Mr. President (White House #1)(54)

He meets my gaze. Our eyes seem to lock for an eternity.

Matt stops staring only when everyone begins to greet him. He greets them back amicably and then sits to my right.

The lights are lowered—and then they’re out.

The TV flashes and everyone is silent, watching and listening to the speculations about who the Democratic and Republican nominees will be.

And I’m trying to keep up, except that I’m hyperaware of Matt sitting exactly two inches away. I am aware of the warmth of his body. And amazed at the crackling trail of fire in my veins because he’s so close. His clean, manly scent makes my lungs ache. An overpowering urge to get closer won’t leave me. I lean back a little instead. I breathe, and then realize he just turned to look at me.

He’s staring at my face as if he’s branding it to memory, and it seems to frustrate him because he runs a restless hand over the back of his neck.

He stands and goes to get himself coffee, then he stands a few paces to my right, staring at the TV, frowning very hard.

He looks so good.

We’ve been in a blur of campaigning in reception halls, high school and college gyms, sprinting towards Election Day. Things will get even more intense after today—I’m sure we’ll spend another few months away from D.C.

And suddenly I don’t know if I can do this. If I can live with this relentless little ache while I travel with him, watch him kiss those babies and genuinely, truly hold them because he wants to, not because it’s good press.

As the news continues, he flashes on screen. Full head of tousled sable hair with highlights. The entitlement reflected in his informal dress only makes him stand out more. “Matthew Hamilton’s good judgment, drive, and discipline are going to be strong weapons against the Republican and Democratic nominees,” the newscaster is saying before they head back to tallying the results.

So here we are, watching the early returns as the presumptive nominees of the opposing parties are named.

No surprises there—Jacobs and Thompson. Though Hessler is still surprised, it seems.

“What the ever-loving crap. One is about as old-fashioned as a goddamn priest. And don’t get me started on the other. There aren’t enough bullpens in the country to hold all the bullshit he spouts,” Hessler groans of the opponents.

We all seem to glance at Matt for his opinion.

Matt runs his hands over his neck, frowning thoughtfully. “Our government will keep whoever wins in check. That’s the beauty of our system.”

Hessler huffs. “As long as they don’t cozy up to the idea of issuing a ton of executive orders.”

Matt smirks at that, then stares thoughtfully at the TV, obviously weighing his opponents’ virtues and flaws.

I stand up and head to the kitchenette outside the viewing room and have to pass by Matt. He doesn’t move to let me go by. His gaze darkens as I approach, and he reaches out impulsively to my neck.

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

I hold my breath. He searches my expression with curiosity. And his smile fades. He’s still holding the pin. I’m afraid that he can see I’m almost panting—damn my body! There’s a little hurricane of butterflies in my stomach and I’m afraid this guy—so damn perceptive all the time—can see it too.

I’m nervously inching back, and the move makes him drop his hand. He finally moves to let me pass, and Mark suddenly follows me for a refreshment.

“Something going on with you two?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, annoyed at how nosy he is. “Nothing.”

“Good. Phew! I was worried for a moment.”

I press my lips together and extract a water bottle from the small fridge.

“It’s all everyone talks about here—all those phone calls from girls claiming they’re Charlotte and they want to talk to Matt.”

“Maybe their names are Charlotte.” I close the fridge and crack the bottle open.

“All three dozen of them? No way.” He shakes his head and wiggles his eyebrows. “There’s only one Charlotte as far as I’m concerned . . . and unfortunately, there’s also only one Charlotte as far as Matt is concerned. He can’t stop looking at you.”

“Mark . . . nothing’s going on.”

He grins then, and he leans an elbow on the doorknob.

“Good. Do you want to go out with me this weekend?”

“Excuse me?”

“A date.” He grins.

I hesitate, then realize Matt is still a few steps behind him. He’d been in a conversation with Carlisle, but is now looking in my direction.

If I’m determined to get him out of my system and nix any rumors about us, too, a date is a way to go. Other fishes in the sea, no need to go for the Great White Shark. But all I can say is, “Not until we win.”

Then I quietly step out and go back to the viewing room, sipping my water.

The crowd soon disperses, and I find myself battling the urge to linger behind and ask Matt about his weekend. I head to the elevators with the crowd, doing my best to force myself to go home.

Matt frowns when I pass him dismissively. He moves abruptly to stop me, taking me by the elbow. “Hey.”

I look up and glance around, concerned that anyone could have seen. But they’ve all shuffled into the elevators.