Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1) (5 page)

Her smile grew, widened, and then her hand flew to her lips. Despite her apparent effort, it was no use. A small giggle escaped first, then came
all-out
laughter. “I am so, so sorry. The glass, it just crunched at the
perfect
moment, like it was scripted…with the
pick-up
line from a
B-grade
romantic comedy,” she said, gasping through her laughter as she slapped then grasped his elbow for leverage through her fit.

Having her hand hot on his skin, he didn’t even mind her amusement at his expense. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. He finally looked down at the pile of glass he stood in, sighed, and started nodding his head in surrender. Yeah, the entire scene was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. And she was ridiculously goddamn amazing.

“I’m Isabel,” she said, once she found air. She held out her delicate hand to him and moved her other hand from his elbow toward the chair next to her, inviting him to sit down at the warzone of a table.

Isabel. Angelic
Isabel.

Before his next breath, he’d taken a seat. He pulled his chair in closer to hers but it wasn’t enough. He already missed her searing touch—his arm still tingled, like the moment after entering a perfectly scalding shower. And God, that touch—and now the lack of it—had done something to him. It had erased the earlier guilt he’d felt for wanting to take and possess this sweet angel of a woman, to own her. She was still an angel, deserving the sweetest, most delicate care. But his type of care would bring her to her knees, inciting pleasure throughout every part of her being, which in turn would rock him to his core.

He hadn’t felt so alive in as long as he could remember. Maybe not ever.

CHAPTER 4

W
hen Lucinda had
left her there on purpose—such a matchmaker, just like her sister—Isabel had felt her cheeks flare up immediately with red hot embarrassment. First off, she liked to pick up her
one-nighters
on her own. Not with her boss! Or rather, by her boss.

Second, she preferred hitting up the bars and nightclubs, despite their seediness. She shared a common goal with bar and
club-goers
: pleasure, anonymity, and
just one night
. And the
low-light
atmosphere of those spots covered her clumsiness better. Having just fallen on her ass in front of this guy in broad daylight proved her point to a tee.

And third, her picks were of a very specific type. Clean and well dressed, yes. Nice and respectful, too.
Well-off
enough to buy her a drink and take her to a safe, clean, comfortable hotel room at a reputable resort, but not too wealthy to draw attention to them, or to drive her insane with his “look how big my wallet and cock are” stories. He had to be just attractive enough, but not a man she’d melt over––most hotties were either too hot headed, too big headed, or both. But she didn’t want the shining personality either, not too funny or smart or witty or, God help her,
sweet-and
-swooning. She couldn’t take swooning. But really
any
combination of those traits might make it hard to say goodbye at the end of the night, and that goodbye…it was
non-negotiable
.

Now, as she cursed Lucinda to the depths, she found herself sitting next to a man who was, simply put, gorgeous beyond belief. Too gorgeous for either of their own good. He was also very well off, if his logoed attire and his designer watch were anything to go by. But his slight nervousness and comic, almost endearing clown act contrasted with the cockiness she’d been used to with these types of men. He made her smile, then laugh, then smile some more. Again, he was the multitude of types she kept far, far away from. This rare,
all-encompassing
combination more than worried her—beyond the probability that he was some married axe murderer, for Christ’s sake. Just too good to be true.

Oh, then add the shattered glass at his feet. No, not a good start at all.

Yeah, you should go, Isabel
.
Definitely leave
now.

*

She placed her uneven feet on the patio pavers to push the chair back. To go. But couldn’t.

The metal legs of the chair were wedged in the paver crevices, and he was so close to her, and the leverage to push or shift or free the chair legs with her one good heel, and, well…damn it! She didn’t really want to go!

Between his unbelievable man scent, his searing gaze, and the convenience of him being there and obviously interested—as opposed to the idea of suffering through a dinner with her harping sister, then to have to find a new
one-night
friend?—no, she could do this. Combat the potential consequences for her breach in criteria. She was strong enough.

And God, so was he. With his
well-defined
arms with an admittedly sexy tribal tattoo around the right bicep. And then there were his robust facial features which she dared to look at only for a few seconds at a time. Because that look in his eyes, which she swore could melt the polar ice caps, had a definite hunger in them, a carnal focus that made her numbness fade if only for the time being.

Yeah, she could do this for a night. Yes she could. And she would, so help her.

*

So it was settled. She let her shoulders ease and her lips curl into a smooth and somewhat suggestive smile, then she looked up at him. Into his eyes.

Then froze.

They were a translucent jade in color with flecks of contrasting emerald. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Haunting eyes, those eyes. She pushed aside her sudden images of Sebastian, shaking his ghost out of her head.

Don’t act insane, Isabel…

Her cheeks got hot again as she tried to redirect her focus and to end the awkward silence she’d created, thick as the Vallarta heat. “God, I’m sorry, you know, for laughing…before. That
pick-up
line was solid. Classic, really.” Intended yet gentle sarcasm laced her tone. “But, I should say, the bar is set pretty low these days.
Pick-up
lines are hardly even needed. If you’re walking, breathing, preferably male and in Vallarta on vacation, then I’m pretty much game,” she teased, motioning with a nod toward a man with a very healthy beer gut, a fanny pack, and a camera around his sweaty neck being seated at the next table. Her companion, the finely built American now only half a foot from her face, cracked up without taking his insanely mesmerizing eyes off her. But on impulse, she looked down at her hands.

Explain, Isabel, or end it here.
“Really, I’m, uh, just out to have a fun time for a night, nothing serious, and so I don’t need to be picky, you know?” She flashed a quick smile and ventured a peek at him again. At that face, that gorgeous, dangerous face that made her tense and hot below her belly and tightened her chest. But in a blink, her eyes were on her hands again.

“On the rebound, are we?”

She snorted. Or in other words, “What’s the deal?—a moderately attractive woman like you…sans boyfriend?” And, God, that could never be explained, not to an unbelieving gringo at any rate.

She looked from the
red-stained
tablecloth to his face. “Something like that.” She
half-smiled
, but then got caught by those green crystal eyes again, those eyes that dug into her way too deep. But this time, strangely, they didn’t bring up that haunted image with the longing, the guilt, the strife.

She swallowed and took a deep, clearing breath in. Instead, somehow, a wave of…comfort? Yes, comfort had overtaken her. The living man in front of her made her feet feel firmly planted on the ground, despite her uneven heels, the
glass-covered
brick floor, and the general
on-edge
feeling she always carried with her.

Don’t get comfortable here, Isabel.

Right.
She had to keep it light, keep it fun, and keep it short.

So…smile, flirt, something!

She flashed a smile, reached for what was left of Lucinda’s wine glass, and finished it in one pull. “Hot out here.”
Oh Lord, Isabel, keep it
together.

*

“Can I”—he waved at the waiter—“get you another drink?” The waiter held up an index finger and headed back to the bar, probably for a broom and dustpan. “I was wondering when he was going to sweep this up.”

“Welcome to my Mexico,” she said with a laugh strung through her words. “We could be here all night and I bet this pile of glass, along with this red and white splotched tablecloth, would remain untouched.”

“We? All night? That sounds good to me,” he said with lifted brows framing a hopeful look.

She smiled at him with a deliberately seductive glimmer. How forward and smooth, yet still…totally cheesy, cute.

And as she’d planned that morning, and now after a long day of
back-to
-back meetings, she definitely agreed that ‘all night’ sounded nice.
Hold it!
Much of the night. Or just some. No, only a few hours. Damn this sinfully attractive man sitting next to her with the charm and the fumbling and the eyes.

The waiter was suddenly tableside, glass crunching under his feet—but no broom, no dustpan. Holding back her laughter, Isabel looked at her new friend, the gorgeous man obviously trying to contain his outburst too. But they both successfully swallowed their shared joke and let the waiter speak. “What can I get you both?”

“An
horchata
water, please.” In English, for her company. “Oh, and this time, do bring it in a regular glass, not the stemware, please.” She offered a
thin-lipped
grin, having asked the inattentive waiter for a regular glass originally, but now thought it best to run preventative maintenance for her and her new friend.

Her beautifully scintillating companion asked for a Mexican microbrew that only her richest local event clients knew about.

“Sorry, sir, we don’t carry that type of specialty beer,” said the waiter in a lackadaisical tone.

“The darkest stout you have, then.” The waiter rolled his eyes not too subtly and left them while Isabel’s company refocused his gaze on her.

“I’d much prefer your waiter, the one who knocked me on my ass.” She giggled. “He was at least nice.”

“True. But this guy leaves us be, even if it is to a fault. I like the privacy,” he said, an intimate gleam in his eyes.

Oh Jesus.
No holds barred, he wanted her. The tingling sensation up her spine shocked her. Thrilled her. Scared her.

Not good, Isabel.
But so good at the same time.

*

She cleared her throat and squirmed a bit under his steady stare, her right hand nervously adjusting her cuff bracelet at her wrist. He seemed almost glad for any small display of her possible anxiety, because he only grinned wider. Maybe he liked that it evened the playing field of heightened nerves, sexual tension, and awkwardness.

“So paradisiacal, that flower in your hair, the ocean backdrop with the setting sun highlighting your entrancing shape…”
Oh God.
Even he was blushing as his words fell out of his delicious mouth.

“Entrancing, huh?” she teased, tilting her head just so, feeling ever more confident with every bumbling comment he made.

He gave her an almost bashful smile, looked down at his hands flat on the tabletop, and shook his head to himself. “Jesus, I, uh, I usually, you know, don’t need…or use
pick-up
lines. Like ever. But for some reason, I’m just…I’m all nerves with you. I can’t keep it together.”

She loved his vulnerability, defending his pathetic lines for the record. And his sweet nervousness around her?

Por Dios
, who is this man?

And,
shit!
Who the hell is this man?

Unsure of what to say back, her own cheeks suddenly flushed, she fingered the lily in her hair. “You know…the woman I just met brought these lilies to show us for an event she’s holding. So, crazy as it sounds, her future
mother-in
-law is allergic to lilies, right? And you know what she’s doing?”

“What’s that?” he asked, obviously relieved she’d taken the baton.

“She’s ordering two hundred of them!” She shook her head laughing. “Sick, right?”

“A bit, yes, bordering on evil,” he said with a hazy smile, only half listening to her as told by his relentless stare
hard-set
on her with, God, those crystalline eyes of his!

“Lilies are a
love-hate
proposition, you know? I happen to love them––white lilies are my absolute favorite,” she said then smiled through a new round of slightly awkward but somehow thrilling silence.

He kept his attention on her, laser sharp and ravenous.

“So you know, I didn’t get your name…”

“Oh shit, I’m such a jackass. My name’s Zack. Zack J—”

“Zack.” No last names, per her rulebook. “What brings you to town, Zack?”

“Business mostly, pleasure always.” He shook his head again, probably at his continued bout of corniness. Isabel lifted her eyebrows, forgiving him as if he had the hiccups. “Seriously, though,” he recovered, “I have real estate matters that have me down here a couple of times a year. But I’ve been coming down to Vallarta with my family for as long as I can remember. This place hooks you, you know?”

“Don’t I. Puerto Vallarta, born and bred, and I’ve never left.” Despite the alienation and the hardships she’d endured, she wouldn’t leave her seaside town or her country for anyone or anything in the world.

He smiled. “I’m actually also here for my—” An incoming call interrupted his train of thought as he checked his phone screen. “Shoot. Gotta take this. Please excuse me for a minute?” He left the table and answered in a deep but tender voice.

She waited. Probably his wife or a girlfriend.
I knew it was too
good…

Damn it, why was she even still sitting here? God, she almost did hope he had a girlfriend or a wife. Yes, then she’d be out a minute ago––another rule, never ever knowingly mess with someone’s family life.

He returned after two minutes.

Screw it…
“Girlfriend, or wife?” She’d never been accused of being indirect or understated.

“Neither. I come to Vallarta a free man.” He winked at her.

She cocked her head at him, with slight surprise that her gut instinct was off.

He held up his phone. “When my mother calls, I always answer,” he told her. “Always.” A small icon of an older woman with sweet and sullen eyes was set in the corner of the screen.

Isabel didn’t know what to make of him, but she was definitely taken aback.

“Anyway,” he continued, “speaking of being free…are you free tonight?
Now
, I mean? I can show you where all the
gringos
go to party.”

She wasn’t free, but a quick text to her brothers and she’d be good to go. So, she flirted back. “Why not? Please, show me your hot spots.”