Which makes her the most dangerous woman in my life.
Yes, even more so than my overbearing mother. Because Isabella Morales has managed to do what no other woman has done since my daughter was born.
She’s carved out a special place for herself in my head.
And, I fear, my heart.
Ever since she joined Anna and me on our New Year’s vacation, I haven’t been able to shake the image of her in a tiny red bikini that was designed for sin.
Or her fresh, makeup-free morning face and the wild curls crowning her head like a queen as she sat for breakfast.
And possibly the worst of it all was the jaw-dropping New Year’s Eve dress that reminded me of all the places I wanted to put my hands on at the stroke of midnight.
She was no longerIzzy, my mother’s best friend’s daughter. The young girl with braces in the photos in my mother’s apartment who was skinny in an unintentional way, as if puberty had all but forgotten her.
No. The grown-ass woman who met me at the tarmac beside my private jet now went byIsa. A woman I swear God handcrafted to bring me to my knees with the way she grew into her body and confidence.
The sway of her hips, like a pendulum, could hypnotize me into giving into all the sexual energy I’ve kept locked up tight.
And if I’m being honest, her physical appearance is only the bow on the real gift that is Isabella.
Even though I tried to keep my distance, anyone within a ten-mile radius of our resort could see that Isabella was sunshine personified. Within a day, she had become best buddies with most of the hotel staff, asking everyone where they were from and being genuinely interested in their stories.
By midday, she would usually be holding court by the pool, coming up with the most ridiculous aquatic competitions to keep my adorable yet lightning bolt of a daughter entertained for hours on end.
At dinner, she would teach my daughter how to pronounce local dishes in Spanish and agree to whatever princess movie was on the agenda for the night.
It could have ended there. I could have thanked her for her help and moved on with my predictable life.
But on our final night, the last string that tethered me to my self-restraint almost snapped clean at the sight of Isabella teaching my daughter how to dance salsa in front of a live band.
I sat back and nursed my one and only beer as I watched the light of my life, the tiny human who had changed my world for the better, inch closer to her Puerto Rican roots by learning our music, our dances.
The way she shimmied and shook her hips in an uncoordinated manner that only her DNA could save her from brought an ease to my soul.
Only for it to be set alight the second my focus moved to Isabella. It wasn’t the way she demanded everyone’s attention on the dance floor or even her incredible moves that made my resolve falter.
No.
It was the way she laughed. Especially with my daughter, without a care in the world, as if Anna were the only person in that crowded room. I was tempted to break my no dating rule and ask her out right then and there.
But I have never let myself go that far.
Imagined myself bringing someone new into our lives.
It’s too risky. I won’t put Anna in a situation where she gets too close to someone just to have them leave us.
And my decision has never bothered me, not one bit.
That is, until Isa.
Dangerous, dangerous woman.
Which is why I need to get her out of my home before I do something stupid.
Like hire her to be my fucking nanny.
three
