Commander in Chief (White House #2)(28)

And we part again, swallowed by the crowd.

“But my, was I surprised when President Hamilton announced you. You are so, so very young,” one of the elderly women, a judge, tells me, eyeing me narrowly.

I swallow nervously, feeling judged. “I am young,” I say. “But you can’t always measure maturity in years. I’m fully devoted to both the president and my role.”

I ease away, and only after that do I realize what I said.

I’m fully devoted to the president . . .

I wonder if he knows that though I’m doing my best to be grateful and polite, to put myself out there, this is hard for me.

Finding it a little hard to breathe, my dress constricting, I search for him among the crowd. He’s still being chased by a dozen people approaching him to say hello.

A yearning for something more normal steals into my mind, and suddenly I fully understand Matthew’s own wish for normalcy, growing up the way he did.

I know that whenever I see him for the following four or eight years, this will be the case. Every time we go out in public, this will be the case—he will be the sun all the planets in our universe gravitate around.

And the women?

The women are everywhere.

I watch them throw themselves at him and I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s never-ending. And of course they want him. He is Matthew Hamilton. Not only the hottest bachelor you’ve ever seen, but the country’s most powerful man.

I’m his acting first lady. I’d thought that it was a good idea to let him do his job, and me mine, before anything about our personal relationship came out. Maybe I’m just trying to get used to the cameras, trying to be sure the people will accept me. I would hate to be the intern the president screwed—any number of scenarios could come up, and a part of me has hoped that if I gain their respect as a first lady, they will accept me, no questions asked.

I may be deluding myself.

The press thrives on tiny morsels and tidbits. They can feast on me in a second, and like Matt has said before, people will think what they want to think.

I’ve wanted them to think he’s available.

Now I’m so resentful of the situation.

Feeling my cheeks flush with frustration and a desire to simply breathe, I turn around in search for a safe zone.

Right this second, I can’t fake the part with so many eyes on me, while all the female eyes are on him. I feel a little bit sick to my stomach wondering if I can really do this—be with someone like him, love someone like him, step up this high to do something of this magnitude.

I head outside, watching Stacey move across the room to where I’m going.

“I just want some air,” I explain.

She speaks into her mic and opens the door for me, and I’m grateful that she gives me space as I head down the long terrace, as far as possible, into the bite of the chilling wind.

I’m rattled and need some space. I’m trying to compose myself outside, and my heart nearly flies out of my throat when I hear his deep voice behind me. I hadn’t heard him approach. He’s stealthy like that; he comes to you unaware and before you know it, he is EVERYWHERE. Freaking everywhere. In your dreams, in your every thought, right in front of you, so big and beautiful and brawny and elegant and untouchable.

His voice is low, concerned. “You do realize I’ve never seen you pissed before.”

I swallow.

“I know, I . . . I know I asked you to go slow. This is all me, feeling jealous, and wondering if I can do this.” I inhale and search for words. “It’s just hard to share you when we do find time to be together . . .” I turn around to face him.

There’s a silence. Matt looks at me. “You don’t have to. We don’t have to complicate this, Charlotte.”

I swallow.

“You’ve been working the room like a pro, and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

I inhale and head forward, then I reach out and brush my fingers across the back of his. “You’re worth it. I’d do it a thousand times for you,” I say, and I mean it.

I squeeze his fingers, stepping toward the room as he opens the door.

“I do want to come out. Soon. I’m ready. I want you. I want to be with you. I want this. I want everyone to know that I do,” I rush out as I let him go.

People watch us walk inside, and my breath catches when Matt—Matthew Hamilton—slips his fingers back into mine.

I almost jerk as a bolt of lightning runs through my body at the gentle but firm grip.

Oh my fucking god.

I jerk my eyes to his, asking silently, What are you doing?

And his eyes are twinkling as he looks down at me, as if expecting my shock. And he says, “Dance with me.”

“What?” I’m so stunned, everything drowns and fades except the man before me, his eyes dark and coaxing.

A god, really.

My throat feels like I’ve got a ball of fire in there somewhere as I try to make it work. I notice the daughter of the attorney general, models and actresses, all glancing this way, and I can’t help but tease him as I feel that lingering jealousy prick me again. “Are you sure you want to dance with me? You have hundreds of admirers hoping for you to ask.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I happen to admire only one.” His voice dips as he tugs on my hand. Amusement lost to heat—raw heat simmering with fiery passion. “Come here, Charlotte.”