Sworn to have their lover’s back, front, or any other side that needs covering.

  Secret Service agent Kent Sinclair, head of POTUS security, thought himself prepared for every contingency. Until the First Lady—a woman who barely tolerates his presence—approaches him with a request that startles the hell out of him.

  Carlene Broderick is frightened. With the weight of the country and impending war on his shoulders, her husband, James, is buckling under the strain. The key to helping him cope is the name he calls out in his sleep—and it’s not hers. It belongs to his fellow ex-SEAL team buddy. His ex-lover. Kent.

  Without hesitation, Kent plunges into treacherous emotional territory, only to realize it’s not really him that James needs. The Commander in Chief needs to give up complete control in the bedroom.

  To relieve that much pressure, Kent and Carlene must work together and declare a truce that rapidly heats up into something more. Something that leaves James caught deep in forbidden territory—torn between his beloved wife and the man he’s never stopped loving.

  Warning: Contains three forty-somethings discovering whole new sides of themselves, a rejuvenated marriage, and plenty of kinky fun. All brought to you by an ex-SEAL in a wetsuit, a bisexual President, and a First Lady with a tattoo on her ass.

  Kneel, Mr. President

  Lauren Gallagher

  Chapter One

  Kent Sinclair hated Camp David.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The lodge was nice, and it was secluded and secure. The place wasn’t crawling with cabinet members, never mind heads of state and their security. Out here, it was just the First Family—James, his wife and their three kids—and their various staff members.

  They all rarely came out here, since a trip to Camp David meant James was actually taking a break between his endless presidential duties. Which was great—God knew the man needed as much downtime as he could get—but it made Kent restless. This wasn’t like back in the day when they were SEALs and downtime meant licking wounds, cleaning weapons and testing the limits of the human liver.

  He couldn’t do any of that now. His weapons were as clean as they could get before he’d start stripping off the bluing. He didn’t have any wounds to heal, aside from that mostly gone blister on his ankle from a pair of shoes he hadn’t broken in properly. And he couldn’t drink, because even though the president was on vacation, the Secret Service was not.

  As always when they came to this place in the remote woods of Maryland, Kent was fucking bored.

  It wasn’t so bad right now, at least. He was lounging in the rec room, watching James and the kids playing Super Mario Kart on the big screen. James looked more relaxed now than he had in quite a while. He reclined on the floor between the twin toddlers, dressed down in a T-shirt and an old pair of sweats with NAVY emblazoned on the thigh.

  He was still obviously President Broderick, though. He was practically in pajamas, laughing with his kids while they chased each other around an animated race-car track, but he could never completely shake the look of the leader of the free world. He’d had a press conference this morning, and his graying dark hair was still arranged the way it always was when he had to appear in public. He’d tousled a few strands when he changed out of his suit and into his faded T-shirt, but otherwise, it was neat and severe. Professional. Presidential.

  Knowing James, his appearance reflected his mind—even while he was playing with his kids, part of his brain was on his job. Steering Luigi’s green cart around the track, collecting coins and trying to knock Princess Toadstool out of the running, James’s mind was almost surely churning through budget issues that he and Congress had been locking horns over for three months, not to mention the simmering conflict in South America. While Congress hashed out some details and tried to reach a consensus about how to address that conflict, James’s wife and advisers had all but dragged him kicking and screaming out of the White House for a desperately needed week off. Now that he’d been here for a few hours, he didn’t seem to be fighting it, but this was probably as relaxed as he was going to get.

  Until he went to bed, anyway. There were other distractions there that would take his mind off peace negotiations and military mobilizations. He’d have something else to think about, and Kent would be going insane. It wouldn’t be long either—the kids were already starting to flag, and once they were tucked in, they’d zonk out in no time. Then James and his wife would go to their room, Kent would retire to his, and the house would be dead silent.

  Almost dead silent.

  Maybe it was the acoustics. Maybe it was the vents. Maybe it was that California-king-size bed in the master bedroom. Whatever the case, Kent could hear everything from his own room across the hall. Every creak. Every moan. Every muffled, playful laugh. Everything.

  It wasn’t even standard procedure for the head of security to stay across the hall from the president like that—there were round-the-clock agents keeping a close watch on the place—but James had insisted. He wanted Kent close by, even when his shifts were over. Even when Carlene was apparently doing everything in her power to pull James’s mind off his never-ending duties.

  Kent shook himself and pushed those thoughts away. James was married now. He’d moved on. Kent was fortunate to have a skill that could benefit—and protect—his longtime friend, and he was happy to use that skill to stay close to him. Being able to hear James and his wife at night was merely collateral damage. Just like seeing James in tailored suits all the time, watching him play the leader he was born to be, but not being able to touch him. Ever.

  Note to self—when we get back to Washington, go out and get laid. Stat.

  “What do you guys think?” James sat up and stretched gingerly. “Bedtime?”

  Nobody protested. Justin, one of the three-year-old twins, was already out cold, half on his dad’s lap and half on the floor. Even Joey, the oldest, was starting to nod off. He was five and insisted he was much more grown up than his younger siblings, so he deserved to stay up later, but on rare nights like this when everybody was up late, he never outlasted the other two. Especially Natalie, the other twin—she was the spitfire of the bunch. James joked that her blood must be half Red Bull or something. Like father, like daughter, as far as Kent was concerned.

  But even Natalie, like her brothers, was winding down. While her dad and older brother played, she’d been yawning, stretching, and rubbing her eyes.

  James looked at each of his children in turn, then up at Kent. “Guess I’d better put them to bed before they pass out.”

  “Good idea.” Kent pushed himself up out of his chair. “You need a hand?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Their eyes met, and James’s tired smile made Kent’s stomach flutter.

  Kent quickly broke eye contact, though. He knelt and let Joey climb on his back for a piggyback ride while James scooped up the sleeping twin. Natalie stretched a bit but followed her dad out of the room on her own power.

  Outside the boys’ bedroom, Kent carefully let Joey down and turned to James. “We playing golf tomorrow?”

  James exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I need to sleep off some of this jetlag first.”

  Kent pressed his lips together. They’d all flown back last night from a short trip to the West Coast, sleeping for a few hours before this morning’s press conference and this afternoon’s drive to Camp David, and James was dragging ass. He had always been the first to bounce back after their team had gone on a mission that involved days on end of sleep deprivation. The first few months after his inauguration, he’d been the same way. But the last year and a half, all it took was a meeting with another head of state to knock him on his ass for a few hours—Kent couldn’t help thinking that two years as president had already taken more out of James than all the years he’d spent as a SEAL.

  “Well, let me know.” Kent clapped his shoulder gently. “You need to wind down, and we’ve both got our clubs.”

  “Sounds great.” James offered another exhausted smile. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. It also depends on if Carlene’s got anything planned with the kids.”

  “Of course.” Kent returned the smile. He didn’t like James’s wife, but he’d never hold it against either of them for wanting to spend time as a family or a couple.

  “We’ll see how it goes.” James gestured toward the bathroom, where the kids were starting to squabble over who got to squeeze the toothpaste. “I should go supervise that before it gets out of control.”

  Kent laughed. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  “I’ll call you if I need backup.”

  He replied with a mock salute and then watched James disappear down the hall to take care of the kids. The demands of being president kept James away from his family more than he liked, so whenever he was able to be there for the bedtime routine, he insisted on handling everything. The occasional duty of making sure the kids brushed their teeth, put their pajamas on and were ready for a story was probably one of the few things keeping him sane these days.

  While James took care of the kids, Kent went into the kitchen to hunt down something to eat. Much as he craved a beer, he never drank anymore unless he was actually on leave. It was hard to imagine there’d ever been a time when he and James had routinely gotten blackout drunk, put on their uniforms and reported for duty before they could’ve passed a field sobriety test. God h

elp James if any photos or videos ever surfaced from that era, especially during an election.

  In the kitchen, Kent rifled through the refrigerator. Fine, no beer, but there had to be something he could—

  The hair on his neck stood up.

  A second later, quiet footsteps came into the kitchen.

  He mouthed a silent curse, then put on a poker face and turned around, knowing damn well whose soft steps those were.

  Carlene Meyer-Broderick. His other favorite part of spending time at Camp David. There was nothing wrong with her, per se, but she wasn’t terribly fond of Kent, and when she wasn’t occupied with her duties as First Lady, she rarely missed an opportunity to subtly remind him of that. Kent would’ve gladly returned the favor if his best friend weren’t madly in love with her for some reason.

  Tonight, he fully expected her to grab a bottle of Perrier out of the fridge and leave without saying a word, but she stopped and faced him over the kitchen island.

  Looking him right in the eye, she said, “I need to talk to you.”

  Kent hesitated. Her tone had betrayed nothing—including none of her usual hostile annoyance—so he couldn’t begin to guess where this was going. “What about?”

  She glanced at the doorway she’d just come through, then turned back to him. “James.”

  Kent gnawed the inside of his cheek. “Uh, okay.”

  “He’s…” She broke eye contact for a moment, and something in her expression softened. “The thing is, the presidency is killing him.”

  Kent rubbed his neck. “I can’t really argue with you there.”

  She glanced at the doorway again and then met Kent’s gaze. “I don’t know who else can help him but you.”

  “Help him? How?”

  “I’m not… I’m not sure.” Before he could respond, she gestured at the sliding glass door. “Let’s go outside. I’d just as soon the kids didn’t overhear any of this.”

  Kent doubted the kids or their father were awake by this point. They’d likely fallen asleep during a bedtime story, as they often did when James let them stay up to play video games. Still, he didn’t protest.

  He followed Carlene onto the back deck. Out here, security wasn’t a concern—no one was getting near this lodge without breaching several checkpoints, and there were motion sensors and cameras out in the yard. If anyone did get close enough, there was always the Sig .357 tucked under Kent’s left arm.

  Carlene rested her hands on the railing and stared out at the dark woods behind the lodge. Kent watched her. The soft light from inside and the harsher glow of the floodlights picked out the shadows and contours of her face. In this light, it was clear the presidency had taken its toll on her too. Usually, it was nearly impossible to tell. She had the skill of a Hollywood makeup artist, so she was able to hide it all from the public. In fact, she was like a modern-day Jackie Kennedy—every inch poise and perfection.

  But like this, dressed down and without makeup, it showed. The heavy circles under her eyes. The gauntness in her cheeks. Kent suspected that if she stopped dyeing her hair, she’d have as much gray around the edges as her husband. They were both still young—she was just forty-one, and he was forty-six—but no one held the highest office in the land without aging prematurely.

  Kent hadn’t even realized how long the silence had dragged on until Carlene spoke. “Did you know he talks in his sleep?”

  “I…beg your pardon?”

  “James.” She faced him, the exhaustion palpable in her eyes. “He talks in his sleep.”

  Kent held her gaze, not sure what to say. Not sure how far to tip his hand.

  She sighed, looking out at the woods again. “I’m not trying to bait you, Kent. I know about your past with him.”

  “Oh.” Kent swallowed. “I, um…” He couldn’t remember James ever talking in his sleep. Then again, Kent usually fell asleep first, and half the time, they were both drunk.

  “I’ve lost count of how many times he’s said your name.” She laughed bitterly. “He’s done it so many times, I…” Her jaw tightened, and she added through her teeth, “He does it all the time.”

  Kent’s lips parted. “He does?”

  She nodded slowly, staring out into the night. “During the day, he’s withdrawn and depressed. He’s moody. His temper is…” Clicking her tongue, she shook her head. “He’s a mess.”

  “I know he is.” Tonight, James had been in a good mood—turning off Mr. President and turning on Dad mode usually had that effect on him. Kent shifted uncomfortably. “He’s going to be a wreck until this bullshit with the cartels is settled.”

  “And then another crisis will come along.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. James’s presidency had been one thing after another from the start. Kent supposed it was like that for every president—things always looked worse when you were closer to the action.

  Carlene fell silent again. Kent wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say something more, or if she was lost in thought. Either way, he didn’t speak. This conversation was one hell of a minefield, and he wasn’t taking a step until he had a better idea why he was out here.

  After a while, the First Lady took a deep breath. “The thing is, the more stressed-out he is, the more he says your name.” She folded her arms loosely across her chest and turned to him. “I can’t help thinking that whatever he needs to help him cope while he’s in office, you’re the key.”

  Kent shifted his weight. “What is it exactly that you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know.” She swallowed. “But…I need you to help him. Whatever it takes.” She held his gaze, and though there was no hostility in her dark eyes, there was no shortage of intensity either. “Whatever it takes, Kent.”

  “Um…” He regarded her uncertainly. “I don’t follow.”

  “You two have a history.” She broke eye contact and glared out at the forest. “Go back to that history if you have to.”

  “Our hist—” Kent blinked a few times. “Are you…are you asking me to…”

  “Sleep with my husband?”

  He gulped and then nodded slowly.

  Carlene squared her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly, still staring down the trees. “If that’s what it takes, then, yes. Honestly, I don’t know what he needs. The only thing I’m sure of is that my husband is a mess, and in some way, he’s reaching out to you.” She shook her head. “I’ve done everything else I can think of.”

  “But your marriage—”

  “My marriage is a moot point if a heart attack drops him.” She set her jaw. “I need my husband to be okay. If that means that he needs you, then…” She waved a hand. “So be it.”

  “Carlene. You’re asking me—”

  “Please.” She stepped toward him, her eyes echoing the desperation in her voice. “James needs you. I don’t know why, or exactly what he needs from you, or what will help him, but I know he needs you.”

  “I… I don’t…”

  Carlene came a little closer, eyes locked on his. “Kent, I’ve seen the way you look at him.” There was no accusation in her voice. No anger. Maybe some resignation, but nothing more. “And I’ve…” She sighed. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Kent’s throat tightened. Yeah, he’d seen those looks too, but he’d forced himself not to read into them. “But…what will it solve? If he does need something from me, I can’t imagine it would change anything.”

  “I wish I knew. Maybe he just needs to talk to you. Maybe he needs…” She stiffened a bit. “Maybe he needs more. But at this point, I’m out of options besides just sitting back and watching my husband wither away under all this pressure.”

  Kent studied her. “I don’t even know where to start with him. I mean, I want him to be okay too. But what am I supposed to say? ‘Your wife just gave me carte blanche to—’”

  “I get it,” she snapped. Then her tone and expression both softened. “Look, I’m going to go get some sleep. It’s been a long day for all of us.” She met his eyes. “The kids and I will be gone tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged for a short trip with them. You and James will be…”