He moved forward, brushed the pulsing, aching length of him against her. She dug her fingers into his forearms. “Please, I need—”
“Look at me.”
She opened her eyes, her gaze locking onto his. He reached down and took her hips in his hands, filling her with a thrust that made her gasp and clamp her eyes shut. He paused while her tight body adjusted to him. And when she relaxed, pleaded for more in a desperate, husky voice that made him crazy, he began to move in deep, cathartic strokes that drove everything from his mind but how right it always was with this woman. How easily she made him forget everything but being with her.
The sound of their lovemaking filled the air—the slick push and pull of him sliding into her, the soft little moans she made at the back of her throat when she took him deep, the sound of his raspy breath rapidly losing control...
But still he held back, afraid to unleash that last part of him that took him into the darkness. Afraid of what might happen if he totally lost control.
“Alex,” Izzie murmured, watching him. Reading him. “It’s okay...please—I want you so much.”
His low curse rang out on the night air as he drove into her harder, faster, rougher than he’d ever taken a woman, a primitive part of him reveling in the pain of her fingernails as they dug into the hard flesh of his shoulders. He felt her body tighten around him, clench at him. He slid his fingers under her hips and took more of her weight, arched her higher against him, taking their lovemaking even deeper until he lost himself somewhere along the way. Izzie cried out and convulsed around him, the intense spasms of her body sending him over the edge along with her.
The red-hot pleasure that flashed through him as he came almost brought him to his knees. He held her there, wrapped around him, until his legs felt steady enough to carry her to bed. Then he turned out the lights and they slept.
For the first time in a week he did not dream. There were no sweat-drenched nightmares of the night everything had ended. Sweet, sweet Izzie wrapped around him was like an angel sent to rescue him from a place he could no longer go.
CHAPTER TWELVE
COULD YOUR LIFE actually be this perfect?
Izzie balanced her latte on her knee while James made mincemeat of the entertainment reporter in their morning editorial meeting. And contemplated the question. She was a front-runner for an anchor job currently being hashed out by the execs, she was starting to deal with her insecurities on a fundamental level and she had the man of her dreams at her side to help her do it.
A tiny smile curved her lips. Perhaps it was possible. Maybe Alex was right. Maybe all you had to do was believe it could be different.
She picked up her pen and started doodling as James droned on. It helped to know why Alex was who he was. The demons that haunted him... She knew where she had to bend. When she had to be strong. It was never going to be easy to be with a man like Alex whom everyone wanted a piece of. But she was getting there.
James lit into another reporter, working his way through the room like a raging bull. Izzie put her head down and focused on her doodles. Even her relationship with her mother was showing signs of life. They’d had dinner and coffee a couple of times without actually wanting to tear each other’s hair out. And somehow, deep down, it felt as if this time her mother was actually trying. That she wanted to be a part of her life.
She sketched a big question mark on her pad. Opening herself up so completely was life affirming, but it was also terrifying. Because she knew realistically, her mother and Alex could walk away tomorrow and there was nothing she could do about it.
It was a risk she had to take.
“Can someone please give me some uplifting news?” James’s sarcastically drawled entreaty brought her head up.
“I’ll have a rough cut of the Constantinou story ready for you this afternoon,” Bart Forsyth piped up. “Right on time.”
“A half a day late,” her boss ripped back. “How’s it going?”
Bart shrugged. “Pretty much ready to go. Messer’s refused to do a follow-up interview now that he knows we’re positioning Isaacs as the guy behind Behemoth. So I’m just polishing it off.” He flicked a glance at Izzie. “Did you forget to give me some of your notes?”
She froze, her heart skipping a beat.
“I can’t find anything on his Boston College days,” Bart continued, frowning. “I thought you said you had that stuff.”
Her breath came out in a long whoosh. “Let me check. Maybe I missed something.”
James wrapped the meeting up. She was halfway out of her chair when he waved her to a halt. “Give me a minute.”
Damn. She hugged her notebook to her chest while the others fled the room. Her heart started to pound. She hadn’t done anything to earn a one-on-one berating, had she? Except bury crucial information.
Her boss hitched his thigh onto the end of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I need you to anchor the news tonight. Gillian’s sick.”
Her stomach dropped. Anchoring on the weekend was one thing. Anchoring the nightly news, home to multimillions of viewers, was entirely another. “Of course,” she made herself respond calmly. “I’d love to.”
“It’s good timing,” he nodded. “The execs are going to make their decision any day. One more chance for you to make an impression.”
She forced a bright smile to her lips. “Absolutely.”
He went off to unleash his fury on the rest of the staff. Izzie ran clammy palms over her skirt and took a deep breath. She could do this. A bigger audience didn’t change anything. And that tricky political panel Gillian hosted every Wednesday night? Maybe they’d have Chris, Gillian’s coanchor, do it.
She went back to her desk, dug the notes out for Bart and handed the folder over. Tried to work. But the words blurred on her computer screen and her brain kept bouncing forward to tonight. Focus. Channel it.
Another ten minutes went by and she hadn’t read a word. She called Alex. He picked up on the third ring, his voice distracted. “What’s up?”
She pushed her pencil against her cheek. “You sound busy.”
“I’m about to go into a meeting. You okay?”
“Yes, I just—” She stopped as she heard voices in the background. Someone call Alex’s name. “It’s no biggie. You go. We’ll talk later.”
“Okay. Look, Iz...” His voice softened. “Jess is having a really rough day and she’s asked me for some advice. I’m going to have a drink with her after work, make sure she’s okay, then I’ll meet you back at the penthouse.”
Jealousy clawed at her insides. Weighted down the phone line. “Fine,” she said slowly, keeping her voice neutral. “I’m going to be late anyway.”
He signed off. She put the phone down and pushed her hands through her hair. Focus on the things you can control, Iz. Like tonight.
* * *
When Izzie stepped onto the set that night, her mind was not in the right place. She was jittery, edgy and not on her game. By the time she hosted the political panel on the mayoral race, she was thoroughly shaken by her performance. So was the producer. He started prepping her with cues in her earpiece, but the panel tore her apart, her distraction too great to keep on top of the verbal zings ripping back and forth. They went to break and the producer tried to talk her through it. But it was as if her brain were frozen with fear. As if she were navigating a dark tunnel and couldn’t find her way out.