Commander in Chief (White House #2)(68)

43





CAMPAIGNING





Matt



The crowd is chanting my name as we drive into the first rally in Philadelphia.

“You get the best crowds I’ve ever fucking seen,” Carlisle says. I scan the crowd, wishing she could see it. That always got her excited. Charlotte stayed back at the hotel with Matthew Jr., both of them sleeping in this morning.

“Here we are, sixty percent female, forty percent male. The majority here to see your pretty face. Even married, you have a way with the ladies,” Wilson taunts.

My lips twist into a wry smile. “A vote is a vote.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I know it bugs the hell out of you—no offense, Mr. President. And don’t worry, every president leaves looking haggard as fuck; your beauty will lessen with four more years. If you still draw crowds by now, then it means you did something good.”

“Wilson, I’m on a schedule here.” I point for him to stop the car.

“Right.”

“Hey, do me a favor,” I lean into the car as I get out, “check in on Charlotte later. Oh, and tell her Jack hasn’t been fed.”

“Go about your busy day. I got it.”

I step out with Carlisle and Hessler, the rest of the Secret Service piling up behind me as discreetly as possible—some of them disguised as civilians—as we head to the podium and the waiting crowd.





44





THANKS FOR CAMPAIGNING





Charlotte



I’m watching him speak at the rally for Florida small business owners, and for a second, he looks only at me.

“. . . because not only our aim, but our duty, is to strengthen our country for those who haven’t been born yet. And for those we love.”

My breath dies, and he slides his eyes away and looks at the members of his team with half a smirk and half a smile.

Nobody notices, though, the looks we share. They have no idea of the real connection we have—that this man is a part of me. Husband and wife, they know what we are, but I’m not sure anyone has a true idea of what he means to me, or what I know that I am to him.

The men are scribbling notes using pens with Matt’s campaign logo, and then they’re all standing as he rises to leave and starts shaking hands, thanking them. I’m surprised that so many of the male team members approach me to say goodbye as well.

Matt steps to my side as we head out of the room.

“I’d better give you the floor right now,” he says, reaching out and sliding his thumb down my jaw. I laugh as we exit the building, but his gaze is still with me as we ride back to the hotel.

We’re supposed to freshen up and attend a fundraiser later in the day, and I decide I’ll change my heels for flats because my feet are killing me, but I am not missing it for the world.

“My first lady is quite a crowd draw,” he says, lifting his hand to grab me by the back of the neck and kiss me. He eases back, leaving me breathless. My husband. He’s smiling. He’s teasing me, of course, but he has this proud look as if to say I knew I made the right choice.

“You, on the other hand, you were awful just now. I think your team wants to kick you off the campaign, Mr. President.” I shake my head teasingly. “You’re four years older, no longer the young, fresh bachelor you used to be.”

His eyes start dancing. “You’ve aged me, baby, what can I say.”

“I mean, at least you made the effort. I don’t think they went for it, though—you were far more charming when you were single.”

He’s looking at me with that strange tender look again, and I’m lying—he is hotter than ever. Nearing forty, so mature, so gorgeous, with no gray hairs yet, no matter how sexy I think he would look with a little gray on that gorgeous head or at the temples. He plucks off his glasses, tucks them into his pocket, and he sends me a warning look that I recognize—one that I suspect he will act on when we enter the suite and he pins me against the wall and kisses the shit out of me.

I’m getting flustered, getting weak-kneed, and I walk into the suite playing a little bit hard to get.

“Is there a reason why you put half the room between us, Charlotte?”

“No. Why? I just wanted to stretch my legs a little bit,” I say nonchalantly.

He lifts a brow, slowly coming to stand behind me. “You think I asked you up here to ravage you, wife?” he asks, slipping his hand down and cupping my ass.

“No,” I groan.

He ducks his head to nuzzle me and I seem to take one last breath.

His smile starts wavering as his eyes begin to darken, and then the smile completely leaves, replaced by a look of pure frustration and raw need. He is too close, so close, his expensive cologne in my nostrils and his eyes looking warmly down at me.

“Charlotte,” he says. “We don’t have time for this, baby.”

“I know. That’s why I was here and you were there. But now you’re here too, so what are we going to do?”

He reaches out and runs his thumb over my lip. Once. Twice. “I find that the older I get, the more I hate waiting,” he confesses, frowning.

I laugh, and walk to the sofa.

“My feet are killing me,” I say as I toss my shoes aside and relax for just a second before I need to hurry into the shower.