It must be the drugs talking—except she wasn’t on any.

“How are you? Your head?” Her voice sounded raw, the ravaging aftereffects of the smoke still present.

His fingers flew to the stitches. “I’m sure people will say it can only help.” His voice had a grate similar to hers, further confirmation that they had entered some crucible together and emerged changed.

Her first save and it had to be him.

The first time she needed saving and . . . God.

“You should sit down.” He moved forward, to guide her, so she took a seat on the bed before he could make physical contact. If he touched her, she might break down or, worse, fall into the inviting cage of his arms. In her flimsy hospital gown, she felt curiously exposed. Her nail-varnished toes winked at her beneath the garish lights. A little chipped since she’d applied it for her date from hell a few days ago, the last time she had seen the man before her.

If she’d thought that sitting would keep him at a safe distance, she was sorely mistaken. In a couple of ground-eating strides, he was towering over her and had taken her face between his hands, his eyes searching hers intensely. The intimacy of it shocked her.

“Alexandra, are you hurt?”

“J-just my throat. My breathing is back to normal.” Or it had been until Eli walked in looking like James Bond on steroids. She fought to restore her lungs to their regular rhythm.

He drew his thumb in a sensuous line along her cheekbone, across her jaw, and it came to rest at the corner of her mouth. She wanted to jerk away, but in her weakened state, she was helpless to defy him.

Brows veed in dark, broody slashes, he dropped his hands. Surely she imagined the brush of his knuckles across the tattoos that adorned her biceps, the same ink that could be found on the arms of all her family members: her father, Sean and a pulsing green shamrock on the left, her brother, Logan and the intertwined letters of CFD on the right. The Dempseys’ fallen.

“Why the hell are you sitting here half naked? You must be freezing.”

“I’m okay—” But he was already wrapping his tuxedo jacket around her shoulders.

Well, then.

She foolishly enjoyed how feminine it made her feel. Silly, she knew, but Eli was built, a warrior in Armani, and his jacket felt like a protective cape. Like the next best thing to his arms around her.

Hold up there, missy. Maybe the mayor wasn’t the only one who’d suffered a brain injury tonight.

“You saved my life, Alexandra, for which I’m very grateful. However, people seem to be under the impression that it’s the other way around.”

“You don’t remember?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. Thick muscles bulged at the sleeves of his white shirt, the effect delicious. She struggled to focus on what he was saying.

“. . . the corridor. The smoke was thick, heavy.” His eyes met hers. The discomfort lurking there was not her imagination. “You gave me your air and then you helped me out, though I’m pretty sure I was walking under my own steam by then.”

She growled. It hurt her throat, but the physical reminder that he was a tool was most welcome. “Yes, please underplay any part I might have had in this.”

“Oh, hush. I suppose you’ll be wanting a medal,” he said, without any heat, and she managed to suppress a manic giggle. Oh, God, this sexy-hate thing between them was crazy. She felt an overwhelming urge to both punch him and hug him.

“I’m trying to fathom what came next,” he said.

That part was still a haze of broken images, ragged sounds, and acrid smells. “Without my mask, I inhaled smoke. Next thing I remember is waking up in the back of the ambulance, fighting for air. Wy told me what happened later.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You mean it wasn’t captured on camera like every other dramatic moment in your life?”

“No, but don’t fret, you’ve emerged from this looking like an all-American hero. Apparently you appeared in the Drake’s lobby, shouting for medical help.” She added in a smaller voice, “for me. You don’t remember that?”

He scratched his forehead, near his stitches, making her wince at the possibility of reopening the wound. “Vaguely. I must have passed out again just after. But—” Bafflement clouded his brow. “This is just the epilogue. What happened in the corridor between you and me is the real story.”

“Well, Mr. Mayor, perception is reality, and plenty of witnesses in that lobby perceived the reality of you saving me. That’s what will make national headlines.” Just her dumb luck. She saved the bastard only to have him save her right back—and of course he had witnesses to his heroics. By the time the spin doctors got through with this, Eli would have rescued a gaggle of nuns, a litter of puppies, and half of Engine Company 6.

Eli shook his head. “The truth will be told and your efforts will be recognized. Tomorrow you’ll be standing next to me in a press conference when I make a statement about tonight’s events.”

Getting credit should have pleased her, but the idea of facing the press after all the craziness of several months ago reared a rush of panic in her chest. “Can’t you just release the statement now? A press conference seems unnecessary.”

Eyes alight, his mouth curved into a snake’s smile. “And miss an opportunity to cement your status as America’s Favorite Firefighter? Oh no, I wouldn’t want to deny you your moment in the sun. Now, there’s something else. My memory might be cloudy on some of tonight’s events, but I do recall that I fought you when you tried to put on the mask. I’m sorry about that. My delay placed your life in danger.”

Caught off guard at his surprise flip of the conversation, not to mention his unadorned apology, she inhaled a sharp breath. “You were panicked and it was my job to calm you down.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

She slid to a stand and placed a hand on his arm. Heat fired through her. “Eli, no one knows how they’re going to react in that type of situation.”

The dimple awoke from its slumber. “You called me Eli.”

She made a sound, low in her throat. Still hurt.

“And you’re not even angry with me,” he added.

“I’m permanently angry with you, Cooper. Even when I’m saving your life.”

His smile was grim and shockingly potent. “I’ve been in worse situations than tonight, Alexandra. I’ve been shot, stabbed, and held captive by terrorists. I’ve endured city council meetings where I wanted to murder every alderman in the room. I once dated a woman who made me sit through four-hour operas with only one ten-minute intermission. They really need more intermissions than that, don’t you think?” His perturbed frown at the memory drew her reluctant smile. “Not once did I lose my head, but that mask . . . I’ve been slightly claustrophobic since I was a kid and I’ve managed to control it all my life until tonight.”

Everything softened in her at that, but then she remembered that she felt that way about abused puppies and solo shoes on the highway. She settled for a charitable pat of his arm. His hot-blooded, muscle-corded, oh-my-God arm.

“If you’re worried I’m going to tell anyone, then don’t be.”

His frown deepened. “Tell the world for all I care. I’m more concerned with how I placed you in jeopardy. It’s a man’s job to take care of—”

“Be careful, Mr. Mayor.”

“A woman. So it’s a good thing I made up for it by saving your ass.”

Mother of Sorrows, give her strength. Knowing that if she let her hand remain on his arm, she would start to squeeze the life clean from it, she took a step back. For her sanity and for his safety.

Mayor saved from fire; later dies from bedpan-inflicted head wound.

Pushing up his link-studded cuff, he checked his watch. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you at city hall at 9:30. Don’t be late.” With a twist of that hard, muscled body she should have left to rot in that hotel corridor, he walked toward the door.