Mr. President
Page 16I laugh. “My mom let me keep it just because it probably helped keep me away from the boys and, well, I’m an only daughter. I really always tried to be good.”
“My dad was a senator before he became president. I grew up an only son, so I know exactly what it feels like to be the apple of your parents’ eye.”
I smile. “Except you’re also an ex-president’s son now. Which must be doubly hard because you’re the apple of the public eye, too.”
“Not really.” He frowns as he thinks about that.
“I’ve been very amused by your fan letters. I enjoy even the crazy ones. Did you know you got several proposals for marriage in the past forty-eight hours?”
He pretends to look surprised and crosses his arms as if super interested. “I hope I declined.”
“Of course. Throughout the campaign and presidency, you’ll be hopelessly single. Carlisle briefed us all.”
He just gives me a glimpse of the merest sexy twitch of his lips and then stares ahead, thoughtful.
“I wouldn’t be the first bachelor president, you know,” he says as he glances at me again with a casual hike of his shoulder. “James Buchanan already filled that role.” His brow creases. “Not a very good president. But a bachelor to the end.” His lips quirk.
My curiosity is piqued. “What did he do?” I ask.
“More like didn’t do.” His frown deepens. “His inability to take a firm stand on slavery and stop the secession led us right into the Civil War.”
We keep watching each other with an intensity that nearly curls my toes.
I look down and my eyes widen when I realize my nipples are totally showing—harder than little rubies.
I cross my arms, and Matt smiles. “I made your nipples hard that day at the campaign kickoff too.”
“Oh, wow. Well, my nipples weren’t the only things getting hard that day, I’d say.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
I groan and roll my eyes, laughing inwardly but hating how much my nipples have popped now.
I’m so nervous that I trip. He catches me, his reflexes lightning fast as his hand curls around my elbow to keep me on my feet, and suddenly I can’t breathe. I’m amazed by how much we have in common, and by the way he reels me back to find my balance and then, somehow, reels me still a little more—a little closer to him.
He lifts his other hand and brushes a tendril of hair behind my forehead, his eyes as dark as ever.
Desire floods me as our bodies connect, my front against his front, and I can feel him. I can feel how big he is, how thick and hard, pulsing against my abdomen.
And in this moment Matt Hamilton, my crush of all ages, the sexiest man alive, the hottest candidate in U.S. history, becomes so real to me. So very real. I can feel the warmth of his body through the wet fabric of our shirts. I can smell him, a scent of soap and rain, and I can see him as a guy, a very hot guy with an extraordinary destiny to fulfill.
I feel something leap up to lick my cheek and I jerk and step back, startled by the dog’s kiss.
“Shit,” I breathe, laughing.
“Why?” His lips quirk. “Don’t be.”
I laugh, not believing I was forgetting who he was, caught up in the moment of his nearness, how much I want him—realizing that, whether he wants to or not, his body responds to me as well.
“I’d better get away before I’m late. I wouldn’t want the boss to be mad at me.”
“The boss could never be mad at you.”
His tone is sober, but his eyes twinkle, and my whole body feels flushed under his regard. “’Bye, Matt,” I say, lifting my hand a little awkwardly in a wave before I cut a path through the grass and head to the sidewalk.
That night, my parents invite me to dinner, and I can’t stop thinking about Matt and his energetic Jack and the conversations we had about his childhood and mine. Then I think back to the day we met, and the president, and his death.
I ask my dad why he thinks there wasn’t any conclusive information on President Hamilton’s assassination.
“Killer was never caught.” He shrugs. “One theory is it was a terrorist act because of President Hamilton’s liberal views; others say it was a conspiracy among the parties.”
I frown worriedly.
“You’re concerned Matthew will be in danger?” he asks me.
I can’t help but look at him with a concerned expression.
I frown even more. “Matt doesn’t strike me as a man who won’t open a can of worms, especially if he feels strongly about it.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about things you can’t control. Do your best and keep your head down—that’s the only way to get ahead in politics. Otherwise, anybody who’s anybody is going to see your head poking up and push it back down.”
“But I don’t want to be in politics.”
He laughs. “You’re in it now.”
“I’m only there because—”
“You have a soft spot for the Hamiltons, I know. People in the news are surprised you’re participating. Good ol’ Charlotte, you did charm Matthew that night, didn’t you? Even President Hamilton. They have a soft spot for us too.” He smiles wistfully, his eyes sad with memories.
“You know what else Matt has a soft spot for? Aside from the country? His dog,” I say, remembering this morning as I pick up Doodles from my feet, set her on my lap, and stroke her forehead, hearing her purr happily.
11
GIFT
Charlotte
The next morning, I take a bath, change quickly, and stop at a pet store on impulse to make a purchase. I don’t know why I want to make this particular purchase, but my mother has always been the sort of woman to have sweet little surprises for my dad. I don’t know if it’s her way of saying thank you for something nice that he did or just the way he made her feel. I want to get something for Matt, but I know that it wouldn’t be proper. But when the urge to get Jack a little something hits me, I decide not to even fight it.