Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1) (32 page)

CHAPTER 45

H
e pulled out
of the driveway just after sending her his last text. He was sure they were right together, two lost puzzle pieces that had finally found each other’s perfect fit. He came to a red light and checked his phone eagerly for anything back from her, but nothing yet. He continued down the winding byway toward the hotel. He was exhausted and looked forward to his bed. He would just crash and wait.

Then a text buzzed in. He glanced at it hopefully, like an excited puppy. But it was from Wret:
We’re going marlin fishing. Meet us, 20
min.

He literally laughed out loud. Zachary James hadn’t been fishing since his father had taken him and Darren last and had boycotted the entire sport after Bennet left.
How ridiculous
, he mused.
Fifteen plus years of avoiding…fishing? Hell, yes I’ll go!
He’d go, and in doing so, he would further clinch the newfound apathy he held toward his father and the newfound freedom that came with it. He quickly texted
Yes!
as he drove, rerouting himself toward the marina.

He breathed deep, picturing the day on the open water, the speed, the catch. Why the hell had he ever made his missing father so important, such a symbol in his life? Whatever. Now he would embrace the day, and at the same time, distract himself while he waited for Isabel’s answer.

Another text came in, and thinking it was from Wret, but hoping it was from Isabel, he cruised through a turn into a straightaway, then glanced at his phone:
Are you coming fishing with us? Stephanie.

What the hell?
And
who
the hell gave Stephanie Rine his cell number?

He tossed his phone, along with his annoyance and disappointment, onto the passenger’s seat in disbelief of the woman’s persistence. And then there was another incoming text…

Another one from that prejudiced bitch?

He reached for it but the phone slid to the floor. The tiny sports car made for an easy reach while still keeping half an eye on the road.

At first glance, it was hard to know what it was that flashed into his partial view while he was still halfway below the dash. Going 60 mph with one hand still on the steering wheel, there was no place to veer. No moment to think.

As if in slow motion, the horse flew over the hood on impact, rolling up the windshield, crushing the roof. The
all-encompassing
implosion slammed Zack into the passenger’s side glove compartment.

The living nightmare began and ended in an instant.

CHAPTER 46

I
sabel woke up
Monday morning, stiff and disoriented. She’d apparently drunk several pints of Mexican
tuba
wine, because the empty bottle lay on its side at her head. She had a hazy recollection of a number, one hundred and eight? Dolphins? Ah, yes, she’d used dolphin spotting as a distraction during the painful waiting game. Waiting and waiting for any incoming texts, calls, visits—hell, a sky written message would have done her. But nothing. Not from Lucinda, and nothing from Zack.

God, nothing from
Zack.

She looked at her phone hopefully, maybe something came in while she was passed out. But all she had were a few outgoing calls from the morning before, which she immediately remembered making. Thank God before drowning in coconut wine, she’d gotten a hold of Raquel to handle the Rine/James Sunday brunch, and had spoken to Antonio for the airport runs. She couldn’t bear to show her face at the Bay View, or to see anyone at all for that matter. All she could do after Zack left was wait. And drink.

And now, with no more wine, she’d have to go back to dolphin counting.

*

At dolphin number one hundred and
ninety-seven
, her phone rang.

She took a breath, moved the empty wine bottle back from the table’s edge and slowly picked up her cell. Lucinda’s image appeared on the screen.

And here we
go.

She let it ring just one more time before answering. Then she hit
Accept
.

“Isabel.”

“Good morning, Lucinda.” Decidedly no guilt or apology in her voice, Isabel reminded herself that she couldn’t really know for certain why Lucinda was calling. It could be for a phone number, or an airlift for an elderly guest?

Sure, Isabel, get optimistic now.
More like, delusional.

So she knew it was the end of her career. And it was the end of her special relationship with Lucinda. But she also knew in her heart that she’d tried in earnest to combat the Zack situation. With all the best intentions. For the company’s reputation, and for her own, she’d implemented pure professionalism.

And it burned her that she honestly hadn’t known Zack was a wedding guest when they’d met, and met again, and had the most skyrocketing sexual and emotional connection ever. And come to think of it, Lucinda hadn’t known he was the best man either, when the woman left Isabel at the Five Breezes that day, the day she and Zack first met!

But it didn’t matter. Not a damn. Because Isabel knew what mattered in the end to Lucinda Carlyle.

“Isabel, can you tell me it isn’t true? What the maid of honor saw?”

Isabel remained silent. She couldn’t say it wasn’t true. So she wouldn’t say a word.

“Was it…another assault? Did she misinterpret it all? If so, I’ll prosecute that son of a bitch, Zack James! Saving you one night, then preying on you the next!”

Oh God…No!

“No, Lucinda, it was nothing like that!” Isabel did remember Zack coming on hard and strong, but it was from genuine excitement with the wedding coming to an end, a mutual excitement really. And despite her attempt at stopping things, it being the wrong place, wrong time—and the small issue of him leaving Stephanie’s hotel room—all in all, it was just another cosmic fucking joke, a big fat joke on her, yet again!

But definitely nothing close to an assault!

“Then
what
? I was grooming you, Isabel! To take over someday, and someday soon! What possessed you?”

Should Isabel tell Lucinda that she and Zack had met before the event? He was the guy Lucinda pushed her direction? And that he had fallen for her…and maybe, likely,
shit,
definitely, she for him. After all of Lucinda’s lectures, Lucinda of all people would be ecstatic, right?

But, then, how did Isabel let it get physical
during
the event? On hotel grounds, no less? On the same damn floor, same wing as the wedding guests!

No. She decided she wouldn’t stoop to explain herself, especially not over the phone. There was no way around sounding defensive, bordering on pathetic. Isabel had too much pride.

Lucinda accepted the silent reply. “I just hung up with Stephanie Rine with Annette conferenced in. I, of course, would have hung up on both of them, since they are not the bride, but it was when they began threatening that they’d kill my business with horrendous reviews on all the wedding sites! And on and on. My contract protects Golden Rings from slander, but to defend and litigate it would cost more than the company’s worth. And legal doesn’t stop the irreparable damage of bad press. I have staff, contracts, my pending retirement hinges on all that I’ve built, Isabel!” Lucinda paused. And Isabel just shook her head at her end of the phone.
Those horrid
bitches.

“The cardinal rule, Isabel! I just expected anything but this from you. Was the best man even worth it? No, don’t even answer that. It doesn’t matter anyway. They’ve agreed to sign a Covenant Not to Sue or Slander Agreement if I let you go. I’d have to release you anyway, since the entire office knows now. So”—Lucinda huffed—“for the benefit of my company…Isabel Ruiz, your services are no longer needed. Goodbye.”

Isabel sat there on her back deck, phone still at her ear, but the only sound left to hear was that of the tide rushing in. With a blank mind and a frozen stare out at the water, she had no tears. She was just too numb to even cry. Her jaw tightened. She reached across the table for the bottle of coconut wine.
Fuck.
She forgot it was empty. Just bone fucking dry.

CHAPTER 47

H
is eyes
blinked.

“Oh, thank heaven!” he heard his mother’s voice cry. Then he heard medical terms being exchanged between two others in the room. And saw the time on a wall clock through his haze…4:23…
in la tardes o la ma
ñ
ana?
He couldn’t tell in the artificially lit and windowless room.

“A severe concussion, twenty stitches in total, from the left temple to the center of his forehead, and several broken ribs,” the doctor repeated from the chart, and then Zack faded away again.

*

“He needs more. And I won’t leave until he gets it.” He woke again to a woman’s shrill voice.

He half opened then squinted his eyes. “Lights,” he murmured.

“More light? Just open your eyes more, sweetheart.”

Stephanie
Rine?

“Off. Lights off.” His head throbbed. Where was he? He had recalled his mother’s voice. Where was she? Was he left floating in a void, left with just
Stephanie-fucking
-Rine to hover over him?

Isabel! Where is Isabel? Fuck it hurts to breathe.
Had she texted? Is she
here?

“Hello. I’m Doctor Acharya. Can you tell me your name?”

“
Me llamo
Zachary James.” Zack looked confused. His words were out of his control. “
Por
qué
…?”

“It’s fine, Zack, don’t be too worried. With such a trauma, speaking a foreign language, eating with the wrong hand, things like that may happen during your recovery from time to time.”

Forcing his brain, Zack stammered, “How…long was I…out?
Qué
día es
hoy
…I mean, what day…today?”

“It’s Wednesday. You were out for three days, Zack. You were in an extremely severe car accident. In fact, you’re not only tremendously lucky to be alive, but you are lucky to be able to talk, to move your limbs, to be conscious right now! After seeing the photos of your vehicle, it’s all downright…miraculous, son. Just a laceration to the head and several broken ribs.”

“It hurts…to breathe.
Hablar
…to talk,” Zack rasped.

“Don’t strain yourself, sweetie,” Stephanie soothed with an unsolicited pat on his arm. Zack flinched slightly, but moaned in pain from the minor bit of movement.

The doctor continued. “Yes, and it will hurt for some time. The button by your right hand is for the morphine drip, to alleviate the pain. And the button below that is for immediate assistance from the nurses’ station.”

“
Dóndez está
, I mean, where’s Mom? I heard her. And Isabel? I need Isabel.”

He heard Stephanie sneer and then excuse herself from the room, telling the doctor in a huff that she would send Zack’s mother in.

“Zack, your healing time will be some weeks for those broken ribs, and I’ll take your head sutures out in fourteen days.” The doctor nodded, pleased. “For now, just get some rest. You’ll be out of here in two or three days so…soak up the service.” The man chuckled, then went to leave.

“
Esperas!
The phone? Can I talk from my phone…someone?”

“Best to rest now, but here’s your mother. Maybe she can communicate something for you.”

*

“It’s really hard to hear you, Amy… What about Zack? Because he didn’t return my text, I’d been wondering—”

Amy’s garbled ranting cut off her words, then her breath.

Her phone slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor, bouncing several times while she could only stare at it. As if it was possessed.
Pick it up. Talk to Amy.
There’s nothing new here, Isabel. Inevitable torture, remember?

Robotically, she grabbed the phone with a quivering hand and brought the now cracked screen up to her ear.

“Amy? Are you there?”

“No, it’s Darren, Isabel… Can you hear me? Cell reception…not…best…first stop…now.”

“I hear you now! Darren—how? And, when?”

Darren began to explain Sunday’s sequence of events to her as she remained surprisingly calm, collected.

Until he told her that the accident had happened after leaving her house.

*

Jolting sobs erupted from her, and she dropped to her knees on the cold tile floor. The hard shock to her kneecaps physically reverberated through her, but the pain didn’t register at all.

“Are you there, Isabel?” Darren’s voice echoed in her head.

Was she? Was she really there? Or here? Again? Fuck! And fuck fate. She knew and ignored and now would face the fucking consequences, the loss, the heartbreak.
All-the
-fuck over again.

“God, I’m not sure if she’s still on,” she heard Darren say.

She somehow brought her desperate gasps to smaller, hardly audible whimpers. And then found her voice. “Sorry, I’m here. Darren I can hear you.” The voice of a hollow ghost drifted out of her mouth. Just an unrecognizable, raspy hush.

“Isabel, he’s going to be alright. Really.”

Darren had no clue. “Right, of course, I just—” She was about to lose it again, so she just quit speaking.

Darren somehow took his cue and went on. “He told me to call you, Isabel. Made me promise to get you down there to see him. He needs to talk to you. He needs you there. St. Maria’s, Room 303.”

She heard the shakiness in Darren’s voice then. Pained emotion being held back by all the courage the newly married man could muster. Zack was Darren’s surrogate father. What the fuck had she done? How could she have been so selfish? All to fulfill her own lust, and to reverse her own loneliness. Zack was almost gone because of her!
Damn you, Isabel!

“I’m a world away, Isabel, and I can’t get to him for at least three days. He’s always been there for me, and I’m…look, it doesn’t matter. The selfless fucker made me promise not to come back from the honeymoon! And it turns out, Isabel, it isn’t me he wants to see anyway—it’s you, only you! Please…will you go?”

She said nothing as her emotions got the better of her again. She took a deep breath and found her voice. “I will. Of course I’ll go see him.”

Darren sighed relief into the fuzzy phone connection. “Isabel, listen, separate from how he treats my mother and me, Zack’s been a narcissistic prick for, like, his entire adult life. But he’s changed. I noticed it when I got to Vallarta. But now, with this accident, it’s extreme. Like, I’ve called him the luckiest bastard in the world since forever, and it always pissed him off. But when he was on the phone with me only ten minutes ago, he called
himself
‘blessed’ and ‘the luckiest man in the universe’! And said that you, Isabel, you’re his ‘lucky charm.’ That kind of talk from my brother’s mouth, unheard of. Completely, just, unreal!”

She didn’t know what the hell to say or what to think. But a skeptic turning believer didn’t make the near death of Zack any less real. Or any less her damn fault!

“Darren, I’ll go there now. Let me hang up with you and get on the road. You and Amy just try your best to relax and be with each other. I’ll tell Zack you send your love,” she said quickly. “And I’ll talk to you both soon.”

She hung up and dried her eyes, then switched into high intensity mode, grabbing her keys, phone, and bag. She looked at her unconscious, hardly legible scribble on the border of the old newspaper on her coffee table to recall the hospital room number and then bolted out of the house.