Mr. President (White House #1)(57)

A smile plays on his beautiful lips as a new texture laces his voice, making it sound rougher. “Charlotte, there’s nothing remotely evil about you.”

“There is. Because I shouldn’t even be here, wanting what I want from you, knowing what’s at risk. I’m evil personified. In fact, I’ve never sunk so low.”

He takes a lock of my wild red hair, curling it around his index finger. His frown is puzzled, but his eyes seem nothing but fascinated. “Why do you insist on claiming you’re stone-hearted and evil—is that a secret fantasy of yours?” He tugs the hair a little forward, which draws my entire head a bit forward as he adds, “Because I happen to like you as you are.”

My voice turns smoky. “I simply like to point out I am multifaceted . . .” He tugs the strand closer and my brain starts scattering. “There are many parts of me you don’t know. Like”—he releases the strand and uses his finger to trace my earlobe—“the fact that I have the courage to . . . I have the courage to seduce you.”

“Really?” There he goes, laughing at me with his eyes again and causing wild little flips in my stomach.

I step back and tug on my top, my heart beating faster and faster as Matt continues looking at me, his smile starting to fade.

“You don’t believe me?” I prod.

He just looks at me, his stare wolfish and intense.

I grit my teeth together in determination and slowly undo all the buttons, then part my top and shove the material over one shoulder.

The trace of laughter in his eyes becomes shadowed with heat as his gaze falls on my bare shoulder.

Suddenly there’s nothing but silence in the room.

Nothing but silence and his eyes tracing my shoulder, up my neck, to my lips, then looking straight into my eyes.

I’ve lost all power to breathe.

He always towers over me when he’s close and right now he looks all male, dark, and there’s a little bit too much testosterone in the air.

Matt has never looked sexier than he does now, standing there battling a battle I don’t want him to win.

I lick my lips and gather my courage as I shrug off the next shoulder and draw up my arms to cover my front. I watch his face, afraid of his rejection, afraid of my own recklessness.

I should probably stop right now.

No. Matt should probably stop me right now.

I should get out of his personal space, or more likely he should get out of mine, and yet I let the shirt drop, and Matt remains before me, his eyes fixed on my face—dark like twilight.

More silence.

Matt is so focused, so passionate; I’ve never seen such passion in a man’s eyes before when he talks about the United States of America. I love it, but I also love the way he looks at me with the same passion now. Me. Just me.

He can have any woman he wants—and yet he chooses nobody. He’s chosen his country for now, and I know I should respect that. What are you doing, Charlotte?!

The seconds pulse, and I stand before him in my skirt and bra.

I can’t think of anything when he lifts his hand to touch me and slowly drags his knuckles, up from my belly button, between my breasts, up my neck, then back down.

A caress, soft as a feather, the bump of his knuckles barely grazing my skin—his gaze grazing mine with that gentleness, and a tormented frustration I’d never seen there before. It’s etched in every line of his handsome, perfect face—in the line of his jaw, the set of his lips, as if they’re pressed together to keep from pressing against mine.

I have no words for the things—the want—that I’m feeling.

I’ve never wanted anything the way I want—need—for Matt to kiss me right now.

I can barely speak. “Do you believe me now?” I swallow. “Aren’t you going to stop me from . . . from taking off the rest?”

He runs his knuckles up my torso again, this time up my throat, where he spreads his fingers open under my jawline, his open hand encompassing my face as the heel of his hand cradles my chin.

“Quiet now. I’m going to look at you for a long, long time.” His hot eyes turn my bones to cinders.

I swallow, dazed with desire under his gaze.

He brushes a kiss across my cheek, his breath warm. “I’m going to make these cheeks flush bright red with the ways I’m going to let my fingers play with you,” he says, then he leaves his nose there and inhales against my skin.

He caresses up my sides, his nose grazing my ear now.

“You’re so passionate . . . You’ve got more love for your country than anyone I’ve ever seen. And it drives me crazy when all that fire comes alive for me. I won’t mind watching that fire burn right now.”

My voice is thick with lust and longing. “Our country is wonderful,” I say, only responding to the first comment. And you’re wonderful in bed, I think to myself, but I’m not feeding his ego anymore. The world does that in excess already.

“You know what would be wonderful?” he says, twitching his lips thoughtfully to the side.

He cups my ass in his hands.

“What would be exquisite?” he continues.

He squeezes the mounds and in one jerk, pins me flat against his chest.

“You.”

He dips his head.

And Matt is kissing me. Hard. Almost as if punishing me for the Mark thing, for tempting him, for I don’t even know what.