Mr. President (White House #1)(65)

And I don’t think I could bear how hard it would be to see you every day and remember . . .

His eyes look frustrated. I’m sort of afraid he’s going to push it—I don’t want him to. He’s too tempting to me. Being with him is too addictive. I want to be mature and realistic about this. About us.

So before Matt can insist, I steal out and get back to work, bringing my attention to our end goal: giving our country the chance to join the strong, charismatic leader we’ve been waiting for.





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Charlotte



We’re in San Francisco now.

It’s noon as we all gather in our makeshift local campaign offices when Carlisle drops a newspaper on Matt’s desk. On the bottom of the front page are two pictures—of Matt smiling down at me and helping me out of the car to our hotel.

The caption beneath them both reads, Is Love in the Air for Matthew Hamilton?

He doesn’t read the article. Instead he’s got his cell phone out, putting it on speaker and speed-dialing as he skims the rest of the news. A male voice picks up, stating his name and the name of the newspaper that happened to have posted that picture. Matt greets him and immediately gets to the point.

“Who took those pictures?”

“Not me, Matt, honest to god.”

Matt runs his hand over the back of his neck and sighs, frowning at the phone.

“We’re running a campaign here, not a season of The Bachelor. Let’s keep our eye on what’s important, all right?”

“Sure thing, Matt. And hey, thanks for the book you sent last Christmas. My wife keeps it on the mantel as display.”

“I’m glad, Tom. And thanks for the coverage.”

He hangs up and looks up at me, then at Carlisle, then he resumes reading the news, calmly sipping his coffee while I struggle to look inconspicuous.

We have a meeting with two dozen of our campaign team members next.

For the entire two and a half hours, the team is scribbling notes with pens inscribed with Matt’s campaign logo, and then they’re all standing as he rises to leave and starts shaking hands, thanking them. I’m surprised that many of the male team members approach me to say goodbye as well.

Matt falls in beside me as we exit the conference room.

We leave the building and walk two blocks to our hotel. Usually there are other team members trailing behind, but today we seem to be headed toward the hotel on our own. My heartbeat picks up.

Matt is supposed to shower and have a quick lunch before he accompanies Carlisle to meet Senator Lewis, who has a large amount of delegates and support in this state. I’m hoping to take a shower as well and maybe a nap; the previous long night is weighing a little on me. It amazes me that it didn’t seem to weigh on Matt one bit. He looks better than ever, though the truth is that he is always active, buzzing with calm, steady energy.

Silence engulfs the elevator as we ride to our floor. Matt shoves his hands into his pants pockets and looks at me.

The fact that we were kissing heatedly recently in public, in New York City, is suddenly the only thing I can think of.

He asks me if I’d like to go up to the top terrace of the building for ten minutes.

I nod. It’s nearly sunset when we step outside. The large terrace has beautiful views of the city, especially the horizon, orange with the fading sun’s glow.

We stand there and take in the scenery for a moment.

We’re quiet for a while, the kind of quiet where you don’t really need to say anything, where just being in that place at that time is enough.

“We’re on the home stretch now.” He smirks, then glances meaningfully at the elevator behind us and shakes his head. “This little escape is enjoyable but not private enough to suit me. I mean to keep seeing you as much as I can. Alone, Charlotte.”

My cheeks warm at his words. I grab my hair as it flies with the wind.

“I’m pretty sure as we head to election our moments will become more and more fleeting,” I admit, laughing.

“I won’t allow that to happen.” He plunges his hands into his pockets. “I want to spend my every free moment with you—and I want you to spend yours with me.”

I feel shy all of a sudden. “You need your sleep,” I whisper, shooting him a chiding look.

Lightly smiling, he reaches out to brush the back of his thumb along mine. “I’ve got news for you, Miss Wells—my off-schedule hours are mine to do with as I please. And I intend to do you every one of them.”

Oh god, my sex just sort of gripped really tight.

He’s so sexy when he talks like this to me.

I’m flushed, uncertain about continuing to play this game, especially when it’s getting close to voting day, when the camera eye will keep zooming more and more on him as he continues making news and racking up voters.

“I’d like that. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea to keep taking risks . . . We’re ending this soon.” I chance a shy glance at him. “Aren’t we?”

He drops his hand, his jaw tightening. “I watched my mother take a backseat to the country. I can’t allow you to do that too,” he says.

“Maybe I don’t mind taking a backseat to the president . . .” I trail off, suddenly realizing what’s coming out of my mouth.