At least, she hoped it was in her bed. Christ on a cracker, had she and Eli had sex in the same bed where he found comfort with his ex? Had he stripped Madison before that mirror, warmed her skin in the heat of that fire? Had he—

“Phone,” Gage said, cutting into her fiftieth mental breakdown this week. “The liquor distributor. Something about tomorrow’s delivery.”

Last time, they’d been a day late and five cases of Grey Goose short. It never ceased to amaze her how much top-shelf vodka cops and firemen could down. She headed to the back office.

The phone was in its cradle.

Eli Cooper was in her chair.

And Gage was going to get an earful for his damn interfering. Her brother must have let the rat sneak in through the alley door.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, when really she wanted to say, My, you look hotter than the hinges of hell in that tux with a chaser of, Why are you wearing a tux and not taking me somewhere as your date, you prick?

He cocked a pissy eyebrow. “We have unfinished business.”

“There’s a box of tissues behind you, so have at it. As for me, I’m quite finished.” She gave him a smile so sweet it could cause diabetes. Perhaps implying completion might have occurred after she had taken Bastian Durand’s call.

His eyes flashed, a crack of lightning across a sea-blue lake. “Show me.”

Her breath caught at the intensity in his tone and expression. “Show you what?”

“My gift.”

Of course she was wearing it. He was a man of impeccable taste and insatiable appetites, and wearing something he had touched and chosen next to her skin turned her on.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Neither do I. The League of Chicago—”

“Superheroes?”

His lips twitched. “Businessmen are holding their annual get-sloshed-and-smoke-cigars event tonight. I’m going stag. In case you were wondering if I had a date stashed in the car.”

“I wasn’t,” she lied.

“I’m known for my fiscal responsibility. And it wouldn’t do to take one date while the woman I’m sleeping with is at home warming my bed.”

This man’s nerve. “No one would ever call you wasteful, Eli.”

He smiled, just a flash. “So don’t waste my time now. Show me how the bra I chose for you shapes your breasts perfectly.”

She remained still. It killed her a little, but surrender was impossible. He gripped the armrest of the swivel chair at the desk, his knuckles like snowy peaks in a desert landscape. She watched, mesmerized, how he held his body, quietly, dangerously, all coiled-up energy, ready to strike.

Do your worst, Mr. Mayor.

His brows slammed together, dark slashes over eyes flat with anger. “Are you going to make me apologize for something that happened years before I met you? I can’t take back my marriage to Madison and I can’t ignore the years we’ve known each other.”

“That’s not it and you know it. People have previous relationships, baggage, I get that. But people don’t usually continue to sleep with their ex-wife whenever the mood takes them.”

He threw up the hand of drama. “Goddamn it, woman, who else am I going to sleep with? In my position, I can’t do casual relationships discreetly, not without it biting me on the ass later. If I need—”

“Sex.”

“Yes, sex, then going with someone I know and trust and who won’t blab about it to the press is eminently preferable.”

She felt a brief stab—oh, who was she kidding? A deep plunge of the knife—at his mention of trust. He had this special relationship with Madison, years of knowledge and nuances and trust, and Alex was the Jenny-come-lately.

“It’s none of my business.”

“Coy doesn’t suit you, Alexandra. I haven’t been with her in months. Not since June of last year.”

“What happened?” she shot out, unable to disguise her bitter jealousy, though this news of how long they’d been apart should have made her feel better. “Did she wise up?”

“I met someone.”

The words punched her in the gut, made her legs weak and her mind foggy. I met someone. Who the hell had drawn Eli away from the spiderweb charms of his ex-wife? Who the hell else did Alex need to create a voodoo doll for?

He continued to stare, those eyes like supernova suns, telling her something. Telling her . . . that she was a complete and utter dumbass.

“Oh.” There wasn’t enough air in the room to fill her lungs.

He had met someone. In June.

“You stopped sleeping with Madison because of this other person.”

“The idea of sleeping with anyone while I was obsessed with another didn’t sit well. This woman has been all I can think about for months now, and I’d rather blue ball my way through it than fuck a placeholder.”

So much to unpack in all that, but she focused on the one word that blazed brighter than every other. “You’re obsessed with her.”

“She’s difficult, foul-mouthed, a pain in my ass. I can’t put her in a dress or give her a compliment without her squawking about it. Her family hates me and I don’t think so highly of them. She’s also funny, gorgeous, and the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

Relief spread in a lush wave through her body. “Just to be clear, we are talking about me, right?”

His exasperation was downright adorable. “Yes.”

Nicely done, Mr. Mayor. With shaky fingers, she opened the top two buttons of her shirt. Paused.

He shifted in his seat. “More.”

“Bossy.” She continued with the buttons, each one revealing more satin, more skin, more heart. Which was really, really inconvenient. But he’d come here and said all the right things. All of them. He didn’t apologize for his past behavior—and she would have hated him if he had—and he didn’t try to dress up what he had with Madison. Instead, he tore her world apart with the simplest of sentences.

I met someone.

She drew her shirt back to reveal her rack, beautifully encased in rose pink satin, and was rewarded with a hissed intake of breath.

“Like what you see?”

His nostrils flared with desire. “Hold your breasts.”

As if in a trance, she moved her hands to cup the weight of her breasts. The bra showcased them perfectly, but her hands placed them in a spotlight of their own. Slowly, she trailed one hand down her stomach, absorbing every shiver, every heated sensation, until she reached the snap of her jeans.

Which she undid.

His eyes exploded with interest, devouring her as she drew the zipper down and tucked her fingers inside her new panties. Her moan on coming into contact with her wet, sensitive flesh filled the room. All the pent-up frustration at not finishing what she’d started earlier with Eli turned her need crystal sharp. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she resisted closing them. Better to keep them open so she could watch him watching her. The biggest turn-on of all.

I met someone.

Sparks of joy lit her body and the movement of her hands sent her body undulating, her arms compressing her breasts so that they squeezed together, giving her stellar cleavage.

“Eli,” she moaned, and it triggered his strike. In a split second, he was on his feet, then down on his knees, dragging her jeans south in one efficient motion.

“I’m here, honey.” He gently pried her fingers away from her center and gave them a lascivious lick. “I’ve got you.” His breath felt hot over the skimpy pink triangle shielding her core. His fingers brushed fire against her skin. He undid one bow at her hip, then the other, pulling the fabric down before inhaling her like she was a fine wine. Wearing these things he bought her made her feel sexy, but under his lustful gaze and possessive attentions, she felt irresistible.

As soon as his tongue touched her, the throb at her core picked up triple time. But this wasn’t a gentle lapping between her thighs. This was sexual hunger at its rawest as his tongue licked, speared, and owned her. Why was it always better with him?