Mr. President

The ballroom is glittering tonight, everyone who is anyone is attending—from huge industrialists to prominent artists, musicians, doctors, and teachers—and yet my attention is focused on spotting only one person. The one.

I’m in a white dress and my eyes drink in the luxurious decorations surrounding me in my search of the one thing I most want to see.

The figure of the man that has my heart pounding like this.

“Charlotte!” Alison launches herself and hugs me. “A vision in white—I approve!” she happily says, then leans back and lifts her camera. Click.

“Alison, come on!” I groan, and she tugs me into the crowd, where I say hello to my team colleagues. No one even hints at noticing or knowing that I’d left, and I’m sure it’s due to Carlisle’s expert hand at damage control.

I keep searching for Matt across the room with a pounding in my heart and a knot of nervous anticipation in my stomach. It feels like forever until my eyes snag on the tall, dark figure of a man—and they stay there, absorbing everything that is Matt Hamilton

Dressed in a pitch-black suit and black tie, his hands—long-fingered and tan—keep shaking those of the people who walk up to greet him. The outlines of his shoulders strain against his suit jacket. He stands among the crowd, wickedly handsome, his face animated as he speaks to them about something he’s clearly impassioned about.

Our country, I know . . .

And then his eyes lift and he spots me across a sea of heads. The touches of humor around his mouth and eyes fade as our eyes lock.

The intensity of his gaze hits me like a punch. His stare is so galvanizing, it sends a tremor through me. The harder I try to hide the way I feel about him, the harder it hits me. I glance away, anywhere, really.

That’s when my eyes fall on a couple wading into the ballroom. My parents.

My eyes widen in surprise.

My mother spots me and gives a light queen-like wave in my direction. My father’s eyes are on something—someone—else.

I’m so surprised my father agreed to attend, it takes me a few blinks to make sure he’s really here. Being a Democratic senator, it’s a huge testament to his support of Matt. Huge.

As I approach to greet them, I see Matt do the same. His walk is all confidence and vitality. “Senator Wells,” he says, as he greets my father. His handshake is firm and swift, full of grace and virility.

God, his voice. How can you even miss someone’s voice?

A warmth fills my stomach when I see the genuine respect in both men’s eyes as they greet each other.

I thought perhaps my dad being here meant he was supporting me as I venture into the world of politics, where my parents had always wanted to see me. But as I watch them, I know my dad is not only supporting me—he wants Matt to win.

To realize my father finally supports Matt—to know that Matt, his campaign, his touch with the people, has won him over like his own father did all those years ago—makes my admiration and awe of Matt grow.

I’m dying to talk to him, but it’s impossible with him being the center of attention. The center of everything. I step in to greet my parents as well, and I feel Matt’s eyes on me as I do.

For some reason, he shifts his stance to stand closer to me as he’s greeted by the mayor of D.C. and his wife, and instinctively I remain where I am and let him introduce me too.

Conversation swirls around us, and all this time, I’m only aware of the low, dull throb inside me. Matt stands casually beside me, an almost imperceptible tension emanating from his body.

He takes advantage the moment he’s free from the attention of others to look at me.

“That’s quite a dress.”

The room blurs around me as I lose myself in those espresso eyes.

I want to flat out go up on my toes and kiss him, do what a girl does with a guy she loves, tell him I missed him, want him, thought of him. I want to put his hand on my body. That’s all I want. Just his hand on my body, even if it’s just a light touch.

He reaches out to press his fingers into the small of my back to guide me away from someone who wants to pass. The move puts us in view of a group of chatting men, and one of them calls out happily, “Matt!” and walks over immediately.

“Ahh, yes, Congressman Sanders.” He greets the man who approaches with a firm shake of his hand. They start chatting and in between exchanges, he glances at me for three seconds. I meet his gaze and am aware of the excited nerves going through me.

I go up on my toes and say, “I want my pin back,” before brushing past him to say hello to someone else. When I look at him minutes later, he’s smiling at something someone says as our eyes meet. His smile falters for a minute as heat steals into his eyes, but he manages to keep it in place even as he looks at me.

The look in his eyes tells me exactly what he wants to do to me, how he wants me. Every female part in me feels it. Knows it.

Matt will be fucking me senseless tonight.

35

SECRET MEETING

Charlotte

Wilson drives me to a home in Washington, D.C.

He pulls over in front of a beautiful two-story brownstone, and because the Hamiltons’ empire consists of a vast billion-dollar real estate corporation, I assume it belongs to Matt. I walk up the steps as Wilson opens the door and lets me in.

“He’s upstairs,” Wilson says.

I follow the stairs and head toward the streak of light coming out of an open door.

Across from the door, Matt looks out the window. Black pants cover his long legs, topped by a shiny black belt and a white button-down shirt with the top buttons undone, and he holds a glass of wine in his hand. He turns when he senses me—how could he not?—and slowly sets the glass aside with a clink.

I shut the door behind me, and I’m lost in the swirl of bronze in his eyes. It’s like I’m in a subspace. No thoughts or reason, only need . . . just heat and desire and him.

Shadows dance across the room, playing with the candlelight.

Matt clenches his jaw as he looks at me. His eyes glow like fire in the night and he starts walking toward me with such single-minded purpose that I do the same.

“Tomorrow, this never happened,” I say urgently.

He catches me by the ass and lifts me, my legs curling around him as our lips smash together.

A part of me wants Matt to tell me that it could work between us, that though I’m a normal girl and he’s a man in extraordinary circumstances, we could work it out. But he’s not a man you get to keep. So at the same time, I want his assurance. I know it’s impossible. I know this is all we’ve got—the few moments I’ll have alone with him when he’s just Matt. The man I’ve fallen in love with.