Tempting Isabel (Paradise South #1) (7 page)

CHAPTER 7

I
sabel stepped through
the door, slick heat running through her and pooling at her core. She let her jacket fall at her feet while Zack hiked her skirt up to her hips, exposing her thin string thong against her
smooth-as
-silk mound, which she always kept groomed for this exact occasion.

In a flash, he had his hands on the back of her thighs, hoisting her up and pressing her back against the wall at the penthouse entrance before she could even check out that bay view he had bragged about.

But she couldn’t have cared less about the view fifty stories up, because—
oh, God—
he was more amazing to look at than Heaven and Earth combined!

His mouth ravaged hers as she tore her hands through his hair,
just-long
-enough waves of auburn for her to grab and pull. “Let’s definitely get you out of these wet clothes,” she whispered, and then felt his whole body shiver, pinned there by her tight but trembling legs.

His hand pulled her shirt down at the neckline to devour her right breast, heavy and exposed above her black lace
demi-bra
. He popped her nipple out from under its blanket of frill and twirled the hard button with the tip of his tongue. Then, going crazy from the overstimulation, she pulled his face back up to her mouth and she devoured him right back.

He cupped her ass and carried her further inside the suite while she pulled her mouth away to gasp for air. Lungs replenished, she went in for another delectable taste of him…but noticed his
once-hungry
eyes had flicked to the minibar.

“What is it?” she breathed, brushing her lips against his neck, her body’s angle against his rock hard cock making her need spike a million degrees.

“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing in the entire universe is wrong right now! Isabel…Jesus, you are so fucking right, it hurts,” he managed through panted breath.

He carried her across the room, her nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck. Between her heart pumping triple time, her increasing lack of oxygen, his incredible scent penetrating her nostrils, remnants of her tequila buzz, and the peripheral view out of the
floor-to
-ceiling windows, she felt completely dizzy.

But when they landed on the sofa, him grinding into her arousal, she became anchored again, safe under his protective cage of bulk manhood. His mouth delivering a torrent of sensual, focused attention to hers.

It felt divine. Indescribable.

Right up until he stopped, backed off and stepped back, hands up in the air as if surrendering to something or someone.

*

“What? What is it?” she asked, slightly out of breath, a little frustrated and definitely confused. She couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind right then, but judging from his intense erection begging to be rescued from his pants, he wasn’t backing away from her because of…
her
. Right?

“I can’t go so fast,” he stammered then raked his hands through his hair. “You are too fucking…amazing, Isabel.”

She watched his Adam’s apple bob up then down in his thick, ropey neck, while her heart did the same in her chest. Was he for real? Or was this the end of their heated play? Because it felt like something had cut the power at the electrical box.

“I need a drink, you?” He spun around then walked over to the minibar.

Yes, it seems like we’re done.
She leaned forward on the sofa, her chest still heaving while he pulled out a glass from below the bar counter, then glanced up at her. “Isabel…I need to drag this out… I need to…savor you.”

She blinked then squinted at him from across the room.
Okay
. Somewhat cheesy, but she could like being savored. She relaxed a bit into the sofa’s mold and let her lip curl a fraction, relief and a new round of heat resuming below her middle. “Sounds okay to me.”

A quick exhale of relief, then a nod. “So a drink?”

“Yeah, I’ll take one, thanks,” she said then smiled, but couldn’t shake the weird feeling in her gut that had only crept in since moving into the expansive hotel suite.

He winked and grinned back while, with attempted subtlety, he snatched some logoed paper from the
bar-top
and then craned his neck around the corner, toward another internal doorway. She assumed…the master bedroom? He looked at the paper with wide eyes and then seemed to sigh with relief.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yes. I just…had a massage last night—long flight—and housekeeping left the bill. Anyway, let me pour you—what? I’ve got vodka? Then I can come over there and give
you
a massage…one you
damn-well
won’t forget!” He winked again then poured their drinks, ignoring the splashes leaping over the sides of each glass.

She watched him and heard him, but somehow something in his demeanor had changed. Maybe still off his game like he had said—possibly nervous about performing? She didn’t think he had anything to worry about, but she knew that between psych classes, years’ worth of talking down nervous grooms, and her own sexcapades, sexual performance was such a mental thing for guys. And for women, for that matter.

Or, what if she had freaked him out with the
one-night
thing? What if he was really into her, and she’d led him on—maybe told him her rule too late? Most foreigners were thrilled at the prospect of
no-strings
-sex, but maybe Zack was different. She did feel different with him, an
amazing
different. And that was bad. While detachment was good and necessary, ‘amazing’—definitely not good. It was dangerous. And if he felt the same way—even worse.

Maybe she should go? Yeah, she should definitely go.

But watching him smile at her from across the room, she didn’t want to go. Her throbbing clit was screaming, “Stay!”—and the hot need deep in her belly would be less than satiated with her vibrator at home.

She was strong enough, objective enough to stay. For a stellar night of
off-the
-charts sex, for a night, for the record books, heck yes she’d stay. And then she’d leave. Who wouldn’t want that and only that?

“Before the drink, may I use the restroom?” she said, asking permission with her eyes to enter the bedroom.

“Uh, sure, of course, back and to the right,” Zack said, gesturing with a nod to go ahead in—then followed her. To be sure she found the right door, she guessed? She thought it was funny, cute, and only slightly awkward. She waved with a smirk then closed the bathroom door behind her.

She flipped on the light. She wasn’t shocked to see her hair a complete disaster—a beautiful,
make-out
session mess.

What shocked her was the
lipstick-written
message on the grand vanity mirror and the two pairs of lace panties, each one intelligently hung from a light bulb above it, already creating a burning plastic odor. The message read:
We waited, baby, but had to scoot. As a THX for the HOT SEX last night, we left you gifts. We’ll be back for them and for you! J & T
.

A bubble heart for the “&.”

Really?

*

Her head tilted to the side, just staring at the mirror, at the message, then at herself. She took in a huge breath, filling her lungs to capacity, then exhaled, releasing the air until her shoulders hung.

Straightening her head, chest out, she made her decision.

Of the casual sex partners she’d distracted herself with over the past months, all of them had met only moderate standards, again, per her design. But that day, with Zack, everything had been so vastly different, unusual—to her core, unique. Even, dare she say,
special
?

But she’d been taken—taken by a brilliant player, a masterful artist who had made her feel and breathe and laugh, and none of it mattered. Isabel Ruiz had standards. She had
God-given
pride. Third in line for a screw? Nope. Not a chance.

*

She flipped off the bathroom light, shut the bathroom door quietly, walked out of the bedroom, and up to the bar.

Zack’s back was to her, putting the vodka bottle away. She gently picked up that bill he had been distracted by earlier. A lipstick kiss and a handwritten note stared up at her. She read the note to herself—
Bye, Baby! And thanks! Jeannie and Tina
—then slid it back to its unobtrusive spot on the counter.

Zack turned around, lifted his eyebrows at her, one corner of his lip curling up, his hunger apparent.

She smiled
oh-so
-sweetly back at him, picked up the drink he had poured her, and leaned closer to him. Seducing him still closer, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. After she pulled away, she smiled, lifted a brow, then emptied her drink over his head.

She caught his look of utter awe, nodded at him, then calmly walked out of Zack’s luxurious penthouse suite with the
oh-so
-grand view.

CHAPTER 8

T
he door shut
behind her.

His mouth still hung open.

And Zack’s stomach immediately twisted and burned, motivating his sprint to the bathroom. His guts retched while his skull pounded. He couldn’t understand it, such a physical response, so violent and sudden. The instant Isabel marched out of his hotel suite—damn it, out of his life?—this gut pain hit, and that fucking void returned with it, tenfold.

From the toilet to the sink to clean himself up, he tried to figure out what the hell had happened to make her leave like that.

Then he glanced up at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck me!” he yelled at the message written in hot red lipstick slightly to the left of his distraught and flushed face in the reflection.

Yes, he had forgotten the girls he’d left for safekeeping in his penthouse suite. And yes, he only remembered them when he saw the room service bill on the minibar. But the girls’ note on the bill confirmed they were no longer in the room, so all was fine, or it should have been!

After all, Isabel had taken him by storm, a complete mind, heart, and soul tsunami. And that wild, treacherous cleansing had left him vibrating and calm all at once. Needless to say, she distracted him to the ultimate extent.

And wouldn’t it be a compliment to Isabel that he’d completely forgotten about the girls in his room? Really, what man forgets about round two of a threesome with supermodels, if not for something, or someone, exponentially more enthralling? Like Isabel.

He surmised that after seeing the message in the mirror, Isabel must have revised her initial impression of him. But, goddammit, her initial impression of him was the right one! The real one! Or at least was the
new
real one. Only days before had he become indifferent to the pleasures he was used to, including connecting with those girls, which was just a reaction to that asshole at the bar, and then morphed into a mindless distraction, an activity to pass the time, and an attempted cure for his despairing soul.

Because, damn it, a transformation had occurred in him. His eyes now saw the truth of his false fucking existence. And Isabel was the light at the end of the bleak tunnel that was his life! But she would probably never give him the time of day to even let him explain! Now he was just another sleazy scumbag in her eyes. Just like the kid in the bar.

His stomach churned again, and he slammed his fist down on the sink counter. No, goddammit, this wasn’t how it would go down. He had to find her. He had to find Isabel and get that feeling back, that fulfillment, that pure ecstatic bliss.

Around Isabel, there was an immense freedom he’d found. And crazy shit, like his frequent inability to speak and function around her like he normally did, both shocked and exhilarated him. He literally felt like a teenager again, fumbling words, clammy hands, cracking voice. When near her, that sudden wave of whatever it was, call it insecurity, led to broken glass, rain and puddle soakings,
close-calls
. All things that never fucking happened to Zachary James.

But, weirdly, they were all welcome mishaps. Each one made him feel newly alive. He could breathe while before he was choking on his own phony way of life, that deluxe yet mundane treadmill that ran down his soul, one long
nowhere-stride
at a time.

But not when he was with her. And now knowing that she existed—the something, or someone, that filled his void—he couldn’t go on without her.

He’d find her, even with no phone number and, damn it, not even a last name! They’d talked and flirted for hours, and he didn’t even know where she lived or what exactly she did for a living. Their connection had overshadowed all of that. They had been so in the present, so in the moment together, he had no information on her at all.

He hunched over as another wave of nausea hit him along with a sharp,
dagger-like
heat stabbing him from the inside out.

He
would
find Isabel, or he’d die trying.

*

Unlocking her own front door felt good. It was a relief to be home after such a long
mind-game
of a day. She’d spent her car ride dwelling on how wrong she’d been about Zack, but was at least glad she hadn’t wasted even one orgasm on him.

She’d just have to settle on her friend with benefits, aka her vibrator, for comfort just as soon as she’d showered off any remnants of that man.

She got inside and freely tossed her purse on the sofa.

“What the…!” came a man’s voice—in shock and apparently in a small amount of pain.

She grabbed an umbrella from the holder at the entrance, point extended toward the voice.

“Who’s there?” No air, pulse crashing her eardrums.

“Isa, it’s me.” Roberto’s face came into view once her eyes adjusted to the dark.

Exhale, hot rage.
Calm
yourself.

“I swear, Roberto. What. In the hell?”

“I guess I fell asleep waiting for you,” he said in an overly sweet tone, his eyes wide and anxious.

“Roberto…Jesus Christ! I don’t want that! I don’t need that!”

“But I need you, Isabel. And you do need me!”

Damn it! What she needed was for him to hear her, understand her. She loved Roberto with a deep, platonic and loyal love. And even without the curse chained to her ankle, she would only love him in that way.

And time and patience were not helping. Before now, she hadn’t thought she had it in her to slap him out of his obsession like she’d like to think she would have with any other man. Roberto was the one person on Earth besides her two brothers, Antonio and Ray, and her sister, Celeste, who had stayed by her side over the years. But this thing with Roberto was unhealthy. She had to get through to him somehow.

And it looked like harsh was how it had to be.

“Roberto, I do
not
love you!” she exploded. Then she recoiled, his look filled with pain, heartache. She knew it well, for herself. “Except as my best friend in the entire universe—”

He shook his head, as if erasing the last quarter minute of their lives. “That’s fine. Your love will grow—”

“No,” she said in an even, firm tone, “it won’t.” Chest heaving, fists clenched, she had to stop this.

“Roberto, I don’t even remember being with you that night. And…I don’t want to remember it, because that is not how I think of you. You’re like a brother. Not a lover. You’re my best friend, and whether you believe in my hex or not, it’s not safe to be around me.” She sighed as a regretful truth hit her square in the face. “This is my fault. I should have been more direct, but I didn’t want to hurt you, your feelings. Listen, I think you shouldn’t be around me for a little while. I mean, at all. We need…a break. I’m sorry.”

He stared and stewed in silence, but he didn’t move a muscle.

Come on, not again.
“It’s 3:30 in the morning and I need to be up for work in only four hours,” she nudged, impatience more than apparent in her voice.

He got up off her sofa and headed to her front door. As he passed her, he stuck his nose deep into her hair, inhaled, and continued his way to the door. “You smell like sex, Isa. I hope your quick fuck was worth standing us all up for—for
your
celebration dinner!”

She knew she smelled like Zack from messing around with him earlier, and she wanted nothing more than to shower the man off of her. But the
close-to
-sexual encounter with Zack, let alone that with any man, was none of Roberto’s damn business.

And as for the family dinner, the one Roberto wasn’t even invited to, yes, now she regretted skipping it, but her siblings were always understanding. As for Roberto, she could tell he was just wounded, confused, lonely, like she was lonely.

“Roberto—”

“Enjoy your new home,” he said in an indignant whisper before heading out the door.

“Wait! Roberto…my key?”

He paused, glared at her, then easily pulled her house key from his pocket and tossed it with a flippant flick of his wrist.

The key made a perfect arch through the air toward her, but slipped through her shaky hands when the door slammed behind him, the jolting blast clobbering her ears, which somehow harmonized with the sound of the metal key’s reverberating clang as it hit the floor at her feet. She stood frozen, stunned, ears ringing. Scary—the sounds from the prior moment weren’t nearly as jarring, as deafening even, as the new level of loneliness echoing in her
already-scarred
heart.