Chapter 15

Beatrice

Size isn’t everything.

I know this. All women know this.

But damn, Air Force One is impressive.

I’ve stopped, momentarily stunned, at the bottom of the stairway leading up and into the plane.

Henry, Hope, and Lawrence have gone on ahead, but for some reason, my feet just won’t move.

Though in all honesty, I know why.

It’s because I want to soak this moment in and wallow in it.

You only get to have your first time once, you know. And the first time on Air Force One seems like a pretty big deal.

I was all set to head to the rear entrance and ‘rough’ it with the rest of the press corps, but Hope snagged me and brought me up to the front, where the president and all of his staff and entourage enter.

Which means I get to ride up front with the staff.

With Henry.

And the thought of being trapped in the relatively small confines of the plane with nowhere to go but thirty thousand feet down fills me with a smidgen of trepidation and a whole lot of desire.

I’ve done so well maintaining my distance. I’ve been sure to keep everything coolly professional, despite his lingering glances and those small, intimate brushes of his body against mine. I’m sure they mean nothing, but they still leave me light-headed with longing just the same.

At least at home, I have my apartment to run to when things become too much to bear. Not so much here, where I’ll be forced into prolonged contact in close quarters.

Yet, instead of worrying about the personal and professional ramifications that could arise, I’m standing on the tarmac, grinning like a fool, about to fly transatlantic in style.

“Beatrice?” Henry calls from halfway up, a bemused smile hovering on his lips.

His dark blue suit jacket is unbuttoned, his crisp white shirt pulling slightly across his well-defined chest. I notice he’s loosened his tie. With the wind from the engines ruffling his sandy brown hair, he looks more like the hero of an action film than the president of the United States.

And now, my slack-jawed expression has moved to him instead of the plane.

Because damn, he is impressive.

“Bea?” he calls again.

I jump slightly, and I’m sure I look like a fool. Oh well.

“Coming! Just had to fix my shoe!” I lie as I dart up the rest of the steps to where Henry is waiting with his hand out to usher me on board.

As I pass him, his palm comes to the small of my back to guide me up the last few steps and into the cabin. The touch is light, more of a gesture than anything, but the solid warmth of it sends a shiver up and down my spine.

It’s going to be a long flight.

Once on board, Henry asks if I want a tour.

“Yes!” I say before he’s barely finished asking the question. “That is...I mean...” I clear my throat and give him a slight inclination of my head. “Yes, a tour would be lovely, thank you.”

I have to actively fight against the urge to curtsy.

What the hell is going on with me? Snap out of it, Bea!

It’s just a tour of the plane.

He’s just a man.

A sexy, smart, funny, considerate, leader-of-the-free-world, kind of man.

But a man, nonetheless.

Henry’s eyebrows, which had jumped in question at my emphatic outburst, now seem to have disappeared into his hairline as he fights back a smile.

Then, he gives his head a little shake and chuckles. “After you.”

I move ahead of him, and he once again places a proprietary palm against my lower back.

The heat of it is delicious.

“So, here at the front is my office and suite, with the communications center, crew area and the flight deck up top,” Henry says, gesturing with his hand, and this time not causing me to have delightful tingles in rather inappropriate places.

He continues on through the craft and introduces me to each spot and its function as we make our way through the rest of the plane.

We pass through doors leading to the kitchen, and then the conference and dining room before we walk through a room with a large, glossy wooden table and a fifty-inch flat screen television mounted to the wall.

Soon, we’re surrounded by other people, and I make sure to break the contact between us. I’m trying to do my best to follow at a professional distance.

We move along all the way to the very back, where Henry schmoozes for a few minutes with the press before returning to the front in preparation for take-off.

I keep my distance on the way back, watching as Henry, once again, works the crowd. He greets everyone by name, jokes with his security detail, and takes time with even the most junior level staff member.

His charisma is hypnotic.

Every body in a room seems to shift slightly when he enters, recalibrating to his true north.

He is, quite simply, magnetic.

Back at the front, I find a seat at one of the desks so I can work compiling notes from the previous week.

Henry catches my eye and waves me forward into his office.

I follow him in to find Lawrence currently seated at one end of the L-shaped couch, pouring over documents and swigging from a cup of coffee like his life depends on it.

I drop my bag with my own papers and my laptop on a swath of the sectional and sit down next to it, pulling out what I need to start work.

Henry takes up position behind the desk. We all settle into our tasks as the plane begins to taxi down the runway, slowly gaining speed.

I’m just about to ask where Hope is, when her perfectly coiffed head pokes through the open office doorway.

Honestly, I don’t know how the woman does it. I’ve never seen her look anything less than immaculate, no matter the hour. Her current head-to-toe cream ensemble punctuated by a crimson pout has my own sensible black power suit feeling drab in comparison.

But I push any unkind thoughts I might be harboring in my head as she makes her way into the room carrying a cup of coffee with my name on it.

And it’s good, so good.

I moan slightly into my cup, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She smiles before taking a sip out of her own cup without leaving a trace of her red lipstick behind.

My god, what is this woman? Magic?

“I remembered you saying you hadn’t had any yet this morning, and I knew you wouldn’t know where to find it.” She shrugs.

Just then, there is an ever so slight pitch of the cabin, and we’re traveling up, up, and up before leveling out, smooth as glass.

Once airborne, we all bend to our respective tasks, though I’m finding it hard to concentrate.

Maybe Hope and Lawrence are immune, but Henry’s sheer presence is causing me to grow cold and hot with equal parts desperation and desire. His magnetism seems to be roiling off of him in waves.

I can’t seem to stop my gaze from constantly flickering to his body. It doesn’t help that Henry has tossed off his jacket and removed his tie completely; unbuttoning his top two buttons and rolling up his shirt sleeves to show off the burnished gold tan of his muscular forearms.

I sit back with a huff and close my eyes as I rub my temples. I keep rotating between tasks, unable to keep focused on what I need to do, and it irks me that no one else seems to be having this issue.

Though I’ve seen no outward sign, both Hope and Lawrence get up and head out of the room, each saying something about checking on the staff.

Within a few moments, it’s just Henry and I—and without anyone else in the room to absorb his charm, it feels as if I’m being assaulted on all sides.

A suppressed sigh of frustration slips between my lips as I pack up my notes and computer and pull out a new book by one of my favorite authors.

I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone read, so I’m planning on taking advantage of this lull.

However, after thirty minutes of reading the same five sentences over and over again, I give it up as a lost cause. I almost throw the damn book, but I settle for forceful placement.

“Something wrong?” Henry asks with a breathy chuckle, his eyes still on the documents he’s signing.

I glare at the president of the United States of America, and he doesn’t seem remotely phased by it. Probably because he hasn’t looked up yet. When he does, I’m sure to change my demeanor into a look of quiet resignation.

“Yes,” I say with remarkable calm, given the roiling state of my insides. “You. You’re too loud.”

At this, he carefully—and quietly—sets the pen down on the desk and reaches toward the ceiling in a stretch.

I make it a point to not notice the way the muscles of his torso bunch and elongate, straining against the now slightly rumpled fabric of his shirt.

Then he brings his hands behind his head and leans back, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll bite.”

I swallow, suddenly nervous.

Why did I say that?

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to concentrate and it’s making me prissy, Mr President.”

“Henry.”

“What?”

“Please, especially when we’re alone like this, please call me Henry.” He looks so pained that I readily agree.

“I’m sorry, of course Mr Pres—I mean, Henry.”

“And for god’s sake, stop apologizing.”

“I’m so—”

Henry glares at me, and I shut my mouth with a snap.

“Now,” he says, getting up and walking around the desk to sprawl at the opposite end of the couch. “Please explain to me how my very presence is somehow, ‘too loud’?”

“Okay,” I sigh. “Hear me out. So, I’ve been watching you,”

I blush as he arches an eyebrow and gives me a laconic smile.

“Stop, you know it’s my job.”

“Yes,” he laughs. “I’m sorry, it’s just ‘I’ve been watching you’ sounds so…”

“Stalker-ish?” I ask.

He rolls his lips between his teeth as he fights back a laugh.

I give him a withering look.

He clears his throat. “Please, continue.”

“I’ve been observing,” I say pointedly, “your interactions with people—and if I’m being honest, I’ve noticed it since your campaign for senator. But you have this—this aura about you. You walk into a room and every person angles towards you. Your mere presence is something akin to gravity. You affect people, even without trying. The crackle of your charisma is deafening. Even when you are silent, you’re loud.”

I’m unsure if anything I’ve just said makes sense, and I’m comfortably aware of the intensity of his regard.

His face has shifted between curious, to bewildered, to an almost hungry look—that I might have imagined because it’s gone in the space of a blink.

The air feels fraught, and when my body can no longer handle the vibrating intensity of his gaze, I drop my eyes and swallow.

Henry clears his throat.

“Well, please let me apologize Beatrice,” he says softly. “I’m terribly sorry I have such an effect on you.”

But when I look up, the devilish grin on his face doesn’t look remarkably close to sorry at all.