“Yup. And they need their documentation.” Papers rustled in the background. “Oh, and a producer from NYC-TV has been trying to get a hold of you. Is this something about the Messer case?”
He grimaced. “Yes. Tell them I’m in Maui.”
“Is this going to turn into a circus?”
“Very possibly.” But he was going to do his damnedest to shut Frank Messer down before it got to that. “Get some sleep. Come in a bit later if you like.”
She yawned. “As if, with the amount of work on my plate. See you tomorrow.”
He stepped into the shower while Izzie slept, letting the hot sting of the spray ease the tension in his shoulders. As amazing as last night had been, it now seemed like an ill-advised foray into a complication he didn’t need. Every second he spent doing anything other than figuring out how to beat Frank Messer was time he couldn’t afford to lose. He needed to get back to New York, meet with his lawyers and put together a game plan.
He did not need the distraction of Izzie on a transatlantic flight with him. The odds of him keeping his hands off of her were slim to none, and that just couldn’t happen. Last night had been an agreed-upon one-night stand. An opportunity to enjoy each other as two consenting adults.
Also unbelievably hot... The look on Izzie’s face when she’d come apart in his arms on the terrace made his body stir to life under the pounding, hot spray. The extreme pleasure of driving into that tight, welcoming warmth of hers a seriously tempting invitation to put his pilot off a half hour longer and wake her up. But he needed to get out of here, Izzie needed to sleep and she already had a flight booked. The better idea would be to send a car for her and get out.
He shut off the shower, dried himself and slung a towel around his hips. It was better for both of them to end it now. Clean. Neat.
He headed into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.
“What time is it?”
A still half-asleep Izzie sat up and rubbed her eyes. A gorgeous Izzie, he might add, her long dark hair falling over her edible shoulders as she struggled to focus. His gaze dropped to her pink-tipped, perfectly shaped breasts where the sheet had slipped and he got hard all over again.
She flushed and dragged the sheet up to her collarbone. “It feels early.”
“It’s five-thirty,” he said briefly, pulling on a pair of jeans. “I have to go, but you should sleep. I’ll send a car for 8:30 to take you to the airport...”
She pushed her hair back, a confused look spreading across her face. “I—er, aren’t we on the same flight?”
He walked over and sat down beside her on the bed. “The jet’s been fixed. I need to get out of here.”
“Oh.” The wounded look in her eyes made him feel like a total cad.
“I have an emergency to take care of,” he explained, unable to stop himself from sliding a hand under the sheet and cupping one of her gorgeous breasts, the tip hardening immediately under the caress of his thumb. He watched her eyes darken to that same chocolate-brown, almost-black color they had last night when he’d made love to her. “It’s better you rest and take the later flight.”
She nodded, but the slight wobble in her chin near killed him. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. “Thank you for last night.”
But what was meant to serve as a brief kiss that would have secured him an appropriate exit was quickly revealed for the mistake it was, her mouth softening and parting underneath his, the attraction that was electric between them sparking to life. He groaned, unable to help himself from enjoying one more taste of her, it had just been so incredibly sweet last night. Tunneling his hands in her hair, he took the kiss deeper until she curled her hands in his T-shirt and this was only going in one direction...
He pulled back before he lost his head completely. “I have to go.”
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and she nodded. Brushing a chunk of her thick hair out of her face, he tucked it behind her ear. “I left some clothes for you on the chair. They’re too big for you, but they’re clean.”
“Thanks.”
He held her gaze, refusing to issue false promises. “Keep jumping, Iz. It’s the only way to live.”
She said nothing, those big eyes on him. He finished dressing and grabbed his wallet and watch before he changed his mind. It wasn’t until he was halfway through the door that he stopped and turned around.
“No regrets?”
A wry smile curved her mouth. “No regrets.”
“Good.” He turned around and made himself leave, wondering why it was so hard to walk away. He’d done it a million times. This time felt different.
* * *
Izzie took a deep breath as she heard the front door of the penthouse click shut. Took another, tried to calm herself, and when that didn’t work, picked up the nearest missile, which happened to be Alex’s pillow, and chucked it against the wall, pretending it was him. Had he actually just left her here like that? When he knew she needed to get back to New York? Really? She sank back against the pillows, her breath coming out in a long whoosh. How hard would it have been for him to wait? He could have woken her up and she’d have been ready in five minutes flat, much happier to go with him now than wait for her flight.
Unbelievable. She stared at the pink dawn creeping across the London sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She’d just been unceremoniously dropped like a hot potato by a man who couldn’t seem to get out of here fast enough. As if he’d thought she’d make a scene.
Scowling, she hugged her arms around herself. Maybe some of his women did that. But not her. She’d said one night and she’d meant one night. The last thing she needed to do was complicate her life right now. Not when she had a seven-hour flight and a panel of network executives to face on the other end of it, if James did indeed manage to persuade them to stay.
Not when she’d promised herself she’d never let a man rule her emotions the way her mother had her father’s.
But heavens, it’d been worth it. The image of Alex on a dartboard faded to one of him naked on this bed, his beautiful body giving her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed possible. Warmth flooded her cheeks. How she’d let him do those things to her on the terrace in full view of anyone who’d have cared to look... His husky encouragements to tell him what she wanted releasing a completely wanton side of her she hadn’t even known existed...God. That I’d be incredible in bed tattoo he wore across his chest? Definitely not false advertising.
She threw the covers off, swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the shower. There was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep after that last kiss, which had made her want to turn her one-night plan into a whole lot more. But since he had now dumped her, that wouldn’t be a problem.
She pulled on the huge Boston College athletics T-shirt he’d left her, obviously his, and the pair of jeans that necessitated three roll-ups so she didn’t trip over them. It wasn’t fashionable, but it was necessary with her suitcase in New York without her.
Padding her way into the kitchen, she told herself she was going to be the smart girl she was and relegate Alex to her good—make that hot—memory book. The thing that had made her realize how completely she hadn’t been living her life.
Mouth firm, she settled down on a kitchen bar stool with a cup of coffee she managed to wring out of the high-tech espresso machine, and went over the interview questions James had sent. She was going to give this interview her best shot. Forget about the past, know she’d worked hard and had grown so much, and put her demons aside.
This was the new Izzie. Time to unleash her on the world.
* * *
Sixteen hours later, Izzie exited her interview with the network execs in NYC-TV’s Rockefeller Plaza offices so physically and mentally exhausted she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. A transatlantic flight, a whirlwind cab trip to the studios, and an hour and a half of nonstop grilling by the execs could do that to a person.
She sat down at her desk, thankful she hadn’t been out on assignment today, with a story to edit ahead of her. Tomorrow was soon enough to catch up on email and everything else waiting for her. She yanked off her pumps, pulled her sneakers out of her bottom drawer and had just about laced them up when her boss’s shiny loafers appeared in front of her.
Damn. She’d been so close...
“I heard it went well.”
“I think so.” She finished tying her sneaker and straightened up. “Given I was pretty much comatose.”
James plopped down on the corner of her desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “They loved you. They think you have the young, fresh look that will appeal to the demographic we’re going after.”
She grinned. “Really?”
“Really.” His face lit up. “They think you’re very talented.”
Her stomach muscles relaxed, a wave of relief flooding through her. “And the bad?”
“They’re worried you’re not experienced enough to handle the pressure.”
Go figure. So was she.
“I told them any daughter of Dayla St. James is more than up to it.”
Her mouth dropped open, dismay spreading through her. “What did you do that for?”
He scowled. “We’re in it to win it, Iz. Get with the program.”
The program didn’t include her mother. Ever. “James, you know I want to do this on my own.”
He waved a hand at her. “You want to make it in this business, you use the weapons at your disposal. This is a once-in-a-lifetime shot. Nobody’s going to play nice.”
She nodded. “I know that, I do. And I appreciate the opportunity. I’d just rather keep her out of it.”
“You know that’s never going to happen.”
It would if she had anything to do with it. “What next, then?”
“They’re putting together a short list. I’m pretty sure you’ll be on it. Then they’ll do trial weekends with each of the candidates. Meanwhile,” he said, dumping a file on her desk, “we amp up your star potential with the Constantinou story. This,” he said, pointing to the file, “is the real reason I want this interview.”
She frowned. “I thought it was the juicy court case.”
“That’s good stuff.” He flipped the file open and pointed at a magazine cover. “This is better.”
She looked down at the glossy sports magazine. Squinted at the photo of the lone figure dressed in a football uniform, kneeling on a dusty field, helmet in hand. Felt the blood drain from her face. It couldn’t be.... There was just no way. Her gaze flew to the headline. The Next King of Football? Is College Quarterback Sensation Alexios Constantinou the Player Who Will Revive Pro Football in New York?
Her head spun; the lights of the busy newsroom blurred around her. The football player in the photo was undoubtedly Alex, the man she’d just spent the night with.
“I thought his name was Leandros,” she croaked.
“Goes by his middle name,” James dismissed. “Something about his father disowning him.”
Oh my God. Alex was Alexios. Alexios Constantinou. Who’d supposedly been long gone by the time she’d gotten to Sophoros’s London offices, according to his receptionist. Her mind flashed back to the blonde’s expression when she’d asked how long Leandro had been gone. The challenging look on the receptionist’s face. She’d been right. She’d had Leandros Constantinou, Alex, under her fingertips the entire time. Had been stuck in an elevator with him for hours...and what had she done? She’d slept with him.
OMG.
“Izzie?”
Her boss was staring at her. She shook her head, trying desperately to contain her horror. “Why does it matter that he was a football player? This is about Frank Messer’s offer to tell all.”
James settled himself more comfortably on her desk. “Alexios Constantinou was one of the best quarterbacks to ever come out of the college system. Charismatic, smart, he was a born leader...a real golden boy. Led his team to a national championship and was drafted first overall by the New York Crusaders. He was touted as the player who would put football back on the map in the Big Apple. The problem is—” her boss grimaced “—we can’t leave a player like that alone in this city. We have to pile the pressure on him until he cracks and we have a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
Her gaze slid to the photo, her brain still trying to catch up. Alex had been a star football player?
“So what happened?” she asked warily.
“The press was all over him like he was the second coming. Expected him to turn the team around way too fast.” His mouth twisted. “He almost did it, too, in his third year. Then he blew his rotator cuff in a qualifying game for the playoffs and ended his career for good. Twenty-four years old and his career was over. One of the true tragic stories in professional sports.”
Her stomach twisted in a sea of knots. Sometimes in life you’re only given one shot, Alex had said in the elevator. Use it wisely.
She cleared her throat. “Okay, so all very dramatic, but isn’t it ancient history now? And what does this have to do with Frank Messer?”
An intense, self-satisfied smile curved her boss’s lips. “The night Alex Constantinou was injured, he disappeared, never did another interview. Then he resurfaces a few years later with this red-hot software company he’s created with his college buddy and they launch this title, Behemoth, that sets the gaming world on fire. The man’s probably made a hundred times more money on it than he would ever have made in football, but he still never talks to media. Ever.” His gaze locked on hers. “I want that story. His story.”
Her brain whirled, tried to keep up. “So you want to land the exclusive story on Alexios Constantinou and use Frank Messer as leverage.”
“Exactly. And you’ll be the one to convince him. Everyone knows Constantinou has an eye for the ladies.”
Izzie almost choked on that. Dear Lord. She waved her hand at him. “If he hates the press that much, James, he isn’t going to do it. He’ll say to hell with public opinion and let the courts decide.”
Her boss shrugged. “I think we can convince him it’s better to tell his side of the story than let Messer do it for him.”
“If the lawyers let him....”
He lifted a brow. “CEOs are mavericks. Especially this guy. He’ll do what he wants. You just need to convince him.”
Right. Her stomach lurched. What would Alex think of her when he realized what she did for a living? It wasn’t as if she’d deliberately tried to mislead him about her profession. After a few nasty encounters with people who weren’t fans of the media, including a guy who’d verbally assaulted her in a bar, she didn’t advertise what she did upon first meeting. It just made life easier to say she was in communications.
Until now.
Every muscle in her body screamed out that she couldn’t do this. But how was she supposed to tell her boss that? And why.
James looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
Her brain spit out a desperate solution. She’d find a way to discredit Messer so the story never became an issue. So they had nothing to strong-arm Alex with. Her boss could find her another juicy assignment that didn’t involve the man she’d just devoured last night and everyone would be happy.
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I’ll call Messer in the morning and schedule a background interview.”
He nodded. “And find Constantinou. He’s back in the country. I don’t care if you have to camp out in front of his office building.”
She was so never doing that. James slid off her desk and did his usual pre-news-hour circuit of the r
oom. Izzie shoved her phone in her purse and stared at the lucky silver charm dangling from the strap. How could this have happened to her? Of all the men she could have chosen to have a one-night stand with, it had to have been Alexios Constantinou?
Inconceivable. She stood up, deciding she’d do a better job figuring this out in the bathtub. A commotion near the entrance to the newsroom made her look up. A petite brunette stood court in the middle of a group of reporters, her megawatt smile on full display. Her mother. Good Lord. She was back in town.
Dayla St. James chatted for a few minutes with the crowd, reveling in the attention they heaped on her, then blew them a kiss and made her way over to Izzie’s desk with that same shoulders-back, confident strut she’d been using her entire life. Izzie blew out a long breath and steeled herself for the hurricane that was her mother.
“I’m back,” Dayla announced unnecessarily, arriving in a flurry of floral perfume to press a kiss to both of Izzie’s cheeks. Her mother’s violet eyes took her in, the heart-shaped face that had sent a billion men’s hearts fluttering still so absolutely perfect at fifty-one she made Izzie feel like an awkward, overblown offshoot. “I’ve come to whisk you off for a drink.”
Izzie sat down on the edge of her desk. She needed to process, not go for a drink. This was what little white lies were for. “I have plans with the girls.”
Her mother frowned. “Surely you can have a quick drink with me first? I’m going to get all tangled up in this play tomorrow and I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
She groaned inwardly. “How long is your engagement?”
“Three months,” her mother said with satisfaction. “Perfect timing for me to help you with your anchor run.”
Izzie stared at her. “How could you possibly know about that already? I just found out.”
“The network is one big gossip machine, Iz. You know that.”
She hadn’t thought it worked that fast. She sighed. “Look, Mother, we both know what happened last time you tried to give me advice. I need to do this on my own.”
Changing Constantinou's Game Page 7