by Katy Evans
I stand up and head to the kitchenette outside the viewing room and have to pass by Matt. He doesn’t move to let me go by. His gaze darkens as I approach, and he reaches out impulsively to my neck.
Gently he seizes the eagle pin at my collar. He strokes the eagle with the pad of his thumb. Once, that’s all, his eyes shining with pride as he does.
I hold my breath. He searches my expression with curiosity. And his smile fades. He’s still holding the pin. I’m afraid that he can see I’m almost panting—damn my body! There’s a little hurricane of butterflies in my stomach and I’m afraid this guy—so damn perceptive all the time—can see it too.
I’m nervously inching back, and the move makes him drop his hand. He finally moves to let me pass, and Mark suddenly follows me for a refreshment.
“Something going on with you two?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, annoyed at how nosy he is. “Nothing.”
“Good. Phew! I was worried for a moment.”
I press my lips together and extract a water bottle from the small fridge.
“It’s all everyone talks about here—all those phone calls from girls claiming they’re Charlotte and they want to talk to Matt.”
“Maybe their names are Charlotte.” I close the fridge and crack the bottle open.
“All three dozen of them? No way.” He shakes his head and wiggles his eyebrows. “There’s only one Charlotte as far as I’m concerned . . . and unfortunately, there’s also only one Charlotte as far as Matt is concerned. He can’t stop looking at you.”
“Mark . . . nothing’s going on.”
He grins then, and he leans an elbow on the doorknob.
“Good. Do you want to go out with me this weekend?”
“Excuse me?”
“A date.” He grins.
I hesitate, then realize Matt is still a few steps behind him. He’d been in a conversation with Carlisle, but is now looking in my direction.
If I’m determined to get him out of my system and nix any rumors about us, too, a date is a way to go. Other fishes in the sea, no need to go for the Great White Shark. But all I can say is, “Not until we win.”
Then I quietly step out and go back to the viewing room, sipping my water.
The crowd soon disperses, and I find myself battling the urge to linger behind and ask Matt about his weekend. I head to the elevators with the crowd, doing my best to force myself to go home.
Matt frowns when I pass him dismissively. He moves abruptly to stop me, taking me by the elbow. “Hey.”
I look up and glance around, concerned that anyone could have seen. But they’ve all shuffled into the elevators.
We stare at one another, and there are a thousand messages in his stare that I can’t decipher but somehow feel, in my belly, like a tangle of crackling wire.
Lips tipping upward in an adorable way I try not to notice, Matt waves me forward. I cautiously walk with him. He has so much power he’s not just a person, but a presence.
He’s wearing a smile, a wicked little twinkle in his eyes as if he knows . . . everything.
He frowns down at me and jerks the knob of his office door open. “After you, Miss Wells.”
He smiles like a gentleman, but his stare is that of a naughty caveman as I go inside and he shuts the door behind him.
I inhale for courage, but there’s one thing about his office here in headquarters. The upper half is glass, and anyone who returns to the building could see us.
My heart is thudding madly as I hear him approach from behind. He slides one hand around my waist and pulls me back against the wall of his chest. “Hmm. Your hair smells good.”
I exhale.
“Always different,” he adds as an afterthought.
“We’re always hotel-hopping; I’m at the mercy of what’s offered in my room.”
“This is real, though. This is yours,” he murmurs.
He seizes my shoulders. His tanned, long-fingered hands giving me a delicious little squeeze.
I try to suppress my reactions as I turn around in his hold and lift my eyes to his face. He’s staring down at me quietly, as if trying to figure me out.
“So, Mark,” he says, his eyes scanning me.
“What Mark?”
He lifts his brows pointedly.
“Oh, you mean Mark.”
“Mark Conelly.” His eyes flick to the door, then to me. “What does he want with you?”
“Nothing. He’s just a friend.”
“You sure?”
There’s an odd little hum in my body when I see the roiling swirls of darkness in his eyes.
Is Matthew Hamilton, the man who has everything, the world at his feet, jealous?
The angle of his jaw looks about as sharp as ever. “I’m sure. Nothing’s going on yet.”
“Yet?”
“He wants a date, but I want to concentrate on the campaign first. I didn’t decline him outright because he was . . . speculating about us.”
“I see.”
I want to know what he’s thinking, but he shutters his gaze and simply looks at me.
“He’s too old for you,” he finally states.
“He’s one year younger than you,” I counter.
“He’s divorced. Completely ineligible for you.”
I shrug. “I have other options. My friend Alan has been trying to make things serious for years.”
His eyes widen. “There’s no winning this one with you?” He laughs and rakes his fingers through his hair, frowning in a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.
Although Matt looks calm, I fear there’s some sort of tempest lurking in his gaze. Something being held tightly under control.
I remain silent while I struggle with a thousand things I want to do or say. I missed him. I missed his face and the way he smells and the way the office buzzes when he’s here. I missed waking up with tangles in my stomach simply because I know I’ll see him. I also don’t like these feelings, but it’s hard to push them away when they’re simply . . . there. Stronger than ever when he’s near.
“Why are you even considering going out with him?”
“Because.” I glance away, and then whisper, “It could help dissipate any rumors between us. And because . . . you’re under my skin, Matt.”
There’s a silence.
I stay in place even when all my instincts tell me to walk away and not look back.
“Don’t go out with him.” He waits a moment, then adds, “With any of them.”
He draws me to his chest, shaking his head chidingly down at me.
I hesitate, then I lean forward and set my cheek there. He turns his head into my scalp and inhales. Then he nuzzles my nose and strokes his thumb across my lips. He presses gently down on my bottom lip to open my mouth and rubs his thumb over my tongue.
My eyes drift shut. I suck his thumb and then take his hand and turn it and kiss his palm. His hold tightens, and he drags his face lower, his jaw slightly stubbled as he presses his lips to mine.
We groan as our tongues flick over each other, again and again.
My hand fists his shirt. He slides his hand to cup my buttock and drags me a little closer as he parts me with his mouth and kisses me again.
I groan his name.
“Matt.”
He snaps his lips back and looks at me, breathing hard. Reality comes to me slowly. We’re at headquarters, with glass surrounding us. I’m kissing the Prince of America.
President Jacobs. Thompson. They would leap all over this.
Matt seems to know what I’m thinking.
“The guy you campaign for, I don’t know how not to be him. That’s who everyone expects me to be.” He touches his fingers to my cheek. “But with you it’s different.”
I exhale as his words sink in. What he means is that in the dark of night, he doesn’t want to be president, or Matthew Hamilton.
He wants to be just a man able to lose control without having a story the next day in the media.
> I want to hold him to me, and I want to tell him that I love the way he loses control, and that I love the fact that he wears all of the expectations the world has placed on him because he just happened to be named Hamilton really well.
Instead I simply ask him for a ride home, wondering if a man as isolated as Matt has ever really let down his guard with anyone before.
“Lose the tails. I want to drop Charlotte off,” Matt tells Wilson after we get in the car, and Wilson makes a few movements—slipping into several underground parking lots to lose the tails before he pulls over in front of my apartment.
Matt follows me inside my building.
His face is set, and he looks thoughtful.
“If you’re still thinking about the Mark thing, now you know how I feel watching a thousand and one gorgeous women throw themselves at you.”
He laughs, then drags his hand over his face. “I’m jealous. I’m man enough to admit it. I’m jealous of any guy who can take you out, walk down the street with you in his arms.”
My eyes widen at the confession.
Matt Hamilton jealous of any normal guy?
I feel like I can’t compare anything to the delicious electrical current the words send through me.
I’m melting down my thighs, to my toes, as I walk to my apartment.
One of my female neighbors appears.
“Charlotte, I—”
Matt turns.
My neighbor stutters. “Oh, wow.”
“Nice to meet you.” Matt smiles easily, and my neighbor’s eyes can’t flare any wider.
Matt sends me a questioning look, and I briskly announce, “Matt, my neighbor Tracy.”
“A pleasure, Matt!” my neighbor calls.
Matt greets her and then I lead him into my apartment. “The paperwork is right here, Mr. Hamilton,” I say as I usher him inside, making sure Tracy hears and praying that will keep her appeased. Once we’re inside I tell him pointedly, “My point. About the girls either throwing themselves at you or dropping to the floor for you.”
It’s so dark in my apartment, I flick on a lamp and it still feels like the shadows are engulfing us. I enter the kitchen and pull out a loaf of bread just to try to keep my hands busy—not going to his shirt, his jaw, his hair. “I’m going to make myself something to eat. Sometimes I get dizzy when I haven’t had any food for a while . . . Want some?”
He drops down on a stool and drags out the other one with his toe so he can prop his foot on the footrest and lean forward. “Look at you,” he says.
“What?”
“Quite the little homemaker,” he croons appreciatively.
I prepare a sandwich, laughing. I can’t think with Matt in my kitchen.
“I know some recipes,” I boast. “Jessa would teach me when I was young. The day you and your dad came over, I was shocked the president’s food would be tasted before he could eat.” I glance at him. “It was the highlight of my life. I felt like I’d been selected for something special, which is why I bought the pin. I was even inspired to join Women of the World because of that. I kept you very present in my mind.” I laugh.
He just looks at me, and I realize he seems a bit thoughtful.
“Please. Don’t be so charming. Don’t try to impress me. I would probably vote for you anyway.” I laugh, and he doesn’t laugh. He stands as I bite into my sandwich, and as I chew, I lift the sandwich in offering. He watches me finish chewing, and when I set down my half-eaten sandwich and wipe a napkin across my lips, he silently tucks my hair behind my ear, leaning forward as if he wants to be close.
I say, nervous now, “Really, I’m smitten with every part of you already.”
I freeze when I realize what I said, and my eyes widen, and his eyes darken and narrow as he lifts his hand and drags his thumb across my lips—a mix of rough and tender, lustful and loving.
“If you’re so smitten, why are you giving Mark even a second’s thought?” he husks out.
I’m panting. “You haven’t dropped that? That’s totally an only-son syndrome. Not sharing his toys?” I tsk.
He looks as if he wants me up against the wall, and I want to run my tongue and fingers all over him.
“I can give a second to Mark,” I add. “More than that after the election. You can’t have it all, Matt.”
“But I want it all, and you want me to want it, you want me to want you—is that what this is about? With Mark and now this other guy?”
“No.”
“Don’t go out with Mark. Don’t go out with Whatshisname. He’s not right for you.” He shakes his head and strokes my lips with his knuckles now. “Don’t give these lips to just anyone. They’re too pretty. And too rare. And they’re mine.”
I groan and put my hands to my face, hating that I’m still that eleven-year-old with a crush, except now the crush is crushing me in his embrace. “Matt . . .” I lift my gaze. “My neighbor saw you. You have to go.”
“Are you worried she’ll be daydreaming about me?” Cockiness flits in his words and across his lips.
“No,” I deny, but maybe I am!
“It’s the rumors, then,” he says, his gaze darkening.
I nod. “But I’ll say I seduced you. That I had evil designs on the White House.”
A smile plays on his beautiful lips as a new texture laces his voice, making it sound rougher. “Charlotte, there’s nothing remotely evil about you.”
“There is. Because I shouldn’t even be here, wanting what I want from you, knowing what’s at risk. I’m evil personified. In fact, I’ve never sunk so low.”
He takes a lock of my wild red hair, curling it around his index finger. His frown is puzzled, but his eyes seem nothing but fascinated. “Why do you insist on claiming you’re stone-hearted and evil—is that a secret fantasy of yours?” He tugs the hair a little forward, which draws my entire head a bit forward as he adds, “Because I happen to like you as you are.”
My voice turns smoky. “I simply like to point out I am multifaceted . . .” He tugs the strand closer and my brain starts scattering. “There are many parts of me you don’t know. Like”—he releases the strand and uses his finger to trace my earlobe—“the fact that I have the courage to . . . I have the courage to seduce you.”
“Really?” There he goes, laughing at me with his eyes again and causing wild little flips in my stomach.
I step back and tug on my top, my heart beating faster and faster as Matt continues looking at me, his smile starting to fade.
“You don’t believe me?” I prod.
He just looks at me, his stare wolfish and intense.
I grit my teeth together in determination and slowly undo all the buttons, then part my top and shove the material over one shoulder.
The trace of laughter in his eyes becomes shadowed with heat as his gaze falls on my bare shoulder.
Suddenly there’s nothing but silence in the room.
Nothing but silence and his eyes tracing my shoulder, up my neck, to my lips, then looking straight into my eyes.
I’ve lost all power to breathe.
He always towers over me when he’s close and right now he looks all male, dark, and there’s a little bit too much testosterone in the air.
Matt has never looked sexier than he does now, standing there battling a battle I don’t want him to win.
I lick my lips and gather my courage as I shrug off the next shoulder and draw up my arms to cover my front. I watch his face, afraid of his rejection, afraid of my own recklessness.
I should probably stop right now.
No. Matt should probably stop me right now.
I should get out of his personal space, or more likely he should get out of mine, and yet I let the shirt drop, and Matt remains before me, his eyes fixed on my face—dark like twilight.
More silence.
Matt is so focused, so passionate; I’ve never seen such passion in a man’s eyes before when he talks about the United States of America. I love it, but I also love the way
he looks at me with the same passion now. Me. Just me.
He can have any woman he wants—and yet he chooses nobody. He’s chosen his country for now, and I know I should respect that. What are you doing, Charlotte?!
The seconds pulse, and I stand before him in my skirt and bra.
I can’t think of anything when he lifts his hand to touch me and slowly drags his knuckles, up from my belly button, between my breasts, up my neck, then back down.
A caress, soft as a feather, the bump of his knuckles barely grazing my skin—his gaze grazing mine with that gentleness, and a tormented frustration I’d never seen there before. It’s etched in every line of his handsome, perfect face—in the line of his jaw, the set of his lips, as if they’re pressed together to keep from pressing against mine.
I have no words for the things—the want—that I’m feeling.
I’ve never wanted anything the way I want—need—for Matt to kiss me right now.
I can barely speak. “Do you believe me now?” I swallow. “Aren’t you going to stop me from . . . from taking off the rest?”
He runs his knuckles up my torso again, this time up my throat, where he spreads his fingers open under my jawline, his open hand encompassing my face as the heel of his hand cradles my chin.
“Quiet now. I’m going to look at you for a long, long time.” His hot eyes turn my bones to cinders.
I swallow, dazed with desire under his gaze.
He brushes a kiss across my cheek, his breath warm. “I’m going to make these cheeks flush bright red with the ways I’m going to let my fingers play with you,” he says, then he leaves his nose there and inhales against my skin.
He caresses up my sides, his nose grazing my ear now.
“You’re so passionate . . . You’ve got more love for your country than anyone I’ve ever seen. And it drives me crazy when all that fire comes alive for me. I won’t mind watching that fire burn right now.”
My voice is thick with lust and longing. “Our country is wonderful,” I say, only responding to the first comment. And you’re wonderful in bed, I think to myself, but I’m not feeding his ego anymore. The world does that in excess already.
“You know what would be wonderful?” he says, twitching his lips thoughtfully to the side.
He cups my ass in his hands.