All I Ask

by Tamara Lush

  Is it too early to ask her to come on my boat for an afternoon? Yeah, it probably is.

  “There is quite a bit to do here for such a small island.”

  I turn to the desk clerk. “Do you have any of those brochures, the ones about the art walk or the beach festival?”

  She looks up from her phone and rummages around in a drawer. “Oh, sure. Here.”

  She hands me a couple of folded-up brochures.

  “Here we go.” I unfold it on the desk. My body prickles with awareness when the beautiful woman moves next to me. So close the warmth of her body radiates to mine.

  “This looks like…a pirate cruise?” she says in a confused tone.

  Oh, shit. I was so nervous that I opened the pirate brochure instead of the art handout. She doesn’t look like a pirate cruise kind of woman.

  “Oh, yeah. Salty Sadie’s Pirate Ship.” Sadie’s the best friend of my brother Damien’s wife, Kate. But I don’t tell this woman that. No need to bog the conversation down with details.

  The woman puts her finger on a photo of the fake pirate ship and reads the text.

  “Cruise like a pirate,” she grins. “Party like it’s 1666. Surrender ye booty to the dance floor and swagger with the motion of the ocean.”

  “Arrrr.” Jesus H. Christ, I might be the state’s top environmental lawyer, rich, and (some women say) handsome, but today, I’m absurd.

  And still, the woman laughs. Not a giggle but a laugh. It’s like champagne bubbles or the audio version of the color pink. I imagine making her laugh in bed. While we’re both naked.

  “Ahoy, me hearties,” she says in a perfect pirate brogue.

  I chuckle. She is adorable.

  “Have you been?” She turns to face me, and my breath stops in my throat from the full force of her beauty. Her eyes are the color of Tupelo honey, and I wonder if she tastes as sweet.

  I shake my head. “I was born and raised here, lived here my entire life except for when I went to law school up north. And wouldn’t you know it, I’ve never been on a pirate cruise.”

  Her eyes twinkle. Just as I’m about to ask her if she’d like to set sail with me on the pirate ship and search for booty, I hear a shriek. And a shout.

  I turn in the direction of the sound to see my brother and Lauren racing in our direction, wild-eyed and pointing at Chunky. My gaze zooms downward to my dog.

  He is pissing on my would-be cruise companion’s blue travel pillow.

  “Chunky, no!” Lauren scoops him up in her arms. “Bad dog. Bad, bad dog!”

  We all stand in a circle around the soiled pillow. Me, Max, Lauren, and the captivating woman.

  “I am so sorry. He’s never had an accident. I’m mortified.” Jesus, Chunky. Figures my dog would screw things up with the only woman I’ve had a connection with in months.

  “So am I,” grumbles Max, who is visibly pale. “As the owner, I apologize for this. Please let me know how I can best compensate you for the loss of your pillow.”

  Ignoring Max, she looks into my eyes, her mouth turned up into a small smile. “It’s okay. Truly, it’s no problem, and it’s an old pillow. I don’t need any compensation at all. I suspect your puppy smelled the scent on the fabric and wanted to mark it. He wanted to make me and my property his own.”

  “Can hardly blame him for that,” I murmur, and her eyes widen.

  I could see myself metaphorically pissing in corners, marking territory around this woman. There’s something delicate about her, as if she needs protection. She’s bringing out the primal male in me.

  She’s also laughing at my joke like I’m on the Comedy Channel.

  “Accidents happen,” she says, putting her hand on my forearm.

  Sweet chocolate Christ. Another electric current zips through my body. My heart thumps erratically against my chest.

  Max clears his throat, and I notice that he and Lauren exchange knowing glances. They probably think I’m just flirting like I normally do, but whatever. This is a much different kind of encounter. I can feel it in my bones. Okay, and other places.

  “Please let me replace your travel pillow.” That way I can see her again…

  Another brilliant grin spreads across her face. “You don’t have to.”

  “I insist. I would also like to take you to dinner as an apology.” I pause and catch Max’s narrow-eyed gaze. “On behalf of the resort.” There. That will keep him happy.

  She squeezes my arm again, and I’m practically electrocuted from the zings and zaps running over my skin. When she takes her hand off my sleeve, a warm spot remains.

  “I would like that very much.”

  “I would offer this evening, but I have a meeting.” Dammit, the meeting. Christ, I’ve lost all track of time.

  “An important appointment you’re probably going to be late for,” Max chimes in. “So you’d better get going.”

  I ignore my brother. Why are he and Lauren still standing here, like they want to hear our conversation?

  “Tomorrow is perfect. I want to settle in after a long day of travel,” she says.

  “Of course. Tomorrow, seven p.m. I’ll meet you here in the lobby. I’ll take you to the Square Grouper, the island’s best seafood joint.”

  “Sounds like perfection.” She pauses. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “I’m so rude. Tate.” I hold my hand out, and she takes it. She’s so little, but her grip is surprisingly firm. “And you are?”

  “Bella.”

  We’re both staring at each other, ignoring Lauren, who is fluttering around the pillow and plucking it off the floor between her thumb and forefinger.

  I imagine whispering Bella’s name into her ear as I skim my hands over the curve of her naked waist. This makes me vaguely sweaty, and I have an urgent desire to loosen my tie.

  We’re still shaking hands and my heart’s thumping like a bass beat at a South Beach club. “Bella, it’s a pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  Four

  Isabella

  Silence.

  I moan out loud from sheer sensory pleasure. When I’m in nature, I’m at my most relaxed. Tilting my head back, the strong Florida sunshine washes over my face and spreads warmth through my body, all the way to my toes. It cleanses my soul after the recent fight with my parents, after reading about Jacques’ bad-boy antics in several tabloids, after a day and a half of travel.

  Birds chirping, wind rustling the palm trees, the soft splash of water against my kayak.

  Bliss.

  For my first day on Paradise Beach, I decided not to go to the famous beach—well, I walked there, at sunrise—but instead rented a kayak and am paddling through the mangrove swamps in the middle of the island. The water is the color of strong tea, and stark white wading birds pick their way over the banks, occasionally gobbling up fish.

  There are allegedly alligators in this swamp, but the kayak rental guy said they wouldn’t bother me. I’ve seen none, but would love to. From a distance.

  Adventure. It’s the best part of travel, at least for me. Museums and expensive restaurants are fun occasionally, but being in the wild makes me feel whole. This is the person I’m supposed to be. I always experience this during my travels around the world. Bhutan, Thailand, Guatemala, kayaking in a swamp: I feel alive.

  In the halls of my family’s palace in Montignac? Shopping in Paris? Parties in New York?

  Not so much.

  I dip my paddle in the water and propel myself in my orange kayak back to the dock. Out here I’m strong, relying on my own power to get me through the wilderness. It’s as if I regain my confidence whenever I’m in nature.

  Or whenever I’m away from my royal life.

  Take yesterday, with Tate, that gorgeous guy. In my kingdom, I’d never flirt with someone like that. And I’d absolutely never accept a dinner invitation. But something about him intrigued me, and I made a promise while on the plane here.

  Say yes to everything for the next two weeks.


  Back home, I don’t give men the time of day, partially because I fear someone will sell their “experience” with me to a tabloid. But here, I’m anonymous. I’m Bella. I’m a regular woman, going to dinner with a hot guy who has eyes the color of whiskey.

  His eyes fascinated me. Okay, and so did his broad chest, powerful hands, and wicked grin. Tate is as gorgeous as any model I’ve seen at the fashion shows Poppy’s dragged me to in London.

  I’m saying yes to Tate tonight. How much yes I’ll say remains to be seen…

  As I approach the dock, I spot a giant, blue wading bird on the bank. I do a reverse stroke, pushing the paddle forward and down toward the bow. Because there’s virtually no current in the water, my kayak stills.

  The tall bird doesn’t see me, and I bob in the water, staring at its graceful beauty. The kayak rental place gave me a laminated card listing all the wildlife I might see, and I slowly set the paddle horizontally on the edges of the boat and reach for my backpack.

  Carefully, I pull the card out. It’s a great blue heron. As the bird dunks its pointed beak in the water, I reach for a snack. Trying not to make a sound, I carefully unwrap a granola bar.

  And that’s when I see an alligator’s snout kissing the side of the kayak.

  “Oh crap,” I cry out. I’m so startled by the creature that my elbow jostles the paddle and it falls into the water, next to the alligator. Shit.

  My heart hammers against my chest. If I reach for the paddle, will the gator lunge for my arm? I slide a glance at the creature, and as if on cue, it nudges my kayak with his nose.

  What the hell? “I thought you were afraid of people,” I mutter out loud. “That’s what the kayak guy said.”

  The paddle bobs closer to the gator. There’s no way I can grab it now, not when it’s practically kissing the reptile. I’m only about a hundred feet from the dock.

  What am I going to do? Jump out and swim to the dock? Yeah, right. I like my limbs intact, thank you very much.

  I shift my gaze to the granola bar. Perhaps I can distract it, grab the paddle, and go on my merry way.

  Damn, I’m ingenious. I break off a piece of granola and toss it about five feet from the bow of the kayak. The alligator rams the boat again. I’m not too worried about capsizing, although that last jostle rocked the boat enough to make me uncomfortable.

  “Why are you so grumpy, gator?” I frown at it and toss another piece of granola closer to it.

  No response.

  Wait. Duh. Alligators aren’t vegetarian. They don’t want oats and raisins and chocolate chips.

  “You want meat,” I murmur, slowly reaching for my backpack.

  I pull out a stick of dried sausage I’d bought the day before at a convenience store while driving here. I peel it open, tear off a piece and toss it in the water. The creature moves toward it, then turns back.

  I throw another chunk in the water, then another. Dammit. It rams my boat again and bobs in the water. I swear it cuts a glance to me with its zombie-like eyes.

  A menacing hiss replaces the silence, and I realize the noise is coming from the alligator. In the murky corner of my mind, I recall that female gators make this noise when something threatens their nest.

  Apparently I’m that something. Mama gator is pissed. And my paddle is out of reach, which means I’m screwed.

  I lob another hunk of sausage and it hits the alligator squarely in the snout. She snaps it up, showing ferocious teeth. For the first time, I’m genuinely afraid, and I squeal out loud.

  “Ma’am, stop molesting the alligator.” The voice comes from what sounds like a bullhorn, and I swivel my head, confused. My eyes land on a small fishing boat emblazoned with a law enforcement logo. Where did that come from? It’s like it crept up on me. A man is standing on deck, bullhorn in hand.

  “Stop harassing the wildlife. This is the Paradise Beach Police.” Can’t he just speak in a normal voice? The harsh tone of his voice through the bullhorn bounces off the trees.

  The boat floats over and stops. There are two officers aboard, and one throws a rope to me. “We’re gonna to tow you back to the dock. Hold on tight.”

  “Oh, God, thank you, officer.” I gratefully grab the rope as relief floods my body. “My paddle fell in, and I was trying to get the alligator away from my kayak.”

  The officers put their boat in gear and chug at a snail’s pace to the dock, with me holding on for dear life. The alligator swims away, its back skimming the water. It has to be at least six feet long.

  At the dock, the officers hop off, and help guide my kayak to the shore. I climb out in bare feet, the warm water up to my shins, until I reach dry land.

  “Thanks again.” I smile at the officers. “I wasn’t clear how I’d get back to the dock, so you were a lifesaver. I have to explain to the kayak rental place that I lost a paddle, but I’m certain it’s happened before. I’ll call them, that’s what they said to do when I finished. I’ll just grab my waterproof bag—”

  I bend to pull the kayak farther ashore when one officer puts his foot on the bow of the boat.

  “Ma’am, what you did back there was a serious offense.”

  My eyes widen as I straighten my spine. “Excuse me?”

  “Feeding an alligator is a felony. So is harassing one.”

  “But, I wasn’t harassing or feeding. I was trying to get that creature away from my kayak. I’d never hurt an animal.” My brows knit together. Am I really in trouble? This seems like a joke.

  “I’m sorry, but what we saw back there was harassment. We’ll have to charge you.”

  My jaw drops. “But…I’m a…” I’m about to say a royal European princess who volunteers for environmental causes around the globe.

  Not only would that sound insane, but I’m not sure I want the world to know that the Princess of Montignac harassed an alligator in Florida. I can imagine the headlines. And the tabloid reporters descending on my vacation paradise.

  This situation must end, now.

  I press my palms together in a prayer gesture. “Sir, I’m so sorry. This is a terrible miscommunication. I believe we can work this out. It‘s not as though the alligator was harmed in any way.”

  “Sorry won’t cut it. We take the welfare of our wildlife seriously here on Paradise Beach.” The second officer walks toward me, toting handcuffs.

  “Are you serious?”

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the officer says, grabbing my arm and pressing the cold metal cuff on my wrist. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

  “Hell, no,” I yelp, struggling against the cuffs.

  “Y’know, this entire process would be easier if you gave us your name.” The detective—not one of the two that arrested me—smiles. He‘s in charge of me while the other two left for a late lunch.

  “You’re not like our usual suspects. Why don’t you be a good girl and give your name? That way we can process the paperwork. You can call a bondsman, post bail, and get outta here. Easy-peasy.”

  “I want to speak to an attorney,” I say through gritted teeth, glaring at the middle-aged cop. Good girl, my ass.

  I’ve been in the police station for two hours. First, they fingerprinted me. Then they took my photo, which was the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me. And that’s saying something, since tabloids around the globe have published all sorts of false rumors about me.

  Then the officers tried to interrogate me, and from what I’ve seen on American television, violated my rights by not allowing me counsel.

  I think. It’s hard to say—I’ve never been in trouble for anything. Not even in school.

  I am a good girl.

  Shame fills my gut, causing acid to build up in my throat. I need help. Fast. I could call my family’s attorney in
Montignac, but he’d alert my parents to my whereabouts. That’s my last resort, one I’m not willing to entertain at the moment. They’d send their lackeys here to collect me, and I’d be forced to return home, tail between my legs. I’d told them I was vising Poppy, so they think I’m in London, shopping for the perfect engagement dress at Harrods or someplace posh.

  I look around the little, messy police station and almost snort. It’s about as far from Harrods and London as it gets.

  What am I doing here? Who should I call? I wring my hands, eyeing the cop.

  How about that guy from yesterday? Tate? He’s the only person I know by name on the island. But I stupidly didn’t get his number.

  Guess I’ll miss my date with him tonight. Sorry, handsome stranger. You picked an alligator harasser as a dinner companion.

  “Please, could I use my phone, or maybe a computer, so I can find an attorney?” I try to speak with calm and dignity, unlike back at the dock, when I’d squirmed and screamed. My temper emerges when I feel cornered, and the two officers got a little rough when they put me in the car.

  Perhaps I’m also charged with resisting arrest, but I’m unclear on the details of how American law enforcement works. The officers spoke so fast, with such odd accents that I didn’t comprehend what was going on.

  “You want to check your email, too? How about Facebook? Honey, this isn’t the library. You can’t just use our computers at your leisure.”

  “How am I supposed to know whom to call? I’m a tourist.” I rub my wrists. Those handcuffs left deep red marks on my skin. At least now I’m in a chair in their office. The detective gave me a cup of coffee, one of the worst I’ve ever tasted.

  “Whom? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use that word in conversation. Not when they’re booked into jail.” He guffaws.

  “Please?” I’m not above begging at this point.

  The guy lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his sandy brown hair. He’s handsome in an aging, frat-boy kind of way, and my stomach sinks when I realize flirting might be my only option. He opens a drawer. “Let’s see. You’re charged with a wildlife felony…Christ. I’m not supposed to do this, but you look like a lost lamb. Lemme see if we have a list of local lawyers. Uh…Here. This guy does environmental stuff; I suppose you could call him.”