Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1)

by Rissa Brahm

  And a few days of this dumbass charade—for her, he’d do it. But when the wedding’s done, he would devour her whole. He swore it.

  Until then, he’d try to control himself. Even though he felt like screaming her name from the rooftops. A crude, lavish womanizer turned fucking romantic, Zack was unrecognizable to himself. But he was on a high, tasting another level of sweet contentment that all the money and power in the world couldn’t buy.

  He needed her, or at the very least, he needed to talk to someone about her. He couldn’t tell Darren that the woman he’d referenced in the locker room was Isabel. But his mother, Elaine, had arrived only a few hours ago. He could at least tell her. Elaine James was safe with a secret. She didn’t speak to people anymore anyway, especially not people in the Rines’ class of crowd.

  When Darren had texted their mother’s arrival at the hotel, Zack had gone to her room straight away. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on the doorknob was a disappointment, but he wasn’t surprised. He knew she didn’t fly well, so he’d have to wait to see her at dinner later.

  In the meantime, he pictured the look on her face when he gave her the news that he had found someone, maybe the one. He remembered the family dinner a little over a year ago, when their mother had sparked to life with the announcement of Darren and Amy’s engagement. It was the first time he’d seen life in her vacant eyes in more than a decade.

  Zack knew that Elaine held out little hope for him finding, or even caring about finding, one special woman, but tonight he’d pull her aside, tell her about the angel he’d found, then lost, and thankfully found again. Him having met a woman that had grabbed his heart and twisted it in knots, he knew his mother would weep and sigh with relief. Elaine deserved to feel joy after all she’d been through. And when he did point Isabel out to her for the first time, she’d weep some more. She would just adore Isabel. He was certain of that.

  *

  He slipped on his sandals, moved to the door, spun around for his room key that he’d forgotten on the dresser, and then headed out of the suite. Darren and Amy were meeting him a couple of hours before the big welcome dinner to grab some happy hour drinks. A last little breather together before the craziness of the wedding weekend really began, and his little brother began his married life.

  When Zack entered the pool area, the heat bowled him over. His brother stood across the patio waving him over with the waiter already tableside with a tray of several margaritas. Zack counted four of them as he got closer.

  Darren had picked a table in a perfectly shady spot under the farthest cabana; a large column blocked the entire table from his view, and from the sun, which he liked, being so damn hot outside.

  As he approached, and the column blocked less of his view, he saw Amy. She was practically glowing as she spoke with deep enthusiasm to someone, the back of whose head he didn’t recognize. He could just make out a man’s hand lifting the fourth margarita and a sparkling emerald ring on one finger, which caught the sunlight just so. A hazy memory surfaced, but it was interrupted when Darren walked into the sun to hug him, chattering on about the rest of their day at the airport.

  Then Darren stopped him at the edge of the cabana. “And Amy kind of arranged a huge surprise for me. I’m not sure how she pulled it off, but it all worked out, even down to the airport pickup.” Darren let Zack pass him into the shade of the straw palapa to the table where one of those refreshing alcoholic beverages awaited him, as did a shocking and completely unforeseen sight.

  Bennet-fucking-James.

  *

  “Holy shit, Darren!” Zack shot at his brother, backing away from his worst nightmare. “What the fuck!”

  “What’s your deal, Zack?” Darren said, urgently trying to take things down a few notches.

  “What the fuck do you mean, ‘what’s your deal’? The sight of this…man…is the fucking deal! Why’d you bring him here…invite him here? Why?”

  Boiling heat pounded through his body like he’d been injected with liters of snake venom.

  Amy started to tear up and then all-out bawled. “I was surprising Darren. We wanted to start our lives together having forgiven all of the people in our past…like I got to forgive my father, so I surprised Darren by finding his dad…so he had a chance to do the same,” she sobbed.

  Zack couldn’t even look at Amy. He kept his furious focus on Darren. “Forgiving can be handled on the fucking phone, Darren! And what about Mom, goddammit?”

  “Look, bro, I’m sorry you’re upset—”

  “Upset? Why would I be upset in the presence of this bastard who left us and our mother for some whore in France!” His volume brought the maître d’ over to the table, while all the patio guests gawked.

  “Listen, Son.” Suddenly vocal, Bennet stood up, speaking directly to Darren. “Maybe I should go. Just let things cool down some.”

  “Son! You don’t get to call him son!” Zack blasted. “This man is more my son than he ever was yours, you vacating piece of shit!”

  “Zack!” Darren grabbed his shoulders and shifted his attention, forcing direct and targeted eye contact. “Listen. You are not going to make my bride cry days before her wedding, or at any other time, for that matter! And you may have raised me, but right now, you are acting like a goddamn child!”

  “A child! No, Darren, you were a child when this asshole left us! You know what…fuck this! If I’m the child, you should probably get a different best man. Why don’t you ask your fucking father here? Yeah, he’s the perfect candidate!”

  And Zack stormed off, knocking into patio chairs and a young waitress without apology. Once inside the hotel building, he unclenched his fists to see his hands, his bloodless white palms, shaking out of control.

  When he looked up, he was face-to-face with his mother, with her tired eyes and soft smile. “Don’t, Mom. Don’t go out there.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Isabel kept her evening free to be ready and rested for the next night’s rehearsal dinner. All the out-of-town guests had arrived successfully with the help of Antonio’s crew, and Raquel had made sure the bride and the rest of the party were doing fine.

  So, instead of ordering delivery, she would try out her new frying pans. Yeah.

  But staring at the dark kitchen, feeling the static air, except for the oscillating fan hitting her every minute or so, she got taken over by a hot fury.

  Fuck this…and screw him!

  She hardly lived as it was. She sure as hell wasn’t going to live in fear. She’d been hankering for home and her naked freedom and solitude. She was glad for the precautionary alarm system, the nearly finished fence, even the drapes drawn when she was away, but she wasn’t going to hide, not in her own damn home!

  She went into her bedroom, showered off the day, and came back out in a towel, throwing open the drapes to let the sunlight in. Then she pulled open the slider to welcome the ocean breeze.

  The flower. On the deck floor. That little, wilted, wildflower. Still there. She plucked it up and threw it over the rail down to the beach. “Fuck you!” she yelled, then went back inside, feeling better already.

  She dropped her towel where she stood. “I’m ready to cook,” she announced to no one. Completely nude for principle’s sake, in the quiet of her now bright and airy kitchen, she poured oil into her new pan while humming an old melody Celeste had sung to her as a child. Yes, this is better.

  Whatever veggies she had in the fridge, she pulled out. White onions first, she knew that much. Chopping them felt fabulous. She threw them in the pan; a sputtering sizzle met her ears. Then she refocused her now-tearing eyes at the colorful array of remaining veggies; bell peppers, mushrooms, red onions, which sure looked purple to her, and broccoli. She cut and diced it all, then tossed them all into the sizzling oil. She didn’t really despise cooking, it was more that she never had the time. Now, in her house, she kind of…loved it—the sounds and smells, even the sweltering heat of the stove. All of it.

  She added h
er ready-mix spices and tossed the combination with a flick of her wrist, a simple maneuver she’d seen done a billion times in the back kitchens at her events, but had never dared to try herself. A few pieces of onion flew out of the pan and onto the floor. She giggled as she picked them up and threw back in the pan, abiding by another rule of hers: the five-second one.

  She tried the sauté toss again—this time a perfect landing. She smiled and did it again and again, still humming her nostalgic childhood tune.

  The aroma drifted up to her nose. Her stomach rumbled in response. She remembered again that the grande mocha was the only thing she’d had the entire day, then add the gut attack from nerves in the early afternoon with her brothers and she was running on absolute empty.

  The onions were now translucent and the mushrooms a deepened brown, signs that she’d be eating soon. She continued humming and watching the last subtle changes of the sauté.

  But a change in light made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was something like a split second shadow or silhouette cast on the backsplash to her left.

  And over the final sputters of the heating veggies, her inner voice raised up, pausing her humming altogether. Was her mind playing tricks on her, or was the brief break in sunlight something…or someone? The whisper of a nagging reality forced her to put her wooden spoon down. Was he lurking? Peering in at her? She couldn’t stop picturing the crystal-blue eyes there now, at her doorway, like his surprise appearances of the recent past. And after the security pole and his freak-out at the bar…damn it, Roberto!

  She surrendered, grabbing an apron from the pantry and covering herself, tying it off in the back with a double yank. But the bay’s soft breeze sent goosebumps up her backside, taunting her, as if to say, “That’s far from good enough.” And she knew it.

  Damn it!

  She went to untie the apron and struggled with the massive knot she had just created. She growled, nails and fingertips working and manipulating, and finally, she broke free of the fabric, throwing it to the floor. Then she left the veggies on the hot burner and huffed off to her room to get clothes on.

  When she returned from her room, the scent of burned oil and blackened veggies met her with a punch to the face, and sent her into a second fit.

  “Fuck you!” she yelled out her back door to the potential someone who was lingering out there. Or was it still only in her mind? She stuck her head out and looked both directions. No one. She was going insane. Definitely going crazy.

  Back in the kitchen, she grabbed the hot panhandle and jumped back from the burning shock, dropping the pan on the stovetop with a clatter. She pulled out a potholder after the fact and brought the dead dinner to its funeral by stomping on the pedal of her garbage can and crashing the pan filled with burned sauté down into it. She tossed the pan into her sink and tossed herself onto the sofa. The pan softly sizzled with each drip from her leaky kitchen faucet while tears welled then streamed down her face.

  Even her little piece of solitude got yanked from her, goddammit. Everything she cared about got taken.

  *

  Some calming minutes later, she sat up, done with her poor me tantrum. She wiped her face.

  Her stomach grumbled and brought her back to the present. She reached for her phone to call for Chinese delivery. Maybe she would try the new pans again next week, after the damn fence was up. That she even needed a damn fence re-enlivened her fury.

  She angrily swiped through her favorites list for the restaurant’s phone number when a text came in.

  The bride.

  Amy’s message was unintelligible, with more typos than not. Isabel could only make out ‘best moon’ and ‘Darren’s further.’

  To get clear on the matter, dinner would have to wait.

  “Hey there, what’s going on? …Whoa, okay. Just slow down, Amy, and breathe sweetheart.”

  Amy took a deep breath and then detailed at length a dramatic scene at the hotel’s poolside restaurant. It involved a surprise guest Amy had arranged, a gift for her groom. But Amy had neglected to prepare anyone else for this guest. If she had clued Isabel in, at least, Isabel could have prevented a whole lot of unnecessary drama.

  So Darren and Zack’s father had arrived in Vallarta for the wedding. And then Zack, the best man, had relinquished his role to his father.

  “I got this. Where is the ex-best man now?”

  “Well, he said something about a meeting at La Vaca Ice Creamery at eight.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Isabel arrived at La Vaca and immediately spotted Zack’s hot sports car, then Zack, just down the way. Leaning against a column, he towered over some petite beauty with long auburn curls down her back. The lady, confident in her high heels and skintight jeans, seemed comfortable and animated with Zack. Familiar.

  A twinge of jealousy spiked up Isabel’s spine. Her immediate response was to throw her chest out and set her stance for a more relaxed and poised look, but Jesus, why? How ridiculous. Again, Zack wasn’t hers. And she couldn’t have him even if she wanted him. She’d been through this too many times to count.

  Isabel, you are only here to collect up the best man for the bride. Do your damn job.

  Then Zack leaned down to kiss the small woman goodbye, planting one on her cheek. A wave of guilty relief flooded over Isabel. The petite woman handed Zack a manila envelope and got into a silver sedan to leave. Zack immediately turned to walk back to his car without even waiting for the woman to drive off.

  The kiss on the cheek, the lack of lingering as she drove away—Isabel didn’t have to be an expert in couples’ connections to know that Zack and the woman were definitely not a couple.

  Again, so what?

  This is what. The undeniable fact was that her deepest self wanted him for herself. The first step to beating addiction was admitting the existence of the problem.

  She rolled her eyes and took a step toward him. She had no problem, damn it. She had this like she had every other damn wedding guest she’d been charged to handle.

  Zack looked up after a few strides toward where he’d parked and where Isabel stood smiling coolly, giving the slightest, most nonchalant wave she could muster.

  *

  She looked so damn hot, he could have pushed her onto the hood of his car there and then, right in front of the ice cream shop, spectators and all. His cock hardened at the thought of her bronzed skin against the reflective hot red metal.

  But when she reached her hand out to him and shook his hand in greeting, her touch sent another sensation flooding to his center. Warmth moved up and filled his chest like it had that morning.

  “Waving at me in public? Meeting me away from the wedding venue? This is all a definite no-no,” he said with wide eyes framed by raised brows. He tried to hide the heat that had overcome him, but his cheeks and ears were already burning, making him aware that he had lost the fight.

  “It’s allowed when I’m on the clock. Amy called me. Some drama with the best man?”

  “Fuck…yes. I blew up,” he said with disappointment in his rich baritone as he unlocked his car. He slid the envelope into the glove compartment—he couldn’t afford to lose the original closing documents for the condo. Armando’s assistant had emphasized that to him three times before handing the damn envelope over.

  He locked the car and rejoined Isabel on the sidewalk. “Call me a fucking drama queen, but, shit, this wasn’t like running into an ex from twenty years back. This was being face to face with my deserting piece-of-shit father! Against my will! Did you know my father was coming?” He definitely had a new kind of heat in him then. Had she? Had she known?

  “Had no idea. And I have the guest list, of course. No notes from the bride about anything sensitive.”

  “Well, this is sensitive…to me! The fucker left us! And now Darren wants to forgive and forget! Forget that I raised him! I didn’t go to college. I didn’t date. Instead I worked my ass off and raised him from age eight because my mother had all
but vacated too! All the while not taking a dime from that asshole. And Darren invites him to his wedding?” he vented. Then he caught himself, slightly embarrassed about his volume and dramatics in front of the ice cream parlor patrons, mostly parents with their stunned children.

  Then his hurt pride rose up. So, just who was this woman, escapee rather, to discuss any of this with him in the first place? They were supposed to be strangers, right? Well, beyond some amazing goddamn sex and two mind-fucking vanishing acts, they were strangers! Who was she to discuss his personal life with him? His eyes asked her all of that with not a single spoken word, just his narrowed, penetrating glare.

  But Isabel only tilted her head slightly to the left. “Listen, I didn’t eat dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast for that matter, except for a grande injection of caffeine. I’m going to get some mint chocolate chip. Health first, you know?” She smiled. “What flavor for you? My treat.”

  It pissed him off how she could calm things down with such oozing damn sweetness. At that point, he could’ve kissed her or shaken her, he wasn’t sure which.

  Neither. Instead, he decided on the spot to mellow out and play for control.

  “Wow…this Isabel…she is hot and sweet.” He smirked to get a rise out of her.

  Her mouth formed a straight line, and her left brow lifted. “Nope, just doing my job.” Then she whispered, “And we’re surrounded by kids, Zack. We’re not going there. Get me?”

  He smirked again at her embarrassment. “Mint chocolate chip. With hot fudge. And chocolate sprinkles,” he whispered back, behaving himself for her. “Oh, no nuts! And make it a large…please,” he yelled as she had already sauntered her fine ass to the counter. Fuck, he got so turned on by making her squirm.

  He watched her order, pay, and collect the ice creams, then followed her with his eyes to a table as far away from other people as possible. He smirked as she proceeded to place napkins at each bowl—just so—then spoons, each at the proper parallel to the napkin’s edge, then she waved him over. A bit OCD, but with an extreme sexiness to it.