Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1)

by Rissa Brahm

  “Career, Zack. My hard-earned career. My livelihood.”

  “Yes, but…” He paused, as if thinking out his next words carefully. “You know, I can more than take care of the both of us, Isabel. You don’t need a job—a career, sorry—if you’re with me.”

  Yes, he did just say that. She shook her head at him, then at the floor. She prayed the alcohol was talking. She couldn’t have fallen for such a chauvinistic prick. Impossible, right?

  “You chauvinistic prick! You spout your feelings for me, but ignore mine at the same time. My career is fucking important to me! So what do you have in mind? You make me the trophy on your arm? Or I continue with my event planning ‘job’ somewhere else, if that’s even possible, and you resent me for it?”

  “No. And not what I meant…at all! I was just…”

  “Just what? Listen, my career is—was—everything to me. But how could you understand? Zack James, who flies around the world, calling on his minions to do all of his work for him. And oh, so depressed, so sad, being eaten up by boredom and emptiness from his luxurious, grandiose life! Cry me a fucking ocean! You don’t even see how fucking lucky you are! Opportunities come at you like a tidal wave, but for us regular folk, we have to fight and struggle for a chance, like the chance I had with Lucinda!”

  “How the fuck can you know jack shit about my opportunities? Everything I have, I damn well earned with hard work, my blood, sweat, sacrifice. I was the one who acknowledged and seized each and every opportunity, took the risks, took the leaps. And now I fucking create opportunities for others. Goddammit! I could hire you if you want me to?” His eyes were blazing at her with raw and intentional condescension.

  But she shot her death stare up to the ceiling. She had to. Or she’d lose her nerve, her backbone, her will. She held back the threatening tears. She would have rather died than let him see a single one. He didn’t damn deserve a molecule of a teardrop of hers.

  So her eyes zoomed in on the chipped paint above her head, the end of a long web of cracks from old age. Then she swallowed hard trying to find her voice and said in a lifeless tone, “You and I, it’d never work, Zack. We’re just too different. Great sex and hot chemistry don’t compensate for, well, everything else that’s lacking. You’re going through this thing with your father, your new perspective on life. I just don’t have time to wait for you to figure it all out. And by the way, I don’t take charity. I’ll find a new job on my own. Anyway, I can’t do this with you.”

  He scoffed. “Running away is easiest, I get it.”

  “You have no clue about my reality. My obstacles and hardships.” Now she was ready to explode. If he would just give up already! End this relentless chase or attack or whatever the hell it was!

  Zack eased his arms down to his sides, looked up at the ceiling with a sigh, and then back at her. “Isabel, please listen to me. My life issues, the crap with my father, it was you who got me to be honest with myself. I’ve been running away from life, doing just about anything not to turn into my father. But I actually ran right into becoming him. I ran from love, commitment…but I’m ready to stop running now. Whatever it is that has you scared, we can take it on together, just…stop running from me.”

  Isabel studied the ceiling cracks again, noticing then how far back the web began, following the network of rigid lines and fringes all the way to the white cement wall, then down to the hard gray floor. Nothingness.

  She set her glazed-over eyes back on Zack. “I’m not running from anything, Zack. Don’t assume we’re anything alike. We aren’t. My priority is just…beyond you! It’s that simple. Let me ask you, does this newly enlightened Zack get that he is not the center of the fucking universe? Can he even consider that I have my own life and I need to make my own way for myself? Without distraction…like tonight’s chaos…not at all necessary!” She kept pulling from her mental arsenal of excuses, which was so close to empty. Why the hell she didn’t just leave then, she didn’t know. Like the night on the beach, her traitorous feet just stayed stuck, immoveable.

  Maybe it was her search for closure. But he just wouldn’t give it. Jesus, she could see what he had meant by him always seizing his opportunities. She definitely felt him trying to seize her. She had never had a man fight so hard for her, and she hated feeling the sensation. But worse, deep down, she relished it.

  “I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. You’re confusing things just to slap on another copout. But I told you, I will find out what you’re keeping from the surface,” he reminded her. “You wouldn’t have spent that time with me, those hours on the boardwalk, on the clock. And none of that night was one-sided––you opened up to me, too, Isabel. And not because of my pressing. And now, I’m not even on your radar all of a sudden? It isn’t me who has the issues, Isabel.”

  His words stabbed and stabbed some more. “Look!” she yelled, then pulled back quickly. Breathe. What did she have to hide anymore? She had already stated again and again that this…thing between them was over before it had even started. But he was relentless! He would just keep calling her out on anything she came up with. She just needed to end it, and if he didn’t believe the real reason, well then, his thinking her insane would do the job, no matter how he saw her afterward. And how fucking endlessly horrible that would feel. But he’d pushed her to it at this point.

  *

  “Zack, it happens to be the case, that…I am, in essence, a cursed soul, and…”

  “Oh Jesus…really?” he jeered. “Cursed…?”

  “Let. Me. Finish. Please. I have always had this undeniable pattern of tragedy following me, like, ever since I can remember. Anyone close to me has ended up…” She glanced up at his unbelieving eyes, but continued on just the same. “Zack, judge and speculate all you want, but the last three men who loved me died fucking horrible deaths. And my own mother took her life, also because of me. Now, look what’s happened with Roberto! I…I just couldn’t be responsible for another life. You’ve just got to let it go…let me go!”

  “Wow, aren’t you the self-absorbed and all-powerful one now? You have the power to kill, huh? And didn’t you say you didn’t believe in luck and this bullshit? The first time we met?”

  “I said that luck doesn’t believe in me. Because fate…fate has made sure luck stays far, far away.”

  “I fucking cannot even believe what I’m hearing! No. You’re just fucking with me. Or you’re fucking crazy! Either way, just say you don’t want me. Say that, but don’t you dare mock me, Isabel!”

  “Don’t you dare mock me! It’s all true!” But what was she yelling for? She had expected his skepticism. In fact, she was banking on it. “Look, let’s not waste our time anymore.” Then softening from exhaustion, “I just…I care…about your safety! We just can’t be together, Zack. We just can’t.”

  “Okay. So, fuck! I thought you were strong, brilliant…but this superstitious bullshit?” He paced a few feet then spun around, “But if it’s the case that you’re ‘cursed,’ why get involved with me in the first place? Why let us get this far?”

  Fuck. Good point, and yes she was a horrendous, selfish witch.

  But it was not something she’d admit to out loud right now. “I tried to not let it get here! You just wouldn’t fucking quit!”

  “Then why not tell me your crazy-ass theory? That would have stopped me in my tracks way back!” he scoffed. He mumbled something else under his breath. It made her nauseous. She knew this would hurt, but Jesus, the new look in his eyes—his hateful, patronizing glower—it was cutting her chest open in slow motion while she watched.

  *

  It was obvious to him that she loved him and that it terrified the fuck out of her.

  And cursed? That was the final straw. This bat-crazy reason was just too hard for him to swallow.

  If, hypothetically, he were to ever believe in her insane theory, believe in such things at all, it would mean that he, that they, were all powerless to affect anything in any of their ow
n lives. It would be the improvised comedy of the universe, with no rhyme or reason. Hell no!

  Then his logic called up the constant insulting insinuations he had heard about himself his entire life and now again from Isabel. That luck had played a part in so much of what he had achieved in his existence. No! As if luck had anything to do with his victories, with his success at raising his brother, his financial stature, his survival. And then, in walks his deadbeat dad, implying that he was Daddy’s fucking lucky rabbit’s foot and was sorry to have “lost” him!

  He’d hear none of that bullshit—no more!

  And he couldn’t fight for, or with, Isabel any harder than he had.

  He’d reached his limit.

  “What the fuck am I still doing here? I mean, you…you insult me with accusations of sleeping with Stephanie, of being an arrogant, ungrounded asshole, and then you round things out with the excuse that you are a fucking walking curse? Jesus, what a waste of time and energy,” he spat then fumed. “You’re a damn fool, Isabel Ruiz—a goddamn fool.”

  He couldn’t look at her to see her reaction. He just turned and walked off, completely drained, wrung out and hanging. The picture of his future with Isabel, the one who’d filled his void, spiraled down and flushed itself out of his reality.

  And his stomach, chest, and head all pounded painfully in unison, like a hellish chorus of sad, lonely souls.

  CHAPTER 41

  Fucking Sunday. Zack couldn’t even depend on the trivialities of the wedding for distraction anymore. With a complete lack of direction for the day, and without the perfect whimsical blueprint he had drafted in his mind with Isabel as the primary pillar, the stark aimlessness was too much for him.

  He had been so sure about her. Fuck!

  Having had entirely too much alcohol last night, or more like, for the entire past month, then add the severe lack of sleep and far too much drama shoving and prodding him over the edge, he couldn’t have felt worse. When he went to the mirror, he saw that he couldn’t have looked worse either. He peered closer, scrutinizing his face and his hair, finding another gray speck in his thick reddish-brown waves.

  And then he looked closer.

  A strange feeling overcame him. He felt dizzy, woozy, as if he were drunk still, though he was for sure not.

  He saw deep into the mirror, past his own image somehow, through himself, like an optical illusion. But it was an animated scene. A hallucination? Or a damn delusion?

  What he saw was his entire life on fast forward, farther and farther beyond his reflection. He saw more flights to different places, different people, different women. He saw his brother and new wife getting older, with their growing children. His mother, shrinking through her life, then vanishing—gone. His own hands held out in front of his eyes, turning older, more frail. He was alone.

  And he jumped away from the mirror when the movie of his future-life ended. All he could see now was his tired reflection staring back at him.

  Holy fuck! Just holy fucking hell…

  *

  He put clothes on. Got his room key, car key, wallet, phone. He left the room, the hotel, then the parking lot and headed to La Sexta Noche. It was 5:30 AM. He drove fast. The roads were empty on that Sunday morning in Vallarta, except for an early morning bicyclist and two horsemen taking up a lane of traffic, not an uncommon sight in Vallarta, weirdly.

  He got to the club, took the disabled parking spot, and sprinted inside. No bouncer that early, or late, rather. Now inside, he asked the lone bartender, “Canadian DJ?”

  The bartender pointed to the DJ’s booth. “Lucky, ’cause you almost missed him. And he’s hardly ever here this late…” she blathered, but Zack let her trail off as he headed across the dance floor, jimmying through straggling partiers.

  The guy was packing up to leave when Zack arrived at the booth. “Hey man. I don’t know if you remember me?”

  And no. The guy obviously had no recollection of him whatsoever, per his stoned-out-of-his-head stare.

  “I’m Zack, a…colleague of Isabel’s. Isabel Ruiz? Gorgeous, long dark wavy hair, Mexican goddess.” He waited a second for the guy’s bells to ring. No one could forget Isabel. “You replaced her mirror?”

  A light came on in the guy’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Isabel. Shit yeah, man. And you’re the dude from the booth the other night, I mean ‘colleague,’” he said with air quotes and an all-knowing albeit completely glazed-over look. “I’m Chris.” He extended his hand to Zack who shook it firmly but quickly. He needed to get what he came for and go.

  “So, listen man…her passport and phone fell out of her purse and I…” Zack trailed off, noticing the guy’s head cocked, eyes narrowed. He was high, but he wasn’t that far gone. “Look, dude, the truth…I’m in love with her. I need her address, and since you replaced the mirror at her condo… And she wouldn’t take my calls even if I tried. I’ve got to get to her. I’ve just got to.”

  The guy nodded, deep in thought for a nanosecond, then without hesitation, DJ Chris jotted something down on a napkin. “Here’s the condo complex name, but I heard that complex just got a new security gate with a guard and all, so you can’t get in without her buzzing you in, dude. Sorry. But, she’s in like the fifth or sixth unit.”

  Zack checked the scribble. It was at least legible: Paradise South.

  Holy fucking hell?

  The complex that he’d practically grown up in! His condo, the one he’d just purchased, unit number nine—it was in Paradise South.

  Go, man. Move! Zack transferred a fast cash thank you to Chris as they shook hands.

  “Good luck, dude! She’s fucking unbelievable,” the guy said almost wishfully.

  “Fuck luck, but thanks, man. Really,” he said, then sprinted out to his car.

  He was going to Isabel. His future was unbearable without her. Just absolutely unfathomable.

  Once again he was speeding through sleepy Vallarta, literally flying over the random unmarked speed bumps littering the town roads. But he was on autopilot, unable to see much else but the movie of his life sans Isabel. It haunted him and lit him on fire at the same time. He drove faster, hitting scenic 202 now, the winding cliffside byway toward his condo. And hers. How fucking crazy is that!

  Please let her take me back, forgive me, want me. Because if not, he swore, the drive off the edge into the bay seemed more enticing than the mirror’s projection, the movie that showed him life without her. Please, Isabel.

  CHAPTER 42

  Sunday morning at dawn, Isabel was up early with a cup of tea on her back deck overlooking the bay. And being confident that Roberto was no longer a threat, especially since the fence had been finished during the wedding on Saturday, she sat there practically naked, back to comfortable in her desired state.

  But nothing else in her life felt comfortable. Or right. She was ragged from worry over her position at Golden Rings, and fuming, confused, and nauseous over Zack, the entire cluster it had all become. God, that look in his eyes, it suffocated her—still.

  She blinked it all away and sipped her tea slowly. Find something to distract you.

  Okay. She focused on the rolling tide below. Always soothing to her. The roll in and out, like breath, like life.

  Just then a flitting monarch butterfly caught her eye. She had been in awe at their great migration as a little girl, but this one was without its group, its kaleidoscope she recalled learning in school. The lone soul fluttered over her and out over the bay. Her heart sank knowing that if the orange and black beauty continued its course west, it would never reach its destination, nor would it ever find rest––the sea would destroy its wings if the thing tried to touch down. Its only hope would be to meet its end with a hovering seabird, a quick, and likely painless, conclusion. What a shame—such a delicate and dazzling creature. She turned her head, unable to watch.

  And as she faced her front door now, a sudden knocking, then the doorbell, brought her back to her own cruel reality.

  Too early, even
for a Mexican visitor, well, except maybe in an extreme situation.

  This is it. Lucinda must need to do this in person.

  She wrapped herself in her soft satin robe, took a breath for courage, and went to her front door.

  *

  Peering at him through the stained glass window was the vibrant yet blurred image of his Isabel.

  “I needed to see you, Isabel.” He had heard the light patter of her bare feet from inside. “And you don’t have to let me in if you don’t want to, but please just listen to what I have to say from out here?”

  Nothing.

  He stood outside like a door-to-door salesmen, completely at her mercy. Minutes passed.

  Looking around, waiting and hoping, Zack couldn’t fucking believe that only four units down was the place he’d called a second home for his entire young life. The old gardener trimming the bushes on the grounds waved to him, the man had been working the property for so long.

  Zack smiled and returned a wave, then turned his attention back to Isabel’s door when he heard four beeps, a deadbolt clank, and a chain lock drop.

  She opened the door.

  *

  Without a word, but in all her stunning glory, she let him enter her home. His entire being quivered. He always wondered how she did that to him. No one else on the planet ever had.

  Upon entering, he tripped but caught himself and recovered before she even noticed. Keep it together, Zack.

  He continued to follow her into the main room, soaking her in with his anguished eyes while breathing her coconut scent deep into his lungs as if his life depended on it. She continued out onto the deck, still without a single word. All he could hear were the waves tumbling in below them, they got louder as he moved farther out onto the deck. He paused then. With Isabel at the deck railing and the wide blue Bay of Banderas set behind her, he couldn’t breathe for an instant. The ultimate masterpiece. He squinted his eyes to better capture the exquisite subject of the virtual photograph: Isabel, in her gossamer satin robe highlighted by subtle reflective light from the sunrise to the east. He couldn’t be sure that she, or any of it, was real at all. So much like a dream, he feared that breathing would wake him from it.