Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1) (14 page)

And, holy fuck, that echo of slapping skin! It sent a jolting current through him. He needed more of it, more of that cracking sound—like lightning. He slapped her right ass cheek. She squealed.
Fuck, is this a dream?
His desire to fill and fulfill her, rocketed to beyond
never-ending
. He glanced down at his thrusting hips meeting her beautiful bare ass, and, damn, the reverberation of her quaking buttocks and the slight mark of his hand there on her perfectly smooth skin, it was more than enough to send him over the cliff.

But no, not yet, Zack. Don’t go
yet.

While pumping her still, she twisted her head, mouth gaping for him. He leaned forward and around, his tongue primed to catch hers. Their tongues flicked and twirled and teased—a dance—until he caught her eyes. Hungry eyes with a glint of contrasting sorrow as deep as the sea. His chest filled hot and wide for her. He slowed his plunging hips and kissed then brushed her lips with his. A touch of
tender
to go with their raging lust.

But her left hand flew to his ass, leveraging for balance, grasping for force. Now she owned a fistful of his hardworking ass cheek, slamming him harder into her, each thrust a torrential attack of his hips, his thighs, his booming,
ever-hard
cock into her almighty center, her celestial goddamn cunt.

Out of his control—and all in hers—frantic tongues tangled once again. His breath got heavy, hurricane force. She somehow turned her gasps and moans into words, her voice weaving through their desperate and savage kiss. “My God, you…go on forever…inside me. So thick and…long. So good…so right.”

And that did it. For Zack, nothing else existed in the world. Roaring from the depths of his chest, electrified and in time, he glided in and out of her toward his brink. Knowing that she felt, and loved, every extensive inch of his manhood was too much for him to bear.

And as his eruption threatened, the sound of her rapid breathing froze, caught in a long inhale. He knew her dam was ready to break again too, the impending dive from her ultimate peak. And he felt her shiver in his grasp as she held her breath in until…

Simultaneous eruption.

He dove headfirst with her.

Ecstatic streams of creamy fire shot from him—full, fast, forever. Each and every one of her pussy’s tight crushing spasms sent a kinetic shock through him while milking his cock of the
forever-flow
of thick, hot cum.

He felt her exhale and gasp for oxygen while her glorious body shuddered beneath him.

A final jolt grabbed him as he shot the last of his liquid lust, his hips smashing against her sumptuous behind all the way through.

She looked back at him, her eyes wide and intense, searing into his. A sweet, exhausted smile claimed her face before she surrendered into the floor, shattered.

Sweat-drenched
and spent, he gently fell onto her, his chest sticking to her back. He shuddered from the aftershocks. Feeling her intermittent trembling, he mustered up the energy to shift to his side, rolling her bare, limp body with him, keeping her wrapped in his arms while his
vibrating-albeit
-sheathed cock still reveled in the vast hot pool of her sweet cunt’s liquid ecstasy.

“See?” he whispered. “No limits.”

She smiled then nodded her agreement. “Now let’s move to your bed. I want more.”

He shook his head in awe. “You are perfection incarnate, woman. Sheer fucking perfection.”

CHAPTER 17

Z
ack had ravaged
her, or more, she’d ravaged him—twice more in the comfort of the plush penthouse bed, and although he should have been delirious, he lay propped up on his elbow watching her sleep.

He tittered to himself. However clichéd, she really did look like a shimmering bronze angel.
Renaissance-relaxed
on her back, one elbow out, hand behind her head—like Venus in Giorgione’s masterpiece. And her stunning breasts brimmed over, on display for him. He focused more closely on their rise and fall, as she took slow, deep, quiet breaths, breaths of their shared air. It was a connection he still had with her without being in her.

He had a strange desire to feel her pulse, to feel her physical heartbeat. Her other arm rested along her side, just next to his body. He shifted her snug cuff bracelet up just a bit to access her wrist…

Then he flinched and recoiled. The long thin scars shocked him. Near sickened him.

What the hell had she done to herself? What could have motivated her to attempt
—he stopped his thought. His strong, confident, idealized angel had taken to slicing herself, and the image didn’t fit.
No.
He wouldn’t let it.

It killed him to know she had ever felt that much pain. What agony had led her to this? He took a gulp of
mind-clearing
air. Swallowing back the knot of this knowledge echoed in his ears.

He watched her more closely. Her soft lids twitched, maybe from a dream. This peaceful angel sleeping next to him was here with him. And that’s what mattered, history didn’t. Hers or his.
Everyone has skeletons.
And hers wouldn’t frighten him away. The opposite, in fact. If Isabel would let him in, he would be there for her—constant and committed, he’d be there. By choice, he’d be there.

With his mother, he’d had no choice. When she fell into her own downward spiral of depression, Zack had been a
scared-shitless
teenager who had to suck it up and deal. But at least his mother had made no overt suicide attempts––her prescription drug abuse was subtle, hidden behind the door of the
well-decorated
master bedroom his father had left behind.

He swore to himself then that whatever pain Isabel hid or held or had before would be rooted out, so help him. She goddamn deserved nothing but pure contentment, happiness, pleasure. And he was the one to ensure that. Of that he was positive.

*

Isabel woke up. The clock on the side table read 2:00 AM.
Shit!
She’d fallen asleep in his arms. She should’ve been gone hours ago. But she didn’t want to leave then, and she didn’t want to leave now. She wanted to stay and wake up in his grasp, tight against his wide protective chest.

Damn it.
Stay or go? Go with her gut, her heart, her desire, or go with her reason?

She looked out to the bay through the bedroom’s balcony doors. The view and the promise of the fresh night air coming in off the water were calling her. In the name of procrastination and opportunity to see her beautiful Vallarta from so high up, she got up to head out there. Zack was still asleep after all.

With the bedsheet wrapped around her, she opened the French door to the balcony, but the night chill pushed her back inside. So brisk for Vallarta in late May. She reached for the closest thing to her, a light jacket of Zack’s draped over a side chair, and threw it on.

She made her way back outside and blinked at the expansive view. Instantaneous calm. Banderas Bay held her heart, her sweetest memories, and from this high up, it took her breath away. The vastness amazed her.

Then she looked back inside through the French doors at Zack, curled up, sleeping with a pillow in place of her body. His auburn hair was strewn over his sculpted cheek, hiding his sweetly sleeping eyes. He amazed her too. Being in his arms, in his gaze, in his bed––also amazing. And when he was inside her, well, that was implausibly amazing.

Damn it, Isabel.

A cool gust whipped a chill through her. She gripped the collar of the jacket with one hand while she put her other hand into the pocket.

From it she pulled a folded receipt with a handwritten name and number scribbled on it. Her heart froze.

None of your business, Isabel.

But wasn’t it? She’d just slept with the man after all, the man who’d supposedly been hunting for her. And now in her hand was
another
goddamn woman’s love note! She looked down at it.
Destiny
, it read. She unfolded the paper and flattened it out in her hand, then flipped it over:
The Inferno Club.
Nearly eight thousand dollars? Dated last week.
Well-after
they’d first met. After she’d left his suite the first time she’d been insulted by this scumbag. Oh, and after his “desperate search” for her had already begun.

Desperately seeking Isabel—
yeah, right
.

*

He jolted awake when his arm fell hard on the empty mattress beside him instead of landing on the heavenly body that had been rising and falling with every deep, sleepy breath she took.

Now she was nowhere. He hadn’t even felt her slip out of bed.

A
three-minute
search of the entire penthouse made him know she’d left. Without a trace.

And goddammit, he hadn’t gotten her fucking number! Again! How had he forgotten? Because just like last time, he’d lost his damn mind around her.

But shit, how the hell would he have known she’d damn skip out on him? In the morning he would’ve remembered to get it, and her fucking last name too.

Why’d she leave this time? Not a word, not a note. Nothing. A
commitment-phobe
, okay, and with a history of some
deep-seated
despair, yes. But to damn leave him in the middle of the night after they’d made such a connection? Beyond a connection—a symphonic fucking masterpiece!

And now, goddammit, he sounded like a woman…a woman scorned! What was more, he was suddenly, shamefully aware that he had put countless women in this very position, this same exact spot that had him screaming at the walls of his mind. As bad as that fucker in the bar his first night in town. As bad if not worse even, because Zack James knew better.
Was
better.
Fuck!

And now, like a perfectly timed clock, he felt the return of that familiar and insatiable sinking hole inside. He’d had a
twelve-hour
break from it, from the void, just like the last time he’d been with Isabel, that first time they’d met.

Zack closed his eyes. It was
bone-chillingly
cold in his hotel room. And dead quiet, except for the buzz of the mini fridge in the next room and his sporadic sighs, an emotionally fraught reflex.

He reviewed the evening in his head. He’d been right, Isabel was different. She was real, raw, more grounded than any woman he had ever known. She exuded a humble confidence, like she knew herself and accepted herself while most women he encountered pretended to be anyone
but
who they truly were.

The smell of her coconut scent drifted up to his nose from the pillow she had left empty next to him. He stared up at the ceiling, remembering the confident, cool control she’d exhibited with every stride, every word, and every hot, sensual stroke during their night out in the world.

And how he craved that honest desire she’d exhibited for him when they were in his suite, in private, swimming in each other’s bodies. Total interlocked and unadulterated ecstasy. The thought of her body, her eyes, her taste—she’d driven him wild. Drove him wild. Down to his primal center. He started to harden, his erection calling out for her, but of course, she was long fucking gone.

Zack knew that his pining for Isabel was so far beyond the carnal need of his cock. He felt different around her on so many levels––challenged, human, alive. Her strong and objective demeanor toward life and,
for fuck’s sake
, toward sex and toward release made his insides vibrate. A new, effervescent rumble in his chest had replaced that inner void a thousand fold when he was in her presence.

He would find her again. He couldn’t lose that feeling or last through another torturous period with the void eating at his goddamn soul.

And when he did find her, he would waste no time telling her the things he needed to. Damn his libido. He’d wait and make her wait for their passions’ demands. He’d go slow, get to know her, and let her get to know him, the real him she had helped him discover, all without letting her out of his sight again—at least, not without a direct line of communication, damn it!

He could do casual if that’s what she wanted. No strings to start. At least he thought he could. He’d try. He was new to giving a fuck, new to caring and wanting, no, rather needing a woman that essentially, that vitally.

And convincing her shouldn’t be hard. He was already sure she was on his page with respect to their fit together as lovers. The level of pleasure they had reached together was hard to describe and would be even harder to match with anyone else. He hadn’t felt that aroused or climaxed that hard before, ever. And Zack had an enormous and global pool of experience for comparison.

But it was unlike Zack James to jump ahead, emotions at the helm, before organically processing all variables. He had to address the first issue at hand––
Why’d she leave again?
He had done nothing wrong. He knew there were no remnants of other women hanging from light fixtures, no lipsticked messages on mirrors. From the deepest part of himself he knew everything was so absolutely right. And if it was that whole
no-relationships
,
one-night
-only line, well, again, he understood that stance better than anyone on Earth. But he also knew he had found the exception to his rule, and he was equally positive that he was the exception to hers.

He would just have to prove it to her. But he had to find her first. Again.

Being Zachary James, he would. Without a shadow of a doubt, he would find his angel and make her his.

CHAPTER 18

I
sabel was so
relieved to be home. She checked that her sofa was empty before she threw herself onto it, completely drained. Her heart and head were, that is. But as for her body, a
high-frequency
buzz hummed through her, reverberating echoes of sated pleasure he’d left in her from their endless rounds of raw and rocking sex. And she hated every resounding vibration of it.

She had, of course, intended to leave Zack after she’d gotten her unprecedented climax, or climaxes as it were, and yes, it had been harder to leave than she’d thought.

Hell, finding that receipt had really been a blessing, a reminder of the man’s true damn nature.

But what a dumbass she’d been.

Disappointment flooded her, and she felt herself sinking into it neck deep. She tried hard to take a full breath but couldn’t. The harder she tried, the shallower and more unfulfilling her breathing became. Damn her faulty intuition, her total absence of judgment. And, yes, her lack of
self-control
, too. Falling prey to his overpowering, overflowing magnetism, which had led to the most erotic,
in-sync
sexual experience of her entire
ill-fated
life, made her wince. The regrettable, pathetic,
self-effacing
thought of it sucked the air out of her lungs further and churned her stomach too.

She dragged herself from the couch before she fell asleep there, knowing that her back would kill her in the morning if she didn’t move to her bed. On her way to the kitchen for water, her microwave clock beamed the time in bright screaming yellow. It already
was
morning. She’d have a total of three hours of sleep before she had to be up and ready for a wedding gig, one she’d have to look and attempt to feel great for. It would
no-doubt
suck.

She continued to the sink, filled a glass, and walked past her sliding glass door on the way to her room. Motivated by a gut instinct— however well that whole instinct thing had been working for her—she thought to check that the door was secure with a quick lock check. Silly and unnecessary, really, being as far out from town as she was. But with her hand on the handle, she yanked on it.

And she flew with the fast gliding door, her glass of water joining her.

She fell to the floor, just stopping herself from cracking her forehead on the tile by instinctively putting her hands out, palms down. Stunned, pissed and confused, she could only stay there frozen, catching her breath and gathering her wits before getting up, knowing there was a maze of glass shards and water pooling around her. The dark was stark, the moonless night lending not a glint or glow through the somehow unsecured sliding glass door. All she could see was the yellow digital time on the microwave mocking her tired eyes through the reflection on the glass. Her head turned to the side, surrendering onto the back of her hands.

Now, staring at the slider door track, expecting to see a splintered mess of a wooden rod wedged in the track, she noticed instead there was no ‘security’ pole at all.

A minute later she was calling her brother, Antonio.

“Hey, I’m home…Yeah, no, I’m fine. But, um, did you move that security pole from my slider by chance? From its track? The one I had there because the door lock was broken…remember?”

*

Within twenty minutes, Antonio had come. With his heavy
D-cell
flashlight in hand for light and as a potential weapon, he checked the condo and its perimeter twice.

He sat down next to her on the sofa. “I definitely didn’t move the pole because I hadn’t found time to fix the lock yet. Someone else had to have removed it. So, I’m staying here with you until we figure this out, and we’ll get all your locks changed tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t make it a priority in the first place, Isa.” He got up then and moved toward the storage closet. “I guess we need another temporary pole”—he stuck his head in the closet—“even if
Abuelo’s
place—I mean
your
place—is this far out,” he said, slightly muffled as he rummaged through the closet.

“Antonio, my gut is saying something, something I’m really trying to ignore…because I left Roberto here alone to lock up a few weeks ago, but I’ve had service guys in and out, with the mirror replacement, and the electrician…Lucinda was here, too, but she fell asleep on the couch, didn’t even make it outside to have moved the pole.”

Antonio brought his head out of the closet. “Well, when
was
the last time you actually noticed the pole there? Try to pinpoint…”

“I, uh…God, I’ve just been so busy…definitely my first few days here I noticed the rod. And…I guess I haven’t been out on the deck since, and hadn’t thought to check it except for the first few nights here. Even when I come and go, I just take it for granted because of how far out of town I am, like you said.” She paused a beat, then continued to think out loud. “But, shit, forget about the pole…Roberto could’ve just as easily made a copy of my key in that one day he’d had it. The missing pole wouldn’t even have mattered, if he could just come in and out as he pleased through the front door! And maybe he just forgot to put the pole back, or…or he got worried about being seen coming in through the front door in case one of the few people in the complex spotted him and kept the pole so he could get in through the back door. The
silent
sliding back door. Because the front door lock catches, you know. I would’ve woken up if he’d come in the front! Oh God, Antonio!”

“Whoa, now. Just, let’s not jump to conclusions here,
m’ija
,” he said, moving back to the couch. He sat down and took her quivering hands in his to steady them. “
Tranquillo
, Isa.”

She looked out the glass door to the sea of endless black beyond the beach below. The image of Roberto crept into her head, with his peering
ice-blue
eyes and his hot silenced breath hovering over her as she slept. Potentially any night over the past few weeks Roberto could have entered her home without a sound beyond the smooth and easy glide of her back door. He’d had free rein to watch her, and then he’d be able to leave again without a trace.

Chills ran through her. She felt violated while, at the same time, a sense of guilt filled her chest. The blame
was
hers. His obsession could have been prevented by her in the first place if she had been in control and lucid that one drunken night. Or even after that night, she should have gotten through to him and not brushed off his obvious infatuation.

Mid-thought
, she turned to her brother. “But, Antonio…no police. We can’t do that to him.”

“Again, Isa, if it even
was
Roberto. I mean, what if Ray had taken it to be helpful? Or the service guys who were in and out. And you said Lucinda was here? She could have moved it intending to go out there, right? We know Lucinda, flighty as hell. Or, a real stretch, but
Tio
Raul, being the
cabrón
that he is. He’s still pissed that his piece of shit kids didn’t get this condo. Either way, right now, no police…only because, what the hell would we tell them? ‘I’m calling to report a stolen rod?’” One brow arched. “You know our
policia
. And anyway, a potential
break-in
with nothing stolen and no one hurt doesn’t make for much of a case. Can’t see them dusting for prints over it, you know?” He patted her hand. “But I sure as hell am staying here with you until we get this place secured.” His tone was quiet but stern.

She nodded, so thankful for him because she really was freaked out. She’d lived in a pretty sketchy rental in town before this, but strangely had never felt as unsafe then as she did now.

He patted her hand, kissed her on the forehead, and went back to the closet to resume his search for a temporary security pole.

“Thank you, Antonio. For coming out, staying with me, being here for me.”

“You shouldn’t have to thank your family for help, Isabel. You should damn well expect it. I’m sorry you’ve had such assholes in
your
family to feel like you have to say thank you.” Just then he found the mop, unscrewed the head, and stuck the makeshift security pole into the slider track. Then he pulled his keys, wallet, and cell from his pockets and placed them on the coffee table.

“You must be tired. Let me get you bedding for the pullout so you can get some sleep.”

She felt horrible about putting him out, despite his reassurances and kind words. Granted, Antonio had no wife or kids of his own to go home to, but his growing limo business, working his ass off day in, day out, managing and being responsible for dozens of employees, and still, without a moment’s hesitation he’s by her side. And add her hex, potentially risking his safety by being in his mere vicinity for too long—she hated it. But her brother was ever loyal. And when it came to this type of situation—Antonio, the Tae Kwon Do master—there was no one she felt safer with.

Isabel went to the linen closet carrying her nerves and worry with her. Bringing the pile of bedding back to the sofa, she walked past the slider and tried to take a full, clearing breath. She couldn’t. Her chest was stuck, her body on high alert along with her mind. She looked at the slider while attempting to swallow back the knot at the start of her throat. Then she noticed something out on the deck.

She took a step toward the glass and squinted her eyes to combat the night’s darkness. A tiny wildflower lying just outside the threshold, its color impossible to make out in the staunch blackness, just its silhouette, like the one Roberto had given to her when she’d moved in. Not proof by any means, a sign though for sure. And signs meant everything to her. With this sign, a different kind of chill starting at her feet shot up to her head. It paused her in her tracks. Her whole body shuddered from the sensation and with it, a wave of confident awareness took her. Her jaw clenched. She swallowed again, then turned to Antonio.

“It’s Roberto. I know it, in my gut. Antonio, will you go over there? Talk to him? Check. Please?”

Antonio and Ray were the only people on Earth who believed in her curse
and
still stayed by her side despite it. And after her mother’s passing, when she announced a gut feeling, Antonio listened.

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried, little sister, just let me get the locks changed first and fit an alarm system, too. Then I will. I’ll check him out.”

She nodded, blinked a thank you, and continued
zombie-like
to fix the pullout. When done, she kissed his cheek, then shuffled to her bedroom, all in an abysmal daze.

A heavy feeling pushed her into the tile floor, as if it was thick, seizing tar, and with every next step, the more
sucked-under
she felt. That image of Roberto’s eyes intruding on her life, in her home, at her sanctuary, weighed on her, strangling her heart with a
mile-long
chain.

Roberto, damn it, what the hell are you
doing?