Changing Constantinou's Game Read online

  She jumped as the doors slammed shut. “I have a job interview tomorrow...I can’t miss my flight.”

  “So you thought that getting there in multiple pieces was a better idea?” He shook his head and looked at her as though she was a crazy person.

  “Slight fear of elevators...remember?” She wrapped her fingers around the smooth metal bar that surrounded the elevator and held on for dear life.

  He lifted a brow. “Slight fear?”

  She nodded, leaning back against the bar in as casual a pose as she could manage with her shaking knees threatening to topple her. “Don’t mind me. I’m good.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but transferred his attention to the television screen running a ticker recap of the day’s news. A couple of minutes tops, she told herself. Then she’d be back on solid ground and on her way to the airport.

  The elevator moved smoothly downward, whizzing through the floors. She started to think she was a little crazy. This wasn’t so bad... She took a couple of deep, steadying breaths and relaxed her fingers around the bar. She could do this, she repeated like a mantra in her head, glancing up at the numbers as they lit up. Just thirty-four more floors...

  A couple of businessmen immersed in a politically incorrect joke joined them on the thirty-third floor, their deep voices booming in the echoing confines of the elevator. By the time they got off on the thirty-second floor, Izzie was smiling. Perhaps not socially acceptable, but the joke was funny.

  The elevator picked up speed again. And more speed. She whipped her gaze up to the LCD panel. Thirty-one, thirty, twenty-nine... Was it her imagination, or were the floors whizzing by faster than before? Her heartbeat accelerated. She must be imagining it because elevators didn’t change speed, did they? The numbers whizzed by faster. She flicked an alarmed look at the hunk. He was staring at the numbers too. Twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six...they were definitely accelerating.

  “Wh-what’s happening?” she croaked, clutching the bar behind her.

  He swung around, his mouth set in a grim line. “I don’t—”

  The rest of his words were ripped from his mouth as the elevator slammed to a sudden, screeching halt. She shrieked as the force of the impact tore her hands from the bar and sent her careering forward. The stranger lunged for her, but the bouncing elevator threw him off balance and he slammed into her. The floor came up to meet them, the heavy weight of his body crashing down on hers. The sound of her head hitting the tile reverberated in her ears. Then everything went silent.

  * * *

  Alex lay on top of the girl, fighting to pull air into his lungs. The car swayed and creaked — seemed to be making up its mind whether to stay put or not. He froze, not daring to move, until several seconds had passed and the elevator remained where it was. An eerie silence consumed the space. The emergency brakes must have deployed. Thank. God.

  The sound of frantic, staccato breathing filled his ear. His face was buried in a sea of thick, silky hair, the weight of his body crushing the woman’s smaller, slighter frame. He cursed inwardly, wondering how badly he’d hurt her. In trying to catch her, he’d taken her out hard—like an outside linebacker on a mission.

  He pressed his hands against the tile and levered himself gingerly off her. She was lying facedown on the floor, motionless except for her frantic breathing. He curved a hand around her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t respond, her breath coming in gasping mouthfuls. He slid an arm underneath her and gently turned her over. Her glassy eyes and paper-white face made his heart pound. Christós. The nasty purple bump beginning to form on the left side of her forehead made it accelerate even faster.

  He trained his gaze on hers until she focused on him. “Are you okay?”

  Her lips parted. “The—the elevator... Are w-we stopped?”

  He let out a long breath. “Yes. The emergency brakes kicked in.”

  Relief filled her glazed eyes. But it didn’t last long. Her gaze darted, bouncing like a tennis ball off the metal walls, her quick, gasping breaths increasing in speed as her fingers dug into the tile floor and she tried to push herself into a sitting position. “I— I can’t—I don’t—”

  He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back to the floor. “You need to calm down or we’re going to be in even more trouble here,” he ordered. “Deep breaths, in and out.”

  She stared at him, chest heaving, eyes huge.

  “Now.” He slid his fingers under her chin and held her immobile. “Breathe. In and out.”

  She pulled in a breath. Then another. They were quick, shallow pulls of air, but more than before and gradually, her breathing slowed. “Good,” he nodded approvingly. “Keep it up.”

  He kept her breathing in and out until the panic receded from her eyes and her face regained some color.

  “Better?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, thank you.” She pulled in another deep breath, blinked and looked around. “I can’t see...my glasses,” she murmured. “I must have lost them in the fall.”

  He stood and searched for them. Found them in the corner of the elevator, miraculously intact. He carried them back to her, knelt down and slid them on her face. “You hit your head. Are you dizzy at all?”

  She sat up slowly. Twisted her head to the left and right. “Not unless I think about the fact that I’m in here.”

  “Then don’t.” He stood up and moved toward the control panel. Pulled the phone from behind a metal door and barked a greeting. The line crackled and a young male voice responded. “Everybody okay in there?”

  “Yes,” Alex said grimly. “Are we stable?”

  “Yes, sir. We had an issue with the generator, but the emergency brakes deployed.”

  His heartbeat slowed, his grip on the receiver relaxing. “How long until you get us out?”

  “We’re working on getting a crew over there as soon as we can. But by the time we do that and assess how we’re going to get you out of there, it may be a few hours.”

  He flicked a glance at the white-faced woman on the floor. “By that you mean...?”

  “The car you’re in is stuck between floors. In that situation, we either try to move the car manually from the control room and pry the doors open or we take you out the top. Obviously we’d prefer to do the former, but with the generator out that may not be possible.”

  He moved his gaze over the bump on the woman’s face, the fact that he was going to miss his flight a far lower priority than her potential injuries. “The sooner the better.... The other passenger in here with me—she hit her head when we stopped.”

  “We’ll go as fast as we can,” the technician promised. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Hurry up,” Alex muttered roughly and hung up. Telling the guy he owned half the building wasn’t going to make it happen any faster.

  The woman watched him with those big brown eyes of hers, her tense expression only this side of full-on panic.

  “When are they going to get us out of here?”

  He walked back over to her and sank down on his haunches. “They have to get a technician here and see what’s happening. It may take a while.”

  Her gaze sharpened on his face. “Don’t they just pry the doors open?”

  He hesitated, wondering whether or not to tell her the truth. “We’re stuck between floors,” he said finally. “A generator’s out, which means they can’t move us.”

  Her eyes widened, her hands flailing as she sat up and stared at him. “What?”

  “Calm down,” he ordered. “They’ll find a way, but panicking isn’t going to help.”

  Her throat convulsed. “How long did they say?”

  “A few hours.”

  “I can’t be in here that long.” She fixed her gaze on his. “I really, really don’t do elevators.”

  He took her hands in his. They were clammy and she was shaking like a leaf. “Look—” he said, arching a brow at her. “What’s your name?”

  “Izzie.
”

  “Izzie?”

  “Short for Isabel,” she elaborated, distractedly. “But most people call me Izzie.”

  “Isabel,” he elected to use instead, his tone firm but reassuring, “I promise you everything’s going to be fine. These guys handle situations like this all the time. They’re going to get a crew over here, figure out how to get us out and in a few hours you’ll be laughing this off.”

  She looked at him as though he had two heads.

  “Okay,” he conceded. “But you know what I mean. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her teeth worrying her lip. “You’re sure? We aren’t going to drop again?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She lifted her chin. “All right. I can do this.”

  “Good girl.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Since you’re the only thing keeping me sane, you could tell me your name.”

  “Alex.” He let go of her hands and pushed to his feet. Located her discarded bag and picked it up. “Anything in here we can use to get the swelling down on your head?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Can I look?”

  She nodded.

  He sat down beside her and riffled through it. The bag was a modern marvel of how much a woman could shove into a few cubic inches of leather. Chocolate, water, books, a brush, a full bottle of aspirin...

  “Is there anything you don’t have in here?” he questioned drily. “I’ll never understand why you women feel you have to carry half your lives around with you. There is a drugstore on every corner, you know....”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

  He pulled out a lint brush. “Really? You need to carry a lint brush with you?”

  A pink stain filled her cheeks. “Have you ever sat on a cat-infested sofa in a black wool skirt?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” he drawled. “You’ve got me on that one.” He pulled out a can of still-cold soda. “How about this? It could work.”

  “Wait,” she gasped, sitting up. “My flight takes off in a few hours.”

  “So does mine,” he returned grimly. “I think we can safely assume we’re not making it.”

  “But I have to...” she burst out. “I have that interview in Manhattan tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re going to have to reschedule your flight,” he told her, handing her the can of soda. “And hope you can get another tonight.”

  She sliced a panicked look at her watch. He glanced at his. Two forty-five. There wasn’t a hope in hell he was making his flight to New York. Which was a problem; with Frank Messer trying to rip his company apart, he was putting out fires left, right and center, and the Sophoros jet was under maintenance at Heathrow, necessitating a commercial flight.

  “Ouch.” She winced as she held the can to the now robin’s egg-sized lump on her forehead. He leaned over, tipped her chin up with his fingers and inspected the bump. “You’re going to be black and blue for a while, but hopefully that’s all it’ll be.”

  She stared at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression that should have warned him off, but didn’t. He was far too busy noticing how the lashes on her almond-shaped, exotic eyes were a mile long and how those full lips of hers could take him to the moon and back should she choose to apply them correctly...

  And what the hell was he thinking? He let go of her chin and shifted away from her. She was attracted to him. She’d made that clear upstairs in the lobby. And of course he’d noticed her. It had been hard not to. Disheveled, distracted, she’d been jabbering into her mobile phone in a husky, breathless voice that had made it easy to envision her in his bed. That and that body... The kind of curves that would look even better without clothes.

  He shook his head and looked in the opposite direction. Not the kind of thinking that boded well for hours in close proximity.

  “Alex?”

  She was holding out a bottle of water, her cheeks even pinker than before. “Want one?”

  He took it, if only to cool down his overheated libido. A paperback spilled out of her bag, a half-dressed woman in the arms of a bare-chested male emblazoned on the cover.

  He picked it up. “Do you actually read this stuff?” he demanded incredulously.

  “I do,” she said stiffly. “Can I please have it back?”

  He ignored her outstretched hand. Turned the book over. “Looks smutty...is that why you women like it?”

  “I suppose you have Othello in your bag,” she came back tartly, reaching for it.

  He pulled it away. “Actually, Great Expectations. Want to have a browse?”

  She gave him a long look. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He braced his hands on the floor to roll to his feet. She waved him off. “Okay, I believe you. You’ve had your laugh...can I have my book back, please?”

  He gave her a considering look. “It is smutty, isn’t it?”

  She glared at him. Watched as he flipped pages, stopped to read one, then moved on. He halted at a particularly juicy section. “Oh this is good.” He quoted out loud, deepening his voice to add an over-the-top commentary. “He ran his finger over her erect nipple, making her groan in response...Ellie—” he flicked a glance at her, “who calls their characters Ellie, by the way? Anyway,” he looked back at the book, “Ellie arched her back and—”

  “Alex,” she pleaded, dropping the can and lunging for the book. “Give it to me.”

  He held it away from her. “I just want to know. What’s the appeal? That a guy’s going to charge in on a white steed and carry you off, and you’ll live happily ever after?”

  “I don’t need a man to rescue me,” she muttered, sitting back and wrapping her arms around herself. “I can do my own rescuing.”

  “That,” he stated drily, “is up for debate.” He handed the book back to her.

  She shoved it in her bag with a decisive movement. He decided to be a humanitarian and move on. “So what are you doing in London? Work or play?”

  “I’m doing a favor for my boss.” She grimaced and pressed the can tighter to her head. “It was supposed to be a quick in and out on my way home from Italy.”

  “Just your luck,” he grinned. “You picked the one faulty elevator in London.”

  “Please don’t remind me.”

  “What line of work are you in?”

  She took a sip of her water. “Communications... You?”

  “I own an entertainment company, based in New York.” He leaned back against the wall, keeping up the small talk he abhorred as it seemed to be putting a bit of color back into her cheeks. “Was Italy work too?”

  She shook her head. “I was doing a cooking course with my girlfriends in Tuscany. We rented a villa on the coast, chilled out and learned how to make a mean bruschetta.”

  “That will make your man very happy.”

  “I didn’t do it for a man, I did it for myself.”

  He noted the defensive edge to her voice. “No man in your life, then?”

  She set her jaw. “No.”

  He wondered why he liked that idea. “How many of you were in Italy?”

  “Eight of us, including me.”

  He smiled. “The Italian men must not have known what hit them.”

  She shot him a sideways look. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I can only imagine the impression eight of you made on the locals...Tuscany will never be the same, I’m sure.”

  Her mouth curved. “My friend Jo was a big hit with the Italian men. She’s a bit of a one-woman wrecking crew.”

  He gave her a considering look. “I’m sure she wasn’t the only one.”

  She blinked. Looked away. Shy, he registered in astonishment. Were there actually any of those women left in Manhattan? It had been so long since he’d met one he’d thought they were extinct.

  A loud creak split the air. He dropped the water, his heart slamming into his chest
as he braced his hands on the floor. Isabel launched herself at him, wrapping her limbs around him. He held her close as the elevator swayed and groaned beneath them, his breath coming hard and fast.

  What the hell?

  CHAPTER TWO

  “WHAT WAS THAT?”

  Isabel screeched the words in his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck in a chokehold. The car rocked beneath them, but this time more gently, without the bloodcurdling creak. He sucked in a breath. “It’s just shifting,” he told her, hoping that’s all it was. “You’re okay.”

  Her chest rose and fell rapidly against him. Seconds ticked by. The swaying slowed and then stopped. “Isabel, we’re fine,” he murmured, his heartbeat regulating as he brought his head down to hers. “I promise you, those cables don’t break.”

  She drew in a deep breath, then another, stayed pressed against him. As his cortisol levels came down, his awareness of her skyrocketed. Her fingers were dug into his thigh, her light floral scent filling his nostrils. Her thoroughly touchable curves were plastered against him. And God help him, it was making him think improper thoughts. Like how much he’d appreciate those slender fingers wrapped around another part of his anatomy...

  She drew back, her face chalk-white. Exhaled a long, agitated breath. Realized where her hand was. He struggled to wipe his expression clean as she lifted her horrified gaze to his, but he was pretty sure from the way her eyes widened and the speed with which she snatched her hand away, she’d known exactly where his head was at.

  “I am so sorry,” she murmured. But she was still in his lap, clutching his shoulder for dear life, and he was in severe danger of getting extremely turned on. Worse when she caught her plump bottom lip in her teeth and hell, he wished she wouldn’t do that. He wanted to kiss her, and not the “Sunday walk in the park” variety.

  Her pupils dilated, but she didn’t go anywhere. He cleared his throat. “If this was your book,” he drawled mockingly, “this’d be the part where I ravish you in the elevator, no?”

  She was off his lap in a flash. She sat back against the wall, her shoulders pressed against the paneling. “Yes, well, that’s why they have security cameras in elevators, don’t they?” she pronounced stiffly. “To prevent that sort of behavior.”