Текст книги "Playing with Fire "

Автор книги: Kate Meader

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“How many proposals today, Mr. Mayor?” someone called out, the Sun-Times’s Kenny Fiedler from the sounds of that two-packs-a-day wheeze. It was a running joke with the press that he received a steady stream of marriage proposals from his female, and occasionally male, fan base.

“Slow day. Only three in my in-box this morning.” He raised a hand. “Please hold your questions until I’ve made a statement.”

He hadn’t looked, but he could sense Alexandra’s presence off to the side. Only sheer willpower kept him from indulging a near uncontrollable impulse to stare at her.

“Last night, a fire broke out at the Drake Hotel, the cause of which is still under investigation. Due to the Chicago Fire Department’s perfect execution of their duties, no one was seriously hurt. At one point, I found myself overcome by a minor head injury and smoke inhalation that resulted in me losing consciousness. Firefighter Alexandra Dempsey of Engine Company 6 gave me her air and pulled me to the safety of a nearby stairwell.”

Finally, he allowed himself the luxury of glancing in her direction. Color tagged her cheekbones and springy curls had escaped from the prison of her cap. She gnawed on her lip, a move that was as brazenly erotic as it was innocent.

Awe at what she had done for him bloomed in his chest. She was so damn brave. “Without Firefighter Dempsey’s quick thinking, I would not be here. She saved my life, and I am immensely grateful.”

She raised her gaze to his, and the fragility he saw there struck him all kinds of hard. He wanted to hug her—then take unscrupulous advantage.

“Firefighter Dempsey, would you mind?”

She took a few steps. Once within a couple of feet, he closed the gap. “For the cameras, honey,” he murmured.

The sizzle between his shoulder blades as he shook her hand conjured the memory of her curling those fingers around his last night in that hotel corridor. I’m here, she had said. I’m not leaving. The soft clicks of the reporters’ cameras sounded, and still, he held on to her hand.

She frowned, dipped her gaze to their joined hands. Blinking back to the present, he released her and addressed the crowd. “Questions?” With a nod, he gestured to Mac Devlin from NBC 5.

“Our understanding is that you had already been evacuated but went back into the hotel. Can you confirm that?”

“One of my staff was still inside and I went back in before CFD arrived. Probably not the wisest decision, but I have no regrets. Next.”

Jillian Malone, Sam Cochrane’s favorite flunky over at the Trib, spoke next.

“Initial reports stated that you carried Firefighter Dempsey to safety,” Malone said, “and not the other way around.”

“Yes, it would seem your paper jumped the gun today with that headline, Miss Malone. If you had checked your facts—”

“We had a confirmed source inside CFD,” she interrupted.

He glared at her. He was the mayor and he hated interruptions unless he was doing the interrupting.

“Once in the stairwell after Firefighter Dempsey saved me, we traveled down one flight and exited into the lobby. There was a lot of confusion when we emerged. We both needed medical attention, but the facts are as I stated. Alexandra saved my life. End of report.”

They were no longer touching, but he felt her stiffen beside him all the same, likely at his overly familiar use of her first name. The slight shift in the room told him the vultures had picked up on it, too.

“Several eyewitness accounts cast you in a more heroic light, Mr. Mayor,” Jillian continued, a dog with the proverbial. “You’ve also made it clear in previous statements your disapproval of women in the fire department.”

It might have sounded like a non sequitur, but Eli had learned long ago that there was nothing random about a reporter’s questions. He turned on his megawattage smile, the one that put him in People. The Sexiest Man Alive issue. “Yes, I have. Guess I look pretty dumb now, huh?”

The reporters laughed heartily at his mea culpa, but the noise wasn’t quite enough to mask what sounded like—a growl?—from the woman to his immediate right. His blood stirred.

“Firefighter Dempsey,” John Suarez from the local affiliate at CBS chimed in, “your family isn’t afraid of the spotlight and you have a fractious history with the mayor’s office.”

She cocked an eyebrow beneath a wayward curl. “Is there a question in there?”

Soft chuckles washed over the room. Before Suarez could continue, Alexandra spoke again. “Maybe you mean to ask, given my family’s history with the mayor, if I was tempted to leave Mr. Cooper so he could find his own way out?”

The shocked faces of the most jaded and dark souls in Chicago stared back, on tenterhooks for the punch line.

“Sure. I mean we’ve all wanted to kill him at one point or another.”

Jesus, that saucy mouth. He would really enjoy punishing her. “Please, Firefighter Dempsey. Tell the esteemed members of the press how you really feel.”

She met his gaze with her usual insolent directness. Humor, and possibly mischief, flashed in those fiery eyes. “Well, I’d be remiss if I didn’t use this opportunity to address the concerns of my union. The mayor has made it clear that the needs of the Chicago Fire Department, from resource allocation to our underfunded pensions, are low on his list of priorities. I think if he’s reelected he won’t make any improvements—”

“So you’re voting for Caroline Jenkins?” some wag near the back tossed out.

“Still undecided. She’s not impressing me a whole lot, either, but at least she hasn’t declared a war on the working class.”

Enough. He’d let her have her fun. “Well, it’s a good thing your professionalism overrode your dislike, Alexandra. I’m incredibly grateful that you could put that aside when you did your job.”

An impudent grin stretched those luscious lips he’d imagined wrapped around his cock this morning. “It was a tough call, but yeah, I’m not sure I was prepared for the womankind backlash I’d face if I didn’t haul you out of there. Gnashing of teeth, gouging of hair, deflation of breasts. Just doing my part for the sisterhood.”

The toughest room in Chicago went wild over that. Time to call this game for darkness.

“Thank you all for coming and—”

Too late. The vultures had carrion between their beaks. “Alex, do you feel as though the mayor really respects you and the rest of the female firefighters in CFD now that you’ve proven yourself?”

“I’ve no idea. You’d have to ask him.”

All heads swiveled six inches to the right.

Tread carefully, Mr. Mayor. “I’ve never not respected our female firefighters. I’ve had reservations about their capability to endure the physicality of the job.” He drew in a breath and sealed his fate. “That hasn’t changed.”

“There’s your answer,” Alexandra said with unmistakable cheer.

Damn her. She had set him up, knowing he would look like a flip-flopper if he softened his previous stance.

“On that note”—he recognized the need to quit while she was ahead—“I think it’s time to wrap this up. Ladies. Gentlemen.” Alexandra was already bouncing toward the exit. Practically skipping.

As Eli passed Madison, she murmured, “Can’t you just lie like a regular politician?” while Tom thumbed over his shoulder to a departing Dempsey. “Should I detain her now, sir, for threatening the life of the mayor?”

“Give me a five-minute head start to strangle her first,” he growled, pounding out after her. She was moving quickly as though concerned for her safety.

She should be.

“Think you’ve scored some points here, I suppose,” he said to her back.

Spinning about, she ripped off her cap, setting free that revolution of untamable curls. “I answered honestly, Mr. Mayor. I didn’t know what they were going to ask, and let’s face it, you made clear your feelings about women in CFD. Though I suppose I should give you credit because you stuck to your guns with the same old chauvinistic bullshit. I don’t have your respect, so you have no right to expect mine. Now, I’ve done my duty and I’m done with you.”

Fury at her dismissal of him set his muscles seething beneath his skin. Hell if she didn’t need a strict lesson about manners. While he pondered how this lesson should be dealt out, she pivoted and headed toward the elevator.

Dragging her to his office was out of the question—oh, the vultures would love that—and he needed to get her under control ASAP. Two long strides and he was on her like a hawk.

“We’re not finished, Alexandra.” He tucked a palm beneath her elbow, absorbed her whoosh of surprise, and pulled her through the nearest door.

 CHAPTER FIVE

Alex caught a glimpse of . . . what the? Family-sized boxes of tampons bathed in light from the corridor before the door was shut behind her.

Scratch that. Behind them. He had practically pushed her into . . . wherever he had pushed her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Wait one damn second,” he mumbled.

A yellow light flickered on and, rather than address the blistering shock that he had shanghaied her, they both chose to spend a moment surveying their surroundings. The glow from the bulb was weak but enough to semi-illuminate a supply closet. Paper towels, toilet rolls, and feminine hygiene products—more than could be found in the dedicated aisle at Walgreens—padded the walls.

Like a cell in an asylum.

A couple of tampons had dislodged from an open box and lay on a steel-wired shelf. Eli picked one up and studied it as if it might hold the answer to some great philosophical question.

“I’ve always wondered what was behind this door.” He shook his head. “I must have someone check the inventory. Anyone could help themselves.”

Indignation found its rightful place on her tongue again. “Right, because the female city employees are probably rooking you left, right, and center out of tampons.”

He pointed the tampon at her. “Listen, Dempsey, it’s time you got off this Man vs. Woman kick you’re on and start acting like a grown-up. Practical considerations are what drive the world, and practicalities dictate that you accept a man is physically stronger than a woman and stop making it into a battle that you have no hope of winning.”

“Don’t point that thing at me.”

He placed it down carefully, like it was a loaded weapon. Which she supposed it was for a man who felt threatened by strong women. Unlike last night, he was completely put together—tall, imposing, a god in a blue dress shirt that molded perfectly to his impressive chest. With his sharp suit, perfectly coiffed hair, and cleanly shaven jaw, he was back to the slick machine she knew and despised.

“You crossed a line in there, Dempsey. Ran your mouth off when all I required was that you wear your dress uniform and a sweet-as-sugar smile.”

“Like the good little woman. God, you’re such a throwback I bet all your selfies are sepia toned.”

“And it’s a wonder you don’t fall over with the weight of that chip on your shoulder.”

She fisted her hips, trying to project a bravado she did not feel in such close quarters. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here. I’m just another PR strategy for the great Eli Cooper’s campaign. Madison told me that this won’t be the end of it, because apparently you can only get good ratings when a Dempsey props you up.”

“And you thought you’d torpedo that by acting like a smart-ass and making me look like an idiot in front of the press?”

She shrugged, hopeful. “Did it work?”

“Yes, it did. You are a pain in my ass, but to be honest, Alexandra, it seems like you’re going to an awful lot of trouble to avoid my company.”

“I just don’t like you.”

He moved forward. She edged back, flustered by the worrisome notion she was trapped in a tampon-lined cell with a man who exuded such raw virility.

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

The next few inches forced her into an acquaintance with the sanitary napkin section. The air she breathed was full of him—a masculine, clean scent that made her feel feminine and . . . dirty.

“Explain your concerns.”

Where to start? “I don’t want to be rolled out or whatever you’ve got planned as you wind up your campaign. I don’t want people to think we’re . . .” Shut up, now.

“We’re what?”

“Involved in some way.”

The bastard smirked. “Involved?”

Oh, God, she felt so stupid for even raising it as a possibility. Of course no one would think that. Look at him. Women dislocated their spines to get into cock-sucking position for this man.

Still, her mouth refused to stay shut. It had a point to make. “People, the press, tend to romanticize these things. They see stuff that isn’t there.”

“You think people will think we’re a couple?”

“I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“It is?” he said at the same time she said, “As if I’d be interested in you.”

The air between them, already fraught, shifted.

“Why wouldn’t you be interested in me, Alexandra? I’m told I’m quite the catch.”

She snorted. “If you’re looking to reel in a great white shark.”

“I think a hammerhead would be a more accurate description.”

Whatever that meant, unless . . . did Eli Cooper just make a dick joke? Surely not, but now all she could think was hammer and head and how he would be hard enough to—oh, mercy, she’d gone far too long without satisfaction. True, space-filling, hammerhead-pounding satisfaction.

She called on all the reasons she disliked him. That too beautiful to be alive vibe where she wanted to smash his face in. How he came after Luke and fired Kinsey. And the disrespect, remember?

“I’m not some magpie, easily distracted by a Ken doll lookalike. I’m looking for something a bit more compelling.”

“How many dates does it take to find compelling, I wonder?”

“What do you know about it?”

He waved off her question. “I make you uneasy, Alexandra. Why is that?”

“You don’t. I’m just trying to understand why people are so bedazzled by all this.” She gestured with her hand between them, knowing immediately she had made a mistake.

The closet shrank to terrifyingly tiny proportions as he loomed over her, appearing three times her size. There was no room to slip by, not that she felt an urge to run or anything.

“By all what?”

She crossed her arms over traitorous nipples, which only served to heighten her desire and further constrict the space between them. “You trade on your looks with the female voters, Mr. Mayor. All style, no substance.”

“So women vote for me because of how I look, and not because of the issues? You’re very dismissive of your gender, Alexandra.”

Too right, she always had been. She was tougher and stronger than practically every woman she knew. It bothered her that the female sheep bought shares in the crap Eli Cooper shoveled by the bucketful.

“Not just women. The gays love you, too.”

He laughed and said simply, “They do.”

His good humor teased out her smile. It should have also deflated the pressure in the room, but it did not.

“After your behavior in that press conference, Alexandra, your utility to me is zero. Your high standards won’t be compromised by spending time with a vacuous, cotton-brained dolt like me and you can get back to the Detective Martinezes and whoever else you think is worthy of your time.”

It was all said with such easy self-deprecation that for a moment she was fooled . . . until he mentioned Martinez. From anyone else, she would think it sounded like jealousy. Those noxious fumes she’d inhaled last night had clearly damaged vital brain cells.

Determined to put this uncomfortable conversation behind her, she moved forward in the hopes it would prompt him to open the door. It brought her within inches of his massive tampon closet-filling body. And curse her ovaries, but they did a happy dance.

“Best not,” he murmured.

“You need to let me by,” she squeaked. For crying out loud, she had never squeaked in her life.

“Of course. If you don’t mind feeding the beast.”

“Feeding the what?”

“They’re a slow-moving lot, reporters. Slothlike. Weighed down by all that righteous indignation about the freedom of the press and the public’s right to know, not to mention the liquid lunches they see as their constant due. Go out now and you’re playing right into their grasping, ink-stained hands.” He cocked an ear to the door. “I’m doing my best to protect your reputation here. It wouldn’t do to have a serving wench caught in a compromising position with the lord of the manor.”

“You don’t have the cleavage to make a good serving wench, Eli.”

He chuckled, a low rumble of sex. “God, what I’d like to do with that mouth.”

He didn’t look at her when he said that, just kept his ear to the door like a safecracker checking for the click of the tumblers. Like he hadn’t just upended her world with that casually provocative statement. Panic sloshed over her, buzzing her skin and loosening her tongue.

“It’s your fault we’re in here, hiding like—like criminals!” When this met with zero response, she hissed, “And what’s Detective Martinez got to do with it?”

He turned, eyes like fierce blue suns boring into her. “He was your last date.”

“As far as you know.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Not a peep. “None of your business.”

He moved away from the door. “Has he called you?”

“I don’t see how—”

The words stalled in her throat as his hand cupped her jaw and his thumb moved to the outer edge of her lip. The unbelievable sensuality of it sent her stomach into a loop-the-loop.

“Tell me.”

“Why do you care?” The words felt like shards in her throat.

He paused, still holding, still staring into her eyes with that icy gaze. “About what?”

“Martinez.” Me. Because with every new, bruising clash, something changed between them. Or maybe it was just her. Something built inside her that grew stronger in its urge to find him.

A sardonic smile lifted his mouth. “I might not be good enough for you, which crushes me. Truly, it does. But believe me when I say that Detective Martinez is not worth your time.”

“Only I say who’s worth my time.”

He shook his head, a glitter of condescension in his eyes.

“You really disapprove of me, don’t you?”

His answer was to move disapprovingly closer. Close enough to sin, as the nuns at St. Jude’s used to say, and oh, she wanted to sin with this man.

His mouth hovered so near she could smell the soap on his skin, the sweetness of his breath. The danger all around. A man as powerful, as controlling as Eli Cooper would know exactly what a woman needed. Would he demand total submission between the sheets? Would he make her call him “Mr. Mayor”? Would he trust a sassy firebrand like her with his cock in her mouth?

He shouldn’t.

But she’d relish watching that flicker of uncertainty in his eyes while she unzipped him and unpacked his length. She bet he was as big as his ego. She bet he would fill every soaking part of her perfectly.

“You need to be taken in hand,” he rasped, every word a provocative puff of air against her lips. “You are wayward and out of control and a danger to yourself, and if I wasn’t your boss, if I wasn’t worried about all the lines I’ve no doubt crossed every additional second I spend with you, I would be the one to tame you.”

Do it, her lust-scrambled brain urged. Take me in hand. Use those big, forceful hands to take me and tame me.

“I’m not some animal to be domesticated, Eli,” she goaded, knowing he would enjoy her spirit.

But not enough, apparently. Some inner battle raged on his face, and the winner, unfortunately, was common sense. The hand that would not tame her fell away. The body that would have no part in her domestication inched back, its masculine heat replaced by the cool chill of regret.

Sagging in her own skin, she tried to push her shoulders higher to mask her disappointment. Which is when he stepped into what little personal space she had and lowered his lips to hers.

She should pull away, even though she had begged for it with her smart mouth. She should punish him for every crime he’d perpetrated. For being too good-looking, too sexy, too everything. But the kiss was like him—just too damn good. Warm and brutal, providing answers to questions she never knew she had. He teased with his tongue along the seam of her mouth, seeking that last nudge of acceptance as if it was his God-given right.

She parted her lips, and like a predator hinged on her threshold, he took.

The kiss turned wet and deep, velvety luxurious in its sweep across her mouth, its obliteration of her senses. He curled his hand around her neck and anchored it at her nape, as though he needed that to hold on. That strange notion thrilled her. He was taming her, but also fanning the flames of revolution. He was dominating her, but exhorting her to meet him beat for booming beat. She had never felt more . . . equal to another man.

She drew back, breathless. Changed.

“You make me so mad,” he whispered, his voice incredibly raw, like a manifestation of the aching need thrumming between them..

She felt how mad he was against the fork of her thighs. The slippery warmth in her panties was testament to how mad she was at him.

“Then punish me, Eli.” Who was this husky-voiced temptress?

One who was getting it done, because suddenly, his mouth was on hers again, that wickedly talented mouth that he really should never, ever use for speech. Just pleasure. That’s all that stupid, annoying, sexy mouth was good for.

She wanted to bite and suck and rub against him. Against all that man. Her body was not her own. It was this wanton thing, grinding against his flagrant erection. Somehow, he had pushed her against the back wall, wedging her in with paper towels and metal shelving and him. One hand tangled in her hair—she had no idea where her cap had gone—while the other cupped her generous ass and molded her flush to his cock. They were as close as two people could get with clothes on, like bold explorers, their bodies forbidden country.

One of her hands raked through his thick hair, the other traveled from his shoulder to his chest, needing to feel that steel under silk. Needing to rip his tie off, tear his tailored shirt open, expose his hot skin to her hotter tongue.

Expose herself.

She moaned, her desperation for more, for the pleasure she feared only he could give, echoing in the tiny space. But it broke the spell. Abruptly, he withdrew, the action sucking the air right out of her lungs.

He stared for painfully long seconds, looking marvelously disheveled. She had done that to him, mussed up his world for a few precious moments. Strong, rough fingers rubbed the skin at her nape, and she suppressed another moan.

“This thing between us, Alexandra . . . this thing,” he grated, his voice so graveled it coated every nerve ending with his masculine essence. “It will pass.”

Panic knifed through her, mixed with confusion at her body’s overreaction to his bald statement. “It—it will?”

“God, I hope so, don’t you?”

Before she could respond, the door was thrown open and he was gone.