She felt whatever composure she had left start to crumble. “I turned the job down.”
“You did what?”
“I’m learning to trust myself. I thought about what I really wanted. And funnily enough, I just want to do my job. I want to go out there every day and tell stories about the soup kitchen lady who feeds the neighborhood out of her own pocket every night. Or Joey the mutt who catches purse snatchers...” She turned to Nick. “Can you please stop filming?”
“Not on your life.”
She cursed under her breath. “Where are you going with all this?” she asked Alex. “I know you hate me. You’ll always hate me for putting you through that.”
He slid his fingers under her chin and held her gaze captive. “I’m asking for your forgiveness,” he said softly. “Everything you’ve ever done has been for me, Iz. From giving up that story, to burying the truth, to getting me back on this football field tonight. You are courage personified. But instead of seeing that, I let my trust issues get in the way. And I am sorry. So sorry.”
Her heart melted. Along with her knees. What was he trying to say?
A fierce glint entered his eyes. “I want you back...and this time I’m not letting you go.”
Her stomach dropped out of her. The tears that had been threatening rolled down her cheeks. “Alex—”
He ran his thumbs across her cheeks and wiped the tears away. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re on a football field,” she burst out, unable to hold it together any longer. “And you look so happy. The team’s won and everything’s right with the world. How could I feel anything else when I—”
His mouth tipped up at the corners. He slid his fingers to her jaw and cradled her face in his hands. “Finish the sentence, Iz.”
Her mind went full circle. Back to that night in London when a big risk had led her to him. To thinking that no other man would ever live up to him. Finding out she’d been right. And being sure she’d lost him for good. She knew who she was now. And even though she might not be perfect, even though she might screw up many more times in her life, she really didn’t want to live with regrets.
“All right,” she said, looking up at him. “I was going to say I love you. That I—”
His kiss, fierce and hard, silenced her. He kissed her until her arms wound their way around his neck, and she didn’t care if the entire press corps, the entire world was watching, which they might be later since Nick was still filming.
Alex pulled back. “I’ve told Jess she needs to find someone else to talk to. I should have been more considerate of your feelings given my history with her.”
She bit her lip. “I have to let it go. I know that. I won’t ever be perfect but I know I can do better.”
He shifted his weight to the other foot, the strangest look coming over his face.
“What’s wrong? I promise I’ll do better.”
He dropped to one knee.
“You aren’t actually doing this to me, are you?” she asked faintly.
He grinned. “You’d better believe it, sweetheart. And I’m sweating bullets right now, so stay with me.”
Her heart beat like a jackhammer. Sped even faster when he reached into his jacket and took out a tiny box.
“You have a ring,” she croaked.
His mouth twitched. “Brilliant deduction. Just one of the things I love about you—your incredibly sharp brain. Followed closely by your slight neuroticism, your incurable love of those trashy romance novels, your insatiable need for control and even the way you eat your food, which, by the way, I do think is very odd, but I love it anyway.”
The tears started up again, sliding down her cheeks like runaway bandits.
“But what I love most about you,” he added softly, his gaze holding hers, “is your courage. Because you are the most courageous woman I know, Isabel Peters.”
The stream of tears turned into a flood.
He flipped opened the box to reveal a stunning square-cut pink diamond, surrounded by a row of sparkling white stones. He looked up at her and took her hand. “I know you said that night in London a commitment is the last thing you’re looking for, but I’m really hoping you’re going to make an exception for me.”
She wanted him to put that ring on her finger so badly her whole body shook.
“Marry me,” he rasped. “Marry me so I don’t have to feel as awful as I’ve felt the past few weeks without you.”
Her whole body went numb. She was trying to find her voice when a groan sounded behind her.
“Come on, Izzie, just say yes.”
She turned around to find that the entire Warriors team had assembled beside the reporters, helmets in hand.
“I don’t know,” she managed to tease. “I was thinking of making him suffer.” She turned back to Alex, so ridiculously hot on one knee, she knew this moment would be imprinted on her mind forever. “I guess my dream one-night stand really backfired on me, huh?”
“That depends on how you define ‘backfire.’” The sexy glint in his eyes made her hot all over. “If that means a million more of those before we grow old and tired, I’m okay with it.”
Nick coughed. “Still filming.” Izzie shoved her hand forward. Alex slid the ring on her finger, steadying her shaking hands with his own. The outrageously beautiful ring sparkled like pink fire in the glare of the stadium lights.
It fit perfectly.
The team whooped and hollered their approval. Alex got to his feet and pulled her into his arms for a kiss that was apparently not fit for broadcast because she heard Nick call it a wrap and fade into the background. Izzie sighed and wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck. Because never in a million years would she have thought she’d get her quarterback.
When Alex finally set her away from him with reluctant hands he had a scowl on his face. “The only problem with this grand plan of mine is I can’t kiss you like I want to.”
“Patience,” she murmured. “How many celebratory drinks do you think will do it?”
“One,” he said flatly. “I’m buying them one and we’re done.”
He tucked her into his side as they walked toward the players. Her heart was so full she thought it might burst. “We’ve just left one question unanswered,” she mused.
He lifted a brow. “What?”
“Damion.”
“Damion? Who’s Damion?”
“The hero from my book,” she reminded him. “You asked me if he was good in bed...”
He shot her an amused look. “Now you’re going to tell me? What’s the verdict?”
“You are way, way better.”
His shout of laughter rang out. Pulling to a halt, he lifted her up on tiptoes and captured her mouth in another of those long, sweet kisses that promised forever. “Give me an hour to celebrate with the team,” he said huskily, “and I promise to blow that out of the water.”
* * * * *
Read on for an extract from THE ULTIMATE REVENGE by Victoria Parker.
CHAPTER ONE
THEY SAY YOU can’t plan a hurricane.
Nicandro Carvalho could. He could wreak havoc with a smile. And after ten years of planning and months of whipping up a storm he was finally ready to unleash chaos.
Zeus. I am coming for you and I will annihilate your world. As you destroyed mine.
The Barattza in Zanzibar, this weekend’s ostentatious venue for the quarterly meeting of Q Virtus, was warm, and so muggy his flimsy white shirt clung to his body like a second skin and moisture thrived beneath his mask. Still, he strode ruthlessly through the crush of elite billionaires, intent on his pretty ‘Petit Q’—his backstage pass into Zeus’s lair, in the form of a five-foot-three brunette in a haute couture red gown designed to attract and blend in equal measure.
Look but don’t touch was the cardinal rule.
As if Nicandro had ever followed the rules. ‘Rules are for boring fools,’ as his mother would say, although her voice was now a distant echo from
the past.
Numerous greetings vied for his attention and he offered a succinct nod or a quick ‘good evening’ and volunteered nothing more. Conversations were like fires—they tended to sputter out if he deprived them of enough air.
His purposeful stride didn’t break—hadn’t since he’d been Nicandro Santos, a terrified seventeen-year-old boy who’d boarded a cargo ship in Rio to hide in a filthy container bound for New York. It hadn’t faltered when he’d concocted a new identity to ensure anonymity from his past life, emerging as one Nicandro Carvalho, who’d sold his pride on the streets of Brooklyn and then wrenched it back by working his fingers raw on construction sites to put some semblance of a roof over his head.
Nor had it swayed when he’d bought his first property, then another, over endless harrowing years, to earn enough money to bring his grandfather from Brazil to be by his side.
An unrelenting purpose and a cut-throat determination that had rewarded him with obscene power and wealth—until he’d been graciously accepted into the covert ranks of Q Virtus, where his sole purpose was to infiltrate and take it down from the inside.
So here he was. And this was only the beginning.
A plan over ten years in the making. Rewriting history to make the Santos Empire—his legacy of a life that had been stolen from him, along with his parents—whole once more.
Nic shut down his thoughts as mercilessly as he did everything else. Otherwise the burning ball of rage that festered and ate away at his insides like a living, breathing entity would surely explode and incinerate everything and everyone in its path.
‘Hey, Nic, what’s the hurry?’
Narciso’s voice shattered his ferocious intent and this time he did turn, to see his friend looking dapper in a tailored tuxedo, sans jacket, leaning against the main bar, Scotch glass in hand, the top half of his face shrouded in a gold leaf mask that reminded him of a laurel wreath.
Nic felt the constricting steel band around his chest slacken as a smile played at his mouth. ‘All hail, Emperor Narciso. Dios, where do they come up with these things?’
‘I have no idea, but I’m certainly feeling on top of the world.’
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Of course you are. How is the ball and chain?’
Narciso grinned at the blatant cynicism, his smile reaching the scalloped edge of gold.
Hideous masks. Requisite to afford them some anonymity, but they only served to aggravate Nic to the extreme—just as everything about Q Virtus did.
A gentlemen’s club for the elite. Prestigious. Illustrious. The most sought-after membership in the world. Run by a deceitful, murdering crook.
Ironic, he thought, that grown men, multi-billionaires, would sell their soul to be a member of Q Virtus, virtually handing their business confidences, their reputation, their respect and trust to a common criminal.
Not for much longer. Not after Nic had finished exposing the cold, hard truth and crushed Zeus beneath his almighty foot.
‘She’s as beautiful as ever. Come, take a spin of the wheel with me. I’d like a quiet word.’
Impatience clawed at him with steel-tipped talons, slashing his insides, but Nic resisted the compulsion to decline outright. It had been too long since he’d seen his friend and he wanted a quiet word of his own.
‘Let’s grab a private table,’ Nic said, not wasting a moment, simply ushering Narciso towards the lavish roulette room and a private table at the back.
Within ten minutes they had drinks in hand and the full attention of a male croupier dressed in red footman’s livery. ‘Gentlemen, please take your bets.’
Nic tossed a five-thousand-dollar chip haphazardly at the marked numbers adorning the roulette layout and waited for Narciso to make his choice.
‘Twenty thousand dollars on black seventeen,’ the croupier confirmed impassively.
Nic whistled a huff of air. ‘Feeling reckless without your lady present?’
‘Feeling lucky. That ball and chain does that to me.’
Yep, his partner in crime was still drugged on a potent cocktail of regular sex and emotion. He just hoped the hangover was a long way off. Nic didn’t relish seeing the lights go out in his eyes. Sad, but inevitable.
The wheel spun in a kaleidoscopic blur and he eased back in his seat to afford them a modicum of privacy. With time at a premium and his patience dwindling he jumped right in. If he waited for Narciso to start the conversation he might be there all night.
‘Tell me something. Don’t you think it’s odd that we’ve never seen a glimpse of QV’s Mr Mysterious? Not once.’
Narciso didn’t waste time pretending not to know exactly who they were discussing. He simply arched one dark brow and spoke in that rich, affluent tone that had used to fell women faster than a forest fire. ‘So the man likes his privacy? Don’t we all?’
‘There’s got to be more to it than that.’
‘So suspicious, Carvalho.’
The white ball plopped into black seventeen and a satisfied grunt filled the air. Typical. Served Nic right for not even caring where his chip landed, but right now he had more important thoughts swirling around the vast whirlpool of his mind in ever-narrowing circles. Always leading back to the same thing. Zeus.
‘Maybe he’s not fit for polite society,’ Narciso suggested. ‘Ever thought of that? Rumour has it the man is associated with the Greek mafia. Maybe he’s scarred with a dozen bullet holes. Maybe he’s mute. Maybe he’s shy. Over the last few months—since the last meeting, in fact—the rumour mill has churned up all kinds of ludicrous tales.’
Oh, he’d heard the rumours. Of course he had. He’d started most of them.
‘Doesn’t it bother you that Q Virtus could be dirty?’ he asked, his voice all innocence with the required edge of concern. ‘It obviously bothers some. There are a few members missing this weekend.’
Amazing what a few ‘have you heard?’ whispers in the right ears could achieve. Doubt was a powerful thing—destructive, flammable—and Nic had lit the torch with a flourish, sat back and watched it spread like wildfire.
Narciso shrugged, as if the thought of being a member of a club that was morally corrupt was water sluicing off a duck’s back.
‘The club might’ve had shady beginnings, but even my father and his cronies say the place is clean as a whistle now. You and I personally know several members, and all of them have made billions from mutually beneficial business deals, so I doubt any of it is true. Rumours are generally fairy stories born from petty jealousy or spoken from the mouths of people who have an ulterior motive.’
Very true, that. But the fact that Nic had numerous ulterior motives was something he kept to himself.
‘Still, I want to meet him.’ What he wanted, he realised, was back-up if something went wrong tonight. If he conveniently disappeared he wanted Narciso to know where he was headed.
‘Why? What could you possibly want with Zeus?’
To bring his world crumbling down around his ears. To make him suffer as his parents had—as he had and as his grandfather had.
That old man, whom he loved so dearly, was the only family he had left. The man who’d harangued and railed at him to stand tall, who had propped him up as he’d learned how to walk again when Nic would rather have died in the same bloodbath as his parents.
‘Is there something you want to tell me, Nic?’
Yes. The shock of it made him recoil, push back in his seat until he could feel the knotted gold silk poke through his shirt and agitate his skin. Problem being he didn’t want Narciso dragged into the epicentre of a storm of which he was the creator.
‘Not particularly.’
Mouth pursed, his friend nodded grudgingly. ‘And how do you intend to meet the mysterious, reclusive, notorious Zeus?’
Nic tossed back another mouthful of vodka as his gaze flickered to the Petit Q he’d been wooing since he’d arrived the night before. There she was, standing near the doors, unobtrusive as always, yet only a hand-mot
ion away. All it had taken was one look into her heavy-lashed slumberous gaze and he’d thought, Piece of cake.
One romantic midnight stroll along the beach and he’d had a thumbprint lifted from her champagne flute. One lingering caress of his hand round her waist and he’d slipped the high-security access card from the folds of her red sheath. What remained was one promise of seduction in her suite that he’d fail to keep and would ensure she was gone from his side.
Narciso followed his line of sight and huffed out a breath. ‘Should’ve known a woman would be involved. I like your style, Carvalho, even if I do think that vodka you drink has pickled your brain.’
Nic laughed, riding high on the narcotic mix of anticipation and exhilaration lacing his veins. That was until he looked into his friend’s eyes and the mirth died in his throat.
What would Narciso and their buddy Ryzard think of him when Nic whipped the Q Virtus rug from beneath their feet? When he lost them the chance of schmoozing with the world’s most powerful men, creating contacts and thriving on the deals that cultivated their already vast wealth. They would understand, wouldn’t they? Narciso was the closest thing to a best friend he’d ever had and Ryzard was a good man. Surely he was doing them a favour of sorts—he knew what Zeus was capable of; they hadn’t a clue.
‘Speaking of rumours,’ Narciso murmured, in a tone that made Nic’s guts twist into an apprehensive knot. ‘I hear Goldsmith made you an offer.’
He practically choked on his vodka. ‘How do you know that?’
Narciso looked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. ‘Do you honestly think Goldsmith could keep the possibility of the mighty Nicandro Carvalho, an unequalled dominant force in real estate, becoming his son-in-law a secret for one second? He told my father. Who told me. And I told him that Goldsmith is delusional.’
Nic checked an impatient sigh. This was the last thing he wanted to discuss. Except his silence pulled the air taut, pinching Narciso’s brow and turning his smart mouth into a scowl.
‘Do not tell me you are seriously considering marrying Eloisa Goldsmith.’
No. Maybe. ‘I am considering it, yes.’
Changing Constantinou's Game Page 17