Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1)

by Rissa Brahm

  Her foot pulsated in pain while hot embarrassment flared in her cheeks. But more than that, the loss of the serenity she’d had just minutes before Roberto’s appearance, and hell, Celeste’s phone call, was filling her with pure anxiety.

  “Isa, please let me—”

  “I got it, Roberto. Thanks, though.” She closed the robe at her front as she hopped to her room, sank to the floor, and pulled out a tiny tortilla chip-shaped piece of glass. It matched the lower right corner of the slider. Of course.

  She pulled herself up and limped her way to the bathroom, leaving more red spots in her wake.

  *

  Bandages. She hadn’t unpacked those either, but her grandfather had always kept first aid stuff in the powder room. Albeit two or three decades old now, she was sure something was there to do the job. Annoyed by the entire turn of events, even though she should be quite used to happenings like these, she adjusted the long sleeves of her robe down toward her hands and hopped back out to the main room, this time with a towel at the bottom of her foot as not to extend the bloody trail. She moved past Roberto, who stood to help again. Her palm went up. “Really, just sit there…and relax.”

  She threw on the light to the powder room and just narrowly avoided seeing herself in the mirror with the large spider-web crack resonating from its center. “For God’s sake!”

  “What now?”

  She shook her head and blew a sigh of relief. “Just a broken mirror’s all!” she said with intended sarcasm.

  Owning a broken mirror was even worse than having plain cracked glass. But seeing your own splintered reflection! It was almost laughable—seven years’ bad luck on top of her infinite curse? Mother in heaven…

  Yes, in her country, deep-seated superstition and ancient beliefs in the unseen dictated many people’s lives. All of her family’s endless and usually inconvenient Mexican-Mayan rituals were both nostalgically heartwarming and depressing, being that most of their fears were centered around her very existence. Isabel the walking jinx.

  Sighing out her frustration, she rinsed and then bandaged her foot, hung a towel over the mirror from the cockeyed light fixture above, and went back out to Roberto, who kept himself seated on the sofa this time.

  “You really okay? Need stitches?”

  “No, no, I am fine, thanks. And hey, sorry I snapped at you,” she said, limping over to the mop while pretending not to have seen him shudder as he eyed her robe draping down over her breasts. She blushed, then felt her nipples tighten from a new hard breeze coming in off the bay. And the slippery satin fabric wasn’t helping. She quickly moved away from his obvious gaze as if she’d resumed cleaning, and took the opportunity to readjust her robe’s neckline. God, she hated how awkward things were with Roberto now.

  It’d been this way since that blackout drunken night more than a week ago, and his damn infatuation was just too much to take. Waking up naked in his arms had been mortifying enough, but he still wouldn’t let it go. More importantly, despite Roberto’s skeptical take on her situation, she believed the incident to be a potentially fatal mistake. But all the proof and dissuasion in the world had no effect on his stubborn insistence that they were each other’s soulmates.

  “Salt water will do a deep cut good. Come to the beach with me, Isa.”

  “I can’t. I have three back-to-back meetings—shoot, starting in an hour! And it’s at the Five Breezes on the north side of town,” she said, noticing the time on her microwave.

  “Just come to the bedroom with me real quick then, for a foot rub, a body rub, whatever…” He winked. “Or I can take you right here and now. Let me relax you, soothe you.” Then he held out his hand to her, a little wilted wildflower in his fingertips. “I’m still under your spell, Isabel. A flower…for my flower.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and at the dying little weed, although she knew he was just trying to be sweet. Still, it was too much already! Just too damn much. “Enough of that, Roberto!” Then, half-playing to hide her true aversion, she threw a rag at him, which knocked over the spray bottle on the end table. In an attempt to catch the bottle, she bumped into the mop bucket. Again.

  Another round of dirty water spilled all over her newly cleaned floor, except that it didn’t help dilute any of the nearly dried blood droplets. She could only stare while Roberto jumped up to grab paper towels from the kitchen.

  “Damn it,” she grumbled, frustrated with his sexual innuendo, her lack of time, and her unending clumsiness. “Roberto, I love you. You are my oldest and dearest friend. But you’re driving me nuts! For the last time and for your own good, best friends are all we can be. Ever. You know my rule—”

  “And you know what I think of your rule and of your supposed curse.” He made emphatic air quotes and rolled his eyes. His family, French Canadian, didn’t share the deep-rooted beliefs hers did.

  “Here we go again. Okay, so you don’t remember any of the four funerals over the last four years?” A rhetorical question posed in her angriest tone. “Or growing up together and the crazy things that happened to me and to everyone around me? Daily?” She pointed to a scar on his chin from when she’d collided with him head-on in the third grade. “And the things that still happen?” She nodded toward the bucket and then held up her bandaged foot.

  “All chance happenings, Isabel,” he said, moving to inspect her foot as she was now within arms’ reach, but she pulled away.

  “Chance? Right. Chance. Coincidence. Look, we can agree to disagree once and for all, but the annual loss of life, Roberto…there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t…see their faces. And no one has to shoulder that pain and guilt but me,” she said with a hint of quivering emotion in her voice. To buy time for composure, she adjusted the satin sleeves of her robe to be sure they covered her arms fully and crossed them over her now heaving chest.

  “Isa, you don’t have to shoulder it alone. I’m here for you, and I always will be.”

  “If you don’t even believe me, Roberto, how can you really be here for me?” She shook her head. “That’s not even the point, though. Believe it or not, I have a fatal track record, and your life is not something I’m willing to screw with. You shouldn’t even be hanging around as often as you do! Roberto, you’re my only friend, and I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  “Isabel Angelica Ruiz, you won’t lose me. We’ve been friends since we were seven, for Christ’s sake. And I’m still here! I’ll tell you again, it’s all a self-fulfilling prophecy, your bad luck. If you could just change the way you think, not let the damn neighbors and your family get to you—”

  “It’s not what people think or say, it’s what I know… Oh for God’s sake, Roberto, this is like a dog chasing its tail. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I can’t.”

  “No. You’ve got to end this craziness once and for all, Isa. No more running away! Listen to me. Just hear my logic. Take Filipe, for example,” he said as she moved into the kitchen to put the spray bottle and rags away, slamming the cabinet doors as she went. But he continued just the same. “I mean, he was close to the coffin before your father even arranged that whole fiasco.”

  “Filipe died a week before the wedding, Roberto…clutching my damn photo to his chest!”

  “He was a chain-smoking alcoholic, Isa! And pushing sixty.” Roberto held out his hands as if they held proof of the ridiculousness of her theory. “Why do you have to put so much emphasis on your losses by trying to find meaning behind them? Why can’t they just be horrible tragedies that happened and move the hell on? You’re just closing doors, opportunities with this insanity! Stop dwelling and look ahead…look at me, Isa! Look. At. Me.” He paused then, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her glare remained fixed on the blood on her floor, but she sensed his stare. It burned a hole in her forehead.

  *

  Roberto leaned forward, grabbed her cellphone from the coffee table, and a few swipes later, he slammed it down again. Face up.

  Her favorite picture of Sebastia
n—his deep jade eyes illuminated the screen. Her Sebastian, who wouldn’t heed anyone’s warnings. The man who had to have her, and in the end, died to have her. And he still had her. He’d always have her.

  “Sebastian is gone, Isabel! It just wasn’t meant to be. But I’m alive, right here, with you. And we are meant…to be!”

  Had he really gone there? Her heart filled her throat, choking her out because, yes, he definitely had.

  And she saw red. Literally. Her thumbnail had dug a hole in her wrist. She stared at the trickle of blood. She swallowed hard, as if that would put her pounding heart back in her chest where it belonged. But it didn’t. She tried to slow her breath and remain calm as she kept her threatening eyes there on her new wound, just below her other scars that lay covered by the pale yellow robe.

  But if she hadn’t kept her eyes focused there on her self-inflicted gash, her angered look alone might have murdered Roberto right there and then, piercing a torturous tunnel right through him. He had crossed an invisible line, one she thought she’d never have to draw for him, not for her most faithful friend.

  For Roberto to even speak that name. Sebastian. Sebastian belonged to Isabel. Her first love, her deepest love. He was goddamn off-limits!

  *

  “Mmmm, wow. That was, like, the best sleep ever!” The blonde’s morning stretch dragged her hard rose-hued nipples up the slender back of Red-Hot who was still sleeping on top of the tussled mess of sheets.

  Zack felt a sudden throbbing below. His erection felt a slight draft from the room through the slit in his boxers. Blondie eyed him hungrily, his apparent bulge making her giggle and purr. Wide awake now, she pushed herself up by leveraging the inner thigh of Red-Hot and crawled her way down the bed while zeroing in on Zack’s stiff cock.

  “Oh no, sweetheart. No, no, no…it’s time to get up and out now,” he told her.

  “I know. It’s time to get up and out.” She grabbed at his shorts before he could step back.

  One side of his lip curled, but he quickly caught her hands in his. “I can’t be late for my morning meeting. Some other time maybe…” He blew out a stream of air from the shock of her ice-cold touch brushing his scorching hard-on. Then he smacked her smooth pale ass and moved away from the bed’s edge to go to get his clothes on.

  “But, baby,” she called after him, “how do we contact you for that ‘some other time,’ huh? You never even told us your name, Mr. Long-and-Strong!” She baited him, begging, still on her knees at the bed’s edge. Zack looked back at her with a polite smile and then continued to his closet. He chose a pair of light ultra-casual linen pants to throw on, as was the fashion in Vallarta. He jumped into them and then hurried back across the room for his shirt. He ignored the bombshell who still hadn’t given up, trying to tempt him with her right index finger as it slinked down her body and past her blond curly mound to play with herself.

  “Well”—deciding to keep his name to himself—“I guess if it’s meant to be,” he teased. Hah, meant to be. What pseudo-deep superstitious bullshit.

  Now at the windows, he threw open the floor-to-ceiling drapes, hoping to move things along for his other guest, the still-sleeping beauty.

  The bright Vallarta sun flooded the room, causing Red-Hot to shove her head under her pillow while Blondie stopped her whirling-finger to cover her squinting eyes with both hands. He grabbed his watch, his keys and wallet, and then slipped on his brown leather sandals.

  “Housekeeping will be here in a minute, ladies!” he announced in a final attempt. There was no way he could wait for them to leave before having to run out himself. “There’s a continental breakfast downstairs you can grab on your way out,” he coaxed as he adjusted himself and zipped his forgotten fly. He patted his pockets and looked around the room to be sure he didn’t forget anything. “Shit, my phone…”

  The redhead sat up slowly, holding his cell in her slender hand. She teased him with it as he came toward her, trying for a kiss. He snatched it from her with a coy smile but no other contact and walked toward the door while texting his attorney that he was on his way to meet him at the Five Breezes.

  After hitting “send,” he felt a wave of relief in his chest, blood flowing, a slight spark, and for a split-second he forgot about the hollow cavern inside. He was finally purchasing the condo, the beachside vacation spot where he’d spent his childhood summers and holidays. It was also the culminating purchase of his career, a personal goal of more than a decade and a half. He would finally own every piece of property in his bastard father’s real estate portfolio.

  “You know what, girls? Just stay… I need to celebrate when I get back. Call room service for food, anything you want, and then rest up! I plan to tire you out again when I get back in a few hours.”

  And he left his penthouse suite to high-pitched squeals of joy.

  *

  Roberto’s voice finally drilled through Isabel’s zone of fury, snapping her back to her pained reality. “Tranquilo, Isa. You need to relax. Just sit out on the deck with me for a minute.” He widened his spellbinding baby blues to help his case.

  No Jodás! “I said I can’t, Roberto.” She shook her head at his persistence, but couldn’t find it in her to be harsh. Because she could be way too harsh and shatter him, and then lose her only solid friend, not to her curse, but to her temper. “Crap…the time…my meetings!” She picked up her pace, injured foot aside, and put away her cleaning supplies and then scurried into her bedroom to shower. She hoped to God Roberto would get the hint and go before she came out again.

  *

  She hurried out of her room in an ivory skirt suit with her subtly low-cut white satin camisole to go under the professional little blazer jacket she carried over her shoulder. Though lightweight, she hated to put the darn thing on just yet. With the sweltering heat inside the house—and her seething anger at Roberto who still hadn’t moved an inch toward the front door!—it stifled her just imagining her arms inside the long, suffocating sleeves. Then add the definite swelter outside with the midday Vallarta sun at its height—yeah, she’d force herself to put the blazer on at her first meeting, but not a moment earlier.

  “Hey, you wanna meet for drinks after work?” Roberto asked, sinking further into the sofa. God, can he take a hint or five?

  “No, sorry. I’ll hardly be on time for dinner with my sister and brothers as it is.” She’d usually invite Roberto along to a family dinner, but she just couldn’t stomach it. She needed space from him, or more like he needed space from her.

  She collected her silver cuff bracelet and watch from the side table by the front door. She slid the bracelet on her left wrist and the watch on the other; her tablet and charger at arm’s distance both went into her shoulder bag. Then she scooped up her keys and her feet found and slipped into the strappy heels lying underneath the table. She clipped to the front door, ignoring her throbbing foot—she’d pop a pain reliever in the car.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Your phone?” Roberto held up the device with Sebastian’s gleaming green eyes still on the screen.

  She grabbed it, swallowed back a surge of renewed rage as she powered it off, then shoved it into her bag. “Okay then…” She looked at Roberto with lifted brows, a final, unnecessary push, but he only sat there, a look of disappointment in his narrowed eyes.

  “So do you mind if I stay and chill on the back deck for a couple of hours? Alone I guess, since you’re abandoning me! It’s my day off…and I drove all the way out here,” he pleaded.

  She so wasn’t in the mood for this. I mean, I didn’t ask you to drive out here!

  He went on though. “Don’t worry, I’ll lock up for you when I leave.”

  Roberto had always had a house key to her old place, so the precedent had been set long ago. But now, with his strange obsessive behavior, she hesitated. She missed her best friend so much. God, how she regretted that one smashed-out-of-her-head night. And she couldn’t even remember it. Not a single damn detail!r />
  His wide smile and round puppy-dog eyes stared at her, waiting.

  Damn it. Saying no to him would be too insulting. She tossed him her spare house key and a fake smile to go with it. “I broke the slider door lock this morning. Until my brother comes to fix it, just use that wood rod for a security pole.”

  “No problem. And…I’ll see you over the weekend?”

  “Uh, no…I have two weddings to run. But I’ll call you.”

  *

  She rushed out, closing the front door behind her. She was definitely relieved to be in a different air space than Roberto, but stepping into the radiant heat of the day was just a different kind of stifling.

  She tossed her jacket onto the front seat of her ancient sedan and immediately wished for the freedom, the peace, the nearly naked liberation she’d owned earlier that morning.

  She sighed and started the ignition; she didn’t want to be late. She was off to the paradisiac patio restaurant at the Five Breezes Resort to meet with hopeful and love-struck brides, all anxious and starry-eyed, ready to plan their perfect, dream-worthy destination weddings with Isabel Ruiz of Golden Rings Wedding and Event Planning. She pulled a breath then backed out of her parking spot with extreme care—as always. Her rosary dangled from her rearview, a mocking reminder of her past…and now of her current purpose—to forge the lasting bonds of love for other souls. And never my own.

  She spiked the volume of her 90s hardcore playlist again, drowning out the deluge of thoughts and the repressive loneliness that came with them. Isabel, just focus on the road and the day ahead.

  She ran down her day’s agenda and took a quick peek in her rearview to see if her hasty makeup job sufficed—which reminded her, she had to call someone to replace that broken mirror in her powder room. She’d do that between meetings. Then after her five o’clock, she’d meet her family for dinner—and pray that Celeste would come alone.