I pause, meeting reporters eye to eye.

“If I don’t build a better tomorrow for this family I love so much—for this country I love so much—then who will? If I don’t ensure and fight for their safety, their rights, who will? If I deny my citizens my every effort, I deny my family, too. I do not want to fail any of you. This tough job has taught me how to be tougher, how to be smarter, and how to be a diplomat, but it never becomes easier. Then again, I wouldn’t want easy. Where’s the fun in that?”

This is met with laughs.

“Thank you for these four years. For your belief in me. If you will allow it, and the citizenship wishes it—let’s make it eight. I am formally announcing my intention”—my eyes meet Charlotte’s, and I fucking want to kiss the smile she wears right now—“to run for reelection, and continue to be honored as the president of the United States of America.”

43

CAMPAIGNING

Matt

The crowd is chanting my name as we drive into the first rally in Philadelphia.

“You get the best crowds I’ve ever fucking seen,” Carlisle says. I scan the crowd, wishing she could see it. That always got her excited. Charlotte stayed back at the hotel with Matthew Jr., both of them sleeping in this morning.

“Here we are, sixty percent female, forty percent male. The majority here to see your pretty face. Even married, you have a way with the ladies,” Wilson taunts.

My lips twist into a wry smile. “A vote is a vote.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I know it bugs the hell out of you—no offense, Mr. President. And don’t worry, every president leaves looking haggard as fuck; your beauty will lessen with four more years. If you still draw crowds by now, then it means you did something good.”

“Wilson, I’m on a schedule here.” I point for him to stop the car.

“Right.”

“Hey, do me a favor,” I lean into the car as I get out, “check in on Charlotte later. Oh, and tell her Jack hasn’t been fed.”

“Go about your busy day. I got it.”

I step out with Carlisle and Hessler, the rest of the Secret Service piling up behind me as discreetly as possible—some of them disguised as civilians—as we head to the podium and the waiting crowd.

44

THANKS FOR CAMPAIGNING

Charlotte

I’m watching him speak at the rally for Florida small business owners, and for a second, he looks only at me.

“. . . because not only our aim, but our duty, is to strengthen our country for those who haven’t been born yet. And for those we love.”

My breath dies, and he slides his eyes away and looks at the members of his team with half a smirk and half a smile.

Nobody notices, though, the looks we share. They have no idea of the real connection we have—that this man is a part of me. Husband and wife, they know what we are, but I’m not sure anyone has a true idea of what he means to me, or what I know that I am to him.

The men are scribbling notes using pens with Matt’s campaign logo, and then they’re all standing as he rises to leave and starts shaking hands, thanking them. I’m surprised that so many of the male team members approach me to say goodbye as well.

Matt steps to my side as we head out of the room.

“I’d better give you the floor right now,” he says, reaching out and sliding his thumb down my jaw. I laugh as we exit the building, but his gaze is still with me as we ride back to the hotel.

We’re supposed to freshen up and attend a fundraiser later in the day, and I decide I’ll change my heels for flats because my feet are killing me, but I am not missing it for the world.

“My first lady is quite a crowd draw,” he says, lifting his hand to grab me by the back of the neck and kiss me. He eases back, leaving me breathless. My husband. He’s smiling. He’s teasing me, of course, but he has this proud look as if to say I knew I made the right choice.

“You, on the other hand, you were awful just now. I think your team wants to kick you off the campaign, Mr. President.” I shake my head teasingly. “You’re four years older, no longer the young, fresh bachelor you used to be.”

His eyes start dancing. “You’ve aged me, baby, what can I say.”

“I mean, at least you made the effort. I don’t think they went for it, though—you were far more charming when you were single.”

He’s looking at me with that strange tender look again, and I’m lying—he is hotter than ever. Nearing forty, so mature, so gorgeous, with no gray hairs yet, no matter how sexy I think he would look with a little gray on that gorgeous head or at the temples. He plucks off his glasses, tucks them into his pocket, and he sends me a warning look that I recognize—one that I suspect he will act on when we enter the suite and he pins me against the wall and kisses the shit out of me.

I’m getting flustered, getting weak-kneed, and I walk into the suite playing a little bit hard to get.

“Is there a reason why you put half the room between us, Charlotte?”

“No. Why? I just wanted to stretch my legs a little bit,” I say nonchalantly.

He lifts a brow, slowly coming to stand behind me. “You think I asked you up here to ravage you, wife?” he asks, slipping his hand down and cupping my ass.

“No,” I groan.

He ducks his head to nuzzle me and I seem to take one last breath.

His smile starts wavering as his eyes begin to darken, and then the smile completely leaves, replaced by a look of pure frustration and raw need. He is too close, so close, his expensive cologne in my nostrils and his eyes looking warmly down at me.

“Charlotte,” he says. “We don’t have time for this, baby.”

“I know. That’s why I was here and you were there. But now you’re here too, so what are we going to do?”

He reaches out and runs his thumb over my lip. Once. Twice. “I find that the older I get, the more I hate waiting,” he confesses, frowning.

I laugh, and walk to the sofa.

“My feet are killing me,” I say as I toss my shoes aside and relax for just a second before I need to hurry into the shower.

Campaigning is as exhausting as I remember, and I love it just as fiercely as I recall. Years ago, youth made us believe in the impossible, but it’s only those who believe in the impossible who can actually make it possible. And we have. For four years. We’ve tried, and succeeded, so many times.

Matt gives me a genuinely admiring stare. “I appreciate you being here.”

I smile wearily and get a bottle of cold water from the fridge, then come back to the living area to take a sip. “I’ve always found it inspiring. When I watch you move all those people.” I frown a little. “Makes me wonder half the time what’s real and what’s bullshit.”

“Charlotte,” he chides. “We don’t have a bull in the pen at the offices. None of it is bullshit.”

“All politicians bullshit.”

He lifts his brows. “I’m not a politician.”

“You are now.”

I laugh, and then watch him approach.

The air crackles with adrenaline. His satisfaction pulses off him in waves, and my own body responds in kind.

He takes a seat next to me as I lie curled on the side of the couch, leaning forward on his elbows and reaching out to pull my legs toward him. He’s close now. Our energies fuse, combine, and seem to multiply the thrill of a successful evening by a thousand.

“I was right.”

“Right about what?” I ask.

“Bringing you in that very first day.”

“Why did you? Old times’ sake? I dazzled you with my bad manners the night we met? Or my huge appetite for quinoa? Or with my letter?”

He just smiles and doesn’t answer.

He’s smiling as he takes my feet in his hand, tracing his thumb along the arches. For a moment I’m transfixed watching his thumb. The most delicious shiver runs down my spine, to my stomach and the tips of my breasts.

“I’m ticklish.”

And breathless and excited and in love.

“I see that.”

He lifts his head, slowly cupping one foot by the heel and lifting it up, and up, and up. He opens his mouth, watching me as he nips the tip of my toe. He engulfs it, runs his tongue over the back, sucks gently as he starts running his other hand up my arm, to my face. He inserts his thumb into my mouth, slowly rubbing my thumb with his other hand.