Mr. President

His eyes meet mine, and after a brief crackling stare, he slides them over to my parents. “Senator Wells,” he says.

My father’s chair screeches as he stands. “A pleasure to have you in our home, Matt.”

He greets my mother, and she embraces him fondly. “You’re just in time for tea or coffee,” she says. “Would you like some?”

“Thanks. I’m actually here for Charlotte.” His eyes are hooded mysteriously, to the point where I can’t read what he’s thinking.

“That’s what we assumed,” my father says with a nod. “Thank you, Matt, for the opportunity you gave her, campaigning for you; we’ve never seen her dive into anything with so much passion.”

“It’s her I came to thank for her support,” Matt says. His eyes slide in my direction and he drinks me up as if the mere sight of me provides a shot of vitamins to his soul.

I blush crimson at the thought as my parents’ footsteps trail up the stairs. I drop down on the couch, and Matt takes a seat across from me. My parents’ house seems smaller with him inside. As small as it felt when his father and the Secret Service were here, except now it’s just him.

Matt.

Doodles is swishing her tail, eyeing us. “What’s her name?” Matt stretches out his hand, palm up, and Doodles goes to him, just like that.

“Doodles.”

He lifts his brow and smiles, scoops her up, and sets her on his lap.

I feel nearly devastated by the want to go replace Doodles on his lap and kiss him, but the noise coming from the upstairs bedroom reminds me of where we are, of my parents in the house.

And suddenly I miss Jack as much as I miss Matt and his touch. I miss touching him when I can’t touch Matt, curling my hand into the fur of his head and feeling his big ol’ dog weight on my lap, so trusting, like there’s nothing I could ever do wrong in his eyes.

Apparently he shares that with his master.

Oh, god. Matt. Why is he looking at me like that?

Why is he here? “You shouldn’t be here,” I say breathlessly. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”

“But I am.” He sets Doodles at his feet and leans forward, a gleam of determination in his eyes.

I have to battle for restraint to keep from heading straight to him and saying . . .

Saying what?

“How did the thinking go?” I ask in a quiet voice.

I don’t want my parents to hear us. I don’t want anyone to hear us. It seems that my times with Matt are always stolen, and very few of those times do I have him alone like this.

I treasure our times alone.

“I went to see my father.” There’s a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I always pay him a visit at Arlington National Cemetery when I need to feel grounded.” He’s stroking my cat with his big hand but his eyes don’t leave me, not for a second as he talks. “Then I went to our house in Carmel. Just to be alone for a while.”

“Things get so hectic, I know,” I say.

When he speaks again, his voice is warm. “I was supposed to concentrate on the campaign and I kept thinking of you.” His smile is as intimate as a kiss. “You can imagine my disappointment when I came back to D.C. to find you gone.”

“It’s for the best; you know it.”

His smile suddenly gains a spark of eroticism. “Actually, I don’t.”

“Matt, Gordon and Jacobs are after anything they can get on you.”

“And trust me when I say I won’t let it be you.”

I exhale, then hug my arms around myself.

“Why did you leave?” he asks.

I try to keep my voice level. “I thought it was for the best.”

“Never. That’s the last thing I wanted when this began.” His eyes keep holding mine, a muscle working in the back of his jaw. “I don’t want you gone. If anything, I want you closer to me.”

I flush harder and try to push any talk about the connection between us aside. “The polls, Matt—”

“Two points lost are two points I can gain back. We’re gaining them back. You’ll pile up my schedule even if I don’t sleep.”

I laugh, but he doesn’t. He leans forward, his thighs stretching the material of his jeans and his shoulders the cotton of his sweater. “Come back to the campaign.”

“Charlotte,” I hear Jessa say as she brings a tea tray from the kitchen, “your mother wanted me to bring this.” She sends a beaming look in Matt’s direction, flushed as if she were nineteen instead of sixty-three.

“Thanks, Jessa.”

“Thank you,” Matt says warmly, reaching out for a cup and taking a sip.

She seems to flush even more as she heads back to the kitchen.

“My mother will be worried about a scandal. You need to go, Matt.”

I stand and tug at his hand, forcing him to release the cup, set it down, and he catches my fingers as he comes to his full height. “Can I count on you?”

His nearness suddenly engulfs me. Every atom of my body is awake and buzzing with the heat of his so close, the feel of his eyes on my face, expectant, warm as the sun and just as bright.

“Always,” I croak.

His hand and mine are linked and burning.

He smiles at me, a dazzling smile, and squeezes my fingers, looking down at me with the most adorable expression on his face. “Thank you.”

He releases me and pets my cat one last time before he walks to the door, and I walk with him.

“Thank you for coming. I’ll bring my things back tomorrow,” I say.

“Tomorrow is the gala—” he begins, and I cut him off.

“I’ll be there too,” I assure him, pushing him out the door before he can kiss me. Even a kiss to the cheek would devastate me, and I’m afraid of yielding to the impulse to do more.

He’s smiling, amused as he watches me slam the door shut.

I close my eyes and inhale, hating that I know the same thing I knew then: that he can never really be mine. But to quote him back, that hasn’t stopped me from wanting him.

34

GALA

Charlotte

Tonight’s gala seems to be the grandest and busiest of all the galas we’ve held. We’re at the grand ballroom of The Jefferson Hotel.

The White House is so close, you can practically feel its power churning and surging, surrounding you. I glanced at its white columns as I arrived, and not for the first time I wondered what Matt’s life was like there. If there was any normalcy at all.