I’m aware of the admiration in his gaze when he lifts his hand and brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I hold my breath, aching for closeness, to physically establish this connection that I feel, his breath warm on my skin. He brushes his thumb over my cheek a second time, and then, as if that wasn’t enough, his lips follow. The barest touch, a thousand times more powerful than a full-on make-out session with anyone. “You’re welcome.” His voice is gruff.
As I pry myself free, we both can’t seem to stop looking at each other. He’s smiling again, his eyes like liquid metal and a little too hot, and I smile shyly in response. And somehow this is the most honest, hottest smile anyone’s ever given me and I’ve ever given anyone back.
I suppose things should feel awkward, but they just feel a little sharper for the next minute. The sound of his breath or rustle of his clothes as he gets his stuff back to his office, the timbre of his voice when he tells me if I’m done, he’s done and can give me a ride home, the outline of his body close to mine as he helps me into my jacket.
I ride in the back of the black Lincoln with him, his detail, Wilson, driving us.
Matt’s gaze lowers all of a sudden.
Gently he seizes the eagle pin at my collar. He strokes the eagle with the pad of his thumb. Once, that’s all.
“You always wear this,” he says.
A ridiculously sexy smile curls his lips, but this time, his eyes aren’t smiling. He searches my expression with curiosity. And his smile fades. He’s still holding the pin. I’m holding my breath, wanting more of these touches, more of him.
But I know how ridiculous thinking about anything with him is.
He’s so driven to win, I know the last thing he needs right now is a distraction like me.
“Reminds me of the good old days,” I finally reply, trying to push down the thick longing in my veins. “The ones you’ll bring back.”
“I’m ready.”
We smile. The very air between us seems to be on fire.
“Good night, Matt.”
I reach for the door, but he leans over me and sets his fingers on mine, clicking it open for me, his warmth enveloping me again, his fingers sliding over mine, caressing like a feather.
“Good night, Charlotte.”
He watches in the shadows of the car, his eyes dancing the way they sometimes do when I do something that amuses him, still the crush-worthy guy I met when I was eleven.
Can he see how much he flusters me?
Of course he can.
I get to my apartment and my feet ache, my back aches, my brain aches. I feel too drained to do anything but kick off my shoes, stretch my arms out, and fall flat, facedown on the bed. But I can’t sleep. His gorgeous dark-flecked eyes keep looking at me.
And they’re looking at me like a man looks at a woman he wants.
Matt is looking at me as if he wants me.
I can’t stop thinking about the way I impulsively threw myself at Matt and kissed him. The way he smelled, the way he felt, so warm and male and strong. I’m restless that weekend and call Kayla over to my apartment.
“So how is it going?”
Pushing the thought of having kissed him aside, I think of how great it feels to be campaigning with him. “Incredibly well,” I admit.
“Is he as lean and built and tall and dark as he is on TV?”
“TV can’t accurately capture his charisma in person. He’s . . . he’d be attractive with his face alone, but combined with his personality and energy it’s sort of naughty.” I’m starving, eating my dinner in a hurry so I can go to bed early.
“He’s running for president. Your childhood mega crush, and mine!” Kayla marches to the TV remote and flicks it on to the first channel. He’s on the screen—as attractive as he is in person.
“What are Republicans saying?” I ask her.
“They’re shitting in their pants.”
“And the Democrats?”
“Shitting in their pants.”
She sighs and drops down on my couch. “Never voted for an Independent candidate in my life, but this one is mine. Hamilton for the win!” She glances at me. “We miss you at Women of the World. Are you planning to come back after the campaign?”
“Of course.”
“Why leave WoW at all?”
“Because he’s what America’s been waiting for. We deserve it.”
“You hate the spotlight, even though you secretly admire how well your mother takes to it.”
“I’m shy.” I shrug. “It doesn’t come as easy to me as it does to my mother. But I want to be there when he kicks ass.”
“What about our trip to Europe this year?” Kayla asks.
I join her on the couch, sighing as I stare at the ceiling. “We can go to Europe anytime, but it’s not any day that Matt Hamilton runs for president.”
“The perfect baby father and every woman out there knows it. If you can’t have him in your bed or fathering your children, at least let him be our chief in command.”
“Commander in chief,” I correct.
“He can be anything he’d like.”
I groan and laugh.
12
WE FOUND OURSELVES RUNNING THE SAME PATH
Charlotte