You manipulative cocksucker.

Ah, the poetry of an angel.

He texted back: Morning to you, too, my sweet.

Madison frowned at the interruption and moved on to property taxes, which after weather, potholes, and the Cubs’ lovable loser status was Chicago’s favorite topic of conversation.

You think this gets you off the hook?

I think you’re talking to me right now. Standing, he gestured to the team that he needed to take this outside. He dialed Stake as he walked. She’d gotten another upgrade in his contacts list.

“Dempsey’s Porn Shack.”

“Honey, let’s not fight.”

She growled. “Buying out the entire stock of undies at your French whorehouse is not going to sway me.”

“Still, you texted. To tell me you’re not swayed.” He paused. “Do you like them?”

“Of course I like them, you asshole! They’re beautiful. Sexy. Pink.” She laughed a breathless giggle. “Very pink.”

“I noticed it’s your secret favorite color.”

“I refuse to accept them or the account you opened at En Cachette in my name. I can’t believe you did that.” There was the appropriate mixture of awe and disgust in her voice.

“I want you to have all the sexy unmentionables you need. Whatever makes you feel good while you’re out kicking a mugger’s ass or saving some drunk dickhead’s life.”

“You must think that’s such a cliché. The tough-as-nails tomboy with the girly pink panties fetish.”

“I think it’s just one more layer to the intriguing woman I’m enjoying spending time with.”

Her surprised silence was like a third person who had conference-called in. He needed her to know that he liked her—not just her gorgeous body and untamable hair, but her, this woman with soft curves and fierce edges. This woman he had tricked into spending time with him.

He batted that errant thought away and directed his mind to something more pleasurable. And absolutely necessary.

“I’ll see you tonight.” Not a request. Almost a week without her had been impossible.

She huffed, “I’m working. At the bar.”

“After.” Nothing but deafening silence, which he took for acquiescence. “I need to get back to a meeting.”

“I’m wearing one of the bras now.”

His breath trapped in his lungs and it took a moment to make those suckers work again. “Which one?” He had chosen a half dozen, but his favorite was. . .

“The rose-colored satin with the bow detailing at the edges.”

That one.

His feet moved forward in a lust-driven daze toward his office.

“It has a front closure.”

He knew that. “The best kind,” he managed in a strangled whisper.

He picked up the pace. Whitney tried to say something to him as he walked through the suite, but he held up the hand of no. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it heavily.

“Where are you now, Alexandra?”

“In my bedroom. Surrounded by sexy unmentionables my lovah bought for me.”

He could see her clearly in his depraved mind’s eye. The swells of her breasts plumping over the satin edges, her hourglass figure begging for his hands to explore. And that sweet, shapely ass . . . He rubbed a hand over his cock, now punching the zipper of his pants.

“Lie down on the bed. Now.”

She laughed that husky sound that invariably sent a shot of blood to his groin. “Yes, Mr. Mayor.”

He grimaced. He didn’t want to be Mr. Mayor to her. He wanted to be Eli, just Eli. He wanted to hear his name on her lips when she came. He wanted her to need what only he could give her, and to beg for it until she was hoarse.

“I’m lying down, just like you demanded.” There was a pertinence mixed with obeisance in her tone that made his balls tighten.

He remained silent, listening to her breathing, trying to control his own. He had painted a scene, set it in motion, but he wouldn’t call “Action.” That would be down to her.

“You still there?” she asked after a few long beats.

“I am.”

She muttered a curse. “Why did you buy these things for me, Eli? And the clothes last week?”

“Because I wanted you to look beautiful. Feel beautiful.”

“For the papers.”

“Screw the papers. When you look and feel gorgeous, that makes me feel good.” He drew a deep breath. “It’s just you and me, Alexandra. Here. Now.”

He meant in this moment, on the phone. But with the words out there, feeding off the energy between them, he realized that he might mean more.

He might want more.

After a terrifying pause, she spoke again. “I like the bows on the side of the matching panties.” She sounded embarrassed to be admitting a weakness for these feminine touches. He wanted to know all her weaknesses, which he suspected would fit well with his strengths. “They’re pretty. And they untie.”

His lips shaped a smile. “They sound very convenient.”

“I don’t want to untie them,” she murmured. “It would ruin the pretty.”

Holy ribbons and bows. “Then find another way.”

“Already there, Eli.”

The groan he let loose was probably heard in the basement of city hall.

“You’re fucking killing me, Alexandra.”

“I like when you call me that. It makes me feel . . .” She trailed off.

“Makes you feel what?”

Another pause that kept him on the edge of his seat, and then she finally breathed, “Sexy.”

That wasn’t what she had wanted to say. She’d checked the truth at the last second because however her name on his lips made her feel would have revealed too much. He should be glad that she was making the effort. Keeping what was happening between them in the realm of mutually rewarding pleasure.

Should be.

“Tell me how your breasts look, honey.”

Her nervous laugh spoke her gratitude that he didn’t push the issue.

“I look pretty fucking hot in this underwear, Eli. And I feel very, very wet.”

Brain, I hope you’re enjoying this visit to my pants. He gripped the armrest of his chair, anything to prevent his hand from seeking gratification. He couldn’t . . . not in the mayor’s office. There were lines that even he refused to cross.

But there was no good reason his woman should suffer.

“Touch yourself, Alexandra. Imagine my mouth on you, sucking and licking. Imagine how good that makes you feel. How hard it makes me feel.”

“Eli,” she gasped, the sound shockwaving down his spine and terminating in a sizzle of desire in his groin. This was madness, but that’s what she had driven him to. Close to jacking off with the political greats of Chicago watching.

Click. “There’s my call waiting,” she murmured.

“Alexandra—”

After an interminable moment, she came back on the line. “Gotta go.”

“Who is it?”

“Just Bastian. Later, Mr. Mayor.” She hung up.

Bastian Durand? That maple-sucking puck chaser.

Dempseys on Damen was busy, fairly standard for Hawks game night, which happened to coincide with two-for-one Rolling Rocks. Unfortunately, the boys were getting their asses handed to them by the Blues, and probably could have done with a little help from a certain NHL right forward.

Bastian Durand’s call had been rather timely, though Eli likely thought she was lying. Well, that wasn’t a lie, but . . . Intuitive and smart as Eli was, he had caught her loaded pause when she told him how his use of her full name made her feel. Saying she felt sexy on hearing “Alexandra” uttered with that commanding voice was the truth, but not the whole truth. Cards on the table here? When he called her that, she felt like his woman.

After the stunts he had pulled, he did not deserve to hear that.

Caught between the desire to punish him and her desire for him, she’d chosen the former. Immature? Perhaps. Cutting off her orgasm to spite her sex life? Definitely! But she’d never claimed to be grown-up about these things. Eli Cooper thought he could throw some pretty, and pretty expensive, lingerie in her direction and she’d forget that in moments of boredom he got his jollies with a bout in his ex-wife’s bed.