s suggestion that it might be time to renegotiate their agreed-upon boundaries had slipped to the back of her mind. She hadn’t had time to reflect on it, much less formulate a response.
She wasn’t up to tackling that kind of discussion now, however. Their two deliciously exhausting sessions between the sheets and the hours she’d spent at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue had her running on reserve.
Luis, thank goodness, recognized that immediately. He was in the kitchen, settled comfortably at the island counter with the early edition of the Washington Post and a mug of coffee. He’d showered, Claire saw from the dampness glistening in his black hair. And shaved. The prickly stubble that scraped her inner thighs last night was gone.
“How is Stacy?” he asked.
“Shaken.”
That’s all Claire would say, despite his very direct involvement in the situation. He understood and accepted the concise reply with a nod.
“I hope you can help her.”
“I’m certainly going to try.”
When she shrugged off her shoulder bag and dropped it on the counter, he skimmed a discerning eye over her face.
“You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“Shall I make you breakfast? Eggs scrambled with sausage and salsa?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass. What I need right now is a shower, followed by a power nap. Then I have to hit the phones.”
“I understand.”
When he eased off the stool and crossed the room, his scent enveloped her. Claire succumbed to a moment of weakness. Sliding her arms around his waist, she leaned against his chest.
“God, you smell good.”
“Do you think so?” One jet-black eyebrow arched. “My staff will no doubt smirk when I arrive home smelling of your perfumed soap. I must bring my own next time. And a shaving kit to leave here.” He scraped a palm across his chin. “Your plastic razor does not do the job on my bristles.”
“Boundaries,” she murmured. “We’ll talk about them later. When we’re not so tired.”
He curled a knuckle under her chin and tipped her face to his. “Yes, querida. We will.”
His mouth brushed hers. The kiss was whisper light, yet made Claire rethink her immediate priorities.
“Now go,” he instructed, “take your nap. I’ll let myself out.”
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