First Lady

by Philips, Susan Elizabeth

  She twisted against him, fighting as hard as she could without making a sound. Then she saw a familiar yellow shape ahead. Mabel! He was taking her to Mabel! That was good. That was wonderful! He couldn't get inside because she'd locked up the motor home herself and left the key—

  He unlocked the door.

  Lucy! That vile little matchmaking monster! She knew exactly where Nealy kept the key, and she'd given it to him.

  He hauled her into the musty interior, dragged her toward the back, opened the bathroom door, and pushed her inside.

  She opened her mouth to blast him. “I'm going to—”

  “Later.” He shut the door in her face.

  She lunged for the knob, but he wedged something against the door, and she couldn't open it. Moments later, she heard the engine grind away, then turn over.

  She almost laughed. He wasn't nearly as smart as he thought he was. Did he think he could simply drive through those electronic gates? Apparently he didn't know that only a guard could open them without one of the special remotes—

  She sagged against the shower door. Of course he had one of the remotes. The teenage traitor was in his corner, and Lucy wanted a family more than anything. It would have been child's play for her to swipe the remote from the Town Car and give it to him.

  Mat was going to do it, she realized. He was going to kidnap the former First Lady of the United States, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

  She dutifully banged on the siding as the motor home rolled forward, even though she knew it was hopeless. In addition to the video surveillance at the gates, there was a microphone, but it would never pick up her thumps over the rough noise of Mabel's engine. Still, she thumped away, just so Mat would know she wasn't going peacefully.

  The motor home came to a brief stop, and she could imagine Mat giving the surveillance camera an innocent wave, knew exactly what Lucy would have told them. Mom is letting Mat borrow the Winnebago for a couple of days.

  She thumped louder, then gave it up as they pulled away from the gates. She slumped down on the toilet seat. Her feet were cold, the cuffs of her pajamas damp. Why couldn't she have fallen in love with an ordinary man? Some nice Ivy Leaguer who courted women with moonlight dinners instead of a moonlight kidnapping. Some nice Ivy Leaguer who'd love her for herself and not just for everything attached to her. She concentrated on her anger so she'd be ready for him when he opened the door.

  Middleburg was a rural area, dotted with celebrity horse farms and large estates. Mat wouldn't have any trouble finding a deserted spot for their confrontation, and she wasn't surprised when he turned off a paved road onto gravel. Gradually the road grew rougher. She grabbed the edge of the sink as Mabel lurched along before finally shuddering to a stop.

  She set her lips in a grim line, straightened her shoulders, and waited for the door to open. It didn't take long.

  She vaulted to her feet. “If you think—”

  He scooped her up by the shoulders, planted a hard kiss on her mouth, then pulled her out of the bathroom. “Before you say any more, I'm sorry for a lot of things, but I'm not sorry for this. How am I supposed to talk to you when you can snap your fingers and have your palace guard throw me out?”

  “You could have—”

  He thrust her down on the couch, then knelt in front of her. “I'd like a more romantic setting, but we started out in Mabel, so I guess this is where we'll settle it.” He picked up her cold feet and cradled them in his hands. “I've got things to say to you, and I want you to listen. Okay?”

  She realized he looked more upset than triumphant. The warmth from his hands began to sink in.

  “I don't have much choice, do I?”

  “No, you don't.” His thumbs massaged her instep. “I love you, Nealy Case. I love you from the very bottom of my soul.” He drew a deep breath. “Not just from my heart, you understand. I love you from my soul.”

  Her toes curled into his palm.

  “I've been getting an awful feeling that you don't love me back, but that doesn't change what I feel about you or make it any less real. Even if you throw me out of your life forever, I want you to know that you'll always be the best part of me.”

  His voice turned into a whisper so full of feeling she felt as if she could touch it. “You're the air I breathe, the food I eat, the water I drink. You're my shelter and my refuge; you're my energy and my inspiration; my ambition, my enthusiasm. You're my resting place.”

  She felt boneless as he bathed her in poetry. He smiled. “Just looking at you shines sunlight on every moment I live. Before I knew you, I wasn't even alive. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I didn't have any idea. You barged into my life and changed it forever. 1 love you, I admire you, I lust after you, I adore you . . .”

  His words enfolded her—sonnets of love, a rhapsody of devotion. This brusque man who'd tried so hard to separate himself from the feminine was every woman's dream.

  “You make me see the world in new ways. You're the first thing my heart greets when I wake up in the morning. You're the last thing I see in my mind before I fall asleep.”

  He let go of her feet and took one of her hands in both of his. “Sometimes I daydream about this, just holding your hand. That's all. Just holding it. And I get a picture of the two of us going through life like that. Hand in hand. I even sometimes think about us having this colossal argument—hand in hand. Or just sitting on a couch together. Or—” Now a trace of aggression emerged as he reasserted himself.

  “I know this is corny, but I don't care—those rocking chairs people talk about.” He narrowed his eyes, just to let her know he wasn't a complete wimp. “I see that. I see this big front porch and these two rockers side by side, and you and me all old and wrinkled.” His voice softened again. “The kids gone, grown up, only us, and I want to kiss every one of those wrinkles on your face and just sit there and rock with you.”

  Her head swirled. Her heart sang. He circled her palm with his thumb.

  “I can't even talk about how much I love making love with you. Do you know that you make the most amazing sounds? And you hold me like I'm all you have, and that makes me feel like I'm some kind of god.”

  He brushed her cheek, locked his gaze with hers. “1 love being inside you, and touching your face, and opening my eyes so I know it's really you.”

  She shivered.

  “And after we're finished, I go into a fever thinking about a day when I can leave myself inside you. When I'll steal the soap and turn off the water so I stay there .. . inside you .. . part of you.”

  Her skin burned. He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip, and his voice was a husky seduction. “I think about you walking around that way, talking to people, going about your business, and you and I are the only ones who know that I'm there inside you.”

  She burst into flames.

  “And I finally understand the whole unbelievable beauty of two people being one because that's the way I want it to be, the two of us one.”

  His eyes had begun to glisten with tears. Her own spilled over her bottom lids and trickled down her cheeks.

  His voice grew fierce and raw. “You'll never ever find a man who'll love you as much as I do, who'll protect you better than you've ever been protected—even from yourself—and who'll be right at your side while you become the best person you can be. Because I know that's what you're making me, the best man I can be.”

  A hiccup rattled her chest.

  “And I don't give a damn about living with all the red, white, and blue star-spangled baggage you're carrying around. In fact, I love it because it's made you what you are—the best woman I've ever known, and the only woman I'll ever love.”

  He finally stopped and simply gazed at her. It was as if all the words had run out of him, leaving raw emotion in their place.

  She touched his face with the tips of her fingers, traced the moist tracks down the hard, handsome planes of his cheekbones, and absorbed the absolute lightness of everything he'd s
aid. Yes. This was what she'd dreamed of but never believed she'd have.

  When she managed to speak, she could think of only one thing to say. “Could you please repeat all that?”

  He let out a ragged bellow of a laugh, pulled her into his arms, and made love with her just the way he'd imagined.

  First Lady

  Epilogue

  Nealy had never looked more beautiful to Mat than she did that January day as she stood in front of the United States Capitol with the sun glinting in her hair. One end of the red, white, and blue scarf draped around the collar of her wool coat caught the wind and fluttered behind her, giving the cameras another great shot.

  All of their family was gathered with them. Button had one little sister on each side of her. At nine, she was just as strong-willed as she'd been as a baby and she only permitted the family to call her Button behind closed doors. To the rest of the world, she was Tracy, her own way of dealing with the name Beatrice. Her long blond hair whipped in the breeze as she kept a careful eye on Holly, since the four-year-old tended to be unpredictable at public gatherings. Six-year-old Charlotte stood on her other side. Although she was on her dignity at the moment, Mat knew it wouldn't last. Both girls had his dark hair and their mother's blue eyes.

  Lucy, the big sister all three girls idolized, stood just behind them with Bertis and Charlie, most of his own sisters, and her pompous old goat of a grandfather, who'd slipped his hand in hers. At twenty-two, his oldest daughter had a fresh new college degree in social work and a thirst to change the world. Although she scoffed when he brought it up, he suspected it was only a matter of time before she followed her mother into political life. He was more proud of all of them than he could ever express.

  Nealy's eyes met his, and he could almost hear her thoughts. Another new adventure, my love. Are you ready?

  He could hardly wait. They'd already had so many adventures together. He thought of the past eight years— the joy and laughter, the hard work, long hours, heated discussions, and even more heated lovemaking. So much happiness.

  Not that there hadn't been hard times, too. The worst had come when they'd lost their beloved nanny Tamarah to a virulent case of pneumonia, but even that had eventually led to joy. His chest filled with pride as he gazed at his only son, eight-year-old Andre.

  Most families were made when sperm met egg, but his had been put together less conventionally with blood that was red, blue, and black. If families had pedigrees, his could only be classified as American mutt.

  He realized it was time to play his part, and he proudly lifted the tattered Jorik family Bible. Nealy's hand was steady as it rested on top. Steady at the helm of the Ship of State.

  The occasion was a solemn one, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face when she began to speak.

  “I, Cornelia Litchfield Case Jorik ...”

  After all these years, he still couldn't quite believe that she'd taken his name.

  “. .. do solemnly swear...”

  He held his breath.

  “. . . that I will faithfully execute ...”

  Damn right she would.

  “. . . the office of President of the United States ...”

  The President of the United States. His wife was finally claiming the job she'd been born to hold.

  The country was lucky to have her. In addition to intelligence, she possessed vision, experience, integrity, and a stunning lack of personal ego. Just as important, her time in Congress had demonstrated her rare ability to bring people together, even longtime political enemies. Somehow she managed to get the most out of everyone, maybe because no one had the courage to disappoint her. She'd also aquired a bone-deep serenity that came from learning how to live a public life and still be true to herself.

  “. . . and will to the best of my ability...”

  He'd given a lot of thought to his new position as the republic's first First Husband, and he intended to do a kick-ass job. He was the man who'd set the precedent for all the others who followed, and he understood his priorities.

  Along with Nealy's welfare came the well-being of his five children. In a series of columns he'd written since the election, he'd made it clear to the American public that he and the new President were the parents of kids who were sometimes angels, sometimes brats, and frequently everything in between.

  The President was answerable to the American people, but her children weren't, and anybody who had a problem with that could just vote for someone else next election, then take the consequences.

  “. . . preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  He was awed to think of his wife as the defender of that most precious document. And if she ever forgot, even for a moment, what a responsibility that was, he'd be right there to remind her. It was about time a topflight journalist had an inside seat on history, and Citizen Mathias Jorik had decided there was no more noble role for the First Husband than that of the people's watchdog.

  The next few hours flew by until it was finally time for the Inaugural Parade. He and Nealy had decided to walk the route, and they started off hand in hand with the kids following. Before long, however, Andre and Charlotte got into a spat and had to be separated. Holly was too young to walk for long, and she wanted to be carried. Then Charlotte wanted up, too, so he passed Holly off to Lucy.

  Andre was definitely captivating the crowd, but Mat wondered if he and Nealy had made him too aware of his place in history as the first African-American child of a United States President. They exchanged amused glances as their eight-year-old son once more raised his small brown fist to the crowd.

  Lucy's arms wore out, and Mat put Holly into the limousine that was following them, with Jason Williams and Toni DeLucca doing honorary guard duty. Then Charlotte wanted in, too. Andre stuck it out nearly to the end before deciding his raised fist would look even more imposing coming from the open window of the presidential limousine. Within minutes, his sisters commandeered the opposite window so they too, could demonstrate their solidarity with the African-American community.

  Finally it was just the four of them, the way it had been eight years ago. Nealy walked slightly ahead, having the time of her life as she waved to the crowd. Lucy came up on one side of him, Button on the other. He wrapped an arm around each of them, then smiled to himself as he remembered how desperately he'd fought having a family. Now he was the most visible family man in the free world.

  His beautiful oldest daughter gave him a hug. “It's been a long strange journey, hasn't it, Dad?”

  “I wouldn't trade it for the world.”

  “Me either.” Button momentarily rested her head against his chest, and he said a little prayer of thanksgiving that his worse nightmare, having a family, had come true. Then he let his daughters go so he could take his place next to his wife.

  The new Commander in Chief's eyes sparkled as she gazed up at him. “And to think I once risked everything to get out of the White House.”

  “It was the second best decision you ever made, after marrying me.”

  She smiled. “Have I told you that I love you?”

  “You sure have.” And then, right in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue, with the whole world looking on, he planted a long, lingering kiss on the lips of the President of the United States.