My room in the White House.
“Charlotte, are you sure about this?” my mother asked this morning.
“Yes,” I lied, as I packed, nervous, excited, knowing only that I’d do anything to make a difference, and that this is the best chance I’ll ever get to make a mark. Knowing, also, that I’ll do anything for him—to be close to him.
As I spoke, I was fully aware of a group of Secret Service agents, my new detail, outside my door.
“Charlotte,” my mother said tearfully.
“Don’t tell anyone yet, not until the president gives the press conference.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know if I’m terribly proud or terribly concerned right now.”
“It’s okay, you can be both.” I exhaled. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“You never could.”
Oh yes, I thought to myself, I could, but I didn’t want to think of the one selfish act that, if discovered, could have shamed my mother terribly. The one thing I took for myself, without concern for anyone else. The affair I had with Matthew Hamilton before he became president. I was so afraid of a scandal.
I still am. He made it clear from the start that he didn’t want a family, and I’m not sure I’ll bear my heart getting broken twice. Still, not for a second would I think of denying him. I guess I’m hoping.
Hoping we can make things work. Hoping that maybe . . . I belong here. Determined to try.
Matt began his presidency without a wife. I know his greatest fear is not being able to have both, and he sacrificed his personal needs for those of his country. I admire him for it. If he can put his country first, so can I.
We can take things slow. I can try this role on for size—and even though it already feels gargantuan, I’m excited. The only other time I’ve ever been this excited was when he asked me to join his campaign.
But for slow, things sure are moving fast. The Secret Service at my door, very early this morning. Now here I am, inhaling as I take in the room.
“It’s the Queens’ Bedroom,” she explains.
I clear my throat as I take in the luxurious bedroom before me. Oh god, the man I love is . . . sleeping somewhere near. Night after night after night.
“The president will be right across the hall. His chief of staff asked me to take you to see him, once you were ready.”
I inhale, stepping into my room in the most photographed residence in the land, overwhelmed, happy, honored . . . and afraid that I won’t be able to fit the shoes of all the first ladies before me. I set my things down, then I look at Clarissa and smile, nodding, terribly humbled as I stride down the long, busy halls and toward the West Wing.
“Miss Charlotte Wells, here to see the president,” Clarissa tells Matt’s assistant. She worked with us on the campaign, but she was stationed in San Francisco and I didn’t have the opportunity to talk to her. I say hello now, and she smiles and quickly steps away from her desk.
“He’s expecting you. I’m Portia. It’s very nice to meet the first lady.”
“Thank you.” I’m a little light-headed. She opens the door of the Oval Office after a few raps.
I gulp as I see the regal curtains framing the windows at the end. And the desk.
And . . . Matt. In a suit.
I walk into the Oval. Matt stands leaning on his desk, arms crossed, while five other men and his chief of staff are there. I spot Hessler and Carlisle among the group, and I smile, my eyes sliding back helplessly to a pair of dark espresso ones.
“Charlotte,” he greets, his lips curving.
“Mr. President.”
“So nice to see this lady right here.” Carlisle gives me a brief hug, and Hessler a nod and a rare smile, before Matt motions with his head and they all start leaving.
The door shuts, and I’m alone with him.
With him.
And he is everything.
All of him.
All of this place. This room.
He smiles a little. “Welcome home, beautiful.”
I swallow. I laugh, aware of his eyes sort of quietly, intensely caressing me. “This room is bigger than I imagined.”
He just smiles at me, motioning to the sitting area. I follow and sit across from him, licking my lips nervously.
“I’m so happy to see Carlisle and Hessler. I thought you’d ask Carlisle to be your chief of staff?” I breathe.
“I did. He declined due to health. Besides, he likes campaigning. He wants to be ready in four years when we run again.” His voice so close is soothing, yet quietly arousing, too. “He’s part of my kitchen cabinet—him, Beckett, and Hessler.”
“Hessler won’t be joining you either?”
“He wanted experience before attacking the position of chief of staff himself. They both seem more inclined to be ready for when I run again in four years.” There’s a trace of laughter in his voice. “I know—seems so far away. But that’s the way their minds are working.”
“How do you feel, Matthew?”
“Ready. I’m ready.” His expression stills and grows serious, and he glances around the Oval, at the George Washington portrait, then at me. “I’m making big changes and it’s going to take time, but I’m getting them done no matter what I have to do.” He frowns, his eyes level under drawn brows. “How do you feel?”
“Scared. Happy. Scared,” I repeat, laughing. Then I shrug, and meet his watchful, intent gaze. “I couldn’t sleep, thinking of this opportunity. I want to open the White House a bit more, for citizens to experience it in a different way, not just as a museum they walk into. I’d like to do things for women and children, too.”
“Do it,” he says, no questions asked.
“Okay. I will.” I exhale, smiling. “I’m excited. So many things I want to do, I don’t know where to start.”
“Are you all right so far? Do you need anything?”
I shake my head. “All this is so much more than I need.”
“I want you to feel at home.”
“I’m trying.” I shoot him an honest smile. “I don’t want to make a mistake when it’s simply too easy to make one . . . All this is too new. So I’ll just take it one day at a time.”
Matt smiles. “When you love something as much as you love our country, you take care of it—you do anything for it. I have no doubt in my mind I’ve picked the right first lady.”
I’m flushing. Head to toe.
He sets his elbows on his knees as he shifts forward. “I hope you know, baby, asking you to act as first lady is not only an excuse for me to see you. I believe you have a lot to offer our citizens. Regardless of our relationship, I want you to have a salary, and you will be directly compensated for your time by me,” Matt says.
“What? I couldn’t possibly.” I shake my head. “I don’t want a salary.”
“Everyone working here has a salary—except the first lady. Is that fair?” He grins.
“I wasn’t elected to office.”
“Not everyone here was elected.”
I look around, awed by the sumptuous surroundings, the plush upholstered couch beneath me, and I glance at Matt. “I get to do what I most want, sleep safe in the grandest home in the land,” close to you, I don’t add. “I don’t want a salary. If you insist, then we can donate it to Women of the World, help women who can’t find jobs get on their feet.”
“All right then.” He smiles his mercurial smile, one that makes his chiseled face look even more handsome.
I wring my hands. “I never slept with you to get a position in the White House.”
“I know. I need trustworthy people on my team, and I trust you.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Matt,” he says softly.
I smile, but I can’t say it.
“I rather like the sound of Mr. President on your lips.” His smile curves a bit more. “But I miss hearing you say my name.”
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Matt.”
“Come here, baby.” He pats his side.
I
swallow, rising to my feet and crossing the room to take a seat beside him.
He reaches out and slips his fingers into the fall of my hair at the back of my neck, seizing me gently as his dark gaze holds mine in its grip, his forehead to mine. “I’ll give you time to get used to all this, but I want to make it clear that you’re still mine. You never stopped being mine, and you never will,” he says.
A promise.
A promise I’m afraid to believe for fear of losing him—never really having him, like before.
I inhale deeply, breathing him in, letting everything Matt surround me, when I feel him tug me closer and brush my lips with his.
I gasp, and Matt flicks his tongue out to taste me.
I groan. Matt groans too and slides his arm around me, taking my mouth fiercely. He pours every ounce of fire into that kiss—his lips the flame, his tongue the accelerant, and I feel the burn. I feel the burn at the tips of my nipples, my fingers, my toes. At the center of my being.
I’m breathing in fast, shallow breaths when we ease apart. “What are we doing here?” I ask, breathless.
He frowns. “Are you asking me or are you asking yourself?”
“Myself. I think. Because I can’t stay away from you.”
“I can’t stay away from you either.”
“We said slow.”
“This . . . is slow.” He cups my face and kisses me again, his tongue plunging into my mouth. “I missed you. See, two months without you was two months too long. I don’t want another day where I don’t see this face. That smile. It has to be here somewhere.” He peers down at my lips, tugging the corners with his thumbs.
“Matt, stop.”
He smiles as I laugh softly—and his smile begins to fade.
The way he stares at my mouth makes me tremble deep inside.
A quiet intensity creeps into his eyes—and they blaze with heat. With emotion. With a possessiveness I’ve never, ever seen there to this degree. Until now. Sixty-eight days after seeing him last.
Sixty-eight days where I thought I couldn’t even breathe knowing I’d lost him. That I could never, ever have him.
My sex ripples.
I groan and I pull him close as he gathers me in his arms.
His mouth is hot and wet and more possessive than it’s ever been, fitting perfectly over mine.
He pulls me closer. I’m shivering on his lap, wanting him to never take his mouth away.
I’m a normal girl. One who fell in love when she shouldn’t have. I’m a daughter, a friend, a working girl. I know my name, somewhere in the back of my mind, but I can’t really remember it. Not now, when the heat of his mouth is working over mine.
We’re starved for each other. My nails sink into the muscles of his back.
Matt’s body shifts beneath me, hard, as he runs his hands over my body as if memorizing every contour, squeezing and shaping my every muscle.
“I want you in the White House. I want you wherever I am.” He’s breathing hard, his voice thick. I’m panting as I kiss his jaw, missing this, missing him.
“I want you coming all over the president’s cock, you little wanton. You delicious little kitten, huh.”
He palms my sex, stroking a finger along my opening over the fabric of my slacks. I mewl softly, grabbing his hard shoulders for support. “Don’t . . .” I warm as pleasure shoots across my body—through every nerve and muscle and atom. “I want you . . . too much . . .” A groan leaves me.
He smiles and kisses me a little harder and doesn’t stop. He rubs me over my slacks a little faster. I clutch my arms tighter around his neck and push my hips up to his hand, losing it.
“Who are you coming for? Huh? Tell me now,” he presses.
I tell him who.
The president of the United States.
My love.
5
PRESS CONFERENCE
Charlotte
There’s excitement in the air of the White House press room as Matt addresses the reporters. Several dozen flashes snap as he stands at the podium.
“I realize this is a little unorthodox. Usually the president of the United States is married, which I’m not, or has a close family member acting as first lady; in my case that also won’t be the case. I’ve asked a woman whom I’ve come to deeply respect and admire for many reasons—among them, her passion for this country that equals mine, and a heart as big as that smile she’s now wearing. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Acting First Lady of the United States of America, Charlotte Wells.”
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
Matt motions me to the podium.
Cameras keep snapping. I marvel that I can walk—with Matt’s direct gaze on me, with the whole room’s eyes on me. I marvel how I can act composed. How I can manage to open my mouth and say what I rehearsed with Lola, the press secretary, just an hour ago.
“Thank you, Mr. President.” I inhale his scent as he passes me, and I cling to it for strength. I make eye contact with as many sitting reporters as possible even though it makes me doubly nervous. “I’m honored to be standing here. I’m not ashamed to admit when Matt—the president—asked me to take on this task, I didn’t think I could possibly say yes. Turns out it’s not easy to decline the president, especially this one . . .”
I shoot him a look, and when he raises one eyebrow, there’s laughter, and my nerves start easing.
“And although I still feel completely undeserving to be standing here, I will do my best and more than that to represent our country as best I can and do justice to President Hamilton’s presidency. Thank you.”
Applause. “Miss Wells—!”
“Miss Wells, could you give us any specifics on the kind of relationship you and the president—”
Lola takes my place behind the podium and murmurs, “No questions at this time, thank you.”
And with that, she wraps up the press conference and I follow Matt out of the room.
“That went well, Miss Wells! Now if you’ll review the schedule—Oh! Mr. President.”
My chief of staff steps back when she realizes Matt is still there, and we walk together down the hall, his gaze on his chief of staff, who seems to be waiting for him at the end.
“You looked great out there.” His eyes slide to mine.
The impact of feeling his eyes on me never seems to diminish.
“Probably because I was standing next to you.”
“Trust me, I had nothing to do with it.” His eyes start twinkling.
“I expected a little booing, really. But they love you so much that anything you do, they’d agree with.”
“No, they wouldn’t.” His eyes rove over my features. “But whoever said Americans don’t have exquisite taste was very, very wrong.” He raises both his brows meaningfully, and even that maddening smile he wears, just a little arrogant, is sexy beyond belief.
There’s so much intimacy in his gaze, I’m transported to our nights together—his kisses, his words.
I want him to touch me. I want to touch him. But something as simple as a touch would cause an uproar and a scandal—that’s not what we want his first months in the White House to be about.
He leaves me with a smile and heads off, his chief of staff already listing a thousand things on his plate, and I sort of have trouble moving my eyes away from his retreating back—and how well he looks in that suit—to the woman before me.
“So if you’d like to review your duties as first lady,” she’s saying as she leads me to my wing, “it’s really up to you how much you want to get involved, but if you’d like to be very active, there’s always the menus to look at, the social events to plan and host . . .”
Waiting naked in the president’s bedroom, I think to myself, aware of a warmth flooding my cheeks as I do. No. That can come later. We need to be sure about what we’re doing first.
I don’t want to fail this country, or my parents, or myself. Or Matt.
I sleep alone in the Queens’ Bedroom. So aware of Matt—
the president—just across the hall. I hear him walk into his room late at night. I tiptoe to my door, sort of listening as I decide whether I should go see him.
Touch him. Kiss him.
I’m pressing my ear to the door when I hear footsteps approach.
My breath catches, and I quickly hurry back to my bed and slip under the covers as the door opens. Matt looms in my doorway. I hear the door click shut and his figure walking in the shadows.
I prop myself up on my arms, alarmed. “You can’t spend the night—the staff will talk, and it’s too soon to give the media the gossip-fest they’ll get with this.”
He lowers himself into a chair by the window, feet away from the bed.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at you.”
6
TODAY SHOW
Charlotte
“Today we are honored to welcome the first lady on the Today Show, Miss Charlotte Wells!
“Miss Wells, you were surprised when President Hamilton asked you to act as first lady?”
“Very.”
“Why were you surprised?”
“I don’t own a pretty pair of white gloves.”
Laughter.
“The country was feeling pretty disappointed when hopes of a romance between then candidate Hamilton and yourself seemed dispelled. Any dirty secrets between yourself and President Hamilton, breadcrumbs for the crowd?”
“Oh, I do have a few. Mainly I just like looking at him. In a very professional way.”
Laughter.
“You’re very refreshing. And President Hamilton seems to enjoy looking back at you, Miss Wells. Here’s for us to keep hoping.”
A hot little blush runs up my body as I think of last night. I slept like a baby, feeling him close. Though I woke up to find his chair empty, I could smell him on my pillow. And I wonder if he spooned me during the night.
“I’m fully committed to my role as first lady, as he is to being the president,” I force myself to say.
I go out of the filming studio to screams and placards raised.
I laugh and wave, biting back a smile as I’m led to the car by Stacey, one of the agents appointed to protect me.