He located his shoes and jammed his feet into them without care for the supple Italian leather. Izzie was up for a big promotion at NYC-TV. It explained why she’d been so desperate to land this story on Sophoros. And made the heavy weight sitting in his chest sink even deeper. What if his paranoia about the media had led him to a completely wrong judgment of Izzie? What if she was the woman he’d thought he’d met that night in London? And if she was, what did that mean?
His mind buzzing, he recalled the look of complete incomprehension on Curry’s face that night at the Met when he’d accused him of setting him up. Izzie’s frantic attempts to hide the fact that they’d slept together. Curry hadn’t known.
He picked up his watch and strapped it around his wrist. Had that night in London been so intense, so real for him that he’d been willing to believe the worst about Izzie to avoid making the same mistake twice? A search for any reason not to fall for another woman as hard as he had Jess?
He glanced at the clock and gave his head a shake. He had a black-tie party for a hundred people to get through on a night when he’d rather do anything but. But his bigger problem by far was Isabel Peters. And what the hell he was going to do with her.
* * *
If there was anything she should be good at, it was the fine art of negotiating a cocktail party. Izzie plucked a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and perched herself against a tree in the lantern-lit gardens of Alex’s Malibu hideaway. Years of reluctantly attending her mother’s premieres and engagements, not to mention the local events the station sponsored, should make this all second nature to her. Instead she tended to feel like a fish out of water, always the gauche, awkward daughter of Dayla St. James who did not thrive in the spotlight.
She took a sip of the bubbly, dry vintage, taking in Agape’s party planning genius. Alex’s sister had done an amazing job transforming the pool and garden area into a lush, exotic oasis—as if you’d entered the Garden of Eden on a particularly electric, sensual night. Flaming torches glowed around the outskirts of the gardens, and floral-shaped candles floated on the pool, casting a muted glow across its surface. And the breezy, lazy music coming from the hip-looking DJ in the corner was typical laid-back California cool.
She frowned. She might actually have enjoyed a party for a change if she weren’t wound so tight she felt as though she was going to snap in half. Her confrontation with Alex yesterday had left her shaken—utterly unsure what to do. She had the true story about what had happened on the last night of his career. At least most of it. Had an explosive angle that would ensure a headline story. But she wasn’t sure she could do it. Wasn’t sure she could blow Alex’s life apart like that.
Letting out a long breath, she leaned back against the pillar and scanned the crowd for him. Long, lean and outrageously handsome in a perfectly tailored tux, he was chatting with a group of people in the center of the buzzing, affluent crowd that, according to Agape, consisted of everything from film directors to financiers to every type of entertainment industry professional in between.
She studied the tension written across his strongly carved features. Brooding, tunnel-visioned since their confrontation yesterday, he’d avoided her completely. And she wondered why she just couldn’t stay immune to him. Why her pulse, even now, raced in a zigzag of confusion.
What was it about a brooding, fabulously good-looking man that made you want him to turn all that intensity on you? Even if you knew it was a bad, bad idea?
He turned his head, their gazes meeting and holding. Her breath caught in her throat as an emotion other than anger flickered in his eyes. Desire? Confusion? She’d been expecting hatred. Antagonism. Not this.
Her mouth went dry as he worked his way down over the sexy spaghetti-strap dress she’d bought in Malibu today to fit the occasion. To catch his attention if she was honest. And why do that? Why play with fire now, when she was so close to escape?
She swallowed hard. It was irresistible.
He moved the heated intensity of his gaze back up to her face. Electricity arced between them, along with thoughts of a career-ending variety. How much damage would one more night do if no one ever knew? And how could she even be thinking that, now of all times?
And then it came to her. What she should have known from the beginning...she had never been nor would she ever be objective when it came to Alex Constantinou. She could not turn his personal tragedy into the most-watched interview of the year. Whatever had made him play that night, take those drugs, it didn’t belong in her story. It didn’t belong in anyone’s story.
Someone grabbed a hold of Alex’s arm and commanded his attention. She exhaled a long, shaky breath. And suddenly knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to bury the information. Tell James he was going to have to go with a different angle. And in doing so throw away her best chance at landing this anchor job. At making her career.
Her trembling fingers bit into her glass to keep it from falling to the ground. A cold knot formed in her stomach. She was risking her job. Her vow to tell the truth no matter what. For a man who thought she was a cold-hearted opportunist. Nice one, Izzie.
She made it through the next couple of hours in a muted haze as the party wound down and the crowd began thinning out. Agape was witty and charming and they hit it off. Debated the merits of some of the eligible men in the crowd. She was at her side when the last few guests made their way toward the driveway and Agape declared herself done.
“Walk me out?” she said to Izzie. “We’ll have to do drinks when we’re back in New York.”
She said goodbye to Agape. Found herself standing beside Alex as he waved her off and finished chatting with the last remaining guest, the CEO of an offshore drilling company that operated off the coast of California. The sideways look he gave her as the taillights of Agape’s bright red convertible zigzagged down the driveway had her stepping backward.
The weight of his hand came down on her shoulder. “Don’t even think about it,” he muttered under his breath. She stood there while he shook the CEO’s hand, her heartbeat accelerating in a painful mixture of fear and anticipation. The tall Southerner clapped Alex on the back, folded himself into his sports car and drove off.
She cleared her throat. “Alex, I’m really tired. Maybe we can—”
He squared to face her. “If you don’t think we’re settling this tonight, you are seriously deluded, Izzie.”
Her breath caught in her throat. The heat of his palm burned into the bare skin of her shoulder as he marched her toward the house.
“Stay put,” he instructed, when they reached the legions of catering staff packing up in the pool area. He disappeared, then came back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Her heart beat like a snare drum as he propelled her toward the back of the house.
“Where are we going?”
He gave her a sideways look. “I thought you’d prefer doing this in private rather than broadcasting it to every gossip magazine in L.A.”
Good point. She picked up her pace to keep up as he turned the corner of the house and headed for the terrace off his master suite. The sheer drop to the Pacific was gobsmackingly gorgeous. Her stomach felt as though it was going down along with it.
Alex deposited the bottle and glasses on the table and stripped off his jacket. The lump in her stomach increased to the size of a grapefruit. He shot her a sideways look. “Why don’t you open the champagne?”
His quietly spoken words struck her as glaringly symbolic. She went completely still, studying the expression on his face. Searching for the softening she’d seen earlier.
“I know you didn’t set me up, Izzie.”
Her eyes widened. “How?”
“I talked to Laura Reed this morning and she gave me an earful. Said James was the type who plays by the rules. That setting me up wasn’t something he would do.”
“But you didn’t believe that before,” she said slowly. “Why now?”
He shrugged and loose
ned his tie. “I’m a little—a lot,” he corrected, “paranoid about the media. They’ve made my life hell with their lies and speculation. And sometimes I get a little crazy about it.” He pulled off the tie and slung it over a chair. “After I talked to Laura, I remembered how desperately you tried to get James to leave that night at the Met, and I realized he had no idea about us. Then my rational brain finally kicked in. It isn’t you, Izzie.”
She caught her lip between her teeth. “You really believe me?”
“Yes.”
Bewildered, she let it sink in. Felt a warm feeling spread through her, relief mixed with something else. It had killed her to think he believed her capable of that after what they’d shared. She swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to his. “I’m giving up the story.”
His brows pulled together. “Why?”
“I’m not objective about you, Alex, I never have been.”
His mouth twisted. “You’ve been doing a pretty good job of giving Frank Messer a fair shake.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I— I’m burying the information about the illegal drugs. You don’t need to worry about it.”
He stared at her. “Why?”
Because I fell for you so hard that night in London I can’t see straight. She lifted her chin and said instead, “Because I can’t do that to you.”
“You’re up for a promotion. You need this story.”
She shrugged. “Some things in life are more important than a story.”
“Your boss would disagree.”
Her stomach twisted. “He would disagree with just about everything I’ve done thus far. I think I have a bit of soul-searching to do.”
He undid his cuff and rolled it back. “An anchor job is going to be a hell of a lot of pressure, Izzie. Cutthroat competition.”
“You did it, being a quarterback.”
“I thrive on pressure. It’s in my DNA. I don’t think you’re built like that.”
No, she wasn’t. What she loved was working in the community every day, telling people’s stories. But an anchor job was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And a lot could be done to better the community from that position as well. Maybe more.
She absorbed the roar of the Pacific beneath them. Suddenly everything seemed very, very out of control.
She reached for the champagne, pulled the foil off and worked the cork out with shaking fingers. Amber liquid sloshed over the side of the glass as she poured.
“Izzie.” Alex moved behind her and pried the bottle from her fingers. “What’s going on?”
Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the sexy, spicy smell of him, the undertone of musky male that was all Alex. And knew she hadn’t truly thought of anything but being back in his arms for weeks.
He turned her around. Watched her with that all-seeing gaze of his until she shook her head and gave him an uncertain smile. “Do you know what’s funny? I promised myself I would never, ever let a man get in the way of my career. And now not only am I doing that,” she said, her voice holding more than a trace of irony, “but I’m doing it at the most important moment of my career.”
He reached up and ran his thumb across her cheek. “Don’t you know control is a myth? None of us are in control of anything, Iz. Not over that elevator we were in and not over this thing between you and me.”
His words hit her with soul-destroying precision. Knocked down every last barrier she had. Because he was right. And believing any less made a mockery of the promise she’d made to herself that night in London.
She tipped her head back to look up at him, the fog in her brain clearing. “We still have the issue that I’m a reporter and you hate them.”
“I’m willing to suspend judgment on that.” He dragged his thumb down over the soft skin of her throat to the throbbing pulse at the base of her neck. “Because this particular reporter,” he said softly, “I like very much.”
“Alex—” She pressed a hand against his chest. “That night in London the rules were clear-cut. We said it was one night and I— I could handle that. But this—” she shook her head “—I’m pretty sure I’m out of my league right about now...”
He reached up and laced his fingers through the hand she had pressed against his chest. “I’m pretty sure I am too.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
He released her hand and drew her to him. She pulled in a shaky breath as he cupped her face in his palm. “I told myself I shouldn’t touch you that night in London because I knew with you it was going to be different. That I wasn’t going to be able to walk away afterward like I always do.”
“But you did.”
He nodded. “That morning when I left, I was running, Iz. I thought if I ran fast enough I could ignore what I was feeling. But it didn’t work. I almost picked up the phone a dozen times before I saw you that night at the Met.”
She tried to keep her wits about her as he slid a hand into her hair and tipped her head back. “How about we start over?” he suggested softly, this stripped-down, open version of Alex doing crazy things to her common sense. “A blank slate. No expiration dates. No rules. And see where it goes.”
It was...crazily, frantically tempting. “But you don’t do ‘let’s see where this goes.’”
“I don’t have a choice with you,” he admitted huskily, lowering his head until his mouth brushed against hers. “I think that’s pretty clear.”
For the second time in little more than two weeks Izzie Peters went with her gut and made a massive decision with major repercussions. But this time she was hoping it was going to last more than one night.
She lifted up on tiptoes, swayed into him and let him take her mouth in a hot, sensuous kiss that pulled her into a deep, dark vortex she never wanted to emerge from. She reached up and cupped his jaw with her fingertips, her lips clinging to his as he changed angles, tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough.
And when that wasn’t enough, she indulged her need to touch the rock-hard body that had been far too temptingly on display this past week. Sank her fingertips into the hard, thick muscles of his shoulders. Slid them down over his pecs, those washboard abs.
Alex groaned. Dragged her closer. “Izzie,” he said thickly, “let me take you to bed.”
She tipped her head back to look up at him. “Yes,” she agreed, the smoky, seductive tone of her voice sounding completely foreign to her.
Fire burned in his eyes. He picked her up and carried her inside, striding through the sitting room and into the bedroom. “One second,” he murmured, setting her down on the huge king-size bed. He disappeared, then came back with the champagne bottle.
“I really don’t need any of that,” she said, pressing damp palms against her thighs as she knelt on the bed in front of him.
“Who said we were going to drink it?”
Heat raced to her cheeks. Her body trembled like a violin. She was so not prepared for this. She gulped in a breath as he set the bottle on the floor beside the bed and sank his knee down between her thighs. Then moved her fingers to the buttons of his shirt. “Take it off,” he invited, his voice dropping to that of a sensually charged invitation. “And I’ll show you.”
She followed his command, doing only a marginally better job than she had that night in London, but finally it was off, exposing his magnificent abs. Her heart skittered in her chest as he leaned down and took her mouth in a slow, hard kiss, a vision of him as a conquering lord flashing through her head as he arched her neck back and showed no mercy. Except this wasn’t one of her paperback novels...this was full-on reality.
His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, demanding entry at the same time he slid his palms down over the small of her back, over her hips and thighs, then brought them back up, sliding underneath her dress to close over the rounded curve of her bare bottom.
“Theos.” He lifted his gaze to hers, color staining his cheekbones. “I spent the whole night wondering if you were wearing anything under this.”
&
nbsp; “I couldn’t.”
His hands tightened on her hips, lifted her so she was straddling him. She shivered as he settled her against his hard erection, her brain shutting down completely. The need to move against him, to press her sensitized flesh against the hard ridge of him, was undeniable. He felt amazing.
“Izzie,” he said hoarsely, “you need to stop that or this is going to happen way too fast.”
But she was drunk on how he was making her feel, how she was making him feel, and she didn’t want to slow down. She wanted fast, wanted to ride the tidal wave of lust sweeping her forward. Sliding back, she moved her hands to his belt and yanked it open. His swift intake of breath as she undid the button of his pants and slid the zipper down emboldened her. His curse as her fingers brushed against the hard length of him made her smile.
She reached into his boxers and freed him. “Izzie,” he groaned. “You need to be ready for me. I’m too big for you to—”
She put her fingers to his mouth. “Shut up.”
His eyes darkened to that deep cobalt-blue she could drown herself in. He sat back, braced his arms on the bed and watched as she lifted her dress and brought the aroused, hard length of him against her hot, aching flesh. God. She closed her eyes. He was so big. How exactly was she going to accomplish this?
Alex caught her hand in his, brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her palm. Her eyes fluttered open, telegraphed her fear. His lips curved in a tortured smile. “Slowly, sweetheart. Take me slowly and it’ll be fine.”
The fact that Izzie had never been in love before didn’t stop her from thinking she might be falling madly in love with Alex rather than just seeing where this went, such was the soul-destroying tenderness of that gesture. Taking a deep breath, refusing to go there, she reached down and guided him inside her, taking him inch by inch as she’d done before. But in this position, he felt bigger, thicker. And the sensation as she sank down on him was incredible.
She let out a sigh of pleasure. He gave her a strained look. “Good?”
Changing Constantinou's Game Page 11