For the first few weeks until he sleeps through the night, though, I settle him with me in the Queens’ Bedroom across the hall from Matt, where I have a crib set up and a rocking chair, and I wait in the rocking chair with the baby blinking up at the ceiling in wonder as Matt brings Jack to the door.
“Come here, boy,” he says, striding across the room.
Jack drops to his haunches, warily crawling across the room to where Matt now stands before me.
“It’s Matthew Junior,” I say, shifting slightly forward to let Jack sniff him.
The baby makes a soft, happy gurgling sound and Jack’s tail starts wagging, and I glance up at Matt, and as my hot husband smiles a quiet I told you so, I sigh in relief. I was mildly concerned Jack would be a danger to Matthew Jr.
But I’m already realizing he’ll be our son’s mischief buddy for sure.
Oops.
37
MEDAL OF HONOR
Charlotte
“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States, Matthew Hamilton, accompanied by the Medal of Honor recipient, Sergeant Swan.”
After what happened the day Matthew Jr. was born, a hero emerged. General Swan is visiting the White House today, where he’ll receive the highest recognition, the Medal of Honor.
He proved his courage in the Middle East when his unit was ambushed, braving enemy fire and ignoring injuries as he tended to wounded comrades.
I know that nothing weighs more heavily on Matt’s shoulders than sending our men and women into danger, and he told me that being a man who always admired those who served in the military, and having failed to do so himself, this is the greatest honor he’s ever been bestowed, next to being president—to be able to award this medal to those who serve, and serve so well.
I watch from the chairs lining the room as both men walk up to the podium, Matt sharp in a blue suit, the sergeant in his uniform, as Matthew addresses the audience.
“Courage is not a virtue we are born with. It is a virtue we exercise—a choice that we make. Courage is when our men and women selflessly volunteer to defend our country, and keep us safe.” He keeps it short. Simple. As he removes the medal from the box, he walks up to the sergeant.
Once the medal hangs firmly around the soldier’s neck, Matt puts out his hand.
Applause echoes around the room.
The soldier is emotional, lips pursed tightly as he fights his emotions.
Matt slaps his back and shakes his hand, and I hear him tell the man, personally, not for the cameras, “Thank you for your service. We sleep at night thanks to our men and women, our armed forces out there defending and protecting our nation.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” the soldier croaks out as he faces the spectators again with red eyes.
38
DANCING ON THE BALCONY
Charlotte
It’s day thirty-nine postpartum with mere hours to hit the exact forty-day mark, and he waits for me on the balcony of the second floor while I finish feeding Matty. I find him leaning on the railing, thoughtful as I step outside.
When he turns to watch me approach, a heady mix of lust and love envelops me.
Matt smiles. He slips an arm around my waist and draws me close. The gardens are quiet outside, and he begins to move with me. I shut my eyes. He sets his forehead on mine.
We start swaying to some sort of music in our heads, the music outside the White House, in the silent gardens, the D.C. streets, the rustle of our clothes as we move.
I open my eyes and find myself staring at a swirl of dark as he holds me to him, one of my hands within his, and we’re moving all this time, getting closer, turning around on the Truman Balcony, and then he lowers his head, and the next second his lips are slanting over mine. Slowly, tenderly, he takes my lips as if I’m precious—as if I’m the most precious thing this man has.
I open to him.
He probes lightly, leisurely, without any hurry at all, his tongue rubbing over mine, caressing me. His hands go to the back of my head, gently stroking down my hair.
We’re still dancing.
But now we’re kissing as well, and my body reacts in the usual way. I’m breathing hard, completely enveloped by his warmth, his strength, his scent.
He whispers in my ear, “I miss my girl.”
“She misses you.”
His eyes sparkle. “You’re tempting like you have no idea.”
“I should go sleep.”
He looks wolfish, catching my wrist and pinioning me in place. “Not happening.” He smiles, laughing. “Come here.”
His coaxing look weakens me head to toe. A slow fire between my legs starts building into an inferno of heat. My heart’s beating too fast in my chest as Matt reels me toward his six-feet-plus frame.
He raises my hand and presses my fingertips to his lips. When he slips his tongue out to lick my fingertips, I gasp. He eases back and our gazes lock.
He says, “Day thirty-nine,” with a curl of his lips.
I nod, breathless. Wondering if he’s thinking what I’m thinking.
My hands go to his shirt, fisting the fabric. I meant to stop him. Didn’t I? We still have one more day to go. But all I know is his mouth is on mine again, and it tastes divine, and I want more of it, and my fingers are clenching his shirt tightly and I can’t breathe. His hands slide down my sides, cup my ass, and pull me toward him. Closer.
The ache between my legs intensifies as his cock bites into my abdomen. He’s so hard, his kiss warm and sensual as he drags his lips to my ear, where he whispers, “Sleep with me tonight.”
I press back against the railing, watching the moonlight play across his gorgeous face. “But it’s day thirty-nine, and Matthew Junior—”