“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—”