Mr. President (White House #1)(23)

He smiles, as if he definitely did that on purpose.

But his smile fades as Matt scans the letter. I know by memory what it says. It touched me deeply.



Dear Matt Hamilton,

I’m very happy that you’re running for president. My mother worries that something can happin to you so I think its very brave. I’m very brave too. I’m seven yrs old and getting a new experiment treatment on my very bad lewkemia called PCL. I asked if it could kill me too. But my dad says someone has to be the innovator and pave new unknown paths like you. My dream is to go to the white house when you become president. I know I will do very well with this treatment because im hopping to go with every breath. So win Matt! Oh and my name is Matt too my parents named me after you.

Matt



“Would you visit this boy?” I ask.

Matt pulls off his glasses and looks at me.

Just looks at me.

So intently and as if he can see everything that I am, have ever been, and ever will be.

I hastily pull out the following week’s schedule and my own version of it. “He’s a son of one of the women at Women of the World. I recognized her name on the mailing envelope. I think I can fit him in before we leave D.C.—he’s being treated at the Children’s National on Michigan Northwest.”

I put my new version of his schedule out for him to see.

But he doesn’t look at the schedule. Only at me. His voice is smooth but deeper than it was before.

“That’s why you’re here so late; you’re trying to fit this in,” he says.

It’s more a statement than a question.

I bite my lip as a gleam of admiration appears in his eyes.

He slides the schedule over the desk back to me without even looking at it. “I’d be happy to go.”

I grin, my chest swelling with happiness.

I launch myself forward and give him a hug and a sweet but chaste kiss on his jaw. “Thank you! So very, very much!”

As my lips touch his jaw, suddenly his scent is surrounding me in a cloak of elegant cologne and soap. I start easing back, startled by my own impulsive action. I realize his hands fell to my waist, gripping me gently but firmly. He looks down at me with a slight smile on his lips, and I look right back; our mutual shock at my impulsiveness turns into something else.

We share a moment of silent understanding, a more powerful connection than anything I’ve ever felt.

The loneliness of the building suddenly becomes even more pronounced. The warmth of his body. The specks of black in his eyes, the dark irises, the thickness of his lashes, and most especially, the look in his eyes.

I’m aware of the admiration in his gaze when he lifts his hand and brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I hold my breath, aching for closeness, to physically establish this connection that I feel, his breath warm on my skin. He brushes his thumb over my cheek a second time, and then, as if that wasn’t enough, his lips follow. The barest touch, a thousand times more powerful than a full-on make-out session with anyone. “You’re welcome.” His voice is gruff.

As I pry myself free, we both can’t seem to stop looking at each other. He’s smiling again, his eyes like liquid metal and a little too hot, and I smile shyly in response. And somehow this is the most honest, hottest smile anyone’s ever given me and I’ve ever given anyone back.

I suppose things should feel awkward, but they just feel a little sharper for the next minute. The sound of his breath or rustle of his clothes as he gets his stuff back to his office, the timbre of his voice when he tells me if I’m done, he’s done and can give me a ride home, the outline of his body close to mine as he helps me into my jacket.

I ride in the back of the black Lincoln with him, his detail, Wilson, driving us.

Matt’s gaze lowers all of a sudden.

Gently he seizes the eagle pin at my collar. He strokes the eagle with the pad of his thumb. Once, that’s all.

“You always wear this,” he says.

A ridiculously sexy smile curls his lips, but this time, his eyes aren’t smiling. He searches my expression with curiosity. And his smile fades. He’s still holding the pin. I’m holding my breath, wanting more of these touches, more of him.

But I know how ridiculous thinking about anything with him is.

He’s so driven to win, I know the last thing he needs right now is a distraction like me.

“Reminds me of the good old days,” I finally reply, trying to push down the thick longing in my veins. “The ones you’ll bring back.”

“I’m ready.”

We smile. The very air between us seems to be on fire.

“Good night, Matt.”

I reach for the door, but he leans over me and sets his fingers on mine, clicking it open for me, his warmth enveloping me again, his fingers sliding over mine, caressing like a feather.

“Good night, Charlotte.”

He watches in the shadows of the car, his eyes dancing the way they sometimes do when I do something that amuses him, still the crush-worthy guy I met when I was eleven.

Can he see how much he flusters me?

Of course he can.

I get to my apartment and my feet ache, my back aches, my brain aches. I feel too drained to do anything but kick off my shoes, stretch my arms out, and fall flat, facedown on the bed. But I can’t sleep. His gorgeous dark-flecked eyes keep looking at me.