His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I happen to admire only one.” His voice dips as he tugs on my hand. Amusement lost to heat—raw heat simmering with fiery passion. “Come here, Charlotte.”

I start to shake nervously, but he pulls me to him and onto the dance floor.

I’m panicked, and also overcome with little bubbles of excitement swimming in my veins. We start dancing. Everything that is him envelops me as cameras flash and people watch him move me around the dance floor.

He holds me very close, and protectively. My body comes alive at the touch. Arousal swims in my veins. It’s not the appropriate sentiment to feel here, dancing with the president, but I can’t help it. I want him close. I want to feel him inside me. I want him to remind me that of all the women fawning over him, I’m the one he loves—but at the same time, I want to pull away, too afraid of what we’re doing. Of coming out into the light for everyone to know. To see. That Matt and I . . .

“This isn’t a good idea,” I breathe, aware of people watching with awe and excitement.

“I don’t care.”

“Matt—Mr. President,” I protest, hoping that professionalism will change the proprietary look in his eyes. I’m glancing around for an escape route even though I can barely move my legs.

Our bodies brush as we dance, his legs hard and grazing the sides of mine, his biceps bulging around me as the song swarms around us.

He simply smiles.

“You once said you might not mind being by the president’s side,” he says. My libido goes crazy under that smile. His words husky, seducing me. The proximity of his mouth to my earlobe making my heart go haywire.

“That was before,” I whisper worriedly.

He captures my gaze with his powerful one. “Before you fell in love with me, or after?”

We hold each other’s gazes as the song finishes.

“Before you did this—everyone is looking,” I say, panicked.

“Good.”

He’s smiling as he dips me backward for the song’s finale and crushes his mouth to mine, with a little bit of tongue.

“I cannot believe you did that,” I tell him on our way back.

“Can you not?” he asks, laughing softly.

“If I were to go online right now, I bet there are a thousand and one rumors, stories, and the like circulating.”

“I am not one bit interested in what they are. Neither should you be.” He tugs me forward. “We’re adults. You’re my first lady. We can be together, Charlotte. We are, and we need to face up to the music, regardless of the tune. We will get through this.”

There’s a silence. Matt holds my face and pulls it up, smiling. “All they know for a fact is that I kissed you. The message implied is clear—you’re mine. I’m dating you, and you’re dating me. Which reminds me, I want to take you out. I’ve been jealous just thinking of you alone with anyone else. I get jealous of every man out there who can be with you, hold your hand and kiss your face. Now it’s me . . .” He presses his lips to mine.

“You don’t have anything to be jealous of,” I scoff.

He grabs me by the hips and lifts me to his lap, his eyes blazing with heat and possessiveness.

“Neither do you. I saw you tonight. You were flushed, jealous of the women greeting me.”

I bite down on my lip. “You’re . . . their absolute fantasy. Of course I’m jealous. You’re their fantasy and mine.”

He looks at me biting my lip, and I release it. “You seem to be ignorant of the fact that I’m taken. I’ve been taken for quite some time.”

Leaning to smooth his tongue over the lip I bit, Matt slides his hand under the skirt of my dress, touching the inside of my thighs with his fingertips. My breath snags in my throat when he caresses the damp spot in my panties.

His eyes flash when he realizes I’m wet.

“Lift your dress. I want to feel more of you.”

I start to lift my dress and part my legs as he presses his lips to mine, opening them so he can rub his tongue over mine as he eases one finger inside me.

“God, you’re addictive. Who do you want here, beautiful?” he groans, finding me soaked inside.

I moan into his mouth and link my arms around his neck, thrusting my hips out for his touch.

“You.”

“Who does this belong to?” He dips his tongue into my mouth and moves his finger in and out, in and out, driving me crazy. Crazy with jealousy, with desire, with want.

“You.”

“That’s right.” He smothers my moans with his mouth.

17

A WARNING, PLEASE

Matt

Lola slaps a newspaper on my desk the next morning. The headline reads, KISS OF THE AGES: PRESIDENT HAMILTON AND THE FIRST LADY STUN GUESTS WITH A PUBLIC KISS FOR THE HISTORY BOOKS!

“We need to talk about Charlotte.”

“No, we don’t.”

“We’ve created a million new jobs with your new clean energy program and it’s been overshadowed by your little stunt.” She stutters when she realizes what she’s said. “Mr. President. Respectfully.” She nods. “You could’ve warned me,” she hisses.

“No, Lola, I couldn’t.” I lean back and link my fingers behind my head. “The fact that our million jobs didn’t make the front-page news doesn’t diminish the fact that we are creating new employment. That number will look like kiddie play in a couple more months. Relax.” I lick my thumb and flip through one of the pages on my desk.

She exhales.

“I will give you a heads-up,” I add, pausing a moment. “I’m going to marry her.”

“Excuse me?”

“What I said. Thank you, Lola.” I dismiss her.

Our country is broken. Jacobs was a weak president. So many minorities have been ignored. The problem in the Middle East is raging full force.

I have other shit to do than worry about the media.

She’s wide-eyed and blanching. “How will I handle the press?”

“They don’t need to be handled. I’ll take care of it when the time comes. Make some calls. Be sure we get some features on what we’re doing. Besides me kissing the first lady.” I smirk.

She smirks back, then seems to catch herself and shakes her head. “Mr. President.”

And she excuses herself, while I gaze at the headline. There’s a photo of Charlotte in my arms, her hands on my shoulders—she was pushing me back but, oh, that mouth was definitely opening beneath mine.

Lola wanted a warning?

I didn’t even get one myself.

I want to worship this girl. I wanted to glide my hands all over her body. Hundreds of women were trying to catch my attention, and the only one it lingered on last night was her.

I really hadn’t planned to make a scene. Lose my shit. I’m used to being tightly controlled. Blame it on all those expectations. The expectations for me to carry on as a Hamilton, the whole world resting on my shoulders. With her, it feels like she wants me to be nothing more than I am, nothing less. Everybody else is asking questions, what my stance is . . . not Charlotte. I know she secretly loves it when I lose control, and I lost it well and good last night.

I went with it. I wanted her mouth—I wanted them all to see her, in my arms. Mine, mine, mine.

This girl has seen me, every side of me, and still she looks at me like a sun.

She’s concerned; she wanted me to take it easy. Now I feel like I can do anything but.

My father cast my mother into the shadows, and keeping Charlotte close yet far away . . . I cannot do that. I want her up in the limelight, with me. First lady, not feeling like a secret: a true wife. She deserves better than what she thinks she does.

I want more for her.

I want more for myself. Yeah, I want her more than ever. Her passion, her kindness, her realness, her ability to laugh . . . Her.

I’m in over my head for this girl. Once I thought I couldn’t do both, govern a broken country and have her. But I know now that I will die trying to do both. This is who I am. I’m the president and a man. She’s the girl I love and the woman I want to spend my life with.

Really, it can be as simple as that.