Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1)

by Rissa Brahm

  She was strong enough, objective enough to stay. For a stellar night of off-the-charts sex, for a night, for the record books, heck yes she’d stay. And then she’d leave. Who wouldn’t want that and only that?

  “Before the drink, may I use the restroom?” she said, asking permission with her eyes to enter the bedroom.

  “Uh, sure, of course, back and to the right,” Zack said, gesturing with a nod to go ahead in—then followed her. To be sure she found the right door, she guessed? She thought it was funny, cute, and only slightly awkward. She waved with a smirk then closed the bathroom door behind her.

  She flipped on the light. She wasn’t shocked to see her hair a complete disaster—a beautiful, make-out session mess.

  What shocked her was the lipstick-written message on the grand vanity mirror and the two pairs of lace panties, each one intelligently hung from a light bulb above it, already creating a burning plastic odor. The message read: We waited, baby, but had to scoot. As a THX for the HOT SEX last night, we left you gifts. We’ll be back for them and for you! J & T.

  A bubble heart for the “&.”

  Really?

  *

  Her head tilted to the side, just staring at the mirror, at the message, then at herself. She took in a huge breath, filling her lungs to capacity, then exhaled, releasing the air until her shoulders hung.

  Straightening her head, chest out, she made her decision.

  Of the casual sex partners she’d distracted herself with over the past months, all of them had met only moderate standards, again, per her design. But that day, with Zack, everything had been so vastly different, unusual—to her core, unique. Even, dare she say, special?

  But she’d been taken—taken by a brilliant player, a masterful artist who had made her feel and breathe and laugh, and none of it mattered. Isabel Ruiz had standards. She had God-given pride. Third in line for a screw? Nope. Not a chance.

  *

  She flipped off the bathroom light, shut the bathroom door quietly, walked out of the bedroom, and up to the bar.

  Zack’s back was to her, putting the vodka bottle away. She gently picked up that bill he had been distracted by earlier. A lipstick kiss and a handwritten note stared up at her. She read the note to herself—Bye, Baby! And thanks! Jeannie and Tina—then slid it back to its unobtrusive spot on the counter.

  Zack turned around, lifted his eyebrows at her, one corner of his lip curling up, his hunger apparent.

  She smiled oh-so-sweetly back at him, picked up the drink he had poured her, and leaned closer to him. Seducing him still closer, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. After she pulled away, she smiled, lifted a brow, then emptied her drink over his head.

  She caught his look of utter awe, nodded at him, then calmly walked out of Zack’s luxurious penthouse suite with the oh-so-grand view.

  CHAPTER 8

  The door shut behind her.

  His mouth still hung open.

  And Zack’s stomach immediately twisted and burned, motivating his sprint to the bathroom. His guts retched while his skull pounded. He couldn’t understand it, such a physical response, so violent and sudden. The instant Isabel marched out of his hotel suite—damn it, out of his life?—this gut pain hit, and that fucking void returned with it, tenfold.

  From the toilet to the sink to clean himself up, he tried to figure out what the hell had happened to make her leave like that.

  Then he glanced up at himself in the mirror.

  “Fuck me!” he yelled at the message written in hot red lipstick slightly to the left of his distraught and flushed face in the reflection.

  Yes, he had forgotten the girls he’d left for safekeeping in his penthouse suite. And yes, he only remembered them when he saw the room service bill on the minibar. But the girls’ note on the bill confirmed they were no longer in the room, so all was fine, or it should have been!

  After all, Isabel had taken him by storm, a complete mind, heart, and soul tsunami. And that wild, treacherous cleansing had left him vibrating and calm all at once. Needless to say, she distracted him to the ultimate extent.

  And wouldn’t it be a compliment to Isabel that he’d completely forgotten about the girls in his room? Really, what man forgets about round two of a threesome with supermodels, if not for something, or someone, exponentially more enthralling? Like Isabel.

  He surmised that after seeing the message in the mirror, Isabel must have revised her initial impression of him. But, goddammit, her initial impression of him was the right one! The real one! Or at least was the new real one. Only days before had he become indifferent to the pleasures he was used to, including connecting with those girls, which was just a reaction to that asshole at the bar, and then morphed into a mindless distraction, an activity to pass the time, and an attempted cure for his despairing soul.

  Because, damn it, a transformation had occurred in him. His eyes now saw the truth of his false fucking existence. And Isabel was the light at the end of the bleak tunnel that was his life! But she would probably never give him the time of day to even let him explain! Now he was just another sleazy scumbag in her eyes. Just like the kid in the bar.

  His stomach churned again, and he slammed his fist down on the sink counter. No, goddammit, this wasn’t how it would go down. He had to find her. He had to find Isabel and get that feeling back, that fulfillment, that pure ecstatic bliss.

  Around Isabel, there was an immense freedom he’d found. And crazy shit, like his frequent inability to speak and function around her like he normally did, both shocked and exhilarated him. He literally felt like a teenager again, fumbling words, clammy hands, cracking voice. When near her, that sudden wave of whatever it was, call it insecurity, led to broken glass, rain and puddle soakings, close-calls. All things that never fucking happened to Zachary James.

  But, weirdly, they were all welcome mishaps. Each one made him feel newly alive. He could breathe while before he was choking on his own phony way of life, that deluxe yet mundane treadmill that ran down his soul, one long nowhere-stride at a time.

  But not when he was with her. And now knowing that she existed—the something, or someone, that filled his void—he couldn’t go on without her.

  He’d find her, even with no phone number and, damn it, not even a last name! They’d talked and flirted for hours, and he didn’t even know where she lived or what exactly she did for a living. Their connection had overshadowed all of that. They had been so in the present, so in the moment together, he had no information on her at all.

  He hunched over as another wave of nausea hit him along with a sharp, dagger-like heat stabbing him from the inside out.

  He would find Isabel, or he’d die trying.

  *

  Unlocking her own front door felt good. It was a relief to be home after such a long mind-game of a day. She’d spent her car ride dwelling on how wrong she’d been about Zack, but was at least glad she hadn’t wasted even one orgasm on him.

  She’d just have to settle on her friend with benefits, aka her vibrator, for comfort just as soon as she’d showered off any remnants of that man.

  She got inside and freely tossed her purse on the sofa.

  “What the…!” came a man’s voice—in shock and apparently in a small amount of pain.

  She grabbed an umbrella from the holder at the entrance, point extended toward the voice.

  “Who’s there?” No air, pulse crashing her eardrums.

  “Isa, it’s me.” Roberto’s face came into view once her eyes adjusted to the dark.

  Exhale, hot rage. Calm yourself.

  “I swear, Roberto. What. In the hell?”

  “I guess I fell asleep waiting for you,” he said in an overly sweet tone, his eyes wide and anxious.

  “Roberto…Jesus Christ! I don’t want that! I don’t need that!”

  “But I need you, Isabel. And you do need me!”

  Damn it! What she needed was for him to hear her, understand her. She loved Roberto with a deep, platonic and
loyal love. And even without the curse chained to her ankle, she would only love him in that way.

  And time and patience were not helping. Before now, she hadn’t thought she had it in her to slap him out of his obsession like she’d like to think she would have with any other man. Roberto was the one person on Earth besides her two brothers, Antonio and Ray, and her sister, Celeste, who had stayed by her side over the years. But this thing with Roberto was unhealthy. She had to get through to him somehow.

  And it looked like harsh was how it had to be.

  “Roberto, I do not love you!” she exploded. Then she recoiled, his look filled with pain, heartache. She knew it well, for herself. “Except as my best friend in the entire universe—”

  He shook his head, as if erasing the last quarter minute of their lives. “That’s fine. Your love will grow—”

  “No,” she said in an even, firm tone, “it won’t.” Chest heaving, fists clenched, she had to stop this.

  “Roberto, I don’t even remember being with you that night. And…I don’t want to remember it, because that is not how I think of you. You’re like a brother. Not a lover. You’re my best friend, and whether you believe in my hex or not, it’s not safe to be around me.” She sighed as a regretful truth hit her square in the face. “This is my fault. I should have been more direct, but I didn’t want to hurt you, your feelings. Listen, I think you shouldn’t be around me for a little while. I mean, at all. We need…a break. I’m sorry.”

  He stared and stewed in silence, but he didn’t move a muscle.

  Come on, not again. “It’s 3:30 in the morning and I need to be up for work in only four hours,” she nudged, impatience more than apparent in her voice.

  He got up off her sofa and headed to her front door. As he passed her, he stuck his nose deep into her hair, inhaled, and continued his way to the door. “You smell like sex, Isa. I hope your quick fuck was worth standing us all up for—for your celebration dinner!”

  She knew she smelled like Zack from messing around with him earlier, and she wanted nothing more than to shower the man off of her. But the close-to-sexual encounter with Zack, let alone that with any man, was none of Roberto’s damn business.

  And as for the family dinner, the one Roberto wasn’t even invited to, yes, now she regretted skipping it, but her siblings were always understanding. As for Roberto, she could tell he was just wounded, confused, lonely, like she was lonely.

  “Roberto—”

  “Enjoy your new home,” he said in an indignant whisper before heading out the door.

  “Wait! Roberto…my key?”

  He paused, glared at her, then easily pulled her house key from his pocket and tossed it with a flippant flick of his wrist.

  The key made a perfect arch through the air toward her, but slipped through her shaky hands when the door slammed behind him, the jolting blast clobbering her ears, which somehow harmonized with the sound of the metal key’s reverberating clang as it hit the floor at her feet. She stood frozen, stunned, ears ringing. Scary—the sounds from the prior moment weren’t nearly as jarring, as deafening even, as the new level of loneliness echoing in her already-scarred heart.

  CHAPTER 9

  Two weeks had passed since she had met and left Zack in his extravagant penthouse suite.

  And those same two weeks had gone by with no sign or word from Roberto, like she had asked for, but regretted at the same time. She missed calling him, sharing her day with him, and being distracted by the details of his day. She definitely missed her devoted friend, just not the obsessed version.

  She hadn’t been out of her house since that night, except for a mandatory client meeting and one weekend event. She’d worked from home otherwise.

  And it being the height of wedding season, she was slammed anyway. She puppet-mastered from her desk in her bedroom, windows open, floor fan on. To her dismay, she didn’t even have time to enjoy her back deck at all, but hey, she could at least hear the rolling tide coming in. And she’d taken to traipsing around her sanctuary near-naked, enjoying ocean-breeze kisses and unadulterated freedom.

  And she wasn’t a total hermit. Her brother, Ray, stopped by once, and so did Celeste—thankfully a quickie, on the way to grab the girls from dance class. Every few days she’d spoken to Lucinda and also to her brother Antonio, whose limo company she hired for all of her events.

  Basically, though, she stuck to her plan, keeping to herself. Safe and sound for all.

  But the quiet hours of her day allowed her mind to wander. And where her thoughts went, and who they rested on, were far from healthy. Dangerous waters, those piercing, bottle-green eyes. Zack. Asshole.

  His stories had made her laugh until she cried, and his touch had sent such sensations through her, she could still feel the remnant vibrations. All of it swarmed her brain. His scent of man and that intoxicating cologne, and oh, his body, all-encompassing and surrounding her. The steadiness and security she felt when around him—intangible, but it lingered just the same. Zack and that entire night hadn’t faded from her senses, but neither had the memory, the wakeup call written on the bathroom mirror.

  The doorbell rang and snapped her out of her trance.

  “It’s me, love. Let me in to your paradise by the sea!”

  Louder than a timeshare hawker, Lucinda.

  An hour early, Lucinda! Isabel threw on clothes and ran to the door.

  Lucinda stood a towering six-foot-one. A French-Canadian cougar with a deep and husky voice. One could peg her a chain-smoking drag queen, but she was neither.

  She was, however, the founder of the most successful wedding and event planning company in Vallarta, with too many A-listers under her belt to count. Extremely dedicated, she lived and breathed work, and would do practically anything for a client in the name of revenue, which was what made Golden Rings the biggest and best, the woman’s pride and joy. Lucinda’s baby.

  And how had “Isabel the Walking Curse” landed a job with the great Lucinda Carlyle? It just so happened that Lucinda had been the dearest friend of Isabel’s late mother, Yesinia Ruiz. And as a favor to Yesinia, and despite Isabel’s accident-prone existence, Lucinda had given the youngest Ruiz a chance and the training to become a wedding and event coordinator with Lucinda’s foreigner-focused company. Yes, another singular blessing, one that Isabel knew better than to think too hard on or take for granted, lest she jinx it. And poof!

  Isabel quickly earned the title “protégé” for being, as her mentor stated in all introductions to new wedding clients, “deeply loyal, a relentlessly hard worker, bilingual and brilliant, hyper-focused and the deepest believer in true, unadulterated love.” It was the script Lucinda went by, and, Isabel felt, an authentic sentiment. Yes, Lucinda was a true blessing, and Isabel wouldn’t disappoint the woman, not for anything in the world.

  “Ready to talk nitty-gritty, love?” Lucinda was an hour early for their meeting to discuss the Rine/James wedding, the biggest-ticket affair her boss had ever entrusted Isabel with. And Lucinda was never early. Isabel nodded, eager to calm the woman’s nerves, having prepared all the details her boss would want.

  The woman came in and threw herself on Isabel’s sofa, lying on it Cleopatra style. “Oh, before we start, love, pour me a vodka, would you? On the rocks.”

  “Of course.” And alcohol…just before noon…an additional way to unwind.

  In the kitchen, Isabel smirked while she got the glass for her boss’s midday drink. Then she reached into the freezer. When the entire tray of ice cubes fell onto the kitchen floor, she shook her head and cursed under her breath. She grabbed a few pieces still stuck in the tray, threw them in the glass, then carefully poured the alcohol.

  Before serving it, she bent down to pick up the mess of slippery ice from the floor. While freezing her fingertips, a realization hit her and she grunted. During her time with Zack, except for her fall at his feet and her wine spill, she’d been completely accident-free. The entire rest of their time together, eight solid ho
urs, had been without mishap. There had been a complete reprieve, never known to her before or since.

  And Zack, on the other hand, had sworn that he was never that clumsy, never so ‘off his game.’ Only around her, he’d said. He’d been nervous like a schoolboy with her. A puff of a laugh—could he have soaked up her bad juju? His clumsy, blathering, stumbling words and his cheesy-ass pick-up lines, the ones he’d explained were so out of character for him.

  Why wasn’t it possible?

  Because, what of Zack’s stellar confidence in other areas? His lips, his expert tongue, his hands, his hard steel and grinding hips, they were all anything but clumsy during their foreplay, even though it had all damn well led to nothing.

  But maybe the sweet-and-stuttering, blushing thing was just an act to get her usually blundering ass into bed? And hell, it had almost worked!

  If that was his strategy, then thank Jesus for the two pairs of melting panties on the vanity light fixture! Yeah, for a guy to snag two women in a night and have them waiting their turn for a second round the very next, he had to be slick, strategic, sad. Sleazy.

  But, on the other hand, maybe the women he got with were all empty-headed bimbos who didn’t speak in the first place. Such a sizzling-hot catch like Zack wouldn’t even have to talk about the weather before panties were flying.

  So, maybe that was it? She was the first woman he’d hit on who had anything between her ears? And maybe the brilliant comic-clown act was not an act! He was dumbstruck and nervous around her. Like he’d said.

  Hah!

  And, oh shit.

  Now so glad she’d left when she had, she really hoped she wouldn’t ever see him again.

  At least she wanted to hope that.

  She dried her hands, wiping the entire thought stream from her mind at the same time. Back to business, Isabel. Head in the game.

  *

  Isabel handed her boss the drink, then took out her tablet. Lucinda immediately got working on her buzz while Isabel pulled up her notes for the Rine/James affair.