All I Do: Paradise Beach #3

by Lush, Tamara

  Jesus, it is her. My gut tightens as I watch her walk to the front of the room.

  She’s wearing a black and white polka-dot blouse and a tight, black skirt that hits just below her knees. The skirt would probably be conservative on ninety-nine percent of the women in the world, but on Leilani, it’s a garment of pure sin, hugging that incredible ass and those curves.

  My mouth is watering. As much as I’m trying to be a professional business owner as I sit at the Chamber of Commerce meeting, all I can think of is bending her over one of the tables and lifting that skirt. She can’t be wearing panties, otherwise I’d see the lines. The skirt is that tight.

  Or maybe she’s wearing a thong… I almost grunt out loud.

  She walks to the podium and I inhale sharply. She’s even more beautiful today. How is that possible? Her hair is down, in soft, dusky gold waves. It’s pinned to one side with a red flower, and she’s wearing matching red lipstick. Images of her lips wrapped around my cock come to mind, and I squirm, uncomfortable.

  “Thank you,” she says into the microphone, her throaty voice causing a familiar tingle in my balls. “My business is a bar called Mermosa. Sorry, Andrew already said that. I’m a bit nervous. The bar will be a casual establishment with food, and people can book mermaid-themed parties. There will be a large tank in the bar where mermaids in costume will swim as entertainment.”

  A ripple of laughter erupts.

  Is she going to swim in one of those sexy outfits in a tank? Jesus, I’ll be living at that bar if that’s the case. Every penny I make will end up in her cash register.

  Andrew says something about how she was a Weeki Wachee mermaid, and the room applauds again. Obviously, people love this idea; on Paradise Beach, the more unique and quirky the business, the better.

  I feel a jab to my ribs.

  “Dude,” Tate hisses. “That’s your mermaid.”

  I shoot him a dirty look.

  “As you all know, now we pick a mentor from the people who signed up. Leilani’s mentor will help her hone her business plan and oversee her launch. All the new businesses in the program are opening within three months. The team that has the most successful launch, judged by the criteria in the contest rules, will win the ten-thousand-dollar cash prize.” Andrew shakes a green plastic bucket, the kind that kids use on the beach. He dips a hand inside. “And the number is zero-eight-eight-six.”

  He brandishes the ticket, and the room buzzes with the voices of people who are looking at their own tickets to see if they match. I’m certain that most of the men who own businesses would love to partner with Leilani, and the thought further sours my mood.

  “Who’s got the winning ticket?” Andrew calls out. “Zero-eight-eight-six.”

  “Zero-eight-eight…” Tate says, holding his ticket at arm’s length. “Whoa. Would you look at that?”

  My gaze snaps to the red ticket between my brother’s thumb and forefinger. I scan the final number and a surge of adrenaline shoots through me. It’s a match.

  Without thinking, I snatch the ticket out of my brother’s hand and stand, holding the red slip of paper in the air with both hands like I’ve caught a prizewinning tarpon.

  “Me! Right here. I’m the match.” I let out a good old boy whoop and Andrew glances at me, confusion in his eyes.

  “I decided to participate after all,” I holler.

  Andrew chuckles.

  “Okay, then. We have a match! It looks like we’re pairing Leilani Kostas with Remy Hastings. A mermaid and a charter boat captain. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it, folks?”

  The room applauds, and I take a bow, a huge grin on my face.

  I’m not a hundred percent certain of what I just signed up for, but the stunned look on Leilani’s pretty face is totally worth claiming her as my prize.

  Chapter Eight

  LEILANI

  Is this really happening?

  The man who gave me incredible oral on a sailboat is my mentor?

  He’s a businessman? I thought he was a fisherman. Over the last couple of days, I’ve imagined him out on the water with a fishing pole. And now he’s here, in a conservative, white, button-down shirt and jeans.

  I sink into my seat and clutch my coffee cup, the announcements of other mentor-mentee pairings continuing. How am I going to get out of this?

  Do I want to get out of this?

  I sneak a glance at Remy, expecting to meet his gaze or catch him looking at me. But he’s not. Instead, he’s leaning in toward a man who looks quite similar. Are they brothers? Same dark hair, same flashing, amber eyes. I think that guy had been on the boat the other day. Remy has an energy about him that the other guy doesn’t. I can tell from over here. It’s some kind of invisible magnetism that surrounds him like an aura.

  Or maybe I’m sensing my insides quivering just looking at him.

  I blink, then stare down at the contest packet, reading the rules. None of the words soak into my brain. Oh dear. This could be dangerous, working with him.

  After the other three teams are announced — there are four teams in all, which means I have a twenty percent chance of winning ten grand, which would be pretty sweet — the Chamber president announces a break. The woman sitting next to me leans in. I’d met her earlier. Her name is Carmen, and she owns a paddleboard-watersports business.

  “You are one lucky mermaid.”

  I muster a smile and stand. “Oh?”

  Carmen gets to her feet. “You just got paired with Remy Hastings.”

  “I see.” I glance around nervously, wondering where he is. We’re supposed to chat about our first meeting now — it’s why we’re on break. I don’t see him, anywhere. Odd. “What’s so special about Remy Hastings?”

  “Other than the fact that he’s easy on the eyes, he’s also related to the owner of the most successful and biggest hotel on the island. His family’s owned the Paradise Beach Resort for decades. First his parents ran it, then his brother and sister took it over. You get in with that family, and you’ll have every guest at the resort visiting your mermaid bar.”

  My jaw drops. “Really?”

  “Really. Two years ago, his brother, Tate, was paired up with Maria Acevedo, the owner of Flamingo Groove. Her business went through the roof because he set up a partnership with the resort to offer discounts on her beach souvenirs to resort guests. There’s even branded Paradise Beach Resort merchandise at her shop. You know, beach towels, potholders, fridge magnets. Super cute.”

  “Super cute.” I nod slowly. So, this is a stroke of luck. “Wow.”

  Carmen leans in. “Just be careful. You’re gorgeous. Remy’s quite the flirt and has a reputation. Then again, most women wouldn’t mind being under him as a mentee, if you know what I mean.”

  She winks lasciviously.

  Of course he has a reputation. He probably sleeps with every woman he meets. Which is fine. No judgment. He’s single and has every right to be a man-whore. I was the one who’d green-lighted my random hookup with him, after all.

  And I’d been the one to sneak out in the middle of the night.

  “I didn’t notice whether he was handsome or not. I’m not interested in him in that way. I’m single and loving it.” Lies. All lies.

  Carmen clears her throat, then points with her eyes over my shoulder. Uh-oh.

  I turn, slowly, to find a grinning Remy. Oh, hell, he is handsome. Super cute. Especially in the button-down shirt. He’s not in a suit and tie like most of the other men, but the white shirt makes the tanned skin of his throat stand out.

  A memory of me kissing that throat pops into my mind. I lick my lips.

  “Single and loving it, huh?” he says, his gaze dropping to my black stilettos. “I like you better with a tail instead of heels.”

  My face grows instantly hot.

  “Long time no see,” I say in a breezy voice.

  “Whose fault is that?”

  I swallow hard. Should’ve guessed he’d be miffed that I crept off his boat under the
cover of darkness. It was a little rude, now that I think about it. Maybe I should’ve left a business card. A note. A clamshell.

  I reach for my messenger bag, which is embroidered with a starfish, and muster my most professional smile. “Would you like to chat about the contest?”

  “I’d love to. But I just got a call from the mechanic about my boat. So, I gotta run. Or is that your line?” He’s grinning, but there’s an edge to his words.

  My mouth opens, but nothing comes out other than stunned laughter. “I can explain,” I say lamely.

  “Can’t wait. Tonight good for you?”

  My chest squeezes. His eyes drift down my body, and his stare is so possessive and scorching that the backs of my knees perspire.

  “Perfect,” I say. “Why don’t you come to the bar and you can see what it looks like, and I can show you what I’ve got.”

  Lord. That’s a double entendre if I’ve ever heard one. Obviously, he thinks so too, because he chuckles.

  “I’d love to see what you’ve got at your bar. Eight?”

  Eight isn’t exactly the hour for business meetings, but I’ll let it slide. Especially since he’s not being too snarky about me leaving his boat in the middle of the night.

  “Eight’s good.”

  “Perfect. I’ll bring pizza. You like meat?”

  Again, my jaw drops. “Ah…” I laugh, thinking of how I’d Hoovered his hard length. My face is the color of a stop sign now, I know it. “Yes. I do like sausage.”

  I roll my eyes and snort out a laugh. “That sounded bad. I’m a walking, talking slapstick comedienne, apparently.”

  His right eyebrow lifts. “Sausage. Got it. See you at eight.”

  I watch him as he walks away, that shit-eating smirk on his face. I just made a stupid sausage joke. Blergh.

  He shakes hands with several people in the room and kisses a couple of old ladies on the cheek. They flirt back, unashamed. It seems that every woman is captivated by Remy Hastings, and I’m no exception.

  I sink back into my chair, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.

  * * *

  Later that day, I shed my black, pencil skirt and silk, polka-dot blouse and stilettos, because the outfit seems a little too fussy for a nighttime business meeting. Instead, I opt for baggy jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt with a cartoon fox on the front. And Birkenstock sandals — possibly the un-sexiest shoes I own, since they are worn, poop-colored, and make me look like I’m headed to a yoga retreat. My scarlet painted toenails flash like little red stop signs against the plain leather.

  The outfit somehow calms my nerves. I look way less sexy now. It’s also far different from my mermaid outfit over the weekend. Tonight, I’m just a normal woman in normal clothes. I’m even wearing cat-eye, black framed glasses because I can’t see that well up close, and my hair’s in a ponytail.

  He won’t even be attracted to me. When I’d dressed like this once around Brent, he’d asked me why I was “letting myself go.”

  I’m sitting on a worn stool at the bar, surrounded by my books of lists, when the front door opens. Dammit, I keep forgetting to lock it when I’m here alone. Probably because Paradise Beach seems so safe. Sleepy, even. I turn in my seat to see Remy poking his dark head of hair inside.

  “Anyone here?” he calls out.

  “Over here, at the bar.” I give a little wave.

  He saunters in, the door banging in back of him. “We’ve gotta fix that door,” he says, sliding onto the only other seat in the place, which is next to me at the bar. He’s in a worn, grey T-shirt that’s stretched and a little tight across his broad shoulders, and olive cargo shorts. He’s also sporting the most tattered pair of flip-flops I’ve ever seen.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself for him to find fault with everything here. He looks around, taking in the emptiness of the space.

  “Wow. Love this place. It used to be a joint called The Crab Trap. Went downhill, though, when some off-island investors bought it. It became known around town as The Crap Trap, and then it turned into the ice bar. That didn’t do so well, either. Too frou-frou. People who come to Paradise Beach want laid-back and quirky. Glad you’re here now. You buy the place?”

  I shake my head. “Renting.”

  “You’re living on island, I hope. Makes it a lot easier to connect with people.”

  “I am. I’ve got a bungalow downtown.” Well, that was more information than I’d intended to tell him.

  Nodding, he looks around, his eyes landing on the construction project behind the bar. I’m again struck by how beautiful his eyes are. Focus. Focus.

  “What’s that about?” He points to several two-by-fours that look haphazardly nailed together, although they’re anything but.

  “Oh! That’s the focal point of the whole place. The mermaid tank. It’ll be filled with water, of course. We’ll lower the lights and the tank will give off a blue glow. It’s going to be amazing. Work just began this week, so it doesn’t look like much of anything at the moment. It’s going to take a while to come together. See, there will be three large windows.” I point with a pen. “One, two, three. People can watch the mermaids swim.”

  His eyes grow wide. “Whoa. So that’s what you were talking about at the Chamber meeting. Will there be live fish? Like a real aquarium, like in Weeki Wachee? And are you personally going to swim? I kind of thought you were joking.”

  Tilting my head, I stare at the skeleton of the tank. “Not joking. I don’t think so, on the fish. Weeki Wachee is a natural spring so it’s way different. I’d considered the fish, but that would be one more thing to manage. It’s going to be enough to coordinate the mermaid shows and serve booze and food.”

  “It’s an ambitious project, I’ll give you that. You ever run a bar before?”

  Hmm. Is he questioning my ability? For the first time, I notice how I’m on the defensive, probably because Brent always shot down my ideas and opinions. It’s funny how time and space away from a bad situation gives you a new perspective.

  “No, but I grew up in a restaurant. My dad owned a popular one in Weeki Wachee. I was a waitress there before I became a mermaid at the park.”

  “Nice. So you have a familiarity with the hospitality industry. Your dad coming to help you out here?”

  I shake my head. “He passed several years ago.”

  Remy raises his chin. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s in the past.” It’s part of my previous existence, which I don’t want to discuss, so I turn to my stack of papers and notebooks. “Here, let me show you the blueprints for the place.”

  Sifting through my books, files, and envelopes, I try to ignore Remy’s delicious-smelling cologne that’s wafting in my direction. Tonight, he smells a little like salted caramel. Yummy.

  “Here are the plans.” I open a red folder and take out a piece of paper. “And here’s how the mermaids will access the tank from a platform in back. There’s a changing room, too, alongside the storage area. It’s quite a big place.”

  He leans in, his caramel scent overpowering me. My stomach rumbles.

  “I thought you were bringing pizza.” I poke his shoulder with my pen.

  Without looking at me, he grins, then picks up the paper and studies it. “It’ll be delivered in a half hour. Buddy of mine owns the pizza place. This is really cool. Really different. I think it’s going to do real well here.”

  “Thanks.” I lick my lips.

  He sets the paper down and turns to me. His eyes go to my chest.

  “Oh for fox sake?” He points at the words on my T-shirt.

  I grin. “I thought it was cute.”

  He nods. I nod. Uh-oh. There’s that electricity crackling between us.

  “Um, I guess I owe you an apology for leaving like that, the other night,” I say softly.

  He blinks but doesn’t say anything.

  “I was overwhelmed. I haven’t ever done that, and I’m new here on the island. I got out of a r
elationship a while back and I’m not looking for anything serious. Or permanent.” Why am I so damned nervous around him? I inhale a huge breath.

  “You mentioned that. And you know, I don’t do relationships either.”

  I exhale and grin. “Oh. Excellent.”

  “Though I did want a little more time with you the other night. But it’s completely cool if you didn’t. I respect that. I’m not the kind of guy to pressure. We can totally be friends.”

  I’ll admit, there’s a tiny part of me that’s disappointed. That tiny part wants him to grab me like he did the other day and kiss me hard. Slide his tongue into my mouth and clutch my ass as if it were a life preserver. But it would be a jerk move to encourage that after leaving his boat like I did.

  I smile. “That’s really sweet. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself the other day. I did. A lot. But maybe we should just be friends. Especially while we’re working together on this contest.”

  He bites his bottom lip and grins. It’s such a sexy, endearing expression that I can’t help but giggle. He extends a hand.

  “Friends?” he murmurs.

  I slip my hand in his. “Friends. For the contest. Let’s kick butt and win the ten grand.”

  We shake for a few seconds. If we’re going to just be friends, I sure as hell wish these sparks of desire shooting up my arm and through my body would disappear.

  “We’re a team. We’ll have to spend a lot of time together,” he says in that low voice of his.

  “I’m glad you’re not upset. And that you’re so knowledgeable about the island.”

  “I can definitely help you. Oh, by the way...” His eyes are glittering. We’re not shaking anymore, just holding each other’s hands. “I made sure I ordered the sausage. I know how much you like it.”

  I giggle. Lord have mercy. A fluttering heat overtakes my belly.