“He said I was skinny?”

“Mon Dieu, non! He said you looked to be a size ten, but men can never judge these things, and they will always undersize.” Her smile was arch. “It plays better for them later in the bedroom.”

Alex rolled her eyes.

“I viewed some pictures of you online. There are plenty to choose from.” An unfortunate truth. Her fifteen minutes after the Cochrane incident had lasted about three months. For a while there, she couldn’t raise a beer to her lips in a bar without someone snapping it. And now here she was at the center of another media typhoon.

“You are more like a sixteen, non?”

“Fourteen.” On a good day.

Odile walked to the rack of dresses and pulled off something horrendous: lavender taffeta that Alex wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. Well, maybe Murphy.

“Sorry, that’s just hideous.”

“Hmm. Monsieur Mayor chose something else for you, but he did not tell me about the tattoos. He was adamant that you wear this.” From the rail, she plucked a garnet red cocktail dress with a plunging neckline, a dipping backline, and a fluttery hem.

It was absolutely gorgeous.

“But it will reveal your tattoos, and at such an important event, I do not think it would be suitable.”

A wild and insistent pulse started up in Alex’s veins. She wanted to wear the dress Eli had chosen. “Can I at least try it on?”

Odile shrugged in a very Continental way. “Why not? But I will find something else that covers you up in the meantime. Perhaps a wrap.” She smirked. “Or a burka. There is le lingerie, as well.”

“Underwear?”

“Oui,” she said with a sharp look, likely because Alex had translated le lingerie into unsexy English. “Monsieur Mayor picked it out himself. He was most certain about what he wanted.”

Alex’s heart rate sped to danger levels. A heated blush crept across her body as it remembered its reaction to Eli’s mouth sucking on her breast and making her come so fast she should consider submitting to Guinness World Records.

Odile was saying something and Alex fought to pay attention.

“What’s that?”

“Your bra size, mademoiselle?”

“Thirty-six-D.”

Another French smirk. “Oh, he pinpointed that exactly.”

 CHAPTER TWELVE

Her hair was all wrong. Straight and sleek and scraped back so severely her temples stung.

“It looks perfect!” Darcy and Kinsey both squealed like tweens at a One Direction show as K applied another spritz of hairspray. Getting ready for her big date had turned her friends into the kind of people Alex had avoided in high school. Peppy people.

“Now, just to make those eyes a little smokier.” Darcy tipped Alex’s chin up and started applying, smudging, and reapplying, though Alex questioned the necessity, given that the minute she saw Eli, her eyes would turn all smoky with lust anyway. Cosmetic enhancements so not necessary.

“Wow, you clean up good, girl,” Kinsey murmured, now sounding like a proud mama.

Alex blinked at her reflection in the mirror, marveling at how a little makeup could go a long way. The dress, understated yet sexy, fit her perfectly. Darcy had lent her a pair of red Christian Lacroix shoes that managed the miraculous feat of making her ankles thin and her appearance statuesque. The overall effect was startling. She hadn’t gone to her high school prom because no one had been interested (or brave) enough to ask her, and now she felt like she was getting another chance with the star quarterback. She’d be the envy of all the other bitches. Go Wildcats!

“It’s just a gala thing,” she said, more to herself than to the others. “They’re naming some award after his father.”

“Yes, but it’s an important event honoring his father’s legacy,” Darcy reasoned, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “And he bought you a dress.”

And underwear. Underwear she was dampening right now just thinking about him.

“What’s wrong?” Kinsey asked. “You’ve gone red.”

She’d never had girlfriends to confide in, or anything worth confiding, but now she was bursting at the seams and had to get it out.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m fake dating the mayor but we’ve already groped each other in a tampon closet and I’ve had two amazing orgasms and he’s had none. He’s choosing what I wear, including my underwear, he doesn’t respect my job or me, so why is it that all I can think about is having him so deep inside me I can’t walk straight for a week?”

“Whoa.” Darcy’s eyes flew wide. “He’s had none of the orgasms? No, don’t tell me. He’s sort of like a big brother to me and that’s totally TMI.”

“I told him I didn’t want a one-night stand.”

Kinsey squinted. “Before or after the orgasms?”

“After.”

“Dang, that’s cold, girl.”

Darcy looked puzzled. “Tampon closet?”

“Long story. Yesterday, I’m at this private boutique, which looked like a French whorehouse, and it was clear he’d been there before with other women because he has a fucking tab.” Other lithe, smooth-haired, nontattooed women. “It’s where he buys them lingerie and dresses.”

Darcy’s peeled back the scrap of red silk covering Alex’s dusky pink balconette bra. A low whistle followed. “Looks expensive.”

“Three bills. And a C-note for the panties.”

“Which he picked out,” said Kinsey. “Poor no-salary Eli. Those investments of his must be doing terribly.”

“And he paid for dinner that night at DeLuca’s, after the hockey game. Pulled out my chair, ordered my food, took off my coat.” Along with her bra. Get your other tit ready for me. Oh, God. “He’s so damn dominant. I don’t think I should be sleeping with a guy who dresses chauvinism up with chivalry.”

Darcy put her hands on Alex’s shoulders. “You don’t need to be simpatico on everything. He’s hot, he gets your engine running, and he’s into you. Just enjoy it.”

Kinsey touched a finger to her lips, considering. “Are you worried that you’re just a prop for his campaign?”

It was impossible to ignore the media’s fascination with the heroism of their respective families. Viewed in that light, their hookup made a compelling narrative—and made her uneasy about his ulterior motives. The man had a ballot box where his heart should be.

“I don’t doubt his attraction to me, but neither can I ignore the fact we’re somebody’s PR wet dream. I suppose the idea of being used, for whatever reason, doesn’t sit well.” The girls looked sympathetic, knowing that the memory of her last sexual experience with Mr. Two-Pump-Chump still pinched. How she’d felt like a man’s conquest. A joke. It was why she was carefully combing through the choices.

“Look, we know that Team Get Alex Laid has been sort of falling down on the job,” Darcy said, “but it’s largely down to the fact that our charge has changed. You want more than a good time, we get it, but sometimes asserting yourself sexually can be just as empowering as holding out. You have more control than you think.”

Deep down, Alex knew that she and Eli were on an equal footing as far as the sexual chemistry went. She trusted that her pleasure would be paramount with him—uh, two orgasms in less than three minutes! Odder still, she liked him despite his caveman tendencies.

“Unless you’re falling for him . . .” Kinsey had apparently missed her calling with the CIA.

Darcy’s face lit up. “Awesome! I’ve been rooting for you guys from the start.”

“No,” Alex said a touch too vehemently. “I’m attracted to him, but that’s all there is. Besides, he doesn’t believe in the sappy-ever-after.”

Darcy’s face fell.