Текст книги "Playing with Fire "
Автор книги: Kate Meader
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Feeling exposed in every possible way, she drew back and reached for the shirt he had peeled off five minutes ago during a much simpler time.
“Alexandra, it’s purely fulfilling a biological need. Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference between sex that means something and sex that doesn’t.”
“Of course I do.” She shrugged his shirt on with jerky movements that made her breasts wobble. He didn’t even look, just kept those relentlessly blue eyes trained on hers. “Sex with your ex-wife means nothing.” The ex-wife he worked with day in, day out. The ex-wife he shared that cozy huddle with at the hockey game. The ex-wife he ran back into that hotel to save.
Oh yeah. Sure sounded like nothing.
His brow darkened. “Lawyers are trained to never ask a question they don’t already know the answer to. A corollary is to never ask a question if you can’t handle the answer. You asked, and I told you. There are enough lies in my life but for this, with you, I want it to be honest.”
On ramshackle legs, she scrambled to a stand, amazed she had the power. Was he actually congratulating himself for being so upfront? Was she supposed to be blown away because he acted less like a sleazy politician and more like a human being? Of course, the problem with that reasoning is that all truths had to carry the same weight.
Well, this truth was too heavy for her.
“You’re right, I did ask. I guess I wasn’t thinking of the law degree I needed to navigate a conversation with you. Well, you’ve scratched this itch, counselor, so feel free to get back to what’s familiar.” She stormed out of the room, pulling his T-shirt down as she marched.
Why the hell was she so put out by this? Eli had barely blinked an eye when she told him about Mr. Two-Pump-Chump . . . was that why she was upset? Because Eli couldn’t manage even a hint of jealousy over the last man she slept with?
No. That was not what this was about. Alex just did not agree that a man could have a casual sexual relationship with his ex-wife and expect the woman he was currently knocking boots with to be copacetic with it.
In his bedroom, she squeezed into her sexy underwear (bought by Eli) and her gorgeous dress (bought by Eli). Did he still buy gifts for Madison? She resisted going there, but her mind was already hurtling down the track. He clearly had a tab at the House of French Whoreish Lingerie, so if he wasn’t buying bustiers to keep his staffers quiet, then he must be stocking up on crotchless panties for his ex.
Madison was beautiful, thin, sophisticated, the perfect partner for a glib, smooth-talking politico. Ah, hell, Alex was jealous, through and through, and she knew it was crazy and unreasonable given the fact Eli had promised nothing. But neither could she help the negative energy pumping through her veins.
Heading down the stairs, Alex practiced her reasonable face, but at the bottom was the man himself, looking so handsome it hurt.
“Could we talk about this like two adults?”
“Nope, I’m feeling pretty childish right now.”
“Jealousy suits those beautiful eyes of yours, Alexandra.”
It came out cool, condescending. If he hadn’t sounded so goddamn amused and above it all, she might not have exploded—or blurted something she couldn’t take back.
“I’m done with you and your campaign. You’re a thug in a suit and I don’t trust you.”
The air, previously chilly, dropped to Lake Michigan in January levels. It was a rotten thing to say. She had basically accused him of abusing his position, but the bottom line was that he was using her for the campaign, and by election night, it would be over. Not that she wanted more, but getting involved with him—or getting more involved with him—would be disastrous to her mental well-being. The walls around her heart had to be reinforced.
She knew what she was to him. A diversion, comic and sexual, on the campaign trail. She was barely girlfriend material for a regular joe, never mind a double-talking, fine-wine-drinking, cuff-link-wearing man like Eli. He was the hottest guy she had ever seen, so out of her league they hadn’t invented his league yet. It was like Future League of Hot Guys We Can’t Place Because They’re Too Fucking Hot.
He scared her. This weak, needy side of herself scared her.
He picked up her shoes from where she had slipped them off in his hallway last night. It seemed like weeks ago. “I’ll take you home.”
“I can cab it.”
“Don’t test me, Alexandra.” She heard no give in his tone.
Schlepping it in a taxi Cinderella-style, wearing her fancy gown and too-high heels, was probably not the greatest idea. While she wrestled with that decision, he pulled a parka from a closet and wrapped it around her. It felt like ten times her size, and in it, she knew she must look as small and defenseless as she felt. Shadow looked on, probably thinking he was going for a walk, and she wanted to throw her arms around him. Absorb his comfort in this new world order.
Her walk of shame came courtesy of the mayor’s motorcade because, hey y’all, let’s slap a big X-marks-the-spot on the dummy’s fabulous night of hot sex with Chicago’s smokin’ mayor! On the journey home, they sat miles apart, Madison the invisible chaperone between them. Neither of them spoke—not a single attempt to soothe or appease from him—and by the time they arrived at her house, she was spitting nails. Of course he walked her to her door, because even when he was an asshat he was a gentleman first.
As she fumbled with the key to her front door, Gage opened up and gave her the elevator look, down, then up.
“You ok—?”
“Stow it, Gage.” With one foot on the last step of the hallway stairs, she heard what could have been a clearing of the throat but was more likely a sexy growl.
“I had a great time last night, Alexandra.”
She shrugged his coat off and let it slide to the floor. Infusing a whole lot of sway into her hips as she climbed the stairs, she gifted him the perfect view of the ass he had worshipped last night, and would not be getting further access to in this lifetime or the next.
“I had a great time, too,” she snapped over her shoulder. “Now take your damn coat and head east until your big, fat head floats!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Trouble in paradise for Mayor Cooper and his feisty firefighter? After they made headlines for their tempestuous turn around the dance floor at the Weston Cooper Justice Award gala last week, the two have not been seen in public together. The mayor refuses to tango and tell, preferring to keep mum when questioned in the morning press conferences. Attempts to reach Firefighter Dempsey have been unsuccessful.
—Chicago Tattler
Five days. Five days without a word.
Oh, she saw him on the news. It was impossible not to. The man was the news. He was followed everywhere he went, from a visit to an after-school program where he played basketball with the kids to a meeting of concerned parents for the Chicago Public Schools system. With each new sighting, she strained to see if he’d replaced her, but he appeared to be riding solo. Alex imagined she saw Madison in the background, doing her job, and every glimpse sent a hot snake of jealousy crawling through her insides. Then she felt embarrassed and petty.
Damn Eli Cooper.
He had made no promises to her, so his admission about his unfinished relationship with his ex-wife should not have affected Alex in this way. A free agent, he was welcome to conduct his sex life any way he chose, but sleeping with an ex seemed like a whole other level—a whole other meaningful level. How could they do the deed and divorce—ha!—it from all the feelings they once had for each other?
Her posse was split down the middle: Gage and Darcy thought So what? All that matters is who he wants now. Kinsey had taken Alex’s side, though there’d been a hint of disappointment in her tone that Alex was letting this get under her skin. Such girly weaknesses were not permitted in the enjoy-the-cock-ride code.
What the hell did it matter? Alex and Eli were not in a relationship. The man didn’t even believe in love. The fairy tale was for suckers, and she was another lamb waiting in line for the love’ll-kill-you slaughterhouse. Instead, Eli Cooper was getting his sexual appetites satisfied without the inconvenience of a connection. His ex-wife one week, the woman who saved his life the next.
Yet . . .
When he’d stripped her bare with his eyes and his hands, she had seen something there. Some link between them that grew stronger with each encounter, whether it was a sexy banterfest, a sixty-second orgasm, or a night of hunger awakened and barely sated. He was looking for something—and why did it feel like she was the one person who could give it to him?
It’s good to be king, he had said. Pretty fucking lonely, too.
Seated in the back of the truck on her way to a traffic accident scene, she tightened the strap on her helmet and mulled over the maudlin turn her thoughts had taken. What a sap. Strangely, she missed him. Not just his muscular, scarred body and those clever, clever hands. She missed his voice, his snark, his quick mind, his cocksure opinions. And she missed how special he had made her feel, transitory though it was. With Eli Cooper, she felt like the only woman in his world.
Wise up, dummy. Hallmarks of a good politician.
Determined to shove him from her mind, she shook her muddled head and focused on her job. Venti was calling out updates from the computer in the cab of the truck as they barreled toward Lake Shore Drive and Addison, mere steps from Cubbies territory. A semi had collided with three cars on the Drive during morning rush hour, and they needed all hands on deck.
CPD was already on site, working to move cars aside so the first responders could cut a path through, but Engine 6’s truck still met the immovable force of stopped traffic at least two hundred feet from the pileup. Up ahead, they could see the truck bed of the semi embedded in the roof of an SUV. Shit, that was not good. There was a reason why trucks were not allowed on the Drive.
“Fox, Dempsey, with me,” Venti barked. “The rest of you work with CPD on getting these cars cleared for the EMTs.”
Why the cap had chosen her wasn’t clear. Other members of the crew had a ton more experience with this kind of incident.
“What’ve we got?” Wyatt asked before she had a chance to.
“One dead on the scene, at least eight injured ranging from critical to a broken ankle . . .” A pair of EMTs were doing CPR on a guy laid out on the ground. So much blood . . .
They picked up the pace, heading toward the SUV wedged beneath the truck’s flatbed. The vehicle had lost a quarter of its height, dangerously compressed in a way that prevented the doors from being opened without cutting equipment—and even that would be difficult given the angle. A uniformed cop stood hunched over at the smashed window, alternating between speaking into a radio and assuring the driver that help was on the way.
Alex assumed they were the cavalry.
Venti called out the details. A heavily pregnant woman was trapped in the SUV, her leg pinned, but conscious enough to speak. The LT in charge from Engine 69 was Alex’s former lieutenant at Engine 6, Tony “Big Mac” McElroy, a rock-solid guy who was also a good friend. On seeing them, he nodded them over.
“Her leg’s stuck under the dash and we need to collar her before we can cut her out . . .”
“But you can’t fit anyone through that back window,” Wy finished, assessing the crushed roof of the SUV below the forced shelter of the flatbed.
“Yeah, she’s at thirty-nine weeks. Not in labor, but if we don’t move her right, it could turn to shit real quick.”
Alex went to unsnap her jacket, knowing now why Venti had chosen her. Sure she was bigger boned than the average woman, but in this case her slimmer female frame was a benefit.
“Keep it on,” Wy said about her jacket. “You’re going to need protecting from the glass.” Within sixty seconds, he had boosted her up and passed her through the back window opening. Landing butt first on a lovely collection of shards, she smiled grimly at the crunchy sound they made. Good call, bro.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?” Alex asked the driver while Wy passed in the collar they’d use to keep the woman’s neck in place during the extraction.
“I—I can’t move my leg and . . .” Splintering panic made her voice high pitched. “It feels wet! I can’t tell if it’s blood or my water’s breaking.”
Alex ripped off her glove, reached around, and checked the woman’s pulse. Strong, thank God, but she had an ugly gash on her temple, and she was clearly in some distress. Her hand cradled her swollen belly protectively.
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Wh—what?”
“Your name? I’m Alex.”
“M-Mia.” She gasped through her pain. “Mia. And . . . oh, shit. This baby’s coming.”
Of course it was. Babies, both the unborn and the untethered kinds, were not known for their timing.
“You hear that?” Alex called out over her shoulder to the crew, careful to keep her voice modulated so as not to spook Mia. “Get the paramedics in here. This lady would like to have her baby.” With one hand supporting the back of the driver’s-side seat, she adjusted it until it reclined to a forty-five-degree angle.
“I’m going to put this collar around your neck, Mia. Try to remain as still as you can.” The access was awkward, but Alex managed to get the collar in place. Where the hell were the EMTs?
With the sound of Mia’s obviously increasing pain ringing in her ears, Alex turned back to Wy, who was leaning in. “She needs to be pulled out now.”
Venti said something she couldn’t hear, but Wy was on hand to translate.
“All EMT crews are busy with other vics, and the next round of support is five minutes away. Now she’s collared, you need to get out so we can take the Hurst tool to the back and rip this bad boy open.”
Mia screamed. “This is fucking happening! Believe me when I say I know. It’s my fifth.”
Alex shared a worried look with Wy. In her days as an EMT, she had come across all sorts, but dragging a kid out of Hotel Utero in a glass-ridden, torn-to-shit sport-utility vehicle was most definitely not in her repertoire. One thing she did know: if a mother of four said her baby was coming, then the baby was definitely coming.
“I’ll get the supplies,” Wy said.
The next ten minutes passed in a messy blur. Mia’s contractions were coming less than a minute apart and starting to blend into one another. During one of the downtimes, Alex went to work releasing her trapped leg—another nasty cut but not life-threatening—and pushing the seat back as far as it could go. She would have preferred to move Mia into the back, but maneuvering a woman at close to full term—and in labor—around a crushed SUV was not so easy. The best she could do was slide her across to the passenger seat so she’d be in a better position to deliver her baby. A pillow behind her head to make her somewhat comfortable against the side window, and they had themselves a less-than-ideal, but cozy birthing space.
“Okay, Mia, you’re the expert at this. I’m just here to make the catch.” Alex hauled in the deepest breath she could, drawing on all her experience to quell her jangling nerves. The baby was already crowning, Mia was panting up a storm, and everything was happening much too fast.
“We okay?” Wy called in, and only because Alex knew him well could she tell there was the slightest worry threaded through his voice.
“Just fine,” Alex returned, then to Mia, “So do you know if we’re meeting a boy or girl today?”
“A girl,” she panted. “I have four boys already and—and I’m ready for a girl. Or thought I was.” Her face, shiny with exertion, scrunched in concern. “Have you done this before?”
Made the catch? Alex was only the best catcher on the Engine 6 crew. She’d even been chosen to represent CFD during the annual charity ball game against CPD last September. So maybe she hadn’t caught a baby hurtling down the chute, but she had great hands. She could do this.
“Tons of times,” Alex said with the easy assurance Mia needed to hear in these fraught moments. “Now, on the next contraction, you’re going to—”
That sentence died a quick death because scream-push-pop and suddenly Alex’s hands were full with a slippery bundle of action. Wow, this baby wasn’t fooling around. Only instinct kept the package in the secure hold of Alex’s hands.
“Is she okay?” Mia gushed out after a few seconds, catching her breath. Woman was a total pro.
Alex swiped a finger across the baby’s nose and mouth, removing the amniotic fluid, and waited one, two, three . . . she gasped her first breath, hauling a breath of chilly January air into her little lungs. Praise the Cubbies.
Did Alex think little lungs? Seconds later, Chicago’s newest citizen bellowed a shieldmaiden’s cry, letting Mom and anyone within a five-mile radius know she had arrived. Look out, world!
“Oh yeah, she’s more than okay.” After wrapping her in a towel Wy had supplied, Alex placed the fresh-born babe against her mom’s chest, keeping her own hands in reserve in case Mia was too weak to hold her. But she hadn’t reckoned with a mother’s innate strength. Mia’s arms locked naturally around her own flesh and blood as her lips brushed the crown of her dark-haired head.
“Just wait till your papi sees you, niña,” she murmured, adding sweet baby talk that only moms and babies understood.
“How we doin’ in there?” Wy called out, cutting into the female power cocoon. There was work to be done getting Mia and her baby to ultimate safety, but for now, all was right with the world. Another kick-ass girl had joined the ranks.
Alex met Mia’s blissed-out mama smile. “Fucking awesome.”
Tired, but still riding the high of this morning’s run, Alex let herself into her home. She had showered back at the firehouse and all she could think of was catching a few Zs before she headed into the bar for a shift.
Well, that wasn’t all she could think of. There was him, but she was doing a pretty good job of cramming the asshole into a dank spot in her mind. Which left room for little baby Alex, who was doing just fine at the hospital with her very grateful mom and dad. Okay, so they hadn’t named her Alex at all—just a spot of wishful thinking on her part—but she felt a humbling connection to this kid who’d fought her way into the wintry world under such tricky conditions. What Alex did every day was important, and every moment on the job affirmed her decision to join the CFD tribe. And she didn’t need a bossy-as-all-get-out throwback Neanderthal who was still hung up on his ex to complete her. Get back to your cobwebbed corner, lizard dick!
A warm bed and clean sheets beckoned, but just as she was heading upstairs, the doorbell rang. Shit. Her next-door neighbor Mrs. Gish probably wanted Alex to shovel her sidewalk again.
“Delivery,” said the bright-eyed FedEx guy as he moved from foot to foot to stave off the positively balmy twenty-degree cold. At his feet was a medium-sized box with no visible markings, which she signed for and pulled inside. Not heavy, just a little awkward. Unpocketing her Swiss Army knife, she sliced through the box and unveiled the contents.
Her pulse rate shot into the stratosphere.
That tricky bastard.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Mr. Mayor, you’re proposing a hybrid plan to manage the underfunded fire and police pension plans and bring– Eli, are you even listening?”
Eli looked up from his phone to find his chief of staff, Kenneth, Madison, and the rest of the campaign team staring at him in the fifth-floor conference room at city hall.
“Sure, I’m listening. ‘The hybrid solution will include self-managed plans along with a social security—like element,’ etcetera, etcetera.” He waved off the recitation.
“Say it like you mean it, Eli,” Kenneth chimed in.
Madison cocked a hip. “The debate is in less than two weeks and your lack of engagement worries me¸ Eli. When Jenkins comes after you on the math, you have to be able to shut her down.”
“I know the math inside out. My original platform was pension reform, and if the fucking unions weren’t still so in love with Dick Daley, who left it in this putrid mess, I wouldn’t even have to answer questions about it.” For three years, he had struggled with the municipal unions to get them to understand that pension reform was a necessity. They were living in la-la land, where they thought twenty years of service guaranteed a gold watch and a cottage in Lake Geneva.
His gaze dipped to his phone again. She should have gotten it by now.
This week had almost killed him. Begging a woman’s forgiveness was not his style, and frankly, he had done nothing that needed forgiving, except tell the truth. Which Alexandra apparently was incapable of handling.
Did he go apeshit when she told him about that prick who callously used her, then bragged to his friends about nailing America’s Favorite Firefighter? So maybe his brain had done a 360 in his skull and maybe his lungs and heart had fought a cage match at the thought that anyone would dare to hurt her. But he kept his reaction on the DL, because he didn’t want to be that guy. Jealous guy. Who technically had no reason to be jealous because this thing between them was supposed to be casual.
Casual. What a stupid fucking word. These past five interminable days without her had crystallized what was obvious to him from day one, though he was too stubborn to admit it: nothing about his feelings toward Alexandra Dempsey were even in the same zip code as casual. His blood boiled in her presence. His body became a cauldron of want and need. Every nerve ending shrieked to rawness when he was denied the chance to touch her. And when he did lay his hands on her silky skin, his IQ dropped to single digits and he devolved to a cock on two legs.
How did that qualify as casual?
It would fade soon. It had to. This depth of attraction never lasted, though he couldn’t recall a single woman who had turned him inside out like this, not even Madison. Their relationship had been—and still was—civilized compared to what he had with Alexandra. Civilized conversations, civilized arguments, civilized sex.
With Alexandra, he felt dangerously unmoored. Out on a narrow ledge with the wind battering him, the only anchor the plunge of his cock into her body. He wanted to fuck her into oblivion—and to not have to pick through the rubble of a romantic entanglement afterward. This should not be so hard. He should not be so hard. All the time.
His phone buzzed with an incoming text message.
You manipulative cocksucker.
Ah, the poetry of an angel.
He texted back: Morning to you, too, my sweet.
Madison frowned at the interruption and moved on to property taxes, which after weather, potholes, and the Cubs’ lovable loser status was Chicago’s favorite topic of conversation.
You think this gets you off the hook?
I think you’re talking to me right now. Standing, he gestured to the team that he needed to take this outside. He dialed Stake as he walked. She’d gotten another upgrade in his contacts list.
“Dempsey’s Porn Shack.”
“Honey, let’s not fight.”
She growled. “Buying out the entire stock of undies at your French whorehouse is not going to sway me.”
“Still, you texted. To tell me you’re not swayed.” He paused. “Do you like them?”
“Of course I like them, you asshole! They’re beautiful. Sexy. Pink.” She laughed a breathless giggle. “Very pink.”
“I noticed it’s your secret favorite color.”
“I refuse to accept them or the account you opened at En Cachette in my name. I can’t believe you did that.” There was the appropriate mixture of awe and disgust in her voice.
“I want you to have all the sexy unmentionables you need. Whatever makes you feel good while you’re out kicking a mugger’s ass or saving some drunk dickhead’s life.”
“You must think that’s such a cliché. The tough-as-nails tomboy with the girly pink panties fetish.”
“I think it’s just one more layer to the intriguing woman I’m enjoying spending time with.”
Her surprised silence was like a third person who had conference-called in. He needed her to know that he liked her—not just her gorgeous body and untamable hair, but her, this woman with soft curves and fierce edges. This woman he had tricked into spending time with him.
He batted that errant thought away and directed his mind to something more pleasurable. And absolutely necessary.
“I’ll see you tonight.” Not a request. Almost a week without her had been impossible.
She huffed, “I’m working. At the bar.”
“After.” Nothing but deafening silence, which he took for acquiescence. “I need to get back to a meeting.”
“I’m wearing one of the bras now.”
His breath trapped in his lungs and it took a moment to make those suckers work again. “Which one?” He had chosen a half dozen, but his favorite was. . .
“The rose-colored satin with the bow detailing at the edges.”
That one.
His feet moved forward in a lust-driven daze toward his office.
“It has a front closure.”
He knew that. “The best kind,” he managed in a strangled whisper.
He picked up the pace. Whitney tried to say something to him as he walked through the suite, but he held up the hand of no. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it heavily.
“Where are you now, Alexandra?”
“In my bedroom. Surrounded by sexy unmentionables my lovah bought for me.”
He could see her clearly in his depraved mind’s eye. The swells of her breasts plumping over the satin edges, her hourglass figure begging for his hands to explore. And that sweet, shapely ass . . . He rubbed a hand over his cock, now punching the zipper of his pants.
“Lie down on the bed. Now.”
She laughed that husky sound that invariably sent a shot of blood to his groin. “Yes, Mr. Mayor.”
He grimaced. He didn’t want to be Mr. Mayor to her. He wanted to be Eli, just Eli. He wanted to hear his name on her lips when she came. He wanted her to need what only he could give her, and to beg for it until she was hoarse.
“I’m lying down, just like you demanded.” There was a pertinence mixed with obeisance in her tone that made his balls tighten.
He remained silent, listening to her breathing, trying to control his own. He had painted a scene, set it in motion, but he wouldn’t call “Action.” That would be down to her.
“You still there?” she asked after a few long beats.
“I am.”
She muttered a curse. “Why did you buy these things for me, Eli? And the clothes last week?”
“Because I wanted you to look beautiful. Feel beautiful.”
“For the papers.”
“Screw the papers. When you look and feel gorgeous, that makes me feel good.” He drew a deep breath. “It’s just you and me, Alexandra. Here. Now.”
He meant in this moment, on the phone. But with the words out there, feeding off the energy between them, he realized that he might mean more.
He might want more.
After a terrifying pause, she spoke again. “I like the bows on the side of the matching panties.” She sounded embarrassed to be admitting a weakness for these feminine touches. He wanted to know all her weaknesses, which he suspected would fit well with his strengths. “They’re pretty. And they untie.”
His lips shaped a smile. “They sound very convenient.”
“I don’t want to untie them,” she murmured. “It would ruin the pretty.”
Holy ribbons and bows. “Then find another way.”
“Already there, Eli.”
The groan he let loose was probably heard in the basement of city hall.
“You’re fucking killing me, Alexandra.”
“I like when you call me that. It makes me feel . . .” She trailed off.
“Makes you feel what?”
Another pause that kept him on the edge of his seat, and then she finally breathed, “Sexy.”
That wasn’t what she had wanted to say. She’d checked the truth at the last second because however her name on his lips made her feel would have revealed too much. He should be glad that she was making the effort. Keeping what was happening between them in the realm of mutually rewarding pleasure.
Should be.
“Tell me how your breasts look, honey.”
Her nervous laugh spoke her gratitude that he didn’t push the issue.
“I look pretty fucking hot in this underwear, Eli. And I feel very, very wet.”
Brain, I hope you’re enjoying this visit to my pants. He gripped the armrest of his chair, anything to prevent his hand from seeking gratification. He couldn’t . . . not in the mayor’s office. There were lines that even he refused to cross.
But there was no good reason his woman should suffer.
“Touch yourself, Alexandra. Imagine my mouth on you, sucking and licking. Imagine how good that makes you feel. How hard it makes me feel.”
“Eli,” she gasped, the sound shockwaving down his spine and terminating in a sizzle of desire in his groin. This was madness, but that’s what she had driven him to. Close to jacking off with the political greats of Chicago watching.
Click. “There’s my call waiting,” she murmured.
“Alexandra—”
After an interminable moment, she came back on the line. “Gotta go.”
“Who is it?”
“Just Bastian. Later, Mr. Mayor.” She hung up.
Bastian Durand? That maple-sucking puck chaser.
Dempseys on Damen was busy, fairly standard for Hawks game night, which happened to coincide with two-for-one Rolling Rocks. Unfortunately, the boys were getting their asses handed to them by the Blues, and probably could have done with a little help from a certain NHL right forward.
Bastian Durand’s call had been rather timely, though Eli likely thought she was lying. Well, that wasn’t a lie, but . . . Intuitive and smart as Eli was, he had caught her loaded pause when she told him how his use of her full name made her feel. Saying she felt sexy on hearing “Alexandra” uttered with that commanding voice was the truth, but not the whole truth. Cards on the table here? When he called her that, she felt like his woman.
After the stunts he had pulled, he did not deserve to hear that.
Caught between the desire to punish him and her desire for him, she’d chosen the former. Immature? Perhaps. Cutting off her orgasm to spite her sex life? Definitely! But she’d never claimed to be grown-up about these things. Eli Cooper thought he could throw some pretty, and pretty expensive, lingerie in her direction and she’d forget that in moments of boredom he got his jollies with a bout in his ex-wife’s bed.
