Mr. President (White House #1)(60)
It’s hard not to feel the things I do for this man when we’ve traveled together for months. When I’ve seen him holding babies, dancing with old ladies; when I’ve seen him stir the crowds into a roar; and especially when I’ve seen him with his hair rumpled and a pair of reading glasses on as he skims the morning newspapers, tactically gauging the effects of the campaign we’re waging against the Republicans and the Democrats.
Jack bounds up onto the couch between us so part of his head is on Matt and his body is fully on me.
It’s amazing how much I’ve grown to love his dog, considering the way we met was less than stellar. Now I crave his fuzzy warmth, the lick of his warm, wet tongue on my cheeks. As I sip my coffee, Matt reaches down to pet him at the same time I do.
Matt’s thumb traces the back of one of his dog’s ears, stroking slow and long, as I stroke the other, both of us looking down at Jack as we pet him.
I steal a look at Matt’s profile and he looks thoughtful, a muscle working in the back of his jaw.
I’m remembering our last time alone, a fifteen-minute tryst where he followed me to the women’s bathroom, locked us in, and kissed me like crazy as he eased his fingers into my panties. He licked his fingers afterward, and I spent all day swooning whenever he met my gaze, brought the tip of his finger to his lips, and then brought out his tongue to lick it.
His smile after he licked it?
His smile was sexiest of all.
I’m thinking of all this, when his thumb moves from the back of his dog’s ear to brush over mine.
I lift my eyes, and he smiles at me, a smile I feel everywhere, and I smile back, petting Jack more vigorously, electrified every time Matt purposely passes his hand over mine as he does the same.
“You’re a good dog, aren’t you? Very sporty with your flea necklace,” I tell Jack, and I look up at Matt.
The smile on his face is amused. Tender. I start flushing, and his smile starts to fade, and his gaze becomes a little dark and a whole lot intimate.
Of course he knows his effect on me. He knows his effect on every woman, and though I know he dislikes his physical beauty to detract from the issues he wants to discuss, it doesn’t seem to bother him one bit that it has this effect on me.
Worst of all, it’s not just his beauty. It’s his mind, his passion, his dedication, and the way he makes me feel alive, ambitious, hopeful, vital.
I duck and focus back on Jack.
Soon, the team starts shuffling out. I keep playing with Jack, loath to leave until I hear the last of the team head out the door and Matt speaks to Wilson, who’s just outside, standing guard.
“Wilson, will you come in for a moment?”
I stand to leave as Matt leads Wilson inside.
“Stay, Charlotte.”
I turn to him, and Matt cups my face as he looks into my eyes. “It’s been two weeks. I need to see you. I need to touch you.”
“We’re exhausted.”
He smiles, nodding.
Wilson shuts the door behind him, and Matt raises his head. “Wilson, think you can get us out of here? I’d like to take Charlotte somewhere private. Not a hotel.”
“I’m on it. Any idea where?”
“My dad’s place.”
Wilson lifts his brows, then nods and leaves.
“We can’t stay here—the staff can walk in at any time,” Matt tells me.
“Where are we going?”
“My father had a secret getaway and we never sold it.” He heads over to grab his room key and his phones, and fifteen minutes later, we’re each leaving through a different hotel exit.
It turns out President Law Hamilton’s getaway is in Laguna Beach. We board an aircraft that flies us from Vegas to Los Angeles, and the pilot is an old friend of Matt’s and sworn to secrecy. Matt and I fly alone in the cabin while Wilson rides with the pilot. The rest of Matt’s detail was told he needed no covering for the evening as he would be staying in. The pilot seems happy to see Matt with me. He smiles as he greets us and says farewell with a “you go, man!” expression.
Once we land, there’s a black BMW SUV waiting at the hangar, and Matt leads me to the passenger door, then climbs behind the wheel, telling Wilson, “Take the night off. Meet us there early morning.”
“You got it.”
Wilson shakes Matt’s extended hand, then he peers inside and smiles at me. “You take good care of him, all right?”
“I will,” I say, laughing.
Wilson grins and shuts the door once Matt is settled behind the wheel.
We drive for thirty-five miles to the beach, taking in the scenery, Matt reaching out to take my hand and bringing it to his mouth so he can brush his lips across the back of my palm. “It’s almost worth having waited to get you alone again.”
“I almost feel odd that we’re completely alone.”
He chuckles, then squeezes my hands and continues driving with this soft, satisfied smile on his lips, frequently bringing my hand up to kiss the back of it or lick the tips of my fingertips.
He pulls into the garage of a beautiful modern home sitting right at the beach.
“I thought the Hamiltons had a home in Carmel, not Laguna.”
“We do. This one’s my dad’s secret place. He used to come here to get away from it all, hear himself think. Now it’s mine.” He winks as he opens the car door to hop out.