Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1)

by Rissa Brahm

  And now, like a perfectly timed clock, he felt the return of that familiar and insatiable sinking hole inside. He’d had a twelve-hour break from it, from the void, just like the last time he’d been with Isabel, that first time they’d met.

  Zack closed his eyes. It was bone-chillingly cold in his hotel room. And dead quiet, except for the buzz of the mini fridge in the next room and his sporadic sighs, an emotionally fraught reflex.

  He reviewed the evening in his head. He’d been right, Isabel was different. She was real, raw, more grounded than any woman he had ever known. She exuded a humble confidence, like she knew herself and accepted herself while most women he encountered pretended to be anyone but who they truly were.

  The smell of her coconut scent drifted up to his nose from the pillow she had left empty next to him. He stared up at the ceiling, remembering the confident, cool control she’d exhibited with every stride, every word, and every hot, sensual stroke during their night out in the world.

  And how he craved that honest desire she’d exhibited for him when they were in his suite, in private, swimming in each other’s bodies. Total interlocked and unadulterated ecstasy. The thought of her body, her eyes, her taste—she’d driven him wild. Drove him wild. Down to his primal center. He started to harden, his erection calling out for her, but of course, she was long fucking gone.

  Zack knew that his pining for Isabel was so far beyond the carnal need of his cock. He felt different around her on so many levels––challenged, human, alive. Her strong and objective demeanor toward life and, for fuck’s sake, toward sex and toward release made his insides vibrate. A new, effervescent rumble in his chest had replaced that inner void a thousand fold when he was in her presence.

  He would find her again. He couldn’t lose that feeling or last through another torturous period with the void eating at his goddamn soul.

  And when he did find her, he would waste no time telling her the things he needed to. Damn his libido. He’d wait and make her wait for their passions’ demands. He’d go slow, get to know her, and let her get to know him, the real him she had helped him discover, all without letting her out of his sight again—at least, not without a direct line of communication, damn it!

  He could do casual if that’s what she wanted. No strings to start. At least he thought he could. He’d try. He was new to giving a fuck, new to caring and wanting, no, rather needing a woman that essentially, that vitally.

  And convincing her shouldn’t be hard. He was already sure she was on his page with respect to their fit together as lovers. The level of pleasure they had reached together was hard to describe and would be even harder to match with anyone else. He hadn’t felt that aroused or climaxed that hard before, ever. And Zack had an enormous and global pool of experience for comparison.

  But it was unlike Zack James to jump ahead, emotions at the helm, before organically processing all variables. He had to address the first issue at hand––Why’d she leave again? He had done nothing wrong. He knew there were no remnants of other women hanging from light fixtures, no lipsticked messages on mirrors. From the deepest part of himself he knew everything was so absolutely right. And if it was that whole no-relationships, one-night-only line, well, again, he understood that stance better than anyone on Earth. But he also knew he had found the exception to his rule, and he was equally positive that he was the exception to hers.

  He would just have to prove it to her. But he had to find her first. Again.

  Being Zachary James, he would. Without a shadow of a doubt, he would find his angel and make her his.

  CHAPTER 18

  Isabel was so relieved to be home. She checked that her sofa was empty before she threw herself onto it, completely drained. Her heart and head were, that is. But as for her body, a high-frequency buzz hummed through her, reverberating echoes of sated pleasure he’d left in her from their endless rounds of raw and rocking sex. And she hated every resounding vibration of it.

  She had, of course, intended to leave Zack after she’d gotten her unprecedented climax, or climaxes as it were, and yes, it had been harder to leave than she’d thought.

  Hell, finding that receipt had really been a blessing, a reminder of the man’s true damn nature.

  But what a dumbass she’d been.

  Disappointment flooded her, and she felt herself sinking into it neck deep. She tried hard to take a full breath but couldn’t. The harder she tried, the shallower and more unfulfilling her breathing became. Damn her faulty intuition, her total absence of judgment. And, yes, her lack of self-control, too. Falling prey to his overpowering, overflowing magnetism, which had led to the most erotic, in-sync sexual experience of her entire ill-fated life, made her wince. The regrettable, pathetic, self-effacing thought of it sucked the air out of her lungs further and churned her stomach too.

  She dragged herself from the couch before she fell asleep there, knowing that her back would kill her in the morning if she didn’t move to her bed. On her way to the kitchen for water, her microwave clock beamed the time in bright screaming yellow. It already was morning. She’d have a total of three hours of sleep before she had to be up and ready for a wedding gig, one she’d have to look and attempt to feel great for. It would no-doubt suck.

  She continued to the sink, filled a glass, and walked past her sliding glass door on the way to her room. Motivated by a gut instinct— however well that whole instinct thing had been working for her—she thought to check that the door was secure with a quick lock check. Silly and unnecessary, really, being as far out from town as she was. But with her hand on the handle, she yanked on it.

  And she flew with the fast gliding door, her glass of water joining her.

  She fell to the floor, just stopping herself from cracking her forehead on the tile by instinctively putting her hands out, palms down. Stunned, pissed and confused, she could only stay there frozen, catching her breath and gathering her wits before getting up, knowing there was a maze of glass shards and water pooling around her. The dark was stark, the moonless night lending not a glint or glow through the somehow unsecured sliding glass door. All she could see was the yellow digital time on the microwave mocking her tired eyes through the reflection on the glass. Her head turned to the side, surrendering onto the back of her hands.

  Now, staring at the slider door track, expecting to see a splintered mess of a wooden rod wedged in the track, she noticed instead there was no ‘security’ pole at all.

  A minute later she was calling her brother, Antonio.

  “Hey, I’m home…Yeah, no, I’m fine. But, um, did you move that security pole from my slider by chance? From its track? The one I had there because the door lock was broken…remember?”

  *

  Within twenty minutes, Antonio had come. With his heavy D-cell flashlight in hand for light and as a potential weapon, he checked the condo and its perimeter twice.

  He sat down next to her on the sofa. “I definitely didn’t move the pole because I hadn’t found time to fix the lock yet. Someone else had to have removed it. So, I’m staying here with you until we figure this out, and we’ll get all your locks changed tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t make it a priority in the first place, Isa.” He got up then and moved toward the storage closet. “I guess we need another temporary pole”—he stuck his head in the closet—“even if Abuelo’s place—I mean your place—is this far out,” he said, slightly muffled as he rummaged through the closet.

  “Antonio, my gut is saying something, something I’m really trying to ignore…because I left Roberto here alone to lock up a few weeks ago, but I’ve had service guys in and out, with the mirror replacement, and the electrician…Lucinda was here, too, but she fell asleep on the couch, didn’t even make it outside to have moved the pole.”

  Antonio brought his head out of the closet. “Well, when was the last time you actually noticed the pole there? Try to pinpoint…”

  “I, uh…God, I’ve just been so busy…definitely my first few days here I
noticed the rod. And…I guess I haven’t been out on the deck since, and hadn’t thought to check it except for the first few nights here. Even when I come and go, I just take it for granted because of how far out of town I am, like you said.” She paused a beat, then continued to think out loud. “But, shit, forget about the pole…Roberto could’ve just as easily made a copy of my key in that one day he’d had it. The missing pole wouldn’t even have mattered, if he could just come in and out as he pleased through the front door! And maybe he just forgot to put the pole back, or…or he got worried about being seen coming in through the front door in case one of the few people in the complex spotted him and kept the pole so he could get in through the back door. The silent sliding back door. Because the front door lock catches, you know. I would’ve woken up if he’d come in the front! Oh God, Antonio!”

  “Whoa, now. Just, let’s not jump to conclusions here, m’ija,” he said, moving back to the couch. He sat down and took her quivering hands in his to steady them. “Tranquillo, Isa.”

  She looked out the glass door to the sea of endless black beyond the beach below. The image of Roberto crept into her head, with his peering ice-blue eyes and his hot silenced breath hovering over her as she slept. Potentially any night over the past few weeks Roberto could have entered her home without a sound beyond the smooth and easy glide of her back door. He’d had free rein to watch her, and then he’d be able to leave again without a trace.

  Chills ran through her. She felt violated while, at the same time, a sense of guilt filled her chest. The blame was hers. His obsession could have been prevented by her in the first place if she had been in control and lucid that one drunken night. Or even after that night, she should have gotten through to him and not brushed off his obvious infatuation.

  Mid-thought, she turned to her brother. “But, Antonio…no police. We can’t do that to him.”

  “Again, Isa, if it even was Roberto. I mean, what if Ray had taken it to be helpful? Or the service guys who were in and out. And you said Lucinda was here? She could have moved it intending to go out there, right? We know Lucinda, flighty as hell. Or, a real stretch, but Tio Raul, being the cabrón that he is. He’s still pissed that his piece of shit kids didn’t get this condo. Either way, right now, no police…only because, what the hell would we tell them? ‘I’m calling to report a stolen rod?’” One brow arched. “You know our policia. And anyway, a potential break-in with nothing stolen and no one hurt doesn’t make for much of a case. Can’t see them dusting for prints over it, you know?” He patted her hand. “But I sure as hell am staying here with you until we get this place secured.” His tone was quiet but stern.

  She nodded, so thankful for him because she really was freaked out. She’d lived in a pretty sketchy rental in town before this, but strangely had never felt as unsafe then as she did now.

  He patted her hand, kissed her on the forehead, and went back to the closet to resume his search for a temporary security pole.

  “Thank you, Antonio. For coming out, staying with me, being here for me.”

  “You shouldn’t have to thank your family for help, Isabel. You should damn well expect it. I’m sorry you’ve had such assholes in your family to feel like you have to say thank you.” Just then he found the mop, unscrewed the head, and stuck the makeshift security pole into the slider track. Then he pulled his keys, wallet, and cell from his pockets and placed them on the coffee table.

  “You must be tired. Let me get you bedding for the pullout so you can get some sleep.”

  She felt horrible about putting him out, despite his reassurances and kind words. Granted, Antonio had no wife or kids of his own to go home to, but his growing limo business, working his ass off day in, day out, managing and being responsible for dozens of employees, and still, without a moment’s hesitation he’s by her side. And add her hex, potentially risking his safety by being in his mere vicinity for too long—she hated it. But her brother was ever loyal. And when it came to this type of situation—Antonio, the Tae Kwon Do master—there was no one she felt safer with.

  Isabel went to the linen closet carrying her nerves and worry with her. Bringing the pile of bedding back to the sofa, she walked past the slider and tried to take a full, clearing breath. She couldn’t. Her chest was stuck, her body on high alert along with her mind. She looked at the slider while attempting to swallow back the knot at the start of her throat. Then she noticed something out on the deck.

  She took a step toward the glass and squinted her eyes to combat the night’s darkness. A tiny wildflower lying just outside the threshold, its color impossible to make out in the staunch blackness, just its silhouette, like the one Roberto had given to her when she’d moved in. Not proof by any means, a sign though for sure. And signs meant everything to her. With this sign, a different kind of chill starting at her feet shot up to her head. It paused her in her tracks. Her whole body shuddered from the sensation and with it, a wave of confident awareness took her. Her jaw clenched. She swallowed again, then turned to Antonio.

  “It’s Roberto. I know it, in my gut. Antonio, will you go over there? Talk to him? Check. Please?”

  Antonio and Ray were the only people on Earth who believed in her curse and still stayed by her side despite it. And after her mother’s passing, when she announced a gut feeling, Antonio listened.

  “You couldn’t stop me if you tried, little sister, just let me get the locks changed first and fit an alarm system, too. Then I will. I’ll check him out.”

  She nodded, blinked a thank you, and continued zombie-like to fix the pullout. When done, she kissed his cheek, then shuffled to her bedroom, all in an abysmal daze.

  A heavy feeling pushed her into the tile floor, as if it was thick, seizing tar, and with every next step, the more sucked-under she felt. That image of Roberto’s eyes intruding on her life, in her home, at her sanctuary, weighed on her, strangling her heart with a mile-long chain.

  Roberto, damn it, what the hell are you doing?

  CHAPTER 19

  Isabel met Raquel at the Bay View Hotel the next morning, where the Rine/James wedding was being held. She wanted to show her face to the delegates to help bolster her assistant. The banquet manager, the customer service manager and the other jigsaw pieces to the hotel-side of the event puzzle were all at her beck and call. Since Vallarta was heading into hibernation for the hot summer season, weddings were their last hurrah until November. Wedding planners were treated like royalty then.

  “The ladies are at the pool already, and I think most of the groomsmen are in the sauna or still sleeping. Late night,” Raquel reported. “And by the way…the maid of honor, the bride’s older sister, seems pissed that Lucinda isn’t heading the event herself. Just be warned, she’s a bit of a handful.”

  “I like a challenge.” Isabel winked at her assistant, then moved onto other details—the dresses, the schedule, the vendors—until Charlie, the hotel’s customer service manager approached.

  “Ah, I found you, Isabel. You just move too fast for me. I’m an old man…have pity.” He laughed and kissed her cheek in greeting. “You look lovely, Isabel. As always.” Charlie had treated her a bit like a daughter from her very start with Golden Rings.

  “Thanks, Charlie.” But I know I look like I feel. “It’s always great to see you.”

  Between the home security issue and the conflicted sexual nirvana experience with Zack, she knew the shadowy bags under her eyes alone were enough of a giveaway, hardly even concealed by her professional makeup arsenal. Of the two hours she’d slept, she’d been less consumed by hauntings of her suspected home invader, Roberto, but more of visions of Zack, that pleasure-giving asshole.

  She put both Zack and Roberto out of her mind and got back to planning. With Charlie, she went over the rooming list for the out of town guests arriving that day and then called Antonio to finalize all of the airport pickups. Raquel had reported that the bridesmaids’ dresses were brought up to the ladies’ rooms the night before while the brid
al gown had just arrived, and the tailor was on site if they needed him.

  Okay, so she’d have the bride try on the dress for her before taking her to see the church. But before heading up to meet Amy Rine face-to-face for the first time, she detailed the next night’s rehearsal dinner with Charlie, which reminded her, she had to stop by the grand ballroom for a last minute measurement. Some things she knew she just had to do herself.

  “And Raquel, you’ll be here all day as anchor. Get the group whatever they need,” she said, finalizing the runaround route in her head. If all went her way, she’d get home early enough to grab a catch-up nap.

  Her quick stop in the grand ballroom to grab the table skirt lengths became a small issue because, rifling through her bag, she found that her tailor’s measuring tape was missing. It must’ve fallen out somewhere. She’d have to check the limo if, that is, Antonio was still in the parking lot. She texted him, and as she stood from kneeling, Lucinda’s number flashed across her phone screen. She answered while ever so smoothly scurrying out of the hotel.

  “Everything okay, Lucinda?”

  “Love, remember the backup florist in Sayulita from a month or so ago…need the number.”

  “Got it, one second.” Isabel pulled the phone from her ear to her eyes to be able to read it to Lucinda, speed-walking all the while.

  And just as she found the number on her tiny phone screen—an air-stopping, wind-knocking collision.

  *

  All she could see was a wall of dark blue. A man’s torso?

  A confirming deep rumble met her ears as her victim cleared his throat.

  Yes, it was a real live person, a man. Jesus, Isabel. It never ends.