“Who, then? Do I know her? It’s that Whitney chick, isn’t it?”

“I would never sleep with an employee.” At her arch smile, he added, “A direct report.”

“So that leaves Madison,” she joked.

And . . . there it was. The air heaved with the weight of his nondenial.

“You mean the last time you had sex was twelve years ago with your ex-wife?” Rather wishful, but laughing it off seemed like the only way to play this and not look like a lovesick, jealous harpy.

“When neither of us is seeing anyone, we have an arrangement.” Those all-knowing eyes measured her reaction. “Just to scratch an itch. Like divorced-with-benefits.”

Her stomach whirled in a slow, sick spin. This was . . . oh, God, this was awful. You wanted to know, dummy.

Maybe she was overreacting and it was truly ancient history. Seeking clarification was on the tip of her tongue when he said the one thing she might have been able to survive this conversation without hearing. “It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Anger rose swift and sharp. “She’s your ex-wife and you have an arrangement to have sex with her when the need arises.” When he had an itch to scratch. “I would say it means a great deal.”

Feeling exposed in every possible way, she drew back and reached for the shirt he had peeled off five minutes ago during a much simpler time.

“Alexandra, it’s purely fulfilling a biological need. Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference between sex that means something and sex that doesn’t.”

“Of course I do.” She shrugged his shirt on with jerky movements that made her breasts wobble. He didn’t even look, just kept those relentlessly blue eyes trained on hers. “Sex with your ex-wife means nothing.” The ex-wife he worked with day in, day out. The ex-wife he shared that cozy huddle with at the hockey game. The ex-wife he ran back into that hotel to save.

Oh yeah. Sure sounded like nothing.

His brow darkened. “Lawyers are trained to never ask a question they don’t already know the answer to. A corollary is to never ask a question if you can’t handle the answer. You asked, and I told you. There are enough lies in my life but for this, with you, I want it to be honest.”

On ramshackle legs, she scrambled to a stand, amazed she had the power. Was he actually congratulating himself for being so upfront? Was she supposed to be blown away because he acted less like a sleazy politician and more like a human being? Of course, the problem with that reasoning is that all truths had to carry the same weight.

Well, this truth was too heavy for her.

“You’re right, I did ask. I guess I wasn’t thinking of the law degree I needed to navigate a conversation with you. Well, you’ve scratched this itch, counselor, so feel free to get back to what’s familiar.” She stormed out of the room, pulling his T-shirt down as she marched.

Why the hell was she so put out by this? Eli had barely blinked an eye when she told him about Mr. Two-Pump-Chump . . . was that why she was upset? Because Eli couldn’t manage even a hint of jealousy over the last man she slept with?

No. That was not what this was about. Alex just did not agree that a man could have a casual sexual relationship with his ex-wife and expect the woman he was currently knocking boots with to be copacetic with it.

In his bedroom, she squeezed into her sexy underwear (bought by Eli) and her gorgeous dress (bought by Eli). Did he still buy gifts for Madison? She resisted going there, but her mind was already hurtling down the track. He clearly had a tab at the House of French Whoreish Lingerie, so if he wasn’t buying bustiers to keep his staffers quiet, then he must be stocking up on crotchless panties for his ex.

Madison was beautiful, thin, sophisticated, the perfect partner for a glib, smooth-talking politico. Ah, hell, Alex was jealous, through and through, and she knew it was crazy and unreasonable given the fact Eli had promised nothing. But neither could she help the negative energy pumping through her veins.

Heading down the stairs, Alex practiced her reasonable face, but at the bottom was the man himself, looking so handsome it hurt.

“Could we talk about this like two adults?”

“Nope, I’m feeling pretty childish right now.”

“Jealousy suits those beautiful eyes of yours, Alexandra.”

It came out cool, condescending. If he hadn’t sounded so goddamn amused and above it all, she might not have exploded—or blurted something she couldn’t take back.

“I’m done with you and your campaign. You’re a thug in a suit and I don’t trust you.”

The air, previously chilly, dropped to Lake Michigan in January levels. It was a rotten thing to say. She had basically accused him of abusing his position, but the bottom line was that he was using her for the campaign, and by election night, it would be over. Not that she wanted more, but getting involved with him—or getting more involved with him—would be disastrous to her mental well-being. The walls around her heart had to be reinforced.

She knew what she was to him. A diversion, comic and sexual, on the campaign trail. She was barely girlfriend material for a regular joe, never mind a double-talking, fine-wine-drinking, cuff-link-wearing man like Eli. He was the hottest guy she had ever seen, so out of her league they hadn’t invented his league yet. It was like Future League of Hot Guys We Can’t Place Because They’re Too Fucking Hot.

He scared her. This weak, needy side of herself scared her.

He picked up her shoes from where she had slipped them off in his hallway last night. It seemed like weeks ago. “I’ll take you home.”

“I can cab it.”

“Don’t test me, Alexandra.” She heard no give in his tone.

Schlepping it in a taxi Cinderella-style, wearing her fancy gown and too-high heels, was probably not the greatest idea. While she wrestled with that decision, he pulled a parka from a closet and wrapped it around her. It felt like ten times her size, and in it, she knew she must look as small and defenseless as she felt. Shadow looked on, probably thinking he was going for a walk, and she wanted to throw her arms around him. Absorb his comfort in this new world order.

Her walk of shame came courtesy of the mayor’s motorcade because, hey y’all, let’s slap a big X-marks-the-spot on the dummy’s fabulous night of hot sex with Chicago’s smokin’ mayor! On the journey home, they sat miles apart, Madison the invisible chaperone between them. Neither of them spoke—not a single attempt to soothe or appease from him—and by the time they arrived at her house, she was spitting nails. Of course he walked her to her door, because even when he was an asshat he was a gentleman first.

As she fumbled with the key to her front door, Gage opened up and gave her the elevator look, down, then up.

“You ok—?”

“Stow it, Gage.” With one foot on the last step of the hallway stairs, she heard what could have been a clearing of the throat but was more likely a sexy growl.

“I had a great time last night, Alexandra.”

She shrugged his coat off and let it slide to the floor. Infusing a whole lot of sway into her hips as she climbed the stairs, she gifted him the perfect view of the ass he had worshipped last night, and would not be getting further access to in this lifetime or the next.

“I had a great time, too,” she snapped over her shoulder. “Now take your damn coat and head east until your big, fat head floats!”

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Trouble in paradise for Mayor Cooper and his feisty firefighter? After they made headlines for their tempestuous turn around the dance floor at the Weston Cooper Justice Award gala last week, the two have not been seen in public together. The mayor refuses to tango and tell, preferring to keep mum when questioned in the morning press conferences. Attempts to reach Firefighter Dempsey have been unsuccessful.