Commander in Chief

Dale nods and leaves, and Frederickson follows to the door, shouting, “Catch!” and sending the ball flying my way.

Jack leaps up before I can grab it, then trots and brings it over.

“Good dog!” Frederickson applauds, impressed.

I pull out my glasses to continue reading and catch Jack sniffing my coffee cup as he sets the ball on my desk. “No more, buddy.” I turn the cup and let him lick a drop—and I think of her, with her red hair swinging, bringing me coffee. I think of her spread out beneath me. Moaning. Wanting it.

She wants us to have dinner. I know what she wants. I want it too.

She wanted time, concerned about the media.

I’ve been patient. But I’m tired of worrying about the media. I’m tired of being unable to take her out in public. I’m fucking tired of hiding the one thing I personally value aside my job and my country. Yeah, I’m looking forward to dinner. The only thing I hunger for is her.

12

HIM

Charlotte

I hear Marine One long before I see the helicopter descend over the South Lawn of the White House. I want to run to the doors like Jack does when Matt is out and he stays home, but instead I force myself to walk primly down the stairs and outside.

Matt hops off the helicopter and Jack rushes across the lawn, while I wait by the steps, smiling as Jack leaps up to greet me. I pet his head, my eyes firmly locked onto the tall, distinguished man crossing the lawn toward me.

He’s wearing his gabardine over his suit, and the wind is blowing through his hair—making love to every inch of him.

His stride is purposeful as he heads forward. Jack waits by my side, tail swishing side to side.

Our eyes meet. I just smile and start heading inside, and two steps inside—a good distance away from the agents milling about—he draws me into his arms and my resolve to wait until after dinner melts a little. He strokes a hand down the back of my head. “I missed you,” he breathes in my ear.

It melts a little more.

His strength seeps into my body. It reaches deep inside me, down to the marrow of my bones. If we were alone, I’d pull him somewhere to feel his hands on me. Feel his eyes on me. Feel his skin under my fingers, his tongue moving over mine again.

“So did I.”

Jack barks happily. Matt eases back, but not before I get a glimpse of the smoldering heat in his eyes. “Not here,” he says.

I inhale for patience.

He grins, seizes my chin, and stares straight into my eyes. “Go to my room.” A promise.

My breathing becomes uneven and jittery. “What about dinner?”

“What I want is right here, and I’m not waiting a moment longer to have her. Now let me tend to something and I’ll be right there.”

I head to my bedroom first and snatch up a gauzy nightie that I bought in Paris, my only purchase there. A white baby doll with a part in the middle and a bow tying it together.

Did I buy it with the hopes he would one day see it?

I told myself it was for me, but now I’m not so sure. I tuck it under my jacket, and I’m aware of Secret Service stationed nearby as I cross to his room. I shut the door, quickly change in his large bathroom, and head straight for the bed because my legs feel liquid and unsteady.

His room is a little bigger than mine and his bed smells like him. I sigh and delight in the scent when I hear the knob turn—and the door shut.

My happy smile over being in his bed fades as my lashes open, and my eyes start to climb up powerful, long legs, narrow hips, and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the top.

He. Is already. HARD.

He’s looking at me with incredible amusement, his eyes dancing, his hair spiked up as if he’s been very restless. Restless on his way home.

“Always full of surprises, aren’t you, Charlotte,” he says quietly. Taking in my baby doll.

I can’t breathe anymore.

I’m enveloped by the power and confidence he oozes, by the penetrating quality of his stare, by the male smile he wears.

Twisting my lips as I sit propped up on my arms, I shyly hold his gaze. “Do you like my welcome home gift?” I motion to the bow tying my baby doll together.

We’re both high from missing each other, I think—our adrenaline twisting and tangling invisibly in the room.

He crosses the room, reaching out to take my arm and help me to my feet. One tug and he’s flattened me against the flat wall of his chest. Another tug on my loose hair yanks my head back. The gasp that leaves me only serves to part my lips—and he’s there. His lips are there, brushing mine, ever so exquisitely. His breath trickling warmly into my mouth.

“I like the gift,” he says, fingering the bow at the top of my nightie, “though I haven’t opened it entirely yet.”

He tugs the bow, releasing it. Desire for him thrums in my veins.

“The fact that I’m nearly naked doesn’t mean that I’m ready to sleep with you.”

He parts the baby doll open. “The fact that I asked you to my room doesn’t mean I’ve been thinking about you.”

But I want him to think of me. Because I can’t stop thinking about him. I slide my hands down the front of his shirt. “No?” I rock my hips against him.

He tugs the fabric of my nightie off one shoulder. “No.” He leans down, lips whisking across the curve of said shoulder.

It’s amazing what he does to me.

He touches me and all my senses attune to the spot he’s touching.

His scent intoxicates me and his lips are the wickedest thing I’ve ever encountered. My eyes drift shut, and I angle my head back, gripping his hair. It’s slicked back when he’s in public, but I love how it gets spiky when he’s been raking his fingers through it.