White House: Commander In Chief Part 8

10.

BACK.

Charlotte On our way back to D.C., we kiss at leisure in the bedroom of Air Force One. I'm on his lap, burning for him.

"I'm thirsty for you, too thirsty to get enough," he growls.

We lose it. He sweeps down and grabs me against him, and I grab him by the shirt and kiss him back, raw and hot this time, out of control, his lips dominating and hungry, mine moving just as fast, an inferno of heat and longing blazing between us.

Matt coaxes my tongue into his mouth, groaning, ma.s.saging my b.u.t.t with his hands.

"You're mine. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours."

"I'm sick of hiding. I understand we need to take it step by step with the public, but Charlotte, I want you in my bed-I want inside you. Two steps into my room, we'll be tearing off our clothes and nothing is going to come between us-nothing."

"That's what I'm afraid of. I need to be sure I can truly be the first lady that the country needs."

"You are not just your job-you are a woman, and you're the woman I need."

He covers my breast with one hand and thrusts his tongue into my mouth, faster, harder, and I'm dying from the way he seems to need me. I grab fistfuls of his hair, lost, moaning and groaning, our hands running over each other, our mouths crazy.

"Soon," I breathe. He groans. "I'm sick of cold showers."

"I'm sorry. I'm physically in pain."

"Focus on what you're sitting on and you'll realize you're not alone."

I smile, quivering in desire. "Soon."

11.

ADJUSTING.

Charlotte Matthew has flown out for a meeting with the prime minister of Canada, and I spend the next few days adjusting to life in the White House.

I look at the menus on Sunday, and I tell the chef that I really don't think we need to have fancy menus or fancy desserts on a daily basis, that plain apple pie will do.

He created this version of an apple pie that's several layers, has a bit of cheesecake mingled in with the cinnamon apples, and I've never tasted anything so divine in my life.

"I've never gone to a restaurant with food as good as the food you cook, Chef."

"It's our job to keep you well fed and happy-and it's our job to make you and our country look good with all our visiting foreign dignitaries."

We're hosting a state dinner for President Asaf in two months and before he left, Matt said, "Spare no expense."

One of the things I learned upon arrival at the White House was that the first family pays for their personal expenses, including their staff and food. "Matt-I know your family has money, but you'll leave with no money if you-"

He started laughing, then a.s.sured me, "Spare no expense. This is the United States of America, and the White House. It's an investment."

"If we stick to a reasonable budget for the state dinner, the State Department will foot the bill," Clarissa a.s.sured me when I expressed my concern to her, later.

I occasionally wander around the house with the curator, asking him to teach me about the artwork and the relics. There is so much history here. So much heart and depth. I love it, but I haven't seen Matthew for days.

I've looked at my schedule and had chats with my press secretary, chief of staff, and social director, and I'm tempted to work my schedule around his when he returns, when Clarissa tells me, "The president's chief of staff asked me to adjust your schedule so you could do several events with him."

I blush. Is he as eager about seeing me as I am him? "Absolutely; it's my pleasure."

She and the social director sort of look at each other in mischief. I laugh. "I know what you're thinking."

"We didn't say a word."

"Look, we're both really interested in doing our best here-"

"We're not judging, Miss Wells, on the contrary. You look good together."

I just smile, not knowing what to say. I miss him so much. It's still incredible for me to be here, that we're giving this a shot.

A day before Matt is due to return, I just can't take it a second longer. I head to the West Wing.

"Portia, could you connect me with the president?"

"I . . . he's on Air Force One. Let me see if I can get him."

After a moment, I wait for him to take the call.

"Hey." His voice is husky.

"I'm sorry to bother you-are you busy? Oh, I'm sure you are." I laugh and exhale. "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"Would you have dinner with me in the Old Family Dining Room tomorrow?"

"I'm there," he says without hesitation.

I'm nervous about going through with this. I need that connection. I'm going crazy for it. I want his strength, I want his arms around me, I want him. I just want him and I want him to know how much he is wanted by me.

Matt I'm edgy and I can't take the edge off.

We're flying home on Air Force One, D.C. already beneath us.

I've been rehashing a new plan to get the economy rolling again.

"The markets have rallied. The dollar is stronger from the moment you took office," Frederickson, the VP, says, tossing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it.

"Markets merely speculate. We need concrete results, to get our economy running again. Where are we on our education bill?" I ask Dale.

"Should be done by next week."

"I want us to invest in our youth. Education, top level. Next up is healthcare. Women having equal pay-paid maternal leave so they can spend the time they need with their newborns. Too many people who are hurting out there who weren't tended to properly."

"Your call, Mr. President."

"And get me the Speaker of the House. And I want a meeting with the Democratic and Republican leaders-there are ways we can make this work without putting up a thousand and one walls."

Dale nods and leaves, and Frederickson follows to the door, shouting, "Catch!" and sending the ball flying my way.

Jack leaps up before I can grab it, then trots and brings it over.

"Good dog!" Frederickson applauds, impressed.

I pull out my gla.s.ses to continue reading and catch Jack sniffing my coffee cup as he sets the ball on my desk. "No more, buddy." I turn the cup and let him lick a drop-and I think of her, with her red hair swinging, bringing me coffee. I think of her spread out beneath me. Moaning. Wanting it.

She wants us to have dinner. I know what she wants. I want it too.

She wanted time, concerned about the media.

I've been patient. But I'm tired of worrying about the media. I'm tired of being unable to take her out in public. I'm f.u.c.king tired of hiding the one thing I personally value aside my job and my country. Yeah, I'm looking forward to dinner. The only thing I hunger for is her.

12.

HIM.

Charlotte I hear Marine One long before I see the helicopter descend over the South Lawn of the White House. I want to run to the doors like Jack does when Matt is out and he stays home, but instead I force myself to walk primly down the stairs and outside.

Matt hops off the helicopter and Jack rushes across the lawn, while I wait by the steps, smiling as Jack leaps up to greet me. I pet his head, my eyes firmly locked onto the tall, distinguished man crossing the lawn toward me.

He's wearing his gabardine over his suit, and the wind is blowing through his hair-making love to every inch of him.

His stride is purposeful as he heads forward. Jack waits by my side, tail swishing side to side.

Our eyes meet. I just smile and start heading inside, and two steps inside-a good distance away from the agents milling about-he draws me into his arms and my resolve to wait until after dinner melts a little. He strokes a hand down the back of my head. "I missed you," he breathes in my ear.

It melts a little more.

His strength seeps into my body. It reaches deep inside me, down to the marrow of my bones. If we were alone, I'd pull him somewhere to feel his hands on me. Feel his eyes on me. Feel his skin under my fingers, his tongue moving over mine again.

"So did I."

Jack barks happily. Matt eases back, but not before I get a glimpse of the smoldering heat in his eyes. "Not here," he says.

I inhale for patience.

He grins, seizes my chin, and stares straight into my eyes. "Go to my room." A promise.

My breathing becomes uneven and jittery. "What about dinner?"

"What I want is right here, and I'm not waiting a moment longer to have her. Now let me tend to something and I'll be right there."

I head to my bedroom first and s.n.a.t.c.h up a gauzy nightie that I bought in Paris, my only purchase there. A white baby doll with a part in the middle and a bow tying it together.

Did I buy it with the hopes he would one day see it?

I told myself it was for me, but now I'm not so sure. I tuck it under my jacket, and I'm aware of Secret Service stationed nearby as I cross to his room. I shut the door, quickly change in his large bathroom, and head straight for the bed because my legs feel liquid and unsteady.

His room is a little bigger than mine and his bed smells like him. I sigh and delight in the scent when I hear the k.n.o.b turn-and the door shut.

My happy smile over being in his bed fades as my lashes open, and my eyes start to climb up powerful, long legs, narrow hips, and a crisp white shirt, unb.u.t.toned at the top.

He. Is already. HARD.

He's looking at me with incredible amus.e.m.e.nt, his eyes dancing, his hair spiked up as if he's been very restless. Restless on his way home.

"Always full of surprises, aren't you, Charlotte," he says quietly. Taking in my baby doll.

I can't breathe anymore.

I'm enveloped by the power and confidence he oozes, by the penetrating quality of his stare, by the male smile he wears.

Twisting my lips as I sit propped up on my arms, I shyly hold his gaze. "Do you like my welcome home gift?" I motion to the bow tying my baby doll together.

We're both high from missing each other, I think-our adrenaline twisting and tangling invisibly in the room.

He crosses the room, reaching out to take my arm and help me to my feet. One tug and he's flattened me against the flat wall of his chest. Another tug on my loose hair yanks my head back. The gasp that leaves me only serves to part my lips-and he's there. His lips are there, brushing mine, ever so exquisitely. His breath trickling warmly into my mouth.