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“Please, Agent Theriot. Sit?”
It takes him a moment. He may only comply because he thinks it’s an order. He’s letting nothing out, not a hint of emotion. There’s no eye contact, lingering or otherwise. He might be burning holes in the bulkhead behind me with that glare.
“This coffee is for you. It may be a little cold, but I can heat it up.” There’s a microwave in the bulkhead behind me, which makes me laugh, because who on this plane would ever allow me to microwave anything on my own?
“Mr. President—”
“Were my predecessors complete assholes?”
He frowns.
“You’re on Air Force One, the second most secure place in the world. My schedule has me here in my office until we land. You were on downtime, and I surprised you and your team. The fault is mine. I’m sorry.”
It’s my turn to glare at a bulkhead behind his ear. What was I thinking?
All we need is a ticking clock, and it will be just like we’re in the Oval. Except worse, because at least before there was eye contact, and he spoke to me. I thought there was something friendly between us. Maybe there was, but now, he’s making it abundantly clear that he wants no part of it. Or me.
“I was ahead of schedule.” My hand waves across my empty desk. Everything I needed to review for this trip is read. “I thought we could get our briefing out of the way.”
He nods, once, and busies himself with his padfolio, flipping through papers as the cabin air recirculates.
I’ll watch him this last time, allow my eyes to linger on the arch of his cheekbone, the angle of his jaw. The hint of stubble he’s sporting, even though it’s barely noon. Maybe it’s late to him. The Secret Service works on shifts. Maybe he’s fourteen hours into his day. There’s so much I want to know about Reese, so much I want to ask him—
Dark eyes rise and catch me. His gaze pins me to my seat.
“Sir?”
I shake my head. He’s trapped me with his stare.
“Is something wrong?”
Yes. Everything is wrong, because I can’t get you out of my head.“No, I—”
There’s so much I wish I could say. Thoughts I’ve had for the first time in decades, musings about what it would be like to make another man laugh, or sigh my name, or look at me with desire as he takes my hand. You made me dream again, if only for six weeks.
It’s a cruel gift, because I haven’t wanted like this since I buried my secret and made my vow, but at least I know this part of me isn’t dead. Maybe in the future there will be another man who steals my breath away, like Reese does right now.
Or maybe this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I’m watching it fall away.
Not in this life, but in another one. You’re not meant to find him—whoever he is—in this life.
I fiddle with my coffee cup, thumb flicking over the lid, my eyes drawn down to the intricacies of plastic and cardboard. We’ll get through this brief, and this trip, and then I’ll close the door on my fantasies.
“How are you settling in, Mr. President?” His voice is soft, the words rolling gently on his accent.
My gaze flicks up. My thumbs still. “You were right. It’s a huge adjustment. I’m still tripping over things.”
“Such as?”
I arch my brows. “Well…” His cheeks flush, and he flips pages in his padfolio again as he breaks eye contact. “I feel insulated. Isolated, too. Your team’s pull-up contest was the first honest-to-God joking around I’ve seen since moving into the White House.”
“Your time is valuable, Mr. President. No one is supposed to waste it.”
“It’s not a waste to get to know the people around me.”
His nostrils flare as he looks up. His pupils have darkened, and the way he’s gazing at me is making my vertebrae hum.
“Am I that different?”
