Mr. President
Page 29
“Matt, you’re not, you’re not responsible for me—”
“I’m not supposed to want you,” he says, cutting me off.
“What?” My eyes widen in disbelief.
What can I say when he looks at me in that way?
He’s looking at me as if he’s frustrated that he wants me.
Silence settles between us.
“I think of you. I think of you too often, if you ask me,” he says.
I nervously tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and stare at my lap. “I think of you too.”
My comment seems to come as no surprise. “So what are we going to do about it?” he asks softly.
“Nothing,” I say.
He laughs, and drags a hand over his face and tsks, shaking his head. “Nothing’s just not in my vocabulary. Is it risky? Yes. Is it selfish on my part? Maybe. But I’m not just going to do nothing.”
I swallow. “Matt.” I glance around nervously, trying to steer away from the path this conversation has taken. “Have you realized people could talk if anyone recognized us? Why did you bring me here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I knew you’d love it here.”
I laugh. “I really do, you wicked man.” I try to push at his chest teasingly, but he catches my wrist and pulls me closer, his eyes darker.
“I’m so wicked you have no idea.”
He’s looking at my mouth not as if he wants to kiss it.
Matt is staring at my mouth as if he means to devour it.
“You know you can’t kiss me,” I croak even as we now look at each other’s lips.
He brushes his thumb over my lips. “I can kiss you. I definitely want to kiss you. I think we both know I mean to kiss you. Long and hard. I want my tongue rolling around yours, Charlotte, and I want your delicate little moans, too.”
God help me. I’m pretty sure nothing could stop this man from getting anything he wants—nothing. Except maybe me.
Because Rhonda is right.
What we’re doing together transcends me, transcends even him.
And even though I’m twenty-two, I know that getting Matt back into the White House will be the biggest thing I ever did.
“Except … C is for campaigning. We can’t do something foolish,” I say, trying to brainwash myself that I don’t want this just as much.
He smiles tenderly. “If you’d ask me right now, C is for Charlotte coming in my arms.”
Shocked and breathless by his bluntness, I turn to stare blindly at the inscription of freedom on the wall across from me—of all of us having freedom. And yet I have never been more aware of not having the freedom to fall in love with this man.
“There won’t be any of that,” I say.
Matt slides his hand to stroke the top of mine, pausing and leaving it over mine when a group of teenagers shuffles into the cavern, and he tightens his jaw and remains silent as, fortunately, they don’t glance our way.
I shift on the bench—an inch away from his touch—then turn back to Matt and narrow my eyes in exaggerated suspicion, wondering how many women have caught his interest. And how long it lasts. “Why aren’t you married yet, anyway?”
“I’m waiting for her to grow up.”
He’s leaning forward now to recover the space I just put between us, his eyes dancing in a way that makes my heart thud a million miles an hour.
“Well,” I fumble for a reply, “I suppose that’s why you’re a playboy—you’ve been practicing all this time, so your child bride can eventually enjoy your expertise . . .”
“She will definitely enjoy it.” He nods in mock somberness.
“Okay,” I say flippantly. As if my stomach isn’t flipping and I’m not clenching my thighs together in my seat.
Matt’s eyebrow quirks. “You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I don’t want a sample. Thank you. Besides. You can’t take a woman like me.”
“Woman?” he scoffs. “You’re what? Eighteen years old?” He leans back and stretches his arm out behind me, eyeing me.
“Eighteen to your fifty!” I shoot back.
He’s leaning forward again, his shoulder touching mine, and the teasing in his eyes has become more dangerous and exciting, a little more challenging.
“One day I’ll do all the things I need to. And she’ll be mine. Mark my words.”
“Does she know this yet?” I ask, quietly.
“I just told her,” he says.
His voice is thick and low, but his eyes are still alight with mischief.
“Maybe . . . maybe she’s already yours.”
“Is she?”
“Just a little bit,” I say, lifting my thumb and index finger to draw a centimeter.
He glances at my fingers, then at me.
“I'm not a man that is satisfied with just a little bit.” He smiles.
“That’s all she’s got.”
He shakes his head. “She can do better. Much better.”
The teenagers shuffle out of the memorial, and Matt and I are left alone again.
He slides his hand to cup the back of my neck in a proprietary gesture, then he gazes into my eyes with such a possessive look that a million butterflies flutter in my stomach. A smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Come here, Charlotte,” he softly commands.
I sort of freeze.
He said he doesn’t mean to do nothing, and now I can see in his eyes he’s got a whole lot of something in mind.
Matt’s smile fades, and he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me closer, then he leans his forehead on mine, his eyes holding me spellbound. “They’ll try to find dirt on me. Anything they can find. I don’t want you to be on that list. You’re better than three minutes on the evening news meant to attack my character.”
“I might not be concerned about me if it didn’t affect you,” I breathe.
“I can handle their attacks. I don’t want them laying them on you,” he angrily lashes.
He scrapes his thumb across my lower lip.
Impulsively, I lick the pad of his finger.
For one heartbeat, his eyes streak with need. Then he gingerly tips up my face as he lowers his to bring our eyes to the same level. First he nuzzles my nose and strokes his thumb again across my lower lip. He presses gently down on my lip to open my mouth. My eyes drift shut. Every thought in my head scatters to nothing when he swoops down and takes my mouth with his.
“I’m not supposed to want you,” he says, cutting me off.
“What?” My eyes widen in disbelief.
What can I say when he looks at me in that way?
He’s looking at me as if he’s frustrated that he wants me.
Silence settles between us.
“I think of you. I think of you too often, if you ask me,” he says.
I nervously tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and stare at my lap. “I think of you too.”
My comment seems to come as no surprise. “So what are we going to do about it?” he asks softly.
“Nothing,” I say.
He laughs, and drags a hand over his face and tsks, shaking his head. “Nothing’s just not in my vocabulary. Is it risky? Yes. Is it selfish on my part? Maybe. But I’m not just going to do nothing.”
I swallow. “Matt.” I glance around nervously, trying to steer away from the path this conversation has taken. “Have you realized people could talk if anyone recognized us? Why did you bring me here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I knew you’d love it here.”
I laugh. “I really do, you wicked man.” I try to push at his chest teasingly, but he catches my wrist and pulls me closer, his eyes darker.
“I’m so wicked you have no idea.”
He’s looking at my mouth not as if he wants to kiss it.
Matt is staring at my mouth as if he means to devour it.
“You know you can’t kiss me,” I croak even as we now look at each other’s lips.
He brushes his thumb over my lips. “I can kiss you. I definitely want to kiss you. I think we both know I mean to kiss you. Long and hard. I want my tongue rolling around yours, Charlotte, and I want your delicate little moans, too.”
God help me. I’m pretty sure nothing could stop this man from getting anything he wants—nothing. Except maybe me.
Because Rhonda is right.
What we’re doing together transcends me, transcends even him.
And even though I’m twenty-two, I know that getting Matt back into the White House will be the biggest thing I ever did.
“Except … C is for campaigning. We can’t do something foolish,” I say, trying to brainwash myself that I don’t want this just as much.
He smiles tenderly. “If you’d ask me right now, C is for Charlotte coming in my arms.”
Shocked and breathless by his bluntness, I turn to stare blindly at the inscription of freedom on the wall across from me—of all of us having freedom. And yet I have never been more aware of not having the freedom to fall in love with this man.
“There won’t be any of that,” I say.
Matt slides his hand to stroke the top of mine, pausing and leaving it over mine when a group of teenagers shuffles into the cavern, and he tightens his jaw and remains silent as, fortunately, they don’t glance our way.
I shift on the bench—an inch away from his touch—then turn back to Matt and narrow my eyes in exaggerated suspicion, wondering how many women have caught his interest. And how long it lasts. “Why aren’t you married yet, anyway?”
“I’m waiting for her to grow up.”
He’s leaning forward now to recover the space I just put between us, his eyes dancing in a way that makes my heart thud a million miles an hour.
“Well,” I fumble for a reply, “I suppose that’s why you’re a playboy—you’ve been practicing all this time, so your child bride can eventually enjoy your expertise . . .”
“She will definitely enjoy it.” He nods in mock somberness.
“Okay,” I say flippantly. As if my stomach isn’t flipping and I’m not clenching my thighs together in my seat.
Matt’s eyebrow quirks. “You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I don’t want a sample. Thank you. Besides. You can’t take a woman like me.”
“Woman?” he scoffs. “You’re what? Eighteen years old?” He leans back and stretches his arm out behind me, eyeing me.
“Eighteen to your fifty!” I shoot back.
He’s leaning forward again, his shoulder touching mine, and the teasing in his eyes has become more dangerous and exciting, a little more challenging.
“One day I’ll do all the things I need to. And she’ll be mine. Mark my words.”
“Does she know this yet?” I ask, quietly.
“I just told her,” he says.
His voice is thick and low, but his eyes are still alight with mischief.
“Maybe . . . maybe she’s already yours.”
“Is she?”
“Just a little bit,” I say, lifting my thumb and index finger to draw a centimeter.
He glances at my fingers, then at me.
“I'm not a man that is satisfied with just a little bit.” He smiles.
“That’s all she’s got.”
He shakes his head. “She can do better. Much better.”
The teenagers shuffle out of the memorial, and Matt and I are left alone again.
He slides his hand to cup the back of my neck in a proprietary gesture, then he gazes into my eyes with such a possessive look that a million butterflies flutter in my stomach. A smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Come here, Charlotte,” he softly commands.
I sort of freeze.
He said he doesn’t mean to do nothing, and now I can see in his eyes he’s got a whole lot of something in mind.
Matt’s smile fades, and he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me closer, then he leans his forehead on mine, his eyes holding me spellbound. “They’ll try to find dirt on me. Anything they can find. I don’t want you to be on that list. You’re better than three minutes on the evening news meant to attack my character.”
“I might not be concerned about me if it didn’t affect you,” I breathe.
“I can handle their attacks. I don’t want them laying them on you,” he angrily lashes.
He scrapes his thumb across my lower lip.
Impulsively, I lick the pad of his finger.
For one heartbeat, his eyes streak with need. Then he gingerly tips up my face as he lowers his to bring our eyes to the same level. First he nuzzles my nose and strokes his thumb again across my lower lip. He presses gently down on my lip to open my mouth. My eyes drift shut. Every thought in my head scatters to nothing when he swoops down and takes my mouth with his.
