Commander in Chief

I need a moment, or a thousand moments, to adjust to this new role.

Matt continues advancing—with every step his eyes drinking me in, his lips curling in a seductive, appreciative smile.

“You ready?” He stretches out his hand.

I nod and look at that hand—the hand I’ve held so many times, and that held me. I slide my fingers down the length of his, and he grips them and leads me down the staircase with him.

I grab my dress and lift it to avoid tripping on the hem as we descend, watching as Jack bounds down and announces with a happy bark to the rest of the Secret Service that we’ve arrived downstairs.

Matt glances ahead at our waiting detail as we head toward the exit of the North Portico doors.

“It’s not my first time with the media. I should know better than to feel exposed.”

“Don’t be nervous. You’ll blow every single person in the room away.”

I stop in my tracks, looking at Matt.

Matt, recently showered, absolutely poised and drool-worthy in the tux.

He looks every bit the president. Cool and completely confident.

“You don’t look that blown away,” I say.

“I’m schooled in the art of controlling my emotions. Trust me. I’m blown away.” The heat in his eyes sizzles as he looks at me, and his voice thickens, making my knees wobbly under my dress.

His gaze smolders as he reaches out to tuck my arm into the crook of his and lead me down the White House steps and to the waiting car.

“Behave, Jack,” Matt warns with a raising of his brows as Jack sits at the door and watches us leave.

We climb into the presidential state car and head on our way with a line of black cars flanking us front and back.

It feels surreal to be riding in a motorcade with him. The size of the team required to protect him is in the hundreds. Twenty-six cars travel with us, including medical assistance, motorcycles, and press. I know snipers are planted on the route, mailboxes removed to avoid explosives. It’s a perfectly orchestrated master symphony of hundreds of players, all circling around the president and his safety.

I’m so aware of the people glancing toward our cars as we pass that it takes me a moment to become aware of Matt watching me.

He looks stunning in that tux and he smells so good, his cologne making me dizzy.

His presence, his nearness, his gaze. I clench my thighs together under my gorgeous, glittering Cinderella dress, wanting him. Wanting him so much, not just physically, but emotionally. I crave our nights alone, talking . . .

In the White House, there are so many people—butlers, maids, doormen, ushers, plus the West Wing staff—I wonder if I’ll ever be able to have the courage to do more than steal in secret into his room. Or let him steal into mine.

I meet his gaze. “It feels completely surreal.”

His lips curl, and he looks at me a moment more. “Let’s come out as a couple tonight.”

The low but firm words trigger a tremor down my spine.

I remember hundreds of nights during the campaign, sleepless, wanting him.

I remember that he won. That I went to Europe. That I’m living in the White House with him, more in love than ever. And that we’re taking it slow.

Slow.

And utterly, exquisitely slowly, Matt slips his hand under the fall of my hair and places a kiss on my forehead, then my mouth. It’s a soft kiss, fleeting, but it leaves a burning sensation behind when he eases back.

He looks at my kissed lips with a male pride and not one bit of apology. “I’m tired of keeping you in the shadows. I want everyone to know that you’re mine. But I know what I’m asking is for you to become even more public, and possibly under scrutiny. I will wait for as long as we need to, but I’m ready to move this forward, Charlotte.”

I swallow.

“I want that more than anything,” I breathe.

He slips his hand over the curve of my shoulder, touching my bare skin as we ride to the event.

“I just had this hope that . . . I’d prove myself as a first lady first, before we announced our relationship to the world. I’m not so sure what I want to do anymore.” I meet his gaze.

There’s something predatory about the way he’s looking at me.

“But I’ve always wanted to just be with you. Without the concerns and the hiding,” I admit.

“So. Be with me.”

The smoldering flame in his eyes warms me to my core, and I hear myself say, “It seems to me that if we took it slow, there’s a better chance for the citizens to adjust to the idea of you having a girlfriend in the White House.”

“The speculations are running amok already. Half the country will be worried you distract me—the other half will be thrilled. It doesn’t matter. I want you. I want you indefinitely—and eventually, baby”—he takes my chin—“you’re going to need to own up to the fact that the man you’re in love with is the president, and you helped put me here.”

I laugh, and he smiles too.

His hot gaze caresses me and heats me down to the marrow of my bones. “When we can’t be together, I miss the way you smell. The way you look. The way you feel.” His lips curl, and he cups my face in his warm hands and leans to whisper in my ear, “I’m blown away by you. And so will every person who looks at you tonight. Not that I’m too happy about that.”

I’m blushing head to toe, so thoroughly I don’t even know what to do with myself. “You’re so forward, Mr. President.”

He laughs, then releases a deep groan and ducks close to my ear. “Think about what I said. Let’s talk about your concerns this weekend.”