Commander in Chief (White House #2)(44)

I smile dryly as they motion to their table, and I take a seat and sip from my glass when one of the ushers approaches—and a vision in blue with red hair tumbling down her back follows. She’s wearing a traveling outfit, blue skirt and a matching cropped jacket that accentuates her waist, that skirt letting me look at those lovely legs of hers.

I slowly come to my feet, the blood pooling instantly to my groin.

Our eyes meet. Her blue eyes are wide in happiness and awe, vulnerable. I want to grab her to me.

“Charlotte,” I say, introducing her, adding, “Harvard friends, Lucas and Oliver.”

“Nice to meet you,” she greets them, then heads over to another table to hug my mother and grandfather. She comes back, taking a place to my right. Our eyes meeting yet again as I set my hand on the small of her back and guide her to sit.

“Remember that teacher at Harvard, that cute little thing who did a double take when you came into class that first day? She wouldn’t look Matt in the eye without getting flustered,” Lucas says.

“You passed with an A for good looks,” Oliver adds.

I lean back and partly listen to the conversation. Nothing I haven’t heard. My college friends get hung up on college days, as if those were the best days of their lives. I find I like my life just fine now, and I’m more interested in her reactions, her laugh.

I’ve never seen this girl so happy. God, she looks gorgeous.

I shift, my groin aching.

Nothing stands between us anymore. I won’t let my fears of not being able to be both a good commander in chief and the man she wants stop me. I’m sure as hell going to do everything in my power to excel at both.

I only hope I can calm myself enough tonight to give her the time she needs to enjoy the wedding, before I take her to Camp David and get a little peace and quiet for us both.

I eye her in that sexy-as-hell blue dress that accentuates her curves, and it only heightens the need I have to see her naked body—to claim my wife.

I set my drink aside and my gaze pins her down. “Excuse us, we have a few heads of state I need to look for.”

“Nice to meet you.” She’s laughing as she says goodbye, and she tugs at my sleeve. “Matt, wait. I think the kids are waiting for me to finish dancing with them.”

I’m stopped by the President of Mexico as she goes to say goodbye to the kids.

“Hermosa, la primera dama,” the president says. “Beautiful, the first lady. Congratulations.”

“Thank you for coming, sharing the joy.” I grin, and we begin discussing the longstanding treaty between our countries when I watch her approach the group. Little Matt Brems steps up with his hand outstretched and pointing back to the dance floor.

She accepts. I plunge my hands into my pockets as she takes him to the dance floor, her hair falling over her back, and the cameras are flashing like crazy. When the dance is done, she bows her head, and then she retrieves something from nearby. She kneels before the boy and gives him the gift, and the boy just stares at it, then at her in full wonder, and she glances at me with a smile.

I smile in return, knowing what it is. Then I flash on an image of a younger version of me, with her kneeling before him . . . our child. I clench my hands, a fierce want hitting me.

I shake it off, smiling at her, and continue talking to the President of Mexico, telling myself now isn’t the time. But thinking of the years ahead, I don’t know when that will be.

“I gave little Matt the photograph of his visit to the White House, the one with you in it that I asked you to sign,” Charlotte says, back at my side.

“I know.”

“For luck.”

“You’re gorgeous. I’m looking forward to whisking you out of here.”





26





CAMP DAVID





Charlotte



Marine One takes us to Camp David, where we attack each other the moment we walk into the Aspen Lodge. Matt crushes me between his body and the door, his tongue plunging relentlessly, his hand fisting my hair, pulling me back so his mouth can roam down my throat, ravenous and damp as he reaches between our bodies to pull up my skirt and lift me.

I let him hold me up by the ass, then brace me against the door as he lowers himself between my legs. I feel his mouth wander down my abdomen and between my thighs, the stubble of the day on his jaw rasping the sensitive skin there as he pulls my panties aside and gives me a long, wet lick.

I groan and grab his thick, silky hair, groaning yet again when he repeats the motion with his tongue—a long, delicious lick, covering my opening and caressing my folds.

He inserts his thumb and looks up at me, his hair mussed, his eyes glistening, his lips wet.

“Please don’t let me come without you,” I beg.

He licks me again, a low growl leaving his chest. “What do you want?”

“I want you naked,” I breathe, and before I know it, he’s setting me on my feet and standing back, looking at me as his fingers begin working on his shirt.

I reach behind me and undo the buttons at my back, panting as he shrugs off his shirt and unbuckles and unzips.

Him naked.

There’s something about him naked.

Primal and powerful.

In his element as man.

It turns me on.

He is mine.