She had always suspected that Eli had persuaded his major donor, the man who funded his first campaign and whose endorsement Eli needed for his reelection, not to sue the city—and by extension, Alex personally. The thought of being in Eli’s debt made her squirm, as did the notion that he had stood up to Cochrane on her behalf. What price had he paid for that? For her?

“I remember,” she said, suddenly unable to meet his stark gaze directly. “How’s Shadow?”

A brief spark lit up those forbidding eyes, showing his pleasure that she remembered. “Eating me out of house and home, as usual.” The light dimmed, replaced by black ice. “What do you think happened back in August, Alexandra? True, that video kept you employed, because it was more politically expedient for me to play it that way. But Sam could have taken you to the cleaners in court. Do you really think he decided not to sue you merely out of the goodness of his heart?”

She tilted her chin up, all bravado. “His lawyers said it was pointless. That the video showing how drunk he was tainted his chances of winning.”

“And you might recall that the CPD Breathalyzer test determined he was under the limit. The court of public opinion might have been on your side, Alexandra, but a court of law would have eaten you for breakfast. You destroyed a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car on purpose. Because a man called you a dyke and your brother a fag. On top of that, you rallied the city behind you, escaped with a rap on the wrist, and made Cochrane look like an idiot.”

She smiled because she had made him look like an idiot. A big, fat, ranty idiot.

“I persuaded him not to sue you, Alexandra. I kept you and your family and this city solvent. And now you owe me.”

In the ledger of who-owes-whom, Alex was fairly certain she would always come up trumps. “And I saved your life. I think that makes us even.” She walked toward the door with the chorus of “We Are the Champions” swelling in her head. She would have done a jig, but no one liked a sore winner. “Good luck with that campaign, Mr. Mayor.”

“Damn it, Alexandra, you don’t get it, do you?”

With her hand on the doorknob, she turned to find him staring at her with nostrils flared and mouth set in an unyielding line.

“It’s not over. Sam Cochrane is threatening to sue you.”

 CHAPTER SEVEN

Her blood stopped moving beneath her skin. A dizzy mess of thoughts pinwheeled through her brain, and all she could utter was a barely articulate “He—he can’t!”

“He can. The statute of limitations on civil suits is five years.”

“But . . .” This could not be happening.

“Now that you’re back in the news, Sam sees an opportunity to stick it to you. To make you sweat.”

Which she was doing. Profusely. It was supposed to be in the past, not rearing its ugly bigoted head to bite her on the ass. “Is he suing the city as well?” she asked after a few silent moments passed, each one of them like an hour.

“No. He and I discussed it when this all went down last August. It’s not in his interest to make an enemy of me, not while he has business deals that need city support.”

“I thought it was done. I thought you sorted it out.”

His expression turned even more brooding. “There was always a chance he would hold the threat of suit in abeyance to be brought out later. Without a written settlement, he can sue anytime within the statutory period.”

“I’ll be financially ruined.” She felt like an inveterate gambler whose life had been thrown away in a card game, except she had been dealt the losing hand and, knowing it was toxic, played it all the same. But she hadn’t weathered every insult, blow, or wave of opposition to come this far and fail.

“He’s your primary donor, an old friend of your family. And I saved your life.” She wasn’t feeling nearly as cocky as she had a moment ago when she reminded him of that salient fact.

A brief smile quirked the do-me mouth that had opened her up and tortured her with his consummate skill. The man was an excellent kisser—and she suspected an excellent poker player.

“Yes, you did,” he said coolly.

“You can make this go away, like before. He’ll listen to you. And if you come down on CFD’s side, it will benefit you on Election Day. Local 2 hasn’t endorsed a candidate yet.” The firefighters’ union was about to declare, but was waiting for more concessions on the pension crisis.

“But he’s not suing CFD, Alexandra. He’s after you personally.”

So that’s how it was. “This is blackmail.”

“It sounds to me like quid pro quo. I can keep Cochrane and his legal dogs off your back and you can win me this election.” He placed a hand on the window frame and moved his gaze to the parking lot outside. The action drew his shirtsleeve taut against his biceps, mesmerizing her to a sensual dizziness. Really, hormones?

“And what about when the election is over?” Her heart twanged, the stupid lump already mourning the moment they were no longer a fake couple.

“When I win—which you’ll help me to do—I’ll be in a position to prevent him from moving forward with any suit because you’ll still be under my protection. I’ll demand he agree to a no-fault settlement that’ll put you in the clear. You’ll probably have to apologize, make a token donation to his favorite charity.”

She paced the room, marveling that her jellied legs kept her upright. “Maybe I should talk to a lawyer.” She frowned, remembering who was standing before her. “Another lawyer.”

“Maybe.” He crossed his arms. “And your family. Get their advice.”

“No, I can’t involve them.” If her family knew about this threat they would move heaven and hell to help her, even Darcy, who was on the outs with her dad. And if Cochrane went through with the suit and she had to pay legal fees—or God forbid, damages—her brothers would give her the shirts off their backs. The house where they had grown up with Sean and Mary, where Alex and Gage still lived. Kinsey and Luke were about to buy their own place, plan a wedding, and now they would have to put everything on hold.

She refused to let it come to that.

He moved in closer, shrinking the room to the size of that city hall storeroom. “I’m a useful person to have on your side, Alexandra.”

His words waved over her, seductive, dangerous, licking between her legs like a warm, probing tongue. She wished he hadn’t kissed her, because it made her want things. Deep, secret things that involved him bending her over that desk and filling the wet, needy part of her.

“Can you take care of my parking tickets?” she joked, seeking relief from the blistering tension.

“Parking tickets, your legal issues.” His gaze raked her, drawing her nipples into pleasurably painful buds. “I can take care of any number of your problems, Alexandra.”

“What would I have to do?” And was he at the top of that to-do list?

“A few public appearances, photos in the paper. Nothing too compromising. We play up the connection, then amicably part ways after I’ve won.”

There was that annoying heart twinge again at the mention of the end of their fake relationship. When she didn’t even want the beginning.

It sounded so easy, a way to keep her family safe after all the hassles they’d endured these past six months. A way to be the one who contributed instead of the fuckup who needed constant bailing out of her unfortunate messes.

“It’s only six weeks,” he said, his voice with that husky tone that did wicked things to her insides. Six weeks of him talking like that to her? She wouldn’t last six hours in his presence, and then she’d have to kill herself for her betrayal of her tribe.