“No, they wouldn’t.” His eyes rove over my features. “But whoever said Americans don’t have exquisite taste was very, very wrong.” He raises both his brows meaningfully, and even that maddening smile he wears, just a little arrogant, is sexy beyond belief.
There’s so much intimacy in his gaze, I’m transported to our nights together—his kisses, his words.
I want him to touch me. I want to touch him. But something as simple as a touch would cause an uproar and a scandal—that’s not what we want his first months in the White House to be about.
He leaves me with a smile and heads off, his chief of staff already listing a thousand things on his plate, and I sort of have trouble moving my eyes away from his retreating back—and how well he looks in that suit—to the woman before me.
“So if you’d like to review your duties as first lady,” she’s saying as she leads me to my wing, “it’s really up to you how much you want to get involved, but if you’d like to be very active, there’s always the menus to look at, the social events to plan and host . . .”
Waiting naked in the president’s bedroom, I think to myself, aware of a warmth flooding my cheeks as I do. No. That can come later. We need to be sure about what we’re doing first.
I don’t want to fail this country, or my parents, or myself. Or Matt.
I sleep alone in the Queens’ Bedroom. So aware of Matt—the president—just across the hall. I hear him walk into his room late at night. I tiptoe to my door, sort of listening as I decide whether I should go see him.
Touch him. Kiss him.
I’m pressing my ear to the door when I hear footsteps approach.
My breath catches, and I quickly hurry back to my bed and slip under the covers as the door opens. Matt looms in my doorway. I hear the door click shut and his figure walking in the shadows.
I prop myself up on my arms, alarmed. “You can’t spend the night—the staff will talk, and it’s too soon to give the media the gossip-fest they’ll get with this.”
He lowers himself into a chair by the window, feet away from the bed.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at you.”
6
TODAY SHOW
Charlotte
“Today we are honored to welcome the first lady on the Today Show, Miss Charlotte Wells!
“Miss Wells, you were surprised when President Hamilton asked you to act as first lady?”
“Very.”
“Why were you surprised?”
“I don’t own a pretty pair of white gloves.”
Laughter.
“The country was feeling pretty disappointed when hopes of a romance between then candidate Hamilton and yourself seemed dispelled. Any dirty secrets between yourself and President Hamilton, breadcrumbs for the crowd?”
“Oh, I do have a few. Mainly I just like looking at him. In a very professional way.”
Laughter.
“You’re very refreshing. And President Hamilton seems to enjoy looking back at you, Miss Wells. Here’s for us to keep hoping.”
A hot little blush runs up my body as I think of last night. I slept like a baby, feeling him close. Though I woke up to find his chair empty, I could smell him on my pillow. And I wonder if he spooned me during the night.
“I’m fully committed to my role as first lady, as he is to being the president,” I force myself to say.
I go out of the filming studio to screams and placards raised.
I laugh and wave, biting back a smile as I’m led to the car by Stacey, one of the agents appointed to protect me.
She climbs into the back of the car with me and we head off in one of the presidential limos.
“What just happened?” I ask her.
“You’re America’s sweetheart. They love you, miss.”
“Charlotte,” I correct. I stare wide-eyed out the window, never having imagined the people would embrace me like this.
Matt
“The first lady on the Today Show,” Dale says.
I walk forward, lean on the couch, and watch her.
“She’s the darling of the country,” Dale adds.
I watch the TV as she blows them away, every single person she walks by. “Look at you,” I purr.
7
GLOVES
Charlotte
I received a book with the pictures and names of everyone working in the White House—it’s a security measure, I was told, in case I spot someone who seems unfamiliar—and I’ve been poring over the book to be sure I know them all.
I’m eyeing it a second time the next morning when I hear Clarissa’s voice at my East Wing office door.
“The president sent this.”
She’s holding a silver box with a white ribbon.
I feel my lips part involuntarily.
I resist the urge to tear into the package. That’s just not how a first lady would act. So I stand up and accept the box, then set it on my desk and open it carefully, removing the ribbon, unfolding every corner of the wrapping, and lifting the lid.
Inside are two beautiful elbow-length white satin gloves.
In all seriousness?
I’ve never been so turned on. It’s not the fact that he sent a gift that is sexy in itself, but the fact that he wants me to feel like I belong here. As his first lady.
I’m done. I’m a goner. Is it possible to fall in love with a man all over again? I think I just did. Even when I’ve never, for a moment, stopped loving him.
I spot him later that day as I head down the hall, trying to memorize where everything is and personally greet the staffers by name.
The sight of the tall, dark-haired man walking with an entourage of four men around him makes my heart stop in my chest.
He stops walking when he spots me, then plunges a hand into his slacks pocket, gives a half smile, and starts forward.
He’s wearing his glasses.
My mouth is dry and the part between my thighs, way too wet.
“Charlotte. I’d like to invite you to dinner in the Old Family Dining Room tonight. If you wouldn’t mind looking at the menu.”
Our eyes meet, and I’m hot all over. “If I can find the dining room,” I say.
Under the rim of those gold-rimmed Ray-Ban glasses, the smile touches his eyes. “Someone will make sure you do so.”
“I know. They always do.” I smile and glance around as the men wait in standby, and the staffers continue bustling past and carrying out their respective duties. “I’m actually supposed to go meet the chef this afternoon—I’m to review the menus for the week.”
“That’s very considerate of you, Miss Wells.”
I know he’s teasing me—and it feels good. I miss him. I want to flirt more. To talk and hear about everything he’s doing. But now is not the time. “I feel so bad having so many people wait on us,” I whisper.
His gaze turns somber. “They’re trying to make our lives easier, get the little things perfect so we can focus on the big ones.”
I nod, smiling. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He nods and heads to the West Wing.
The Old Family Dining Room, it turns out, is the smaller dining room in the White House, and I’m grateful to be seated at a normal-sized table that seats up to six—one from Matt’s personal, more modern furniture collection. He sits at the head, my place setting to his right, and we dine on the White House chef’s version of a personal favorite meal of mine.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I had them make Mom’s special quinoa, which my mother and Jessa had made for you and your dad. The first time we met.”
“I remember. You were a cute little thing. Full of fire.”
“Full of fire for you,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.
His eyes widen in surprise over my comment, and then a laugh rumbles up his chest, but that delicious laugh doesn’t last long, and then he’s frowning darkly. “You were too young, baby.”
“With big feelings awakening,” I groan, shaking my head over the pain he caused me and my “awakening” years.
He shoots me a chiding smirk, his gaze dropping to my lips.
“Matt …” I breathe, recognizing the look in his eyes.
He leans forward, our eyes inches apart. His voice is so rough and raw it cuts me up on the inside. “I miss you. I miss touching you. I want to be able to kiss you anywhere, anytime I want.”