Commander in Chief
Page 5

Wilson whispers something into his receiver as he nods at me and reaches for the doorknob.
“Hi, Wilson.”
“Miss Wells.” He nods briefly as he opens the door. “The president is inside.”
“Thank you.”
I suppose my heart is whacking so loudly because I’m seeing him again, and also because I don’t know what to expect.
I walk into the room, the door shutting with a soft click behind me.
The air is sucked out of me as if by a vacuum.
A Hamilton vacuum.
It feels as if the whole room is just a backdrop for him. He’s so . . . imposing. Electrifying. I have eyes only for the tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man at its center. His stance confident but easy, one hand inside the pocket of his slacks. The bow tie he wears is perfect. Even his hair is perfect, not a strand out of place, and I ache to run my fingers through it.
But inside his eyes there is a whole universe, dark and endless, an intensity in his gaze that pulls at every fiber of my being as he slowly drinks me in—every inch of me in this dress, from my eyes, to my nose, to my lips, my throat, my shoulders, my chest, my abdomen, down my legs.
It’s hard to speak. The way he’s looking at me is thawing my resolve to be strong, and I need to pull his attention away from stripping me naked with his eyes. “Being president looks good on you,” I can’t help but say, because as he undresses me with his eyes, I sort of get an eyeful of him too. His athletic, muscular frame and how the tux hugs his shoulders.
At my words, Matthew’s eyes leisurely trek back to my face to lock on mine again. He responds simply, his voice as deep as I remember, the tone firm and completely unapologetic. “You’re beautiful.”
I inhale sharply, his words like a punch at the very core of my being. Warmth blooms in my cheeks. It’s as if he’s lit me up, this man. And nothing I do can dampen the fire he ignites in me. “I didn’t go into this for a happily ever after,” I whisper.
“But you deserve a happily ever after.”
Matt is not smiling. His eyes are dark and somber as he continues to stare at me intently. “I’ve stayed away from you,” he says, taking a step, withdrawing his hand from his pocket.
“I’ve noticed.” My voice sounds raw, and I’m so overcome with his presence as he prowls around the room that I drop my eyes, my emotions all over the place. I raise them after a second and meet his unflinching gaze—which he hasn’t removed from me. Not for a second. “Is it getting easier for you?” I ask.
“Fuck no. It’s taking everything in me not to touch you right now.”
He drags a restless hand over his face, a tinge of regret in his voice as he stops a few feet away. “Being with me could hurt you—you know that’s why you wanted me to stay away. You know that if I’m with you, I’m going to hurt you even when that won’t be my intention. Not at all. I know that wasn’t my father’s intention when he hurt my mother for years.”
“Seeing you is hurting me now.”
He clamps his jaw, then reaches out to tilt my head back. “Look at me,” he says, his voice gruff and low, his dark gaze carving into me. “I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t give you a house and I can’t even take you out on a normal date. But I want you. I fucking need you in my life, Charlotte.”
His touch is making my knees quake. I breathe, “I’ve accepted that I can’t have more and that’s okay with me. It’s not worth it. You’re doing more important things than being with me.”
He frowns thoughtfully as he curls his hand and drags his knuckles down my cheek, grazing my skin. “The bigger risk is you getting hurt because I can’t give you what you need. But I want to. I want to give you everything.”
I battle a tremor, lick my lips nervously, craving more of his touch, more words, more Matt. “That’s not why I came here. I want you to have the best presidency, and I wanted you to know I’m okay that this is over between us.”
“I don’t want this to be over.” His eyes glimmer mercilessly as he drops his hand and just looks down at me. “I’m fucking selfish. I want you all to myself. Jesus! Every day, I wonder what you’re doing, who you’re talking to, who you’re smiling at, and I want it to be me.”
“I don’t want this to be over either. But it has to, Matt.”
He shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “It doesn’t have to. Fuck trying to stay away from you. That’s not what I want. What do you want from me? Do you want this?”
“What’s ‘this’?” I ask uncertainly.
“Everything.”
My stomach feels as if I’m riding a roller coaster, so many dips and tugs I can’t stand still as Matt waits for my answer.
I’ve never been able to lie to him, and I don’t think I ever will be. “I don’t want you to stay away from me.”
“I asked you a question. Do you want everything I can give you?”
God. The pull he has on me, his magnetism tugging at me. The pain in his eyes only reminding me of my own.
He’s the president now, but he’s still Matt. My first crush, my first love. And I know that after Matt, I’ll never want or love another man again.
“I don’t know what ‘everything’ means. I want to start slowly,” I begin.
“How slowly?”
“Slow, Matthew,” I say.
He exhales, his eyes softening.
“It’s too much. You’re too much,” I groan. “But I don’t care about anything else. I don’t want you to stay away from me.”
His gaze is alive with heat as he gazes down at me.
“I just don’t see how this can even work without a media explosion I don’t want,” I add. “It’s too close to the campaign—people will think we had an affair all that time.”
“We did.”
I feel my cheeks heat at both the memory and the gruffness in his voice.
The times I spent with him are too valuable to me to willingly give them up as fodder to the media. “Yes, but those were our moments.” I flush even more at the look in his eyes, as if he remembers too. “I don’t want the world to use them against you. Or me.”
He’s silent for a moment, simply staring at me, everything about him making my mouth water—his achingly familiar espresso eyes, warm and liquid as he looks down at me. And when he lifts his hand to hold me by the chin, my whole body jerks in response. Wanton. Aching. Swaying toward him. “Come to the White House. Be my acting first lady,” he says, his voice husky.
“Matt, I couldn’t possibly.”
“You can very possibly.”
I’m stunned to realize he means it—his eyes steely with determination and certainty.
“You can do whatever you want with the role, it’s self-defined.”
“But your mother would be so much better at it,” I insist.
“And yet I’ve got my eye on you for the part.”
“Why?”
That lovely playful sparkle I remember so well appears in his eyes again. “Because you look good on my arm.”
“Haha.” I’m suddenly smiling, I can’t help it.
His lips are curved too, but his stare is deathly serious. “Because I can’t see any other woman standing next to me. And because no one could do the job that you could.”
My heart flips in my chest.
“We’ll figure this out. You try the role on for size. Let me date you out in the public eye without hiding this time. We’ll take it as slow as you need.”
“The media will begin to speculate.”
“They can speculate all they like. As acting first lady you sleep in the White House, you’re on the president’s arm, and you can do so many things, Charlotte. I want to see you spread your wings and fly high, and I want to give you the platform to do it.”
“I don’t see myself as one of those ladies. I’m not posh enough.”
“You’re a countess; your grace is innate.”
“Stop flirting with me. You’re a cad, Mr. President.”