Page 41 of Under His Command
“If you still have to ask yourself that, it means I haven’t given Maddox enough headaches this year. Guess I’ll fix that today,” Rowan says.
“Oh, believe me, the President has been stressed as fuck. Especially since he heard about the order you have over the prisoners from the Ridge. You’re a crazy son of a bitch.”
Rowan smirks. “It’s good to see you too. Dove, this is my good friend, Draven. He’s—”
“The Secretary of State,” I add, flashing him a smile. “Of course, I knew that. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
A pause, and then Rowan’s hand tenses on mine, as if I did something wrong. Fuck, did I? When I catch his gaze, his eyes are feral and his nostrils flared as he plasters a dark, knowing smile on his face.
“A pleasure indeed,” Draven chimes in, but doesn’t go past my face with his eyes. I take it as a sign of respect toward Rowan.
“Are they in there?” Rowan jerks his head to the doors leading into the Oval Office. I gulp, trying my hardest to smile and look perfect for him, even though my anxiety is through the roof right now.
“Mm-hmm,” Draven sighs. “I had to make sure twice they weren’t fucking last minute or… giving each other black eyes.”
“Now that would be a sight.”
Confusion coils around me at Draven’s words. Maddox and Camelia Thorne love each other. They’ve been America’s favorite couple ever since they got married last year, after Maddox’s ex-wife passed away. Why would Draven joke about them giving each other black eyes?
“This way, angel.” Rowan gets my attention, gently pulling me after him as someone opens doors to the Oval Office for us.
The first thing I see is the carpet, because looking straight ahead and meeting their faces is not as easy as I thought it’d be. So I look down at the famous Presidential carpet and at my heels stepping on it for the first time. Then I hear their voices—his, Rowan’s, and hers—before Rowan’s hand caresses the small of my back, and I regain my composure.
Icy blue eyes, collected and observing, stare back at me when I look up. I force a big smile, taken aback by how much more imposing Maddox Thorne is in real life. He’s huge—just as tall as Rowan, if I’m judging it right—maybe somewhere around six-foot-five. And with a lush mouth and a sharp jawline like that, it’s not hard to see how he won the hearts of millions of Americans at such a young age. He’s what… 36 now?
I relax a little when he smiles back, his features instantly warming up. Even the walls seemed to have breathed a sigh of relief for me.
“Thank God. Someone finally managed to tame Rowan,” the President smirks, his voice like the ebb and flow of ocean waves, powerful yet calming, with a rhythmic cadence that pulls you in and holds you captive.
To my surprise, I chuckle, and do the unimaginable—contradict him.
“I hate to disappoint, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon, Mr. President.”
A generous laugh approaching from behind him gets my attention. It sounds like the crackle of a cozy fireplace, warm and inviting, with a playful flicker that promises things you probably shouldn’t crave. Camelia Thorne—or Cam, as he calls her publicly, comes to the President’s side, arms crossed as she stares me down.
The tabloids almost don’t do her justice for how insanely gorgeous she is. It’s not even her wavy beach-blonde hair or the muted, ashy green color of her eyes that makes her so effortlessly chic and timeless. It’s the way she carries herself, with the calm and elegance of a feline who knows she has the claws and the fangs to kill if anything threatens her way of life.
It’s also the subtle ways she glances over at her husband with her thick web of long lashes—as if she loathes him, or loathes that she wants him so goddamn much.
She doesn’t brush her body against his when she stands next to him. If anything, she looks like she’s doing everything in her power not to touch him. But then the President looks back at her… and the tension between them bounces between the four of us. It keeps building and building, until my face heats up and I feel like I should give them the privacy they so desperately seem to need.
“Damn right,” Cam says, finally breaking her husband’s stare. “Rowan is a tough one to crack. Most of us have completely given up trying to fix him.”
“Nonsense.” Rowan waves a hand in the air, leading us both toward the couch. “You love me. There’s already a serious bastard among us.” He eyes the President. “Can’t have two people sitting in the same chair, now, can we?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Maddox rolls his eyes, and the two of them take their own seats across from us. “This job is stressful enough as it is. Convincing you not to kill people is, to be exact.”
“It had to be done, and you know it.”
“Word could still get out.”
“That’s why you have a whole PR department at your fingertips.”
“It’s not”—the President sighs—“that easy.”
“When was anything easy about what we do?”
The President and the Commander of his Army stare each other down, while Cam and I look between them. I hold my breath under the tension, while she seems to hold back from snorting. Then she glances over at me and mouths the word “typical.” I purse my lips, relaxing a little.
