Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1) (22 page)

Okay, fine.
He was catching on, getting to know her nature. So she was a precision planner by trade, but again, personally, she dreaded the thought of
long-term
anything. Like he dreaded a shark attack. And again, he’d lived with the
relationship-fear
too. But Isabel had changed that for him, and, so help him, he would change it for her in return.

But for now, he would merely change the subject, but strategically so.

He opened up about his mother, and
her
past, a difficult subject for him. He figured the more he gave Isabel, the more she’d lower her defenses. And she already knew the deep and dirty about his father, albeit forced upon him. But not having spoken to anyone about his family matters—ever, with anyone—it felt strangely liberating talking to her about it all. Therapeutic. Cathartic, even.

“And, wow, was she the greatest cook, especially expert at anything seafood. It was like she was meant for Vallarta.” He smiled at the memories flooding his mind. Elaine James’ most glorious days had been in the kitchen of the condo they’d had there, the one he’d just purchased.

“Tell me more,” Isabel said, a tender smile all the way up to her eyes.

“Darren, my father and I would go out fishing, and when we got back, Mom would be ready for us and our catches.”

“Wait, you guys took a relaxing fishing excursion then she did all the hard work?”

“No, no. Let me tell you how it went. The one who caught the biggest fish, almost always me, would get to skip out on cleaning and scaling. And, oh man, did I love watching Darren and my father roll their eyes at me as I announced the score of whatever game I was watching from the
oh-so
-comfortable couch.” He laughed and Isabel raised her eyebrows at him.

“Anyway, once they finished the prep for Mom, she’d prepare such a delicious feast, and no two meals ever tasted the same. Every time, a completely unique flavor. Unbelievable. I can still taste her
mahi-mahi
…”

“Sounds amazing.”

“Yes, incredible. But she hasn’t cooked a single dish since he left. All of Elaine James vanished the day my father did.” Zack sucked in his bottom lip in thought. “After the initial years, with her pain pill dependency which almost killed her several times over, she started to get better. More stable. Sliding toward stoic. But always a little sad.”

She kept quiet, but nodded, like she knew he needed the silence. Shit. He regretted bringing the mood so low. He sighed, then tried like hell to cut off the thoughts whirling in his head—his mother’s lack of laughter over the years, her cracked heart.

Just then, a mariachi trio came upon them—a joyous serenade for “
la encantadora pareja!
” sang the leader.

“Oh, no, please. We aren’t…a couple!” But Isabel couldn’t be heard over the band, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Zack pulled her into him, then swung her around and around while imitating the merry music with his deep baritone. She laughed so hard she could hardly catch her breath, and he only let her pull away when she began coughing.

Holding her chest to calm her breathing, her eyes searched his. What she found, he wasn’t sure, but she surprised him by pulling him by the hand, away from the spotlight to continue their stroll.

Man, had she forgotten herself, or lost too much oxygen during their exhilarating mockery of a dance? Because the warmth she was showing him was definitely uncharacteristic in the scope of their “act,” but it was welcome, definitely more than welcome.

*

They hit the end of the marina’s boardwalk, and he turned, assuming she’d want to head back. But Isabel stayed put. Zack returned to her side when a light laugh escaped her lips.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing…just how hooked I am on this breeze. It reminds me—oh, God, never mind.”

“That’s not allowed, now. No, not cool at all. Whatever it is can’t be more personal than your
surgical-style
meddling into my family’s history…or our…” He paused and leaned into her, that coconut scent tickling his receptors. “Our hours of love making.”

She gave a little huff, then spun around to face him. Lips pursed, gorgeous and unfairly mesmerizing eyes narrowed, she said, “I mean it, Zack James. We’re strangers. Remember?”

She was so obviously convincing herself as much as she was reminding him that it was almost comical. And cruelly, he loved the struggle written all over her face. The effect he had on her was as real as the impact she had on him. She couldn’t deny it, but he knew she wouldn’t admit it either, at least not now, not tonight, and not until after the wedding.

But it made him feel fucking great. Reciprocated.
Un-alone
in the merciless vulnerability.

When she tore her gaze away and set her sights back out on the bay, he took one last whiff of her hair and pivoted. “Strangers, of course. Right. Better get back now, stranger. You coming?”

She took his arm again,
just like strangers do, of course,
and they made the long walk back to the start of the marina, their conversation flowing like an elaborate fountain.

Again, like strangers in the night.

*

Her stomach grumbled. It was loud enough to interrupt their chatter about nothing and everything. Her cheeks instantly blushed. “I guess the ice cream wasn’t enough for me. Are you hungry?”

God, he adored her. “Definitely. What fabulous Mexican fare in this international foodie haven shall we throw down,
Senorita
?” It seemed that all the locals ate dinner late, so all the food spots up and down the boardwalk were still serving.

“Pizza.”

“Pizza? Really?”

She shrugged, a childlike smile lifting her face.

He snorted and took her hand. “Take me to pizza.”

She nodded at a stall two down from the enticing Mexican restaurant.

Within minutes they had greasy New York style slices in their hands. Sitting shoulder to shoulder at the counter, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was. For food, that is.

“Oh, can you pass me that bottle?” Her mouth was half full, but she was still sexy as hell. Even with a string of melted mozzarella hanging from the corner of her delectable mouth. How he wanted to lick it right off her. So badly.

“What, the ketchup?”

“Yes, please.” Her tone,
sweet-but
-sassy.

“Ketchup…with pizza?” There was no way he couldn’t tease her. Not a chance. But, damn it, he couldn’t pay attention to anything but the cheese teasing
him
from the corner of her mouth.
Screw it.
He moved his thumb to her bottom pout, wiped the food away, and licked his thumb. “Now I can focus on your…interesting…choice of pizza condiments.” He smirked as her eyes went from
wide-surprise
to
narrowed-and
-defensive in a split second.

“That’s how we eat pizza here. It’s a thing, it’s good! Now pass it down,
por
favor
.”

But he’d snatched the bottle before she could get it. He’d hold it hostage. Why? Because, aside from the sacrilege of dousing pizza in sweet ketchup, he just craved her raw attention in whatever form he could get it.

She rolled her eyes, huffed, then reached over him, her body now pressed against his, trying like hell to grab the bottle. “Give it! I want what I want!”

Want.
Need. Her words, her scent, her skin, her entire being overwhelmed him. Invaded his senses. Like she’d taken him by storm just the night before. In his penthouse suite. God, only one night ago! And while she still fought for the ketchup bottle he held just out of reach, her neck, her ear, her cheek were all just within biting distance. Nibbling and nuzzling distance. Necking, kissing, caressing distance.

He stiffened, his entire body, every part tense with
want
.

Control
yourself.

He inhaled her essence, then let out a long, hot hush of words into her ear. “I want what
I
want, Isabel.”

She paused, frozen,
mid-reach
for the condiment bottle, her body leaning across his. He could feel her chest rising and falling against his arm and shoulder, her heaving breath in complete synch with his racing pulse.

He knew she wanted what he wanted.
Just turn to me. Look at me. Surrender.

*

But no. She denied the desire. She pulled away slowly, slid back onto her stool, resumed
professional
and
distant
. Back to strangers. She stared at her pizza slice, sans ketchup, while he stared at her.

The game was over.

He placed the ketchup bottle in front of her.

“Thank you,” Isabel said in a somewhat defeated whisper as she flipped the cap open with unsteady fingers. She squeezed the sugary
pseudo-tomato
stuff onto her plate and dipped her pizza in it. Without another word, she ate.

“May I?”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Can I try a bite, please?”

“You may.”

He dipped his piece into her ketchup, took an enthusiastic bite, and nodded his pretend enjoyment. Then he shook his head, wanting to spit it out but chose to smirk and chew through it. “For you. I tried it for you.” He swallowed and washed the bite back with a quick swig of mineral water.

She broke out laughing. “I didn’t ask you to try it. You didn’t have to.” Her brows lifted.

“I wanted to, Isabel. And ‘I want what I want.’”

And I get what I
want.

*

The mood was back to fluid now. Between bites and sips of soda, they chatted away for another hour until the place closed. Then they strolled back toward
La Vaca
on the
all-but
-vacant boardwalk. The conversation weaved and winded, and now had landed on the topic of their respective homes.

Home
. God, what a concept. He hadn’t had a solid place to land in as long as he could remember. Just countless and faceless hotel rooms around the world, or his private jet.

But Isabel, she felt like home to him. A warm and welcoming, sensual and decadent home.

“Where’d you go?”

“Sorry, sorry…just thinking.”

“
Staring at me
and thinking.”

“You’ll just have to stop being so captivating. Now, what were you saying?”

She sighed, then smiled. “I was telling you the saga of how I inherited my grandfather’s seaside condo and how I just love it there. The bay and the beach and the salt air on my skin. I can hardly keep my clothes on when I’m home because I love the—” She glanced at him.

Yes, he sure as hell caught every
spine-tingling
word. “Yes? Go on,” he teased.

Her cheeks were redder than red. She rolled her eyes, then looked up to the sky in complete silence. A redirect?
Hah.
As if he’d ever let the
no clothes
comment go.

“Don’t be rude, wedding planner. Finish your thought.”

She groaned. “It’s just, I’ve never lived alone. I’ve always been in the thick of things in town, or before that, with a fuller than full house. So now, I just love
my
place, love the fresh ocean breeze…and, well…I like to do just about everything in the buff.”

He heated from his toes to his head. It wasn’t just the illustrious image of her
goddess-like
form, naked, that shot waves of hot energy through him. No, it was that she was spilling her secrets, bordering on official flirting, even though she seemed to regret it the very next second.

Still, he felt fucking giddy.
Strangers, my
ass.

“Completely naked, huh?” God, he was hard at the mere thought. In
flat-front
pants, no less. He pulled her to a bench he’d spotted so he’d hide his reaction to her while maintaining the
near-perfect
mood of the night. “Tell me more,” he teased. But was dead serious.

*

“Mopping? And cooking?” Zack asked, smiling at her with his illuminated green eyes. She now had to explain further, since she’d damn mentioned it at all. What the hell was she doing? Teasing this poor man, this sad, gorgeous man. But his puppy dog look weakened her and made her quiver to her core.

She just felt so good with him, so detrimentally right.

So as not to disappoint her captive audience of one, she went on. She told him of the freedom she felt with the windows always open, the purity of the
far-off
Pacific, its cleansing salt air against her skin. She told him that she’d pretend the sea told her long kept secrets, ones it had been holding, as if waiting for her to finally be alone there to confide in.

“And I love having no one but myself to answer to, you know?” She smiled at Zack then, not meaning to have sent a message directly to him—
Isabel is better alone, everyone is better and safer with Isabel being alone
—but glad if it had come across.

And actually, no, she
had
meant it. Well, at least her protective and prudent brain had. But her heart diluted the conviction of her words. She hated being alone. And simply loved…this.

Mierda!
If her mixed messages weren’t driving Zack crazy by now, they sure were doing a number on her.

She continued on, though, unable to stop. Probably rambling by then, boring the crap out of the man. But if Zack was bored, she couldn’t tell. His eyes were wide, like he was hanging on every word. He was either an amazing actor, or just unbelievably well mannered.

She told him more about her condo by the sea, the current state of it, and some about her dear
abuelo
. How Isabel had been his favorite granddaughter, and how Isabel’s mother, Yesinia, had been abuelo’s favorite of his six children.

And that’s where she caught herself.

Too much, too
close.

Another thought about her mother, let alone a word, and she’d crack open and bleed a river of tears. Isabel’s right hand gripped her left wrist below the bracelet.