by Rissa Brahm
The silence had to be broken, and Isabel was just the one to break it.
“Amy, are you enjoying the evening so far?”
“Oh, absolutely! And so is Darren. Thank you so much, Isabel.”
Annette interrupted with a huff. “You? And Darren? Did you just see what happened to your sister? You should be furious right now, Amy Lynn! Furious at this so called wedding planner…not even knowing what allergies the maid of—”
Isabel’s hand went up to Amy’s shoulder, blocking Annette and her tirade. “Oh yes, I needed to show you this, Amy…it’s very important.” She took out her digital lifesaver. “I got my tablet so I could double check all the questionnaires with you to prevent any other, well, mishaps. But, as my memory serves me, no allergies were listed for anyone in the wedding party except for the best man.”
She slid her fingers over the screen. “This is your sister’s signed questionnaire. Each item is answered with a handwritten NA, even question number seven, ‘Allergies.’ But she did write her coffee beverage preference and her dress size…albeit a few sizes too”—Isabel cleared her throat—“…snug, as it turns out.”
Annette glared, speechless for one glorious moment. Then the woman retorted, “Well, I’m certain there’s a mistake.”
“Jesus Christ, Mom! There’s no mistake. It’s a scanned, signed document. See? In Stephanie’s own handwriting.” Amy placed her hands on Isabel’s shoulders and turned her slightly so their backs were in her mother’s awestruck face. “As far as I’m concerned, Isabel, my sister deserves what she gets. I’m going to find Darren and get the hell away from this commotion. Please, just…you know…ignore my mother! And Stephanie. God, I can’t wait to no longer be a Rine.” With that, Amy huffed off to find her groom. And Isabel watched proudly as Amy did so.
*
Despite the almost disastrous, but deeply satisfying, white lily episode, the evening went on smoothly after that, especially once Stephanie was escorted up to her room by Dr. Ortega and Doctor/Nephew Andrew at Annette’s insistence. Stephanie was so woozy from the medicine that Dr. Ortega had pumped into her that she probably wouldn’t remember a thing anyway.
The vibe of the room became drastically lighter. Some of the guests even began to take turns at the karaoke setup on stage. And the bride seemed to have the most to release, as she made that microphone her bitch, letting loose and singing her heart out to Marco’s “Struck by Luck” three times straight. God, Isabel hated that song, but she smiled wide at Amy’s new-found freedom. Next the bride would be dancing around the place nearly naked. Isabel laughed to herself, wishing she were home doing just that.
*
At 1:00 AM, most guests headed back to their rooms for the night. Beds were calling, especially with the Big Day having officially arrived, only eleven hours until the ceremony. But Isabel noticed some of the wedding party had paired up during the evening’s festivities, so sleep wouldn’t come to everyone. The very thought made her hot, her throbbing arousal took her off guard again, and her cheeks flamed up.
What is wrong with you, damn it?
But she knew the answer.
He was sitting alone at his table, watching her with starving eyes, not subtly, either. Had he seen her blush? Did he know why? Her wondering only made her cheeks hotter. But she continued to study him. His gaze was glassy and there were too many empty glasses in front of him to count. She felt his intentions from afar. But before his unrelenting magnetism could catch hold of her, she twisted her head to break the spell and wisely decided to get the hell out of there—fast.
She left through the service door, actually jogging in her two-inch Demi Dorns down to the main kitchen. Thank goodness she hadn’t worn her spikes. She quickly consulted the banquet manager for closedown and slid out the back entrance into the staff parking lot to her car.
*
In a drunken haze, Zack followed Isabel. The third time that night, down the service passage he went. God, this would be a perfect place to have her. To take her. All with that thrill of being caught.
But he knew that would be bad for her. He had to get her in private, in secret. But he was chasing after her to be sure she was okay—and that was all. Because he still couldn’t tell if the white lily incident had caused her any major issue.
Yeah, he was just checking on her, really, nothing else to it.
But he couldn’t even swallow his lame lie. It was Isabel, after all. Of course she was okay. And he knew she didn’t want him checking on her.
And of course, he didn’t want to just check on her. He wanted to consume her whole.
Her wellbeing first, Zack. For fuck’s sake.
Yes, of course. And checking on someone you care about, whether they want it or need it or not, is an authentic gesture. Totally justified. He should see that she’s alright, be there for her. Definitely.
He’d have to wait ’til after the wedding for anything else. Tonight they’d only talk. And maybe even laugh over the whole Stephanie-lily episode. Yeah, with no one around he’d reach her car, and just like their magical time on the boardwalk, they’d laugh and talk and laugh some more.
Then maybe she’d thank him with a kiss from those sensuous lips. He would reciprocate her thanks and press his body into hers, against her car door, turning on all her switches that were waiting there for him, under her thin, flowing silk dress. He would grind his aching cock in between her screaming thighs until he made her cream just slightly into those hot lace panties he’d seen before, the ones he aimed to rip off of her once they got into her tight little sedan.
After all, she’d kept the lily!
His sloshed logic jumped around all over the place as he staggered on, but it didn’t matter. His true focus was realized and acknowledged: He would convince her to let him in. Into her car. Into her house. Into her bed. And back before dawn, before any wedding guests awoke.
Fuck, he wanted her so damn bad.
He shook his head to refocus when he got to the hotel’s commercial kitchen. Quickly assuming a role of ‘meant-to-be-here,’ he walked through the stainless steel maze and outside. The fresh evening air hit him, and he took it in. He walked along the side of the building, following the scattered light poles while trying to keep from falling over in the dumpster-lined alleyway. The headlights of some vehicles from a side parking lot told him to veer right. He found himself by the pool and spa entrance of the resort where a few tables were filled with late night schmoozers and smokers, but no one he knew from the wedding. He squinted and strained his dry eyes to search for the silhouette of Isabel in the distant parking lot.
A few more struggling steps forward and his eyes caught something. Yes, about one hundred feet away were the delectable curves of the goddess he had set out to…check on.
He stumbled slightly, but regained his footing, and continued walking toward her. His ear noted some sudden off-pattern footsteps behind him, but they stopped just as quickly, and he dismissed them. Keep focused, Zack.
A high Humvee revved by him, blocking his view and forcing him to wait before crossing the lot. He held himself steady by staring at the dim street lamp above him, a balancing focal point. The beastlike vehicle finally passed, leaving him with the full voluptuous view of Isabel.
Who was now accompanied by a second silhouette.
The two shapes suddenly morphed into one, and a scream for help hit his ears.
Solid awareness vanquished his drunken buzz, and he flew to Isabel.
CHAPTER 30
Isabel was lean, muscular, but still, her arms shook as they held the man as far from her face as possible. His core had already trapped her groin and torso against the car, and with his legs pinning hers, she couldn’t even knee him, although she didn’t quit trying.
“Get the fuck off me! Stop goddamn you!” she screamed.
“It’s me, Isa, no reason to fight. It’s your true love!” His voice oozed innocent sweetness as his hands fought and slapped to touch her skin, her face. Then he forced his mouth onto hers.
Her teeth crunched down.
He threw his head back howling, his hands at his bleeding mouth while his hips still pinned her to the vehicle.
“Roberto! Get off me! Now, damn you!” Her words lingered in the air, maybe paining him more than the bite to his tongue.
Two hands appeared over each of Roberto’s shoulders and yanked, ripping Roberto’s body from hers.
Boundless relief had Isabel sliding down her car, ending in a ball on the pavement. Her brain was fully aware and weirdly calm while her body shivered uselessly on the ground. She watched the tussle, but the scene played out in slow motion as her racing pulse pounded through her.
The broad-shouldered savior stood between her and Roberto, who threw himself in her direction, leaping at the other man’s impenetrable body. With his wide back to her, he’d become a tall, gritty barbed wire fence between her and a relentless pit bull. Seconds-like-years passed while the wall of a man stayed his ground. And all without one swing at her attacker, as if he strategically waited for Roberto’s batteries to run out.
She heard yelling and rushing footsteps, then the man, The Wall, yelled, “Gentlemen, over here! This man”—that voice—“attacked this innocent woman as she got to her car. I saw the entire thing.”
Zack? His deep baritone was unmistakable. His vast, unyielding frame, too. Her heart lifted—then sank on her next jagged breath.
She just couldn’t escape him.
Worse, she didn’t want to.
And in this particular case—oh, God, thank you for Zachary James.
*
The hotel security guards each grabbed an arm and yanked Roberto back, but her best friend continued his futile efforts.
Zack, now staring at her with tender eyes, maintained his blockade, not allowing Roberto sight or scent of her. Then he took a step toward her and offered his hand. She paused, though, when a far off voice met her ears.
“Is everything okay? Zack! Are you hurt?” a woman called.
Stephanie. Definitely Stephanie Rine. Isabel’s eardrums ached from the shattering pitch.
Zack waved Stephanie off, wherever she was shouting from, while Roberto’s rantings increased in volume, a last attempt as he was dragged away.
“Are you crazy, Isa? Making it seem like you don’t want me! Isa, we are meant to be together, so stop this now! You can’t distract yourself with these other men! The German guy, then that Canadian DJ? And this playboy! Come on, Isa! Wake up! I’m the one! I’m your new Sebastian! You felt it that night in my arms! Just wait ’til I do make love to you! Then you’ll know, Isa! Isaaa!” And finally Roberto’s screams faded.
Zack heaved a breath, removed his sports jacket, and kneeled down next to Isabel, draping his coat over her bare shoulders. It was hot out, but with the thick angst in her gut, she shivered uncontrollably. All she could muster was a, “Thank you,” while she continued her blank stare into the night.
“I’m staying here with you. They’re going to want to process reports. It’ll take a couple of hours, at least, and then I can get you home safely.” But as he spoke, Isabel’s mind whirled back to logical reality. “I’ll sleep on your couch, the floor, whatever. Just as long as you’re not out of my sight.”
She looked into his deep green eyes, so soft, caring. “Zack, I think, I mean, I know that I’m…okay. I’m in love—I mean, in debt…Oh God.” She winced then exhaled slowly. “Just, thank you. For coming to my rescue.” She paused, wanting to give him her hand, to be sure he knew her sincerity, her relief, and gratitude for his presence.
But Stephanie’s distant shouting reminded her of her necessary role.
“Let’s just get you inside. We’ll get through the red tape togeth—”
“No—no, Zack. I mean, really, I’m fine, on my own,” she stated, as if to an unruly wedding guest who had pushed her too far. “Please, Zack. I just can’t risk it.”
“You can’t risk being assaulted again in a parking lot!” He’d raised his voice, but apologized with a nod and a blink. “After what happened here, are you still worried about Stephanie? Your job?”
“My career, Zack…yes.” She huffed her frustration, then shut her eyes to clear her head. “Listen, I wouldn’t have been fine,” she soothed, “if it weren’t for you. That I know. But I am fine now. Please, just let me go do this alone. See, I don’t even have a scratch on me. I’m just a little shaken up is all.”
With hands up and a downturned glance, he conceded. No more radiant green gaze—she felt him unplugging.
But it had to be this way. Just look at what happened with Roberto. Fate was flaring her fucking talons again! She knew where her best friend would end up––prison’s just as good as death in Mexico! For Zack’s sake, unplugging was the only option. Damn her heart in the process.
*
She watched Zack, dejected, as he spoke to the guard, instructing him to get Isabel inside right away. That he himself would give his full statement in the morning or, giving it another shot, “Tonight even?”
But the officer stated that the morning would actually be better. Zack handed the guard his business card and shook his hand for longer than customary, maybe still hoping that Isabel or the guard might change their minds. But there was no change. Isabel needed him to go. He sighed, his obvious frustration etched in the lines above his furrowed brow, then set himself to leave the scene, toward the hotel and the still-shouting maid of honor.
“Oh,” he said after taking his first reluctant step, “do make sure Ms. Ruiz is escorted safely back to her car after the processing of all necessary and complete paperwork.” The guard nodded, and Zack made his exit.
She watched him walk toward the hotel, hating every step he took. Her heart ached, screamed, thrashed, while Isabel could only look on helplessly, wanting nothing more in the universe than for him to stay with her.
Look back. Just a glance. To tell her he understood.
But Zack James did not look back at her. He did not break his stride or his focus. He was doing exactly what she’d asked him to do, heading straight back to the hotel, to his room, to bed. And it burned her like fiery hell.
And, of course, to add to the flames were the strangling sounds of Stephanie Rine’s swooning shouts as the best man approached the horrid woman, and as he got further and further away from Isabel.
CHAPTER 31
He walked toward the hotel’s pool entrance, holding an inner argument with himself. She told him to leave her, she’d insisted. But he should have fucking stayed.
On the other hand, he had to take into account Isabel’s nature, the strong, fierce tigress that he knew her to be. Isabel was a rock, and although she’d just been shaken to her core, she didn’t need nor did she want a savior…not even in extreme assault scenarios.
And he realized that he didn’t want a damsel in distress, either. What he wanted, who he wanted, all he wanted, was Isabel.
*
As he neared the pool, he prepared what he needed to say to Stephanie. He was unsure of how long or from which point Stephanie had seen him or maybe even had been following him, but a vague and matter-of-fact response was all he’d give her.
“Oh, Zack, I was so worried! Was that Jezebel? Was she being attacked? Are you alright! God, those types of women and their provocative auras just attract that kind of element. But she was so lucky you were there! So”—she stopped for effect and maybe a moment’s breath—“what were you doing there?”
A growl of disgust rumbled in his chest. Forget the ‘luck’ reference, did the woman just insinuate the attack was Isabel’s fucking fault? Fury, raw and real, locked his breath.
But this woman wasn’t worth the breath.
Speak quick and go, Zack.
“I guess I just got lost in the right place at the right time,” he said, walking straight past her. “Well, I’m still feeling the alcohol from the party so…good night.” And he continued into the building, the hotel security door closing with a clank behind him.
&nb
sp; *
Then the door buzzed and swung open again. “Zachary? With such a scary incident having just happened, I, um…I’m a little worried about going up to my room alone. Would you mind going with me?” Stephanie implored.
He looked up at the ceiling. Was this woman for real? No, she was more like a big wad of artificially sweetened bubble gum stuck to the bottom of a brand new pair of shoes.
“Since we’re on the same floor, Stephanie, fine. Let me get the elevator here.” And as he went to press the call button, her finger met his, a giggle escaping her lips and a ravenous hunger glowing in her eyes.
The elevator came quickly. Thankfully. “Ladies first.”
That is, if there was a lady present.
“Such a gentleman,” she flirted hopefully.
They got into the elevator, and to Zack’s disappointment, the car was empty.
Hoping for elevator-super-speed and Stephanie’s silence, he just hit their floor number, and up the elevator traveled.
Besides Stephanie’s frequent sniffling and wheezing, her allergic reaction apparently still affecting her eyes and nose, and now her breathing capacity, the quiet was deafening. Again, better than any more words out of her ignorant mouth. Zack just focused on each small creak in the hydraulic-powered elevator cabling and the sound of the swoosh-swoosh increasing and decreasing as they passed each floor.
Ding!
The doors opened, but it was only the eighteenth floor. For fuck’s sake.
A waiter with a catering cart appeared, framed within the elevator’s doorway. Okay, company is good. But with a look of disappointment being that there was no room for the man and his doublewide food trolley, the waiter, to Zack’s disappointment, disappeared the next moment. The elevator doors shut, once again sealing in the thick, radiating, awkwardness put out by his wedding party counterpart.
“Thanks for accompanying me,” Stephanie said. “And, you know, you’re more than welcome into my suite. For a last drink of the night. Or”—she looked at her watch—“the first drink of the day.” She giggled again.