Page 15

“God, I love when you do that.”

“What?”

A flicker of tenderness skated over his features. “Smile. Laugh. It’s like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.”

It was a ridiculous and awful compliment with no originality, but it was his expression and the honest way he said it that got her. Jonathan didn’t take the time to sputter inanities at women.

So if he said it, he meant it.

Her head spun with a heady lightness that made her feel as if she’d drunk a bottle of wine. She sucked at flirting.

But something told her that’s what they were doing, and quite successfully. She didn’t feel awkward around him like she’d worried about. It was as if their relationship had just flowed from the office to private without a hitch.

“Mr. Mayor! What a lovely surprise!”

The feminine voice made Alyssa yank her hand back, making her look even more suspiciously guilty. She watched as Jonathan’s face shut down and morphed into politician mask. He leaned back in his seat as if to create as much distance as possible between them. “Whitney, how are you? What brings you out at this late hour?”

Whitney Burke, charity organizer extraordinaire, Upper East Side aristocrat with blood that flowed as blue as a summer sky, trained her razor-sharp gaze on them. It was as if she scented scandal and thrived on the aroma. Personally, Alyssa had never had a problem with her because she never held any surprises. She wanted money for her various foundations, craved attention from the press and handsome men, and wanted to re-marry for status, not love. A tall, willowy brunette who reminded Alyssa of Snow White, she was both stunning and a touch cold. She’d been linked to Jonathan many times, probably by her own leaked gossip, and papers still thrilled at the idea of them hooking up as a power couple.

But right now, Alyssa not only resented her intrusion. She also disliked the gleam of malice in Whitney’s emerald green eyes as she took in their cozy, darkened table. “I was visiting a friend and decided to bring some dinner home. I had no idea the mayor kept such late office hours,” she said with a tinkling laugh.

Alyssa cut in. “It’s wonderful to see you, Whitney. Did you get the referral I sent you from the New York Mets?”

Her gaze narrowed. “That was you?”

“Of course. Micky is a friend of mine and said a few of his players would love to participate in some fundraising. I told him you were the best.”

Her body relaxed slightly, like a predator suddenly distracted. “Thank you, Alyssa. I certainly do appreciate referrals.”

“I’m afraid I had to drag poor Alyssa across town because I was craving carbs and refused to eat again in the office. Working and Italian food go together best, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do. Watch out, Jonathan. I may have to steal her from you. She’d do amazing things for my foundation.”

Jonathan laughed, then launched into a light chatter about mutual friends and the next big party. Finally, Whitney stepped back. “My food is ready, I must go. Always wonderful to see you. I’ll call.”

With long-legged grace, she walked out of the restaurant.

This time, the silence that came over the table wasn’t comfortable. It held the edge of tension and the stink of reality.

Alyssa had been crazy to think they could try to have a secret relationship with no one catching them.

She cleared her throat and studied the cluttered table of half-eaten food and emptied wine glasses. The candle flickered, then grew bright again. “I think we should go now.”

He muttered something under his breath. Frustration carved the lines of his face. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

She looked him straight in the eye. “I think it’s best if I go home.”

His jaw clenched. He waited a few beats, then nodded. The bill was paid, and they were escorted to the car. The drive back to her apartment was different than the trip to the restaurant. They didn’t speak but simmered with their own thoughts.

She got to her apartment and turned. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

“No, I don’t need⁠—”

“I’ll walk you up.”

She shut her mouth and went through the awkward motions of climbing the stairs, getting her key, and heading to her door.