Mr. President (White House #1)(43)

I groan, inching closer to his body. Emanating heat.

Matt grips me by the hips and pulls me the rest of the way to him. He brushes my hair behind my forehead. “I asked Wilson to help me secure some privacy for us.” He studies my features.

“I’m glad,” I admit, thickly.

I reach up to his shadowed face.

God, is this happening?

Really?

I’m stroking my fingers lightly over his taut flesh. Loving the feel of the shadow of beard across his jaw beneath my fingertips. The way his jaw clenches as he lets me touch him, his eyes absolutely feasting on my face.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, we won’t make it to the elevators,” he warns.

“How am I looking at you?”

“The same way you looked at me when I kissed your knuckles at the hospital.”

“Oh no! I looked at you a certain way? That can’t be too good! People could see.”

His lips tug at the corners. “They’re used to girls flirting with me. It’s my own reactions I need to watch.” He smiles, then leans over and pecks my lips.

I lick my lips, tasting him on them. “You’re very good at controlling your reactions.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. My grandfather’s on to me.”

“He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“He hates the idea of anything standing between me and what he wants for me.”

I exhale.

“You looked great with the kids out there today. At the hospital,” he says. Voice low and appreciative.

“Me? It’s you they love.”

He chuckles, slowly shaking his head. “If that’s true, then you’ve won them over just as much; otherwise why would they ask me to kiss a girl if it’s not someone they’d want to see me with?” He smiles and leans back, eyeing me. “See, kids aren’t affected by norms and rules. They just see what is and know exactly how they’d like it to be.”

“It made me laugh that you indulged the kids but not the nosy reporters.”

“They threw it as bait, I’m not giving them that. At least, not willingly.” He looks at me then, and the understanding of the risks weighs down the silence between us.

Wilson pulls into a smaller hotel just a few blocks away from ours.

It’s more low-key, not exactly one-star but not five, either. A place where Matt wouldn’t be expected to stay.

“I’m right behind you. Power off your phone,” Matt instructs.

I’m so nervous that I’m chewing on my lower lip as I take the room key Matt gives me before I open the car door.

“Don’t play too hard with that lip—that’s for me to do later.”

I pause.

Release my lip.

Watch his lips curve into a slow, satisfied smile.

And I smile back.

Then I quickly turn off my phone, exhale, tuck the key into my side pocket, and head to the elevators.

This is so reckless. So reckless, but the prospect of his touch is too thrilling.

A woman in a red sweater boards the elevator with me.

My heart starts thrumming in my chest.

I keep my head down, busily staring at my Mary Janes. My pulse throbs with adrenaline, anticipation, and fear. Down the hall, I slide the key into the slot and enter the room.

Spacious, simple, modern, and elegant.

I hurry to the bathroom, shake my hair loose, pinch my cheeks, and then head outside, pacing.

I wait for minutes, until . . .

The door opens.

His tall form fills the doorway. Still dressed in black—except for a cap on his head.

The only guy I’ve ever wanted.

He steps in and shuts the door with one elbow.

I exhale. “Did anyone see you?” I ask.

He takes off the New York cap. “No.”

“I was sure to keep my head down, I—”

Large and agile and gorgeous, he crosses the room, takes my hand, lifts it to his mouth, and skims a kiss over the back of my fingers.

I watch, transfixed, when he starts to suck the tips ever so exquisitely in his warm mouth. His gaze is like a missile of heat aiming straight for the hot spot between my legs as he licks me. Watching me with heated eyes as he nibbles and sucks carefully on each one. I groan softly.

He releases my hand, his warm fingers curving around my hip. I feel his nose at the top of my head, against my scalp.

The stroke of one hand on my hair, from the top of my head to my back.

Under my shirt, his arm now sliding around my waist, pulling us flush.

I’m so undone, a shudder wracks me. Making him tighten his hold more.

I know I shouldn’t want these things.

He won’t be the kind of man to kiss me goodnight every night. He might have so much that it’d even be understandable if he forgot your birthday. He’s not the guy you can have your happy life with; he’s the guy women throw themselves at, he’s the guy who wants more than what you can give and he will always restlessly pursue it.

I know all this, but I cannot stop from moving closer and feeling his heartbeat through the cotton of his shirt.

We’ve been working tirelessly for months.

He feels too good right now.

And it feels too good to feel his eyes quietly caress me as his hands slowly stroke my hair and he tells me, “Have you thought about this?”