Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1) (20 page)

CHAPTER 25

I
sabel 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.

Beyond getting a rise out of her, watching her attention to detail got him hard, and how she managed shit for her career in general, like with his tux that morning, just really hot. And being managed
by
her when they were intimate the night before, that drove him
buck-ass
wild.

But he had to admit, being managed by her when it came to his personal life, well, that just felt…too close for comfort. He’d cooled himself down from his earlier ego attack, but he still hadn’t given her the entrance ticket into his damn psyche.

So, in response to her
summons
, his walk of procrastination toward his Mexican goddess couldn’t have taken longer if he were standing still.

*

Isabel sensed Zack’s discomfort. A
self-made
,
self-assured
man like him, especially having reached such success at such a young age, was probably not accustomed to taking advice from anyone, let alone a woman, who, by the way, hardly knew him…well, except intimately.

And the topic was personal. Well, that’s an understatement. Probably more like one of the landmarks in time for this man.

“You know”—she paused for a large spoonful of ice cream, then swallowed and smiled—“Amy explained from her perspective. Why don’t you tell it from your side?”

“Okay, first off, Ms. Psychoanalysis 101, please, for fuck’s sake, speak to
me
, not one of your wedding guests to conquer and control.” He placed his hand firmly on the table as he finished the demand. Then he swiped his hand back, and the cup of ice cream went with it, to the floor. “Damn it.”

Isabel ran for a pile of napkins at the counter, and on her way realized that she couldn’t remember a single time she’d ever had to help someone else clean up
their
spill, solely theirs. Even when they’d first met, the wine glass had been a shared calamity.

Anyway, she got to the counter and was met with a brand new bowl of ice cream, already prepared by the
goo-goo
eyed teenaged guy wearing the uniform bright pink apron. Smiling a thank you, she made sure there were no nuts but only sprinkles—she now remembered the nut allergy listed on the best man’s questionnaire—and then headed back to the table where Zack was taking visibly deep, calming breaths.

She wanted so badly to comfort him and ease his frustration, his pain. She wanted to care for him. And it all annoyed the hell out of her.
Objectivity, Isabel. Get
some.

She got to the table, bent down with the napkins to cover the spill on the floor and stood up again. Zack reached for the ice cream to help her, his fingers skimming hers. They shared a look, then both glanced down at the ice cream. Still gripping the stupid bowl, scared to let it go and have it spill again, she rolled her eyes with a smirk, slid her hand back, and sat down.

He cleared his throat and smiled. “Thanks.”

She nodded, and they took a few silent tastes from their bowls.

She felt his eyes on her,
mid-bite
. Then he began, in an almost
too-soft
tone, as if to counter his earlier demeanor. “Look, I have justifiable anger toward my father. He abandoned us. Darren didn’t ask me, or was it Amy who didn’t? Whoever the hell invited the bastard, I was completely taken off guard. My mother couldn’t even reach him by phone six years ago for Darren’s high school graduation. She was given instructions never to phone again. What kind of man…?” Then he took an angry bite of ice cream.

Isabel held back a smile by taking a bite of her mint chocolate chip dinner, swallowed it down, and looked at him. “Doesn’t sound like the kind of man you are. And not the kind of man you helped Darren to become,” she said naturally, objectively, knowingly. Strategically.

He looked at her and through her at the same time. He was searching for something, maybe her authenticity, the truth behind her observation. “I tried. I try,” he said humbly.

“Here’s my question. Does Darren know? I mean, did he know that you’re still so angry with your father? Because I get the sense that Darren, and that would mean Amy also, had no idea. Sounds like you held back all criticism of the man, not lowering yourself to your father’s level by badmouthing him, just to protect your baby brother.” She paused and looked him straight in his
sea-green
eyes. “Did and does your brother have a clue how you feel? And why you feel such…anger?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t, and don’t, want him to think the way I do about the man, feel this same awful disgust and hate…I mean, fuck!”

He slammed back another spoonful of ice cream, then went on with his mouth still full. “And I would never want Darren to think I resented
him
! I’m angry with my father! For leaving us and leaving me to raise
his
youngest son…” He trailed off as a realization seemed to hit him over the head.

She let the silence be for a beat or two.

“Hey, it’s okay that you resent your father. And it’s just as okay to acknowledge the fact that you
didn’t
ask to raise your kid brother.”

“But I’m proud of Darren, and I’m damn proud of the job I did with him. I don’t really have any regrets. None in fact. I supported my family without that fucking asshole,” he said, shaking his head, nostrils flared, “and I’ll be damned if he’ll come waltzing in now and be fucking forgiven for all.”

“Look at it this way: Your father left, and you’re justifiably bitter. Darren is not
as
bitter. Why? Because you jumped in,
more
than compensating for your dad’s absence, giving your brother guidance, love, and support, a true guardian. So Darren’s life really didn’t skip a beat. He never felt a void, at least not like the void you felt. Maybe, because of
you
, he’s able to forgive your
piece-of
-shit dad and not harbor the same animosity you do. All because of the job you did. Because of you!” She paused to let it sink in.

He took a bite of his melting mess, and halfway through the spoonful, he said, “Yeah, Amy was right about one thing. You
are
damn good. And I hate it.”

“I am,” she said with a smile, “and hate it or not, you’ll have to suck on up, buttercup.”

“It’s ‘suck
it
up’,” he said, letting one side of his mouth curl through his gravity.

“Right, whatever,” she said with an emphatic eye roll which morphed into a
thin-lined
grin. “Anyway, I’m just being honest, which I can be if I’m
not
talking with a guest at one of my weddings.”

“I guess…I appreciate that?” Zack said with a hint of levity in his voice, definitely uncomfortable with the current
advisee-advisor
roles. “And, wait––not a guest? Sooo…”

She gave him a slow
eye-sigh
, cleared her throat, then took a big,
comment-ignoring
bite of ice cream.

*

Three more delicious bites later, she said through frozen lips, “I want you to hear an alternative.” Isabel looked at him, waiting for a nod of approval before she went on. And after two pensive spoonfuls of ice cream, he bobbed his head.

“Let’s say that Darren knew how much you hated your father, which he didn’t. And let’s also say Darren sought him out
and
invited him, even if it might upset you, neither of which he did. But Zack, even if he
had
done those things, Darren is a grown man. And it isn’t up to you who Darren and Amy invite to
their
wedding.” She took another slow spoonful, awaiting a reply.

But none came, Zack just stared and stirred his melted green and black slush.

“Be your brother’s best man, Zack, and be supportive of him forgiving your dad. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to do the same.” She stopped there on instinct. She might have gone too far already, so she chose not to say her next thought:
Sometimes, what we hate most in others is the mirror we see reflected back at us by
them.

Especially by our own blood.

She watched Zack intently. The corners of his mouth, downturned now as he continually bit his bottom pout, maybe stopping himself from saying one thing or another. But it was coming, she knew. A response was in process, she could almost see it brewing. His strong hands occupied themselves with stirring his ice cream to death. The apparent conversation he held with himself, within himself, had him shaking his head from side to side with inaudible mutterings escaping every now and then.