Mr. President

  Matt rewards me with a slow, languorous, sensual smile as he cups me fully in his warm grasp.

  He leans in and kisses me slowly this time, stroking his thumb over my nipple. I let his hand remain on my breast, thrilled when he flicks open a button with his free hand and steals it under my shirt. Now both my breasts are getting fondled.

  Teased.

  Kneaded.

  Swallowing back a groan, I grip his shoulders and fist the fabric of his shirt in my hands, arching up against him.

  “I want to strip you down and run my tongue over every inch of you,” he rasps. His body vibrates with his desire, and I can see that he likes how I’m rubbing up against him like a cat.

  He peels my blouse away and exposes me in my lace bra.

  “God, you’re so beautiful I need to see all of you.” He takes me in with his eyes, then our mouths are fusing back together. He kisses me with relish, as if he plans to enjoy me all night. Yes!

  Things are getting heated when there are noises out in the hotel hall.

  Matt peels his lips away.

  He lifts his head and turns to watch the door, and I wait, holding my breath. His nostrils flare as the noises fade.

  Doubts try to trickle in, but they don’t stand a chance against this—against him.

  He glances back at me, his chest heaving, his lips tipping a little. He looks at me and licks his lips. “Charlotte, Charlotte. You have no idea the kinds of things I want to do to you, baby.”

  Show me! Do it!

  For long seconds, he looks down at my lace bra and slowly lowers his head and captures one nipple. He flicks it with his tongue. It’s already hard, but when he sucks over the thin fabric, it hardens more.

  His growl excites me.

  I groan and rub my hands over his back when he eases his hands between our bodies, under the waistband of my skirt. His fingers slip into my panties, brushing over my folds.

  “Give me this, beautiful,” he part growls, part croons as he finds my nub, my folds, and teases his finger along my wetness. “God, give me everything.”

  “Please.” I tilt my hips as he pushes his finger inside me.

  I clench around him, my whole body tightening as a low mewl bubbles up my throat.

  “That’s right, baby, do you like it when I do this?” he asks thickly as he inserts a second finger.

  He’s easing my bra down and circling the tip of his tongue across my bared nipple, murmuring, “God, you’re so gorgeous like this,” when there’s a knock on the door.

  Matt peels his lips away and curses under his breath, extracting his finger and licking it clean.

  That has to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, god help me.

  Smirking, he heads to the door. He looks through the peephole and then waits until I straighten my clothes before he opens it.

  Wilson steps inside swiftly and shuts the door. “Someone must have recognized you and tipped off the press. We need to leave, Matt.” He’s frowning and seems to be avoiding looking at me.

  “Jesus,” Matt growls.

  He rakes five fingers through his hair, obviously pissed. Then Matt glances at me in apology. He shoots a glance at Wilson next. “Give us a minute.”

  Wilson steps out, and I can’t move fast enough.

  I can tell Matt can see I’m mortified as he crosses the room while I scramble to straighten my clothes.

  He grabs my face and looks at me closely, our eyes only inches apart. “Hey, stay calm, baby. We’re adults. We’re not hurting anyone.”

  “I know; I just don’t want to mess anything up. It’s just that, since that night . . .”

  I shake my head. I could just hit myself for being so weak around him, for having such little self-control when it comes to him.

  “I couldn’t forget you—no years were enough. I watched you everywhere you went. I wasn’t even sure if I should take the job. When Carlisle came to offer me the job, I thought that if I still felt the spark I did at the mere thought of you, I’d stay away. I should be staying away—”

  “Tell me about the spark,” he says, his eyes sparkling now.

  I purse my lips, frowning, suddenly mad at him for looking at me with those laughing eyes right now. “It’s not a spark.”

  “No?”

  I grit my teeth, shooting fire at him with my gaze. “It’s . . . sparks, plural.” I shake my head. “It’s a torch. The Olympic torch.”

  “Ahhhh,” he says.

  I swear this man can chuckle silently with his eyes.

  I don’t know how he does that!

  I shove his hard chest a bit and keep scowling. “Why can’t I dislike you like I do your opponents?”

  “Because you want to sleep with me.”

  I laugh despite myself, then turn away to the window.

  Sober now.

  He steps behind me, inhales my hair slowly. My heart flips in my chest because he’s brushing his nose lightly into my scalp. His voice is close to my ear. “Sleep with me when we get to D.C. this weekend.”

  “Matt . . .” I begin.

  Yes!

  No. No. NO.

  I’m torn as I slowly face him.

  He’s People’s Sexiest Man Alive, despite years working to be taken seriously. Fooling around with a young intern isn’t the image he’s worked to achieve.

  “We’ve started something here. I’m not about to let it go,” he says, cutting me off.

  Wow. He’s really stubborn.

  I exhale.

  He catches my chin and smiles down at me. He repeats, “Sleep with me in D.C.”

  I ease an inch back, away from his touch. “I’m just realizing that I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure that I don’t want more.”

  My admission is sobering to myself. And to him.

  “More,” he repeats.

  He drops his hold. Then rakes a hand over his hair while a restless little muscle starts working in the back of his jaw.

  “My biggest fear is my kids will experience things in life and I won’t know about it. That I’ll be the last to wish them a happy birthday. That my wife will be alone every night because I’m too busy to even kiss her goodnight. I couldn’t do that to you, Charlotte. I watched my mother suffer greatly next to my father when he took office.”

  He shoves his fisted hands into his pockets, looking down at me intently.

  “I want you, Charlotte. I want us. This. But if I win . . .”

  Shadows fall across his eyes and reality floods my heart at the unspoken words that hang heavily in the air—winning doesn’t come with more. It’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make to become this country’s leader, and one I admire him for.

  “You will win,” I tell him.

  I’m fighting to keep the regret from my voice.

  Matt just stares at me, my lips, my face, lifting his fingers as his lips curl. “All this conviction,” he croons, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my lips.

  My heart is tripping all over itself.

  I can’t help staring at his full, sensuous lips. I might not get more, but I can’t deny myself another kiss from this man.

  I lean up on my toes, slipping my arms around his neck. Around this stubborn, confident, kind, sexy, larger-than-life, rebellious man’s neck.

  And my lips meet his.

  We’re kissing heatedly, and there’s a light tap on the door, and the stolen moments are gone—and as he chucks my chin, smiles, and heads out the door, reality starts to sink in.

  22

  FLIRTING WITH DANGER

  Charlotte

  I exhale and pull the zipper of my black sweatshirt up to my neck. I slip on a baseball cap, guiding my ponytail through the small hole in the back, and place glasses over my eyes even though the sun is already setting.

  I’m in my D.C. apartment and it’s Saturday afternoon.

  Ever since our “meeting” in that hotel room, and almost getting caught, I can’t shake this ov
erwhelming feeling of dread. My stomach twists and turns in knots thinking of what I’m about to do.

  I know that this is risky, beyond risky, going to his house on his one night off, but I need to talk to him. In private.

  If I don’t do this one risky thing, we’ll keep doing a million risky things right up until Election Day.

  I need to stop this before we get in too deep . . . to the point of no return. A part of me fears that we already have, and a part of my soul tells me that no attempt on either of our parts can really stop the avalanche of emotions now surging between us, present in every look, touch, smile, and kiss.

  I need him to know that we can’t continue this dangerous thing we have started, because I would never forgive myself if I cost him his presidency. Presidential elections, and especially presidential campaigns, are very delicate things.

  One wrong move, one wrong comment, one slipup can mean game over. And for Matt, an Independent candidate already having to fight against two long-standing parties with history, loyalty, dirty tricks, and a lot of money on their sides . . . he can’t afford a slipup.

  I ask my parents if I can borrow their car for the night and say that I’m going out for drinks with my friends.

  However, I drive toward Matt Hamilton’s house. I didn’t want to take a cab because I didn’t want anyone else knowing of my little trip.

  When I roll up to his house, I feel my stomach turn and twist into a million knots. I force myself to open my car door and walk up the steps to ring his bell.

  A couple of shaky breaths later, and a couple more thoughts of chickening out, Matt Hamilton stands in his doorway. Barefoot, hair rumpled, in black jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.

  He inhales a sharp breath when he sees me, and rakes his eyes over my body before asking me in a gruff voice, “Why are you here, Charlotte?”

  I smile, but I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

  “Can I come in?”

  He doesn’t respond, merely eyes me with curiosity and steps aside to let me walk past him. He moves just enough to let me go by, but not enough for me to do so without touching him.

  My shoulder grazes his chest, and his scent envelops me.

  He leads me to his living room, where I see the TV is on with the volume low. On his desk is a mess of papers and folders.

  He sits across me and clasps his hands behind his head, his eyes never leaving mine. He sits in silence, piercing gaze on me, and I just take him in. Every fiber of my being telling me to go crawl into his lap and let his warmth soothe away any doubt or fear in my head, but I can’t move.

  “I can’t do this, Matt. What happened in your hotel room . . .”

  I meet his gaze, his eyes like hot coals, his jaw clenched tightly.

  I gulp and continue. “We almost got caught. I can’t be the reason for you losing this presidency.”

  “You will not be the reason for me losing. If anything, you’ll be the reason for me winning.”

  I shake my head. “You know that we’re playing with fire. This is the Oval Office. The White House. I can’t let you throw it away for me.”

  “I’m not throwing anything away, Charlotte.” He eyes me steadily. “Why are you so worried?” he prods.

  “Why do you think? The whole nation has their eyes on you, Matt! The last thing you need is a scandal.”

  “There will not be a scandal. I won’t allow it. You need to trust me.” He leans forward, his eyes scanning my features, his voice unwavering, hard and deadly serious. “I would never let anything happen to you. And even if something broke out in the news, I would protect you.”

  “If anything happened, you know you would need to throw me under the bus. It would be the only way to salvage your image with the people and keep your campaign going.” My heart breaks at my words, because as much as it hurts, it’s the truth. He would have to place the blame on me, control the narrative in such a way that made me seem like a power-hungry girl looking to sleep her way to the White House, and make Matt seem like the victim. That’s just politics.

  He stands up and starts pacing, and lets out a sarcastic laugh. “You really think I would do that to you?”

  I stay silent, unable to speak.

  “Jesus, I would rather lose the presidency than hurt you,” he growls, in a voice so low I wasn’t sure I heard him.

  “That is exactly why we need to stop!” I plead.

  He digs his hand into his hair in an exasperated motion.

  “I don’t want to stop,” he says, looking at me with such conviction and desire in his eyes, it almost scares me.

  “Neither do I,” I whisper, “but we have to.”

  “Fuck, Charlotte—just let me have you! Let me have this!” His eyes pin me to my seat, his raw, unrestrained frustration burning bright. “I may be the next President of the United States! I’ll be damned if I don’t have what I want,” he growls, “and I want you. I not only want you, I need you. No matter what I’m doing, I’m thinking of you. No matter who I’m with, I would rather they be you . . .”

  He stands there, his chest rising and falling with his every breath, his fists clenching at his sides, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

  I sit there in shock at his outburst . . . at his words.

  My heart is practically bursting in my chest at the adoration I feel for this man—and I let myself go. I let myself go to him. Because I want to.

  I rise from my seat and his pupils dilate as I walk toward him, his fists still clenched at his sides. I see him fighting the urge to reach out to me.

  I walk right up to him, our chests almost touching. Matt tips his head down to look at me, since he towers over me, and the turmoil in his eyes sets me on fire.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and plaster myself against his body, and I start to kiss him with everything I’ve got.

  I don’t care about more. I don’t care that there is no future for us if he wins. I won’t deny us both this moment. He said he needs me. And I need him.

  I kiss him and in my kisses, I unleash all the desire, all the passion, all the need I had been so desperately trying to fight; and he does the same.

  Immediately his arms wrap around my waist and I feel him lift me up. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands grip my ass, holding me against him, and he keeps returning my kisses with equal intensity.

  He kisses the shit out of me. All memories of anything existing in the universe other than this man, this moment, completely disappear.

  He growls against my lips and I feel him start to walk while kissing me.

  He breaks the kiss for a moment to take me up the stairs, but I can’t keep my mouth off him—his jaw . . . down his neck . . . nibbling and sucking on his delicious skin.

  He kicks the door open, and I think he just broke the hinges but I don’t care.

  The room is dark except for one lamp next to his bed.

  He sets me down on his dresser, the first thing he finds, and stands between my legs, his mouth back on mine—taking my breath away.

  His kiss is drugging, his lips warm and soft yet firm. His tongue is warm too and every time he puts it inside my mouth, I feel tingles all over. It feels intimate and incredible. I sigh against him, but my sigh quickly turns into a moan as his hand travels down and unzips my sweatshirt. He pushes it halfway off my shoulders, the straps of my top following. He doesn’t even take my bra off, just yanks down one of the cups and takes my nipple in his mouth. I gasp and wrap my legs tighter around him, letting my head fall back because of how exquisite it feels.

  “Matt . . .”

  He sucks harder, twirling his tongue against my nipple, making me wetter and wetter by the second.

  “I could do this all day,” he groans as he pulls down my other cup and takes my other nipple in his mouth.

  Just as I get used to the warmth of his mouth on me, he pulls back, gaining a moan from me in protest.

  He looks at me and reaches up to cup my face, giving me a slow, tender kiss before
reaching between us and unbuttoning my jeans.

  I feel my heartbeat get faster as I realize what he wants to do.

  I quickly jump off the dresser and take off my jeans, my sweatshirt, and my top, leaving on just my panties and bra.

  Matt yanks his T-shirt off, revealing miles of hard, strong male-ripped chest muscles.

  He takes me in, standing in just my bra and panties, his eyes filled with admiration and lust.

  I look back at him, silently begging him to take me to his bed already.

  And he does.

  He picks me up and lays me down on the bed, following close behind. He lies on top of me, kissing me senseless, his hands traveling town my torso and gripping my ass.

  He sucks on my neck, licking and biting.

  I rake my nails down his back and moan, rocking my hips against his hardness.

  “Please . . .” I beg.

  He chuckles against my neck, and then lifts his head to look me in the eye when he places his hand over my panties.

  “What do you want? My lovely, beautiful, sexy Charlotte.” He continues kissing my neck and rubbing his fingers against my soaked panties.

  Before I can answer, he pulls my panties to the side and slips his finger inside me, and I gasp in response.

  My breath is coming fast and hard, and I’m out of control with want as I pull his head up so that he’ll kiss me again.

  He doesn’t need to be asked. His lips fasten to mine without apology or restraint, then he swipes his tongue down my neck, kissing and nibbling my skin.

  I’m high, absolutely high on him, on this moment. Matt drags his fingers along my stomach.

  I stroke his pecs and kiss his nipple too. A groan of pure hunger and approval rumbles up his chest. I push his shirt over his head, and his hair ends up rumpled and sexy.

  He leans over me again.

  Matthew unhooks my bra and exposes my breasts.

  He touches me.

  My nipples harden under the feathery touch and I suck in a breath. I wait, my body tense, wanting. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the tip of my breast, sending a shiver down my spine.