Is Matthew Hamilton, the man who has everything, the world at his feet, jealous?

The angle of his jaw looks about as sharp as ever. “I’m sure. Nothing’s going on yet.”

“Yet?”

“He wants a date, but I want to concentrate on the campaign first. I didn’t decline him outright because he was . . . speculating about us.”

“I see.”

I want to know what he’s thinking, but he shutters his gaze and simply looks at me.

“He’s too old for you,” he finally states.

“He’s one year younger than you,” I counter.

“He’s divorced. Completely ineligible for you.”

I shrug. “I have other options. My friend Alan has been trying to make things serious for years.”

His eyes widen. “There’s no winning this one with you?” He laughs and rakes his fingers through his hair, frowning in a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

Although Matt looks calm, I fear there’s some sort of tempest lurking in his gaze. Something being held tightly under control.

I remain silent while I struggle with a thousand things I want to do or say. I missed him. I missed his face and the way he smells and the way the office buzzes when he’s here. I missed waking up with tangles in my stomach simply because I know I’ll see him. I also don’t like these feelings, but it’s hard to push them away when they’re simply . . . there. Stronger than ever when he’s near.

“Why are you even considering going out with him?”

“Because.” I glance away, and then whisper, “It could help dissipate any rumors between us. And because . . . you’re under my skin, Matt.”

There’s a silence.

I stay in place even when all my instincts tell me to walk away and not look back.

“Don’t go out with him.” He waits a moment, then adds, “With any of them.”

He draws me to his chest, shaking his head chidingly down at me.

I hesitate, then I lean forward and set my cheek there. He turns his head into my scalp and inhales. Then he nuzzles my nose and strokes his thumb across my lips. He presses gently down on my bottom lip to open my mouth and rubs his thumb over my tongue.

My eyes drift shut. I suck his thumb and then take his hand and turn it and kiss his palm. His hold tightens, and he drags his face lower, his jaw slightly stubbled as he presses his lips to mine.

We groan as our tongues flick over each other, again and again.

My hand fists his shirt. He slides his hand to cup my buttock and drags me a little closer as he parts me with his mouth and kisses me again.

I groan his name.

“Matt.”

He snaps his lips back and looks at me, breathing hard. Reality comes to me slowly. We’re at headquarters, with glass surrounding us. I’m kissing the Prince of America.

President Jacobs. Thompson. They would leap all over this.

Matt seems to know what I’m thinking.

“The guy you campaign for, I don’t know how not to be him. That’s who everyone expects me to be.” He touches his fingers to my cheek. “But with you it’s different.”

I exhale as his words sink in. What he means is that in the dark of night, he doesn’t want to be president, or Matthew Hamilton.

He wants to be just a man able to lose control without having a story the next day in the media.

I want to hold him to me, and I want to tell him that I love the way he loses control, and that I love the fact that he wears all of the expectations the world has placed on him because he just happened to be named Hamilton really well.

Instead I simply ask him for a ride home, wondering if a man as isolated as Matt has ever really let down his guard with anyone before.

“Lose the tails. I want to drop Charlotte off,” Matt tells Wilson after we get in the car, and Wilson makes a few movements—slipping into several underground parking lots to lose the tails before he pulls over in front of my apartment.

Matt follows me inside my building.

His face is set, and he looks thoughtful.

“If you’re still thinking about the Mark thing, now you know how I feel watching a thousand and one gorgeous women throw themselves at you.”

He laughs, then drags his hand over his face. “I’m jealous. I’m man enough to admit it. I’m jealous of any guy who can take you out, walk down the street with you in his arms.”

My eyes widen at the confession.

Matt Hamilton jealous of any normal guy?

I feel like I can’t compare anything to the delicious electrical current the words send through me.

I’m melting down my thighs, to my toes, as I walk to my apartment.

One of my female neighbors appears.

“Charlotte, I—”

Matt turns.

My neighbor stutters. “Oh, wow.”

“Nice to meet you.” Matt smiles easily, and my neighbor’s eyes can’t flare any wider.

Matt sends me a questioning look, and I briskly announce, “Matt, my neighbor Tracy.”

“A pleasure, Matt!” my neighbor calls.

Matt greets her and then I lead him into my apartment. “The paperwork is right here, Mr. Hamilton,” I say as I usher him inside, making sure Tracy hears and praying that will keep her appeased. Once we’re inside I tell him pointedly, “My point. About the girls either throwing themselves at you or dropping to the floor for you.”

It’s so dark in my apartment, I flick on a lamp and it still feels like the shadows are engulfing us. I enter the kitchen and pull out a loaf of bread just to try to keep my hands busy—not going to his shirt, his jaw, his hair. “I’m going to make myself something to eat. Sometimes I get dizzy when I haven’t had any food for a while . . . Want some?”

He drops down on a stool and drags out the other one with his toe so he can prop his foot on the footrest and lean forward. “Look at you,” he says.

“What?”

“Quite the little homemaker,” he croons appreciatively.

I prepare a sandwich, laughing. I can’t think with Matt in my kitchen.

“I know some recipes,” I boast. “Jessa would teach me when I was young. The day you and your dad came over, I was shocked the president’s food would be tasted before he could eat.” I glance at him. “It was the highlight of my life. I felt like I’d been selected for something special, which is why I bought the pin. I was even inspired to join Women of the World because of that. I kept you very present in my mind.” I laugh.