“So, you were in the military?” the First Lady cooed at Mark. Not subtle, but rather a full-on mating call.
That the President had married such a wanton—
Mark curbed his thoughts and stuck to the script, the one he had to make up as they flew along.
“We call ourselves paramilitary. I mean, called ourselves that. You’d probably call us, them, mercenaries. Guns for hire. To the highest bidder.”
“And who’s the highest bidder for you so far?”
“No one, pretty lady.” Mark found it easy to slide into his lady-killer voice, but for the first time it didn’t feel right.
“Yet,” he added on a sour note. That was the problem. Emily Beale had spoiled all other women for him. He sat next to one of the most blatantly s****l women he’d ever met, and he couldn’t stir the least interest.
“Ain’t had a
