INTENSE
Charlotte
Before we left D.C., Matt booked us a suite at a small five-star hotel, where he had one of D.C.’s best restaurants deliver an amazing dinner. It felt like a very secret, very wonderful date with the man the country swoons over and the one that I am slowly and secretly falling for, and now each time our eyes have met afterward, it seems like we’re both remembering that evening and the night of hot sex we shared.
Unfortunately, the last time for a while.
Over the past two weeks, we’ve been intensely campaigning. The race feels so real now. We’re in Matt’s suite at the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas. The work has been so consuming, we haven’t had the opportunity to enjoy any more private moments save for one—all the others have been stolen seconds that almost always happen with a room full of people.
A kiss here.
A brush of his fingers there.
Hessler, a man with even less sense of humor than Carlisle, seems to have cracked his first smile in all the months that I’ve known him as he skims the most recent poll results. “Polls are giving you the lead.”
“No time to sit back and sing a victory song just yet,” Matt says, his Starbucks in hand.
I’ve already finished my coffee.
When coffee fails to do the trick to keep you awake, it’s really time to switch to Red Bull.
I’m barely awake right now.
I’m sitting on the couch, and my head is leaning on my hand as I try to keep my eyes open. I don’t want to miss a single word from the anchors on TV, and at the same time, hearing the men’s conversation swirling around me lulls me to sleep. Since we’ve started, it’s been so many months of extensive traveling and nights like this.
Brainstorming, planning, thinking, and, for me, wanting. Wanting him . . . so much.
I thought that with time, it would get easier. His proximity.
And instead it’s grown harder.
We still have a few months of campaigning left. Odd how I yearn for it to be over so I can get over him, and at the same time, I’m so alive—I feel like I’m participating in something historical, something that will define our collective futures—I just don’t want it to end.
“Charlotte, go get some sleep,” Matt says.
I try to shake myself awake when I hear the command nearby.
God. I was snoozing on the couch?
I crack my eyes open and Matt is leaning over me, his shadow covering my whole body.
His eyes are a swirl of bronze, and I wonder if they see right through me. His hand is a brand of its own kind, one that penetrates my skin. Like the touch of a live wire, his grip on my shoulder shoots sparks through my body. How I can possibly sit here and remain still while all this happens inside me is a mystery.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” I say, smiling halfheartedly.
A brief smile touches his lips.
It’s his amused smile, the one that makes his eyes a shade lighter.
I sit upright, glad that the campaign managers are busy taking notes. Matt hands me a cup of coffee, and I know it’s his because I was the one who brought them and marked each with a felt-tip pen. His has the word Matt inscribed in my own handwriting.
I lift his cup, and it’s still warm. He takes a seat beside me and my tiredness fades a bit.
It’s hard not to feel the things I do for this man when we’ve traveled together for months. When I’ve seen him holding babies, dancing with old ladies; when I’ve seen him stir the crowds into a roar; and especially when I’ve seen him with his hair rumpled and a pair of reading glasses on as he skims the morning newspapers, tactically gauging the effects of the campaign we’re waging against the Republicans and the Democrats.
Jack bounds up onto the couch between us so part of his head is on Matt and his body is fully on me.
It’s amazing how much I’ve grown to love his dog, considering the way we met was less than stellar. Now I crave his fuzzy warmth, the lick of his warm, wet tongue on my cheeks. As I sip my coffee, Matt reaches down to pet him at the same time I do.
Matt’s thumb traces the back of one of his dog’s ears, stroking slow and long, as I stroke the other, both of us looking down at Jack as we pet him.
I steal a look at Matt’s profile and he looks thoughtful, a muscle working in the back of his jaw.
I’m remembering our last time alone, a fifteen-minute tryst where he followed me to the women’s bathroom, locked us in, and kissed me like crazy as he eased his fingers into my panties. He licked his fingers afterward, and I spent all day swooning whenever he met my gaze, brought the tip of his finger to his lips, and then brought out his tongue to lick it.
His smile after he licked it?
His smile was sexiest of all.
I’m thinking of all this, when his thumb moves from the back of his dog’s ear to brush over mine.
I lift my eyes, and he smiles at me, a smile I feel everywhere, and I smile back, petting Jack more vigorously, electrified every time Matt purposely passes his hand over mine as he does the same.
“You’re a good dog, aren’t you? Very sporty with your flea necklace,” I tell Jack, and I look up at Matt.
The smile on his face is amused. Tender. I start flushing, and his smile starts to fade, and his gaze becomes a little dark and a whole lot intimate.
Of course he knows his effect on me. He knows his effect on every woman, and though I know he dislikes his physical beauty to detract from the issues he wants to discuss, it doesn’t seem to bother him one bit that it has this effect on me.
Worst of all, it’s not just his beauty. It’s his mind, his passion, his dedication, and the way he makes me feel alive, ambitious, hopeful, vital.
I duck and focus back on Jack.
Soon, the team starts shuffling out. I keep playing with Jack, loath to leave until I hear the last of the team head out the door and Matt speaks to Wilson, who’s just outside, standing guard.
“Wilson, will you come in for a moment?”
I stand to leave as Matt leads Wilson inside.
“Stay, Charlotte.”
I turn to him, and Matt cups my face as he looks into my eyes. “It’s been two weeks. I need to see you. I need to touch you.”
“We’re exhausted.”
He smiles, nodding.
Wilson shuts the door behind him, and Matt raises his head. “Wilson, think you can get us out of here? I’d like to take Charlotte somewhere private. Not a hotel.”
“I’m on it. Any idea where?”
“My dad’s place.”
Wilson lifts his brows, then nods and leaves.
“We can’t stay here—the staff can walk in at any time,” Matt tells me.
“Where are we going?”
“My father had a secret getaway and we never sold it.” He heads over to grab his room key and his phones, and fifteen minutes later, we’re each leaving through a different hotel exit.
* * *
It turns out President Law Hamilton’s getaway is in Laguna Beach. We board an aircraft that flies us from Vegas to Los Angeles, and the pilot is an old friend of Matt’s and sworn to secrecy. Matt and I fly alone in the cabin while Wilson rides with the pilot. The rest of Matt’s detail was told he needed no covering for the evening as he would be staying in. The pilot seems happy to see Matt with me. He smiles as he greets us and says farewell with a “you go, man!” expression.
Once we land, there’s a black BMW SUV waiting at the hangar, and Matt leads me to the passenger door, then climbs behind the wheel, telling Wilson, “Take the night off. Meet us there early morning.”
“You got it.”
Wilson shakes Matt’s extended hand, then he peers inside and smiles at me. “You take good care of him, all right?”
“I will,” I say, laughing.
Wilson grins and shuts the door once Matt is settled behind the wheel.
We drive for thirty-five miles to the beach, taking in the scenery, Matt reaching out to take my hand and bringing it to his mouth so he can brush his lips across the back of my palm. “It’s almost worth having waited to get you alone again.”
“I almost feel odd that we’re completely alone.”
He chuckles, then squeezes my hands and continues driving with this soft, satisfied smile on his lips, frequently bringing my hand up to kiss the back of it or lick the tips of my fingertips.
He pulls into the garage of a beautiful modern home sitting right at the beach.
“I thought the Hamiltons had a home in Carmel, not Laguna.”
“We do. This one’s my dad’s secret place. He used to come here to get away from it all, hear himself think. Now it’s mine.” He winks as he opens the car door to hop out.
He leads me inside through the garage door and with a command, “Lights,” gets the lights to immediately turn on in the living room and kitchen.
As I follow him inside, I’m struck by how unpresidential the home is. How normal. Modern and simple, it’s also very homey, with filled bookshelves to one side, family pictures dotting the shelves, and instead of artworks, maps from around the world decorate the walls.
His father loved the world, like Matt does.
“I come here sometimes. Reminds me so much of him. I come here to be close, and to get away and think.”
Moved by his words, I follow him past what seems like the library and wander into the living room, breathlessly taking in the view.
“This is like another monument you come to think at.”
He laughs, then heads into the adjoining kitchen and opens some cabinets. “Nothing fresh here, but would you like some . . . canned beans? Spam?”
“God, what is this?” I laugh, then I watch him pull out a bottle of wine.
“Wine is good. I’m not hungry, though.”
“You tired?” He pours two glasses, sets them aside, and opens his arms. I walk inside those arms and press my cheek to his chest. I exhale, letting loose.
“How do you do it?” I ask him.
“Sometimes, I don’t know.” I’m charmed by the honesty in his voice, but he also sounds confident, as if he does know, as if he has no doubt about being able to do it every day. He settles us into one of the couches, his arm still around me.
“I sometimes think I’m going to just collapse.”
He shifts to get us comfortable—and closer—stroking a hand down my hair. “Feel free to collapse here. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”
“I can hear the ocean. And I can hear your heartbeat.” And I can hear you breathe. I find myself inhaling too, inhaling the warm, expensive smell of him. “You should hit the bed. You have a busy day tomorrow,” I warn.
“If you’d take it easier with my schedule, I might even know what it means to sleep on an actual bed.”
I laugh.
He shifts forward. “I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to miss a second of this.”
“You will get more moments like this if you keep suavely organizing our escapes.”
“I’ve spent so much time planning our escapes, it’s embarrassing.” He smiles. “To be honest, you’re the only woman I’ve ever spent this much thought on.”
“Wow, Mr. Suave Presidential Candidate. You successfully managed to make me sound like a chore.”
“The chore is not you. It’s not having you like I want. It’s not having you all.”
He leans back, stroking his hand absently down my arm. “So many people accidentally fall into what would become their most renowned accomplishments. Steve Jobs, his friendship with Wozniak. Even Escobar didn’t wake up one morning deciding he’d be the most famous drug lord; he was a smuggler—the drug was basically brought to him.”
“And you?”
“I wouldn’t run if my dad were alive. I wanted something along the lines of normal. Not that the media ever made it possible; they’ve wanted me to run ever since . . . ever.”
He reaches out to sip on his wine, then sets it aside and turns back to me. I sit back and am aware of the excited nerves going through me as he lifts his hand to touch me.
“But we cannot live in a country where our presidents get murdered and we never find out who’s responsible. We’re greater than that, smarter than that. We’ve forgotten what it means to be an American—the Constitution doesn’t say ‘I, all for me.’ It says ‘we the people.’ Everyone is out for themselves now, and that’s not what we’re about.” He says it with the certainty of someone who never settles for less than the best.
He reaches out for me and my tummy tumbles. “So it’s not just about me.” He kisses my cheek in a way that’s almost brotherly. “Remind me that if I ever can’t keep my hands off you in front of the team,” he whispers before he kisses the back of my ear, his eyes sparkling. “By the way, you smell divine.”
I smile and meet his gaze.
Exhaling and lifting my face closer, I slip my hand over his chest and press my lips to his.
Matt groans softly, his body tightening under my fingertips, his hold firming around me as he sucks my tongue, his hunger palpable, unleashed. The shadow of stubble along his jaw tickles my skin.
“I want your wanton little noises tonight,” he murmurs quietly into my mouth, meeting my gaze as he slips his hand under my top. “I want you soaking me to the wrist.” He plunges his tongue inside and cups my breast, flicking my nipple. “I want you coming undone for me, so fucking undone you’ll think you’re breaking.”
“Yes,” I breathe, moving my arms, holding him close as I shift beneath him and pull him over me on the couch.
“You’re not too tired to come, are you?” He strokes his fingers over my pussy.
I mewl.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll give you what you need. I’ve got you. Just relax, let me give it to you,” he says softly, dragging his lips along my face, my neck.
I moan softly and slide my hands up his hard arms.
“You’re gorgeous. God, you’re gorgeous. I just want to be in you. I want to be looking at you, like this. Writhing and noisy. You’re so sweet, baby, nobody knows there’s a sex bomb lying underneath those little business suits. Only me.”
“Yes, you, Matt,” I agree, shifting beneath him as he unzips his pants and pulls himself out, and then he sheaths himself and fills me, and I’m lost in this, in him.
We move things to the bedroom an hour later, cuddling naked in bed. “I like it here,” I say.
“You’re the first good memory this place has had for a while.” He brushes my hair back and smiles at me. “I’m glad I brought you here.” He kisses me, the sweetest kiss I’ve had in my life, and no matter how exhausted I am, I can’t sleep. Like him, I don’t want to miss a moment of this—even a second.
This isn’t a childish crush anymore. I love him. I love Matt with my whole being. I breathe him, breathe for him.
I breathe to help him win—even if that means I won’t ever, ever feel his arms around me like this again.
* * *
I wake to a husky voice. “Charlotte, we’re leaving.”
I stir. “What time is it?”
“Five. We need to get going.” He strokes the top of my head and nods to a fresh cup of coffee. “In case you need it. Did you have a good night’s sleep? Or should we call it a nap, it was so brief?”
I smile and nod, and I don’t expect him to kiss my mouth because we’re in a hurry. But he does, his eyes proprietary as he eases back and pats the side of my butt. “All right, rise and shine, beautiful.”
I fall back in bed, squeezing my eyes shut, and I bite back a smile before I push myself out of bed.