Mr. President (White House #1)(9)

“Oh, Senator Wells’s daughter—a pleasure. I can’t say I know him, but he’s a good man. He voted against—”

“Hugh, really,” his wife interrupts, stopping the elderly senator. “Let’s go say hello to Lewis and Martha,” she says, coaxing him away.

I’m relieved when they head off, dreading to say anything to embarrass myself. I’m still reeling because of my encounter with Matt Hamilton and I can’t seem to focus on anything else.

I watch as my mother waits patiently as six people before her greet him, until finally she hugs him, and she looks tiny and feminine in his tall, muscled form. When they release their embrace, I’m shocked to notice her pointing in my direction.

My stomach caves in on itself when his gaze follows the direction of her finger.

Ohmigod, is my mother pointing at me?

Is Matt looking at me?

Our gazes meet—and for the flash of a second, there’s something in his eyes. He nods, as if he’s telling her he’s said hello already.

As they talk, his gaze stays on me.

I’m briefly aware of the curiosity of the room as they collectively wonder where their new candidate is looking, but I can’t pull my eyes away long enough to verify who exactly is staring.

God. He even stands like untitled American royalty.

He’s grown up to be the most delicious mix of polished and earthy, and somewhere beneath that focused gaze I can see a unique primitiveness that pulls at me.

A passing woman leans over to my ear. “He’s as hot, smooth, and rich as a lava cake. And he makes politics thrilling,” she says.

I glance at her, then move my gaze back to the smoldering Matt Hamilton as he continues greeting the line. He’s almost done, but I’m sure it won’t be for long. A shadow falls over half of his face, but I can see his attention is now focused on an elderly couple, his smile barely there, but still so sexy and gorgeous it makes my lungs work a little extra hard.

Once he finishes speaking to the couple and he’s able to pull free, he starts adjusting his cufflinks.

And starts heading in my direction.

He is heading in MY direction.

The hottest guy in the room is heading in my direction, and my heart just flipped over a thousand times in one second inside my chest.

I glance around the room in an attempt at la-dee-dah nonchalance, but I’m not that good an actress.

I’m afraid to look into his gorgeous face and know that he knows the effect he has on me. It takes a moment to gather my courage, wary to see the expression he’s wearing. Even warier to find him looking straight.

At.

Me.

He’s not looking at me.

Someone stopped him to chat.

I exhale.

But before I can release the tension in my shoulders, Matt pats the middle-aged man on the back, shakes his hand, and starts in my direction again.

I sit here, struggling with these feelings I can’t suppress.

I want to talk to him. I want to pick his brain. I’m curious and professionally thirsty, and maybe I want to accidentally press myself against him one more time.

So I can smell him.

No, definitely not that last.

Anyway, I’m certain that with a drink, I’ll be a little less nervous. But it’s too late for drinks now!

Before I can stand to greet him once more, Matt—Matt f*cking Hamilton, the complete American candy bar—sinks into the seat behind me, eyes coming level with mine as he shifts forward. “For the record, I’m not some crazy stalker man just attempting to get your attention.” His voice is so close that it feels like he just ran a fingertip down my spine.

And the timbre is just like sex on silken sheets.

His scent is a prelude to sex.

Even his warm, dark espresso eyes seem an invitation for sex.

I laugh, flushing.

His lips twitch, and his smile? It is pure, wicked foreplay. The kind girls like me only watch on TV. The kind that sneaks in unnoticed until your panties are everywhere except where they belong.

Oh god. He is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

I’m struggling to suppress a little shiver from inside. “Don’t worry, I know who you are too.”

“That’s right. But I bet you don’t know how serious I am about getting an answer.”

“Excuse me?”

He just smiles and surveys my face, taking me in in silence. I can’t help but do the same. His features are even more chiseled now, one thousand and one percent male, and every visible inch of skin on his body seems to have been kissed recently by sunlight.

I notice the luster of his gorgeous hair and eyes and the way he smells like expensive cologne. The space his body occupies and the warmth emanating from every athletic inch of him makes me feel hot all over.

He’s really here. In front of me.

My stomach flips, and I laugh self-consciously and nervously run my hands down my dress. “At that time you were dead-set on not running. How was I supposed to know? I mean. Look at you now,” I say, signaling to him. To Matt freaking Hamilton sitting right next to me, obviously feeling vastly entertained by my nervousness.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he warns me, his expression sober but with a playful glint in his eyes.

That you’re gorgeous? I wonder.

That I don’t know how you have this effect on me and why I still after all these years want you?