Commander in Chief

His voice is low, concerned. “You do realize I’ve never seen you pissed before.”

I swallow.

“I know, I . . . I know I asked you to go slow. This is all me, feeling jealous, and wondering if I can do this.” I inhale and search for words. “It’s just hard to share you when we do find time to be together . . .” I turn around to face him.

There’s a silence. Matt looks at me. “You don’t have to. We don’t have to complicate this, Charlotte.”

I swallow.

“You’ve been working the room like a pro, and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

I inhale and head forward, then I reach out and brush my fingers across the back of his. “You’re worth it. I’d do it a thousand times for you,” I say, and I mean it.

I squeeze his fingers, stepping toward the room as he opens the door.

“I do want to come out. Soon. I’m ready. I want you. I want to be with you. I want this. I want everyone to know that I do,” I rush out as I let him go.

People watch us walk inside, and my breath catches when Matt—Matthew Hamilton—slips his fingers back into mine.

I almost jerk as a bolt of lightning runs through my body at the gentle but firm grip.

Oh my fucking god.

I jerk my eyes to his, asking silently, What are you doing?

And his eyes are twinkling as he looks down at me, as if expecting my shock. And he says, “Dance with me.”

“What?” I’m so stunned, everything drowns and fades except the man before me, his eyes dark and coaxing.

A god, really.

My throat feels like I’ve got a ball of fire in there somewhere as I try to make it work. I notice the daughter of the attorney general, models and actresses, all glancing this way, and I can’t help but tease him as I feel that lingering jealousy prick me again. “Are you sure you want to dance with me? You have hundreds of admirers hoping for you to ask.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I happen to admire only one.” His voice dips as he tugs on my hand. Amusement lost to heat—raw heat simmering with fiery passion. “Come here, Charlotte.”

I start to shake nervously, but he pulls me to him and onto the dance floor.

I’m panicked, and also overcome with little bubbles of excitement swimming in my veins. We start dancing. Everything that is him envelops me as cameras flash and people watch him move me around the dance floor.

He holds me very close, and protectively. My body comes alive at the touch. Arousal swims in my veins. It’s not the appropriate sentiment to feel here, dancing with the president, but I can’t help it. I want him close. I want to feel him inside me. I want him to remind me that of all the women fawning over him, I’m the one he loves—but at the same time, I want to pull away, too afraid of what we’re doing. Of coming out into the light for everyone to know. To see. That Matt and I . . .

“This isn’t a good idea,” I breathe, aware of people watching with awe and excitement.

“I don’t care.”

“Matt—Mr. President,” I protest, hoping that professionalism will change the proprietary look in his eyes. I’m glancing around for an escape route even though I can barely move my legs.

Our bodies brush as we dance, his legs hard and grazing the sides of mine, his biceps bulging around me as the song swarms around us.

He simply smiles.

“You once said you might not mind being by the president’s side,” he says. My libido goes crazy under that smile. His words husky, seducing me. The proximity of his mouth to my earlobe making my heart go haywire.

“That was before,” I whisper worriedly.

He captures my gaze with his powerful one. “Before you fell in love with me, or after?”

We hold each other’s gazes as the song finishes.

“Before you did this—everyone is looking,” I say, panicked.

“Good.”

He’s smiling as he dips me backward for the song’s finale and crushes his mouth to mine, with a little bit of tongue.

“I cannot believe you did that,” I tell him on our way back.

“Can you not?” he asks, laughing softly.

“If I were to go online right now, I bet there are a thousand and one rumors, stories, and the like circulating.”

“I am not one bit interested in what they are. Neither should you be.” He tugs me forward. “We’re adults. You’re my first lady. We can be together, Charlotte. We are, and we need to face up to the music, regardless of the tune. We will get through this.”

There’s a silence. Matt holds my face and pulls it up, smiling. “All they know for a fact is that I kissed you. The message implied is clear—you’re mine. I’m dating you, and you’re dating me. Which reminds me, I want to take you out. I’ve been jealous just thinking of you alone with anyone else. I get jealous of every man out there who can be with you, hold your hand and kiss your face. Now it’s me . . .” He presses his lips to mine.

“You don’t have anything to be jealous of,” I scoff.

He grabs me by the hips and lifts me to his lap, his eyes blazing with heat and possessiveness.

“Neither do you. I saw you tonight. You were flushed, jealous of the women greeting me.”

I bite down on my lip. “You’re . . . their absolute fantasy. Of course I’m jealous. You’re their fantasy and mine.”

He looks at me biting my lip, and I release it. “You seem to be ignorant of the fact that I’m taken. I’ve been taken for quite some time.”