Текст книги "Playing with Fire "

Автор книги: Kate Meader

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

At least, she hoped it was in her bed. Christ on a cracker, had she and Eli had sex in the same bed where he found comfort with his ex? Had he stripped Madison before that mirror, warmed her skin in the heat of that fire? Had he—

“Phone,” Gage said, cutting into her fiftieth mental breakdown this week. “The liquor distributor. Something about tomorrow’s delivery.”

Last time, they’d been a day late and five cases of Grey Goose short. It never ceased to amaze her how much top-shelf vodka cops and firemen could down. She headed to the back office.

The phone was in its cradle.

Eli Cooper was in her chair.

And Gage was going to get an earful for his damn interfering. Her brother must have let the rat sneak in through the alley door.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, when really she wanted to say, My, you look hotter than the hinges of hell in that tux with a chaser of, Why are you wearing a tux and not taking me somewhere as your date, you prick?

He cocked a pissy eyebrow. “We have unfinished business.”

“There’s a box of tissues behind you, so have at it. As for me, I’m quite finished.” She gave him a smile so sweet it could cause diabetes. Perhaps implying completion might have occurred after she had taken Bastian Durand’s call.

His eyes flashed, a crack of lightning across a sea-blue lake. “Show me.”

Her breath caught at the intensity in his tone and expression. “Show you what?”

“My gift.”

Of course she was wearing it. He was a man of impeccable taste and insatiable appetites, and wearing something he had touched and chosen next to her skin turned her on.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Neither do I. The League of Chicago—”

“Superheroes?”

His lips twitched. “Businessmen are holding their annual get-sloshed-and-smoke-cigars event tonight. I’m going stag. In case you were wondering if I had a date stashed in the car.”

“I wasn’t,” she lied.

“I’m known for my fiscal responsibility. And it wouldn’t do to take one date while the woman I’m sleeping with is at home warming my bed.”

This man’s nerve. “No one would ever call you wasteful, Eli.”

He smiled, just a flash. “So don’t waste my time now. Show me how the bra I chose for you shapes your breasts perfectly.”

She remained still. It killed her a little, but surrender was impossible. He gripped the armrest of the swivel chair at the desk, his knuckles like snowy peaks in a desert landscape. She watched, mesmerized, how he held his body, quietly, dangerously, all coiled-up energy, ready to strike.

Do your worst, Mr. Mayor.

His brows slammed together, dark slashes over eyes flat with anger. “Are you going to make me apologize for something that happened years before I met you? I can’t take back my marriage to Madison and I can’t ignore the years we’ve known each other.”

“That’s not it and you know it. People have previous relationships, baggage, I get that. But people don’t usually continue to sleep with their ex-wife whenever the mood takes them.”

He threw up the hand of drama. “Goddamn it, woman, who else am I going to sleep with? In my position, I can’t do casual relationships discreetly, not without it biting me on the ass later. If I need—”

“Sex.”

“Yes, sex, then going with someone I know and trust and who won’t blab about it to the press is eminently preferable.”

She felt a brief stab—oh, who was she kidding? A deep plunge of the knife—at his mention of trust. He had this special relationship with Madison, years of knowledge and nuances and trust, and Alex was the Jenny-come-lately.

“It’s none of my business.”

“Coy doesn’t suit you, Alexandra. I haven’t been with her in months. Not since June of last year.”

“What happened?” she shot out, unable to disguise her bitter jealousy, though this news of how long they’d been apart should have made her feel better. “Did she wise up?”

“I met someone.”

The words punched her in the gut, made her legs weak and her mind foggy. I met someone. Who the hell had drawn Eli away from the spiderweb charms of his ex-wife? Who the hell else did Alex need to create a voodoo doll for?

He continued to stare, those eyes like supernova suns, telling her something. Telling her . . . that she was a complete and utter dumbass.

“Oh.” There wasn’t enough air in the room to fill her lungs.

He had met someone. In June.

“You stopped sleeping with Madison because of this other person.”

“The idea of sleeping with anyone while I was obsessed with another didn’t sit well. This woman has been all I can think about for months now, and I’d rather blue ball my way through it than fuck a placeholder.”

So much to unpack in all that, but she focused on the one word that blazed brighter than every other. “You’re obsessed with her.”

“She’s difficult, foul-mouthed, a pain in my ass. I can’t put her in a dress or give her a compliment without her squawking about it. Her family hates me and I don’t think so highly of them. She’s also funny, gorgeous, and the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

Relief spread in a lush wave through her body. “Just to be clear, we are talking about me, right?”

His exasperation was downright adorable. “Yes.”

Nicely done, Mr. Mayor. With shaky fingers, she opened the top two buttons of her shirt. Paused.

He shifted in his seat. “More.”

“Bossy.” She continued with the buttons, each one revealing more satin, more skin, more heart. Which was really, really inconvenient. But he’d come here and said all the right things. All of them. He didn’t apologize for his past behavior—and she would have hated him if he had—and he didn’t try to dress up what he had with Madison. Instead, he tore her world apart with the simplest of sentences.

I met someone.

She drew her shirt back to reveal her rack, beautifully encased in rose pink satin, and was rewarded with a hissed intake of breath.

“Like what you see?”

His nostrils flared with desire. “Hold your breasts.”

As if in a trance, she moved her hands to cup the weight of her breasts. The bra showcased them perfectly, but her hands placed them in a spotlight of their own. Slowly, she trailed one hand down her stomach, absorbing every shiver, every heated sensation, until she reached the snap of her jeans.

Which she undid.

His eyes exploded with interest, devouring her as she drew the zipper down and tucked her fingers inside her new panties. Her moan on coming into contact with her wet, sensitive flesh filled the room. All the pent-up frustration at not finishing what she’d started earlier with Eli turned her need crystal sharp. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she resisted closing them. Better to keep them open so she could watch him watching her. The biggest turn-on of all.

I met someone.

Sparks of joy lit her body and the movement of her hands sent her body undulating, her arms compressing her breasts so that they squeezed together, giving her stellar cleavage.

“Eli,” she moaned, and it triggered his strike. In a split second, he was on his feet, then down on his knees, dragging her jeans south in one efficient motion.

“I’m here, honey.” He gently pried her fingers away from her center and gave them a lascivious lick. “I’ve got you.” His breath felt hot over the skimpy pink triangle shielding her core. His fingers brushed fire against her skin. He undid one bow at her hip, then the other, pulling the fabric down before inhaling her like she was a fine wine. Wearing these things he bought her made her feel sexy, but under his lustful gaze and possessive attentions, she felt irresistible.

As soon as his tongue touched her, the throb at her core picked up triple time. But this wasn’t a gentle lapping between her thighs. This was sexual hunger at its rawest as his tongue licked, speared, and owned her. Why was it always better with him?

“Oh, God. Eli, oh—oh, that’s so—”

Just so.

Five seconds was all it took for her orgasm to slam through her with the force of a 400 psi hose. It pinned her to the door, to the floor, to the spot, sending her rigid with the shock of its pleasure, then boneless on the ride down.

On Eli’s ride up, he kissed her belly, her breasts, then her mouth, his lips still wet from her. “No one else will satisfy you, Alexandra, not even your own fingers. If I’m in the room, in this city, on this goddamn planet, I will be the one who takes care of you. We clear?”

She moaned her agreement.

“We clear?”

God, he expected her to speak after that? “Yes.”

He would take care of her until he dumped her, come Election Day. Brave, kick-ass Alex Dempsey wasn’t afraid of a thing, but this terrified her. She’d have to be cool about it when their stunt had come to an end, but inside she would be crushed because she was falling for him. Sinking into this big hole where she couldn’t get purchase on the slippery sides. He might have met someone, but it was just a sexual fixation for him. The old screw-her-out-of-his-system ploy that happened to have the added benefit of winning him the greatest prize of all. When he got what he wanted—the mayoral throne—she would be out on her ear.

But for now, he was hers.

She kissed him urgently. It was the best way she could think of to apologize for being a crazy-assed, jealous bitch. Then she pulled on the band of his tuxedo pants, thinking that maybe she had another way to apologize.

“Can’t. I’m running late.”

“I need you. Inside me. Now.”

He closed his eyes, clearly marshaling his strength. How she loved testing his control.

“I’m going to be suffering for the next few hours while I listen to a bunch of old, gray dudes recount tales of sticking it to the little people and bemoaning the city’s move to raise the minimum wage. It’s only fair you suffer a little, too.”

Her gaze fell to the space between their bodies. His erection tented his tuxedo pants, straining to reach her. Here, boy. “Well, the cock-inside-me plan would have enormous benefits for you, Eli.”

He laughed, a low and pained sound. “I’m not above a little suffering for you, Alexandra. You wouldn’t believe my scotch bill for the last six months.”

“I drove you to drink.”

“Many times.”

What every girl wanted to hear.

But this girl wanted to hear more—his grunts and moans, her name on his lips when he shot off inside her. She unsnapped his tuxedo pants and sprang free his impressive erection. “It’s not safe to walk around like this, Eli. You could do yourself an injury.”

His hooded gaze did little to hide his banked desire. “Well,” he gritted out, “if it’s for my health.”

She loved the feel of him in her hands, the soft skin over that rod of steel. All that power. He smoothed a condom on and with no preamble—unless you counted his ass grab lift off the floor—drilled between her thighs.

“Oh my God!” The sensations were unreal: the fullness, the reach, the constricted nature of her passage, knee-cuffed by her jeans. Every thrust dragged against her swollen clit on the return, the perfect friction to bring her to climax.

In his eyes, she saw the same molten hunger she’d felt when he feasted between her thighs. The same drive to possess her, body and soul. She came, and he followed her over, so gorgeous in his abandon, her name an awed whisper on his lips.

Alexandra.

And she answered silently, I am yours.

Knowing what she did to him made her feel powerful, just as knowing what he did to her made her feel weak.

He disposed of the condom and rearranged his clothing, while she watched in a fuck-drunk daze. He covered her with the protection of his body once more. “I’ll be back home around midnight and I want you there in my bed. Security will know to expect you. Yes?”

“Yes.”

He drew back, pulled up her jeans, and buttoned her shirt slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“What did Durand want?”

“A tour of the firehouse and . . . a date.”

“Doesn’t he read the papers?” He unleashed a very unkind diatribe about Bastian’s language skills, concluding that he was as dumb as a puck and likely didn’t understand anything not written in French.

“And you told him what, exactly?”

“Tours of the firehouse are every other Wednesday.”

“And?”

“That I barely have time to fake date, never mind the real thing.”

They shot goofy smiles at each other, both ridiculously pleased with themselves. And on that he left her, disheveled, half satisfied, and more than a little lost.

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The library in the Mid-America Club might seem like a strange place for the annual League of Chicago Businessmen soiree, seeing as how most of the men here only read stock reports, the FT, and Crain’s, but its leather tomes and air of erudition set the tone of privilege nicely.

Eli should have felt right at home.

He had been groomed for this. His childhood was filled with events in places like this. Family parties, birthday celebrations, graduations. Determined to continue the golden upbringing his parents had planned for him, his grandparents had ensured he mixed with the right people in the right venues. Your parents wanted you to carry on the family traditions of service to your community and country. He had the wealth and education to initialize, the will and fire to make it happen.

Four years ago, when he found out his father’s true nature, Eli donated his entire inheritance—two million and change—to the Wounded Warrior Project. Everything but the house in Lincoln Park, which had belonged to his mother outright. He had wanted the gift to be anonymous, but his financials were an open book, so even that put him in good graces with the voters. These days, he lived comfortably on the trust fund his grandparents had set up for him and a few solid investments, untainted by his father’s legacy of lies. Financially, anyway.

“Mr. Mayor,” he heard with an apologetic cough behind him.

He turned to find Caroline Jenkins, his closest rival in the upcoming election. Unprepossessing in appearance, she wore boxy suits and an unfashionable hairstyle that did her no favors, but she made up for her mousiness by being as sharp as a tack. In another lifetime, Eli would have liked her a great deal.

“Caroline, we’re not on show now. Call me Eli.”

“We’re always on show, Mr. Mayor.” She flicked a glance around the room, an acknowledgment that the rest of the league watched in longing expectation that a spot of late-campaign drama might enliven the stuffy atmosphere.

“I have to admire your tactics,” she said with a brittle smile. “If I were the suspicious type, I’d say you and Madison Maitland set up that rescue stunt to boost your flagging numbers.”

He tutted. “Next you’ll be saying that I started the fire myself.”

“Or that you’re dating Alexandra Dempsey to grab a few extra votes.”

He laughed warmly. “We do what we can. Better that than something else.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, comprehension dawning, and a shadow of resignation crossed her face. Christ, if she was going to give up without a fight, then she most certainly did not deserve to rule his city.

“You’re as clean as a whistle, Caroline. One arrest for an animal rights protest back in college, but otherwise you’re above reproach.”

She didn’t look hopeful that he hadn’t dug deeper. He took a sip of his Pinot, an excellent vintage from 2007 the club kept on hand for Eli alone.

“Your husband, on the other hand . . . well, his fondness for Swedish nannies seems to have evaporated only to be replaced by his cozying up with nubile campaign staffers.”

“The kids grew up. My husband didn’t.”

He shrugged. “My drunken Vegas marriage wasn’t enough to keep people from voting for me. You’d be surprised what people will put up with in their elected representatives.”

“So you’ve kept my husband’s indiscretions to yourself because it’s not salacious or damning enough?”

He poured a second glass of wine. “When I started in this business, Caroline, I was idealistic. The notion of serving my city and contributing to my community and the greater good of its citizenry was a very powerful inducement. It’s hard to hold on to that after almost four years in the dirt.” He gestured at the glass. “Try the Pinot. You’ll like it.”

She took a cautious sip as if concerned it might choke her.

“And now you’re jaded,” she said.

“Aren’t we all? But not enough to think that destroying a woman and her family is worth a few extra votes. Depending on the timing, I think your campaign would recover, but your children would be hurt.” Two girls and a boy, the youngest barely in her teens.

She raised a surprised eyebrow. “I got into this business expecting mud flinging, Eli.”

“So what do you have on me?”

A discontented huff escaped her lips. “You’re untouchable. So you haven’t come through on all your promises, but then it’s not as if you could. Running a city like Chicago is a losing proposition from the start. Too many competing interests, not enough resources. The only reason your numbers dropped was because of incumbent fatigue, but allying yourself with the daughter of a Chicago hero has paid dividends across the board. As far as your personal life or your financials”—she shook her head—“my people couldn’t find a thing.”

“You’re not looking hard enough, Ms. Jenkins.” A stentorian voice cut in to the intimate conversation.

Sam Cochrane.

Caroline smiled thinly. “I don’t have the resources of one of the nation’s greatest newspapers behind me, Mr. Cochrane. I’m sure you know everyone’s secrets.”

“I do,” he said simply, not looking at Eli. But the implication hung in the air with menace all the same. The atmosphere chilled enough to encourage Caroline to make her excuses and join another group.

“Aw, now you’ve gone and scared her off, Sam. Just as she was about to reveal all her secrets ahead of the debate.”

“Who needs that when you’ve got dirt on her and a six-point lead because you’re banging America’s Favorite Firefighter?”

Eli moved the glass of Pinot a few inches away, knowing that he might go Hulk-Smash any moment. Getting red wine out of his dress shirt was an absolute chore for his dry cleaner.

Sam clipped the end of his Cuban and made a five-course meal of lighting it before he spoke through the puff of smoke. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to cut her loose.”

Eli balled a fist against his thigh. “Are you telling me who I can fake date now?”

“You know Dempsey’s only good for the short term, a curiosity for the public to fetishize. She’s not the kind of woman who can take you to the top, Eli. Can you imagine her greeting the wife of the French president for a state dinner or leading tours of the Lincoln Room? Jackie O she ain’t.”

Eli barked out a laugh because, one, he thought Alexandra Dempsey would be a breath of fresh air across the White House lawn and, two, Sam Cochrane really thought he could bankroll his puppet to the most important office in the land.

“Sam, even if I had presidential ambitions”—which he did, but hell would freeze over before he’d admit it to this assclown—“you would be the last person I’d choose to make that journey with me.”

Sam’s face turned livid. “I haven’t invested millions of dollars to have you screw it up now. I made you, Eli, and I can just as easily unmake you.”

All true, but lately Eli had realized something startling. Sam Cochrane might have the goods to tank Eli’s campaign, but he wouldn’t, not as long as there was the slightest hope that Eli would let the mogul continue to kiss the mayoral ring. In the past few weeks with Alexandra, he had learned that hope was a very powerful thing—and it overrode practically every other negative emotion.

“A month ago, I almost died, Sam. That kind of jolt to the senses makes a man think about how he’s been living his life. The decisions he’s made. The decisions he should be making.” Eli nodded in Caroline’s direction. “Maybe it’s time you switched horses. All she needs is a new hairstyle and a designer suit. Red would look good on her. And if you get in on the ground floor, you could say you backed the first woman president of the United States. Hillary’s just so polarizing, don’t you think?” He inclined his head, and enunciated each word to ensure there was no misunderstanding. “I’m forecasting significant changes for my next administration, Sam. Fewer tax incentives to real estate development. Less kowtowing to business interests. Gotta fund that firefighter pension shortfall somehow.”

That whirring noise was the sound of Sam Cochrane’s brain working itself into an apoplectic fit. God, that felt almost as good as sinking his tension into Alexandra, something he would be doing very soon.

Unfortunately his enjoyment of Sam’s sputtering discomfort was short-lived. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tom coming toward him, his face as grim as the reaper’s.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Mayor, there’s been an accident.”

Alex pounded through the door to the clinic, frantically searching, not that there was much to comb through. Empty chairs, a receptionist’s window, and pictures of gamboling puppies. Was that supposed to be comforting?

He sat in the corner, alone, slumped forward, his dark head bent over his knees like he might hurl at any minute.

“Eli,” she whispered, hunkering down before him. “How is he?”

He looked up, and the pain she saw on his handsome face tore through her.

“He’s still in surgery. At least a broken leg, an eye injury, probably liver damage.”

“Oh, God, that sucks.” When she’d gotten the message from Thing that Shadow had been hit by a car after he escaped the mayor’s security detail and that Eli asked her not to come over tonight, she’d debated staying away. Leaving midway through her shift at the bar and hopping in a cab when the man you were sleeping with had specifically not requested your presence seemed like crossing a line. But now that she was here, she knew she’d made the right decision.

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“As soon as I heard . . . well, I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

He gusted a sigh. “I’m never alone.”

Ah, gotcha. She straightened to a stand. “I’ll just—”

He pulled her down into his lap and pressed her close to his chest. The faintest trace of cigars and privilege mingled with his usual spicy, masculine scent. “I mean that I’m always surrounded by security and staff and people who want a piece from me. I’m glad you’re here. I need you here.”

“You need my Amazon strength. He’s going to be a bear to lift into the car.”

His wry smile was a kick to her ribs. “Talk to me. About anything.”

“Hawks lost tonight. Probably could have done with Durand.”

He arched an eyebrow of move-it-along. Stifling her smile, she considered the less controversial conversation options. “I delivered a baby this morning.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, a girl in the middle of a pile-up on Lake Shore. We couldn’t get her mom out of the car in time, so I went in, and ten minutes later, out comes baby. My first.”

He looked suitably impressed. “Wow.”

She grinned. “Wow, indeed. This kid had a set of lungs on her, I’ll tell you. And she was so fierce, like this wrinkly little alien who crash-landed on the Drive and was here to shake things up.”

“Typical woman. Barely seconds old and already causing trouble.”

She mock punched his shoulder. “We do like to make our mark.”

“Yes, you do.” He took her hand, measured it against his huge one. She loved how feminine he made her feel with the smallest of gestures. Chair pulling, coat doffing, enveloping her in the embrace of his big body. They stayed like that for a while, okay with being quiet.

After a few moments, he spoke again. “It’s going to kill me if Shadow doesn’t make it, Alexandra. Coming home to him is the best part of my day.”

She nodded, while inside her heart squeezed at his pain.

“Best part of his day, too, I bet. He gets so excited when he sees you.” He wasn’t the only one. Alex’s heart beat like that of an eager puppy faced with its owner every time she saw Eli Cooper. It had been like that from the first moment she met him in Smith & Jones all those months ago, and every encounter since just increased the pounding until she wondered if her stupid love muscle might give out from the exertion. Just up and collapse.

She traced his jaw with her finger, loving how strong it felt under her touch. Along the seam of his sensuous lips, she ran her thumb. How could those lips be so soft? All the time, he watched her with that heart-wrenching Eli Cooper intensity.

“Tonight, when Tom came to tell me about Shadow, I thought—” He broke off, and in his eyes, she saw stormy emotion that seeded dangerous hope in her chest. “I thought you were hurt, Alexandra. I knew you weren’t on shift at Engine 6, but when Tom told me something had happened, I feared the worst. I did not enjoy the feeling.”

Her heart flip-flopped at his concern for her, but she needed to nip this in the bud. “Eli, I can’t promise nothing will ever happen to me, but you’re looking at a well-trained firefighting machine who works with the best platoon in CFD. Good firefighters feel the fire, understand the limits, and know when to pull back. And I’m a damn good firefighter.”

Color flagged his cheeks. “Almost a month ago, you put your life in danger to save mine. I’ve since learned that giving a civilian your air is not SOP.”

“Paperwork for a dead mayor is a bitch.”

“Honey—”

She touched her fingers to his lips. “I like pink, but I worry that it’s too feminine, so I keep it to my underwear. I cry at Super Bowl Budweiser commercials, but I make sure I’ve watched them online first so no one can poke at me on game day. All my life I’ve been living on a knife’s edge between what it means to be a woman and what’s expected of me. In my job, with the guys I’ve dated, from my brothers. They want to protect me and all I can see is their love, which crushes me because I worry it diminishes their respect for the part of me that’s a professional first responder.” She took a breath. “I guess what I’m asking is: what am I to you, Eli? Am I a woman or a firefighter?”

She was difficult and unruly, and she needed the man who could handle her. Her guts and her glory, because damn it, she was worth that. Eli’s attentions to her so far were distinctly of the me-Tarzan-you-Jane variety, and while she adored the hormone overdose in her body whenever he was near, she craved his respect equally.

Those steely eyes took her measure. “Just two choices, Alexandra? Why limit yourself?”

She pressed her lips against a smile. Hell and damn, this guy did it for her like no one else. “Well, there’s also ‘bitch.’ If someone doesn’t call me that at least once every twenty-four hours, I figure the day for a failure.” At his frown, she rushed on over the emotion clotting her throat. “There are worse things, don’t you think? They’re just names, and sometimes I relish them because men who call me names are scared. Scared little boys who feel threatened by my all-round awesomeness.”

“Woman, firefighter, or bitch? However do I choose?” He twisted his fingers in her hair and pulled her close enough to share his breath. “What you are to me is . . . Alexandra. And she defies categorization.”

Something melted inside her. Her heart, perhaps, or her lungs, given the sudden breathing difficulty. It was a moment before she could speak.

“Eli, the night of the fire I assessed the situation and made the call based on the risk-reward. You were worth the risk and now I’m reaping my reward.”

That threw him. Was the idea of having someone in his corner that unexpected? She supposed the constant attacks on his character had to be wearisome.

“Not so sure I’m worth the risk. I’m not a very nice person.”

“Yet I’m here.”

“Should I be jealous of my dog?”

She buried her joy in his dark, wavy hair. “You might have Hollywood looks, dubious charm, great hair, and a giant penis, Eli Cooper, but that puppy of yours is the real selling point.”

He laughed, long and hard, the deep bass tone drawing the attention of the receptionist, and Alex joined in, thrilled to have taken his mind off his troubles, if only for a moment. Hugging her close, he sank his weary head into the curve of her neck.

She had no problem being his anchor. People rarely understood that she was actually as strong as she looked.