by Rissa Brahm
With a deep sigh, she tried to will the tension from her shoulders and neck.
She needed to relax…and she knew just how to do it. After dinner with her family tonight, she’d grab “some dessert of the male variety,” as her boss, Lucinda, would put it. In celebration of the condo and her new start, she’d snag a fine nameless distraction for the night. She deserved a good, hard, mind-freeing release.
Because, screw fate! I’ll get you by getting mine. She pressed her right foot to the gas and flew down the cliffside byway to her meetings, tempting fate the entire way, just on goddamn principle.
CHAPTER 3
At the Five Breezes Resort, Zack James had just finished celebratory drinks with his attorney, Armando Sanchez. They had closed on the condo, the fifty-fifth and final property of Bennet James’ real estate portfolio, which Zack had set his sights on after his father had left Zack, Darren, and their mother, Elaine, for the other man’s much younger and knocked-up French mistress.
But even that sense of accomplishment, that bit of justice served, hadn’t gotten rid of that damn sinkhole inside, or the accompanying headache still pounding away in his skull. Beyond the sheer annoyance of it, he began to get concerned. Ailments like these were rare for him, and it now dampened his celebratory mood—totally unacceptable.
Armando stood up to leave. “I’ll have Tania call you with my doctor’s contact info. Oh, and the carpenter’s, for that entertainment unit idea. He’s really excellent,” he said to Zack, who stood as well, ready to shake his loyal and skilled attorney’s hand. The man had treated Zack like a second son from the start. Zack kept a team of attorneys the world over, but Armando was more like family than legal counsel. He thanked Armando with a final wave as the man exited the restaurant, and then moved to take his seat again as the waiter set an espresso down at Zack’s place.
“Gracias, amigo.”
“Por nada, Señor.” The young waiter spun to leave and slammed right into a woman—or rather, an angel—in soft creamy white against bronze shimmering skin.
Zack, strangely frozen in his seat, watched as she fell to the ground in what felt like slow motion. His breath halted, too, as if the Earth had paused on its axis a beat.
Stand up, man, and help her! He jumped from his chair to join the waiter in helping her up from the patio pavers.
“I’m so clumsy, God,” the woman said from the ground with a light laugh to follow. She took the waiter’s hand for leverage, and as calm as the tropicbirds strolling around the patio, she pulled herself up to stand. She brushed her backside off, ridding it of patio dust, then straightened her professional fitted skirt that he couldn’t not notice.
God, top to bottom, she was a Latin beauty—much like Angel the bartender from last night. Similar lustrous black hair and mocha skin tone, but less magazine-seductive and more…what? Professional? Yes, but that hardly covered it. Something more. She didn’t blush or flush with embarrassment from the fall, but she wasn’t frustrated or defensive either. She was humble, as if surrendered to the occurrence of this kind of accident. As if it happened all the time. No big deal.
Graceful! That was it. She was graceful. A graceful—and yes, gorgeous—klutz. Yes. Even though her fall hadn’t been her fault and she immediately took the blame anyway, her grace and serene calm was what caught him. Especially since he couldn’t remember a single time a woman hadn’t fawned or melted or flustered in his presence, whatever the context.
This woman was different. Refreshing. Confident and carefree.
Well, speak to her then!
Right. “Are you alright?” Zack’s voice cracked. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?
She nodded and smiled with her eyes, just as her body began leaning to the right. His hand flew to her back, his other held her elbow. “Are you lightheaded?” he asked, trying like hell to ignore the spiking sensation shooting through him from the mere feel of her skin. Smooth, soft, and warm. Like silky sand at dusk.
“Oh, no, not lightheaded, just a little off balance.”
“Adios mio, I’m so sorry, Señorita,” the waiter said without looking either of them in the face, as if embarrassed and maybe even worried about his job.
“Really, I’m okay, thank you,” she said, looking down at her feet. And then she let out a little chuckle. “Ah, there’s the issue. I broke the heel off my shoe, is all.” Her left leg bent to accommodate her shortened right one, while the displaced four-inch spike lay at their feet. “And, hey, it could have been a broken ankle, right?”
“Si, si. Tenemos mucha suerte,” the waiter said half under his breath.
“Oh, no. I don’t believe in luck,” she said to the waiter, picking up the separated stem of her stiletto.
A fellow unbeliever?
“Or should I say, luck doesn’t believe in me. But hey, I’m thankful nonetheless.” She smiled, a kind, genuine smile.
The waiter nodded, then left them while Zack could only stare. And stare some more.
*
She let a smile lift her face. God, a smile so sweet it was sensual. He got a chest pain, a good pain, from that smile. Zack smiled back at her. Just staring and smiling, until her smile took on a more questioning look. Her gorgeous head tilted. Maybe unsure of what else to say? Because he sure as hell was.
Another silent beat went by until she noticed her purse on the ground. Zack felt panic shoot up his spine. Shit. She was about to leave his vicinity, his world. Damn it, say something, asshole.
But then she bent over for the purse. Her firm yet gloriously voluptuous figure, hugged by that professional little skirt, just right in his face—God, he hated himself. He felt like a fiend, a dirty rotten monster for wanting her the way he did, imagining that ass pounding against his bare thighs. He was disgusted with himself for having such a primal desire for such an unknowingly exquisite being.
He composed himself as she stood up, and before she turned around, a small coffee-colored blotch on her back caught his eye. A tiny birthmark peeked out from her low-backed top in the shape of a puzzle piece, situated on a slight angle. It just floated there, lost-like. He kept his eyes on it until she pivoted around on her uneven heels to face him. He swallowed and cleared his throat. She smirked then nodded one last thanks to him and his awkward ass, and then left him standing there—his pride in the fetal position at his feet.
And Jesus, no hesitation, no glance back over her shoulder, just…nothing. Was she playing hard to get? No. She seemed too self-assured to play that game, and she didn’t have the attitude, either. She had a kindness in her eyes, a stoic sweetness. Games just didn’t seem her style.
Maybe married? But he hadn’t seen a ring. He would have noticed a ring.
No, it was all so much worse. He didn’t exist for her, just not on her radar, or in her very recent past, or even on her planet. She hadn’t been rude or snotty in the slightest, just wholly uninterested.
An earthquake just shook his world to a standstill. A woman, an angel, rather, just limped away from Zachary James in her one high heel without a qualm, without a care, without giving him a first, let alone a second, thought.
*
Although his headache and that mysterious void in his gut were gone—replaced by mush and goddamn butterflies!—he couldn’t catch a full breath. And when he opened his mouth to say something, to stop her, to keep her for even a moment longer, no words came out. Zack James, smooth as silk with all life matters, had become completely and hopelessly inept around a woman. Now all he could do was watch the puzzle piece on her back get smaller and smaller as she moved farther away from him.
His gaze kept on it, though, as if it was his missing piece to reclaim.
In awe of himself, he watched her get to a far off table where another woman—a much taller, older lady—stood waiting. It looked like they were about to leave. Shit. He needed an excuse, a quick reason to go over there. To grab a second chance, probably his last chance in gaining this angel’s attention, her electric presence. Because, n
ow, in sharp contrast to the last few dismal days, Zack wanted something. Like a pirate wants his sunken treasure. No, not wants—needs. And it was drifting away from him on an ocean wave without a goddamn care.
Think! He scanned his mind, then surveyed the restaurant and the other patrons, but nothing came to him. He looked down, sprinting through ideas of what the hell to do to stop the cure to his deep void before she left.
Then the glaring sunlight caught a sparkling something on the ground. An earring. A small gold hoop lying right where she’d fallen.
He couldn’t remember if she’d had earrings on. He could only remember the sweet coconut scent of her long wavy hair, the color of moonless midnight, and her heavenly doe eyes of deep desert brown outlined by a river of rich dark chocolate as she’d thanked him. And, God, the heat of her skin.
But even if the earring wasn’t hers, it would get him over there before she left the restaurant, before she vanished from his meaningless and fleeting movie-of-a-life for good. And he couldn’t let that happen, this woman captivated him like none he could remember. She was like a magnetic force, framed by the sun and sea. She could have very well been a mirage, if he hadn’t already touched her, smelled her, heard her voice minutes before and known she was real.
His angelic target and her friend had thankfully paused their departure. Why, he didn’t know, but their eyes referenced him a time or two. He might just catch her, at least he had reason to hope.
*
He began the long walk across the patio toward her table, nervous though, as if walking the plank. He gripped the earring in his sweaty hand like his life depended on it, his mind strangely blank, unsure of what he’d say when he got there, which made him question the location of his balls. “Man up, goddammit!” he mumbled to himself—another scary first. Jesus.
As he closed in, he watched the other woman give his goddess in creamy white a kiss on the cheek, and then left her standing at the white-clothed table topped with half-empty wine glasses and a bouquet of white lilies in the center.
The other lady, with her regal-bordering-on-haughty stride, passed right by Zack to leave the restaurant, and on her way by him she whispered, “Treat her like a queen,” in his ear.
Zack smiled politely at the tall stranger and nodded his understanding. He wouldn’t ever want to get on the bad side of the Amazonian. Then he resumed his focus on the angel with a new confidence, close to his usual level of suave solidity. The tall woman’s message had been a sure sign that his angel was waiting for him, whether by choice—God, he hoped—or by pressure from departing “mother hen.” Either way, he’d treat her like a queen, all right. Fuck yes, he would.
*
He watched her like a laser as he closed in. She teetered, uneven on her feet, then finally pulled her chair out to sit. Her curvy hips folded into the seat. Zack had to stop from biting down on his fist as he pictured her sitting right down on his lap, on his hard, throbbing cock, ready to give her the ride of her life, rising and falling with his emphatic, ecstatic thrusts. But he kept his fist by his side with sheer will, white-knuckling it to the point of pain for having such thoughts, such dirty, impure, sinful, thoughts.
Only twenty feet from her, he watched her scoot her chair in and bump the table in the process. The glass closest to her tipped over—red wine crept in a blotchy expanse over the white cloth surface.
The soft ocean breeze became a gust in an instant which helped the glass roll and then teeter at the table’s edge in the opposite direction of his magnificent target. Quick-paced, he got to the table with hand extended, ready for the glass to roll smoothly into it. But he stumbled, and the glass bobbled at the tips of his fingers and then shattered to the ground in sharp array of wide-spread humiliation.
She looked up at him with a sweet, apologetic expression, her lush lips in a half smirk, but apparent mortification filled her almond-shaped eyes. Maybe her embarrassment was for him? Either way, Zack felt like a complete ass as he stood in a pile of a billion tiny glass shards. “I’m so sorry. I, uh, almost had it,” he said with heated cheeks, unable to remove his gaze from hers to assess the damage.
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault—it’s for sure mine. This kind of thing always happens to me…or around me.”
He snickered, then nothing. An awkward silence ensued that he just didn’t know how to fill. He was still too distracted by her enigmatic presence to find coherent words.
The earring, dumbass, remember the damn earring!
Yes! He held open his left hand to show her the gold hoop, which he saw now was a match to the one in her right ear. And behind that ear, an exotic white lily.
Wide eyed with that nectar-sweet yet undeniably erotic smile, she fingered her goddamn-kissable lobes. Finding no hoop in her left ear, her lips parted for a light gasp of surprise. “Oh, my goodness, thank you! I didn’t even know I’d lost it!”
Her fingers tickled his palm as she plucked the gold hoop up, sending a reverberating shock through his entire body. He visibly shivered. And he couldn’t even hope to hide his physical reaction to her, it being a thick and humid ninety degrees outside.
His palms were sweating still and his pulse was on uppers. It was her eroticism mixed with her sweetness and calm. And that fragrance—ocean breeze and that sweet coconut—all of it made him struggle for composure, which again was usually so easy for him to come by.
Has he fallen into a damn vortex or something?—because he had no control over anything anymore, and it freaked him out but thrilled him at the same time.
Get it together for fuck’s sake. He saw her smile widen as his voice, finally found, cracked to a start—again. “Lilies are very exotic…intoxicating,” he said with a pseudo-confidence he pulled from somewhere. Then he leaned into her personal space and smelled the white, satin-like petals above her ear. “It’s really lovely, but you…” He stepped back to take her all in, ignoring the crunching sound under his feet. “You are just…stunning,” he said, his delivery smooth as fake silk.
Her smile grew, widened, and then her hand flew to her lips. Despite her apparent effort, it was no use. A small giggle escaped first, then came all-out laughter. “I am so, so sorry. The glass, it just crunched at the perfect moment, like it was scripted…with the pick-up line from a B-grade romantic comedy,” she said, gasping through her laughter as she slapped then grasped his elbow for leverage through her fit.
Having her hand hot on his skin, he didn’t even mind her amusement at his expense. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. He finally looked down at the pile of glass he stood in, sighed, and started nodding his head in surrender. Yeah, the entire scene was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. And she was ridiculously goddamn amazing.
“I’m Isabel,” she said, once she found air. She held out her delicate hand to him and moved her other hand from his elbow toward the chair next to her, inviting him to sit down at the warzone of a table.
Isabel. Angelic Isabel.
Before his next breath, he’d taken a seat. He pulled his chair in closer to hers but it wasn’t enough. He already missed her searing touch—his arm still tingled, like the moment after entering a perfectly scalding shower. And God, that touch—and now the lack of it—had done something to him. It had erased the earlier guilt he’d felt for wanting to take and possess this sweet angel of a woman, to own her. She was still an angel, deserving the sweetest, most delicate care. But his type of care would bring her to her knees, inciting pleasure throughout every part of her being, which in turn would rock him to his core.
He hadn’t felt so alive in as long as he could remember. Maybe not ever.
CHAPTER 4
When Lucinda had left her there on purpose—such a matchmaker, just like her sister—Isabel had felt her cheeks flare up immediately with red hot embarrassment. First off, she liked to pick up her one-nighters on her own. Not with her boss! Or rather, by her boss.
Second, she preferred hitting up the bars and nightclubs, despite their seedines
s. She shared a common goal with bar and club-goers: pleasure, anonymity, and just one night. And the low-light atmosphere of those spots covered her clumsiness better. Having just fallen on her ass in front of this guy in broad daylight proved her point to a tee.
And third, her picks were of a very specific type. Clean and well dressed, yes. Nice and respectful, too. Well-off enough to buy her a drink and take her to a safe, clean, comfortable hotel room at a reputable resort, but not too wealthy to draw attention to them, or to drive her insane with his “look how big my wallet and cock are” stories. He had to be just attractive enough, but not a man she’d melt over––most hotties were either too hot headed, too big headed, or both. But she didn’t want the shining personality either, not too funny or smart or witty or, God help her, sweet-and-swooning. She couldn’t take swooning. But really any combination of those traits might make it hard to say goodbye at the end of the night, and that goodbye…it was non-negotiable.
Now, as she cursed Lucinda to the depths, she found herself sitting next to a man who was, simply put, gorgeous beyond belief. Too gorgeous for either of their own good. He was also very well off, if his logoed attire and his designer watch were anything to go by. But his slight nervousness and comic, almost endearing clown act contrasted with the cockiness she’d been used to with these types of men. He made her smile, then laugh, then smile some more. Again, he was the multitude of types she kept far, far away from. This rare, all-encompassing combination more than worried her—beyond the probability that he was some married axe murderer, for Christ’s sake. Just too good to be true.
Oh, then add the shattered glass at his feet. No, not a good start at all.
Yeah, you should go, Isabel. Definitely leave now.
*
She placed her uneven feet on the patio pavers to push the chair back. To go. But couldn’t.
The metal legs of the chair were wedged in the paver crevices, and he was so close to her, and the leverage to push or shift or free the chair legs with her one good heel, and, well…damn it! She didn’t really want to go!
