Mr. President

Someone stopped him to chat.

I exhale.

But before I can release the tension in my shoulders, Matt pats the middle-aged man on the back, shakes his hand, and starts in my direction again.

I sit here, struggling with these feelings I can’t suppress.

I want to talk to him. I want to pick his brain. I’m curious and professionally thirsty, and maybe I want to accidentally press myself against him one more time.

So I can smell him.

No, definitely not that last.

Anyway, I’m certain that with a drink, I’ll be a little less nervous. But it’s too late for drinks now!

Before I can stand to greet him once more, Matt—Matt fucking Hamilton, the complete American candy bar—sinks into the seat behind me, eyes coming level with mine as he shifts forward. “For the record, I’m not some crazy stalker man just attempting to get your attention.” His voice is so close that it feels like he just ran a fingertip down my spine.

And the timbre is just like sex on silken sheets.

His scent is a prelude to sex.

Even his warm, dark espresso eyes seem an invitation for sex.

I laugh, flushing.

His lips twitch, and his smile? It is pure, wicked foreplay. The kind girls like me only watch on TV. The kind that sneaks in unnoticed until your panties are everywhere except where they belong.

Oh god. He is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

I’m struggling to suppress a little shiver from inside. “Don’t worry, I know who you are too.”

“That’s right. But I bet you don’t know how serious I am about getting an answer.”

“Excuse me?”

He just smiles and surveys my face, taking me in in silence. I can’t help but do the same. His features are even more chiseled now, one thousand and one percent male, and every visible inch of skin on his body seems to have been kissed recently by sunlight.

I notice the luster of his gorgeous hair and eyes and the way he smells like expensive cologne. The space his body occupies and the warmth emanating from every athletic inch of him makes me feel hot all over.

He’s really here. In front of me.

My stomach flips, and I laugh self-consciously and nervously run my hands down my dress. “At that time you were dead-set on not running. How was I supposed to know? I mean. Look at you now,” I say, signaling to him. To Matt freaking Hamilton sitting right next to me, obviously feeling vastly entertained by my nervousness.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he warns me, his expression sober but with a playful glint in his eyes.

That you’re gorgeous? I wonder.

That I don’t know how you have this effect on me and why I still after all these years want you?

“Trust me, you don’t,” I whisper, flushing.

He shifts forward and grabs a strand of my loose red hair, tugging it and watching me lick my lips in nervousness. “You’re wondering why I ran.”

“No! I’m . . .” wondering why you’re here talking to me. I don’t say that, I just trail off and watch him curl the strand of my red hair around the tip of his index finger, then slowly release it, watching me as he uncurls his finger very, very slowly and lets it fall.

“So how are you?” he asks, his voice deep.

“Good. Not as good as you seem to be,” I say. Gosh, am I flirting? Please don’t be flirting, Charlotte!

“I doubt that. I thoroughly doubt that,” Matt says, his voice still so deep and the smile still in his eyes—but not on his lips.

He seems so focused on me that it’s like he doesn’t realize everyone is glancing in his direction.

I’m nervous in his presence, but at the same time, I don’t want him to leave.

“You know, I’ve met you three times and realize I don’t know anything about you other than the occasional story I hear,” I blurt out. “They’re so contrary I don’t even know which to believe.”

“None of them.”

“Oh, come on, Matthew!” I laugh, then I realize I called him by his name. “I mean … Mr. Ham—”

“Matt. Charlotte. Unless you’d still like to go by Charlie.”

“God, no! Are you dead-set on embarrassing me today?”

“Not really. Though I can’t deny I find the pink on your cheeks quite charming.”

His lips curve sensually, and there’s a flutter in my stomach when he winks at me.

I shyly glance down, and I realize that the hard little points of my nipples are popping out against my dress.

Mortified, I lift my arms to fold them in front of me, but not before I catch his eyes noticing too. He slowly lifts his gaze to mine, his expression revealing nothing as he pulls his attention back to the crowded group.

“I should get going. But I won’t say goodbye.” He raises one sleek eyebrow in meaning. Pushing his chair back and standing to his full height.

His words leave me confused. I can’t manage to answer quickly enough, so he simply smiles at me and leaves me to ponder them the rest of the night.

I have no idea how long my mother and I stay there, really, but I know exactly three times that I glanced in Matt’s direction, he turned to meet my gaze—as if he has some sort of radar or simply sensed me watching him.

My stomach went crazy each of those times, and I jerked my eyes away.

When we’re ready to leave, my mother takes the time to say her goodbyes. I consider grabbing Matt’s attention to wish him good luck before heading out, I just really wish that we hadn’t been interrupted when we were and that we’d been able to talk some more. But he is busy when I search for him through the crowd, and I don’t want to interrupt. As I follow my mother to the door, one of her old congressman friends stops to say goodbye to us both. I smile and nod, and past his shoulder, I see Matt’s eyes meet mine and realize he’d been watching me leave.

He smiles at me, and cants his head in the barest of nods, and there’s something about that smile and that nod that fills me with an odd sense of anticipation.

For what, I just don’t know.

I ride in the back of the town car with my mother, sort of unable to stop replaying the things Matt said to me when he came over. Sort of hating the fact that I still can’t control the things he brings out in me. “He’s going to win,” my mother says softly.

“Do you think so?” I ask her.