All of them but us. I just walk straight through the opening in the underwater fence they’ve got set up and onto the shore where I carefully set her down underneath the shade of a tree.
“Can we get some water and sunscreen over here.” The sound bellows from the pit of my stomach letting the crew know it’s a command and not a question.
I’d do it myself, but I’m not leaving her alone by herself. Not now especially…and not ever.
CHAPTER 3
Isaiah
I grab Eric by front of the ridiculous Hawaiian shirt he’s got on and yank his body to mine.
I want him to look into my eyes from inches, not feet.
“What in the fuck were you trying to pull out there? You could have gotten her hurt or,” I swallow hard, “worse.”
My fist tightens on his shirt as I give it, and him, a good shake.
“Relax man. It was all under control. They’re practically domesticated.”
“Are you fucking out of your mind!”
I lift his entire body off the ground a good six inches before moving my hand down quickly so his feet hit the sand hard and he gets shaken up.
“You can’t domesticate a shark you fool.”
“Calm down. We had shark repellents all over underwater. Electropositive stuff. Devices that emit magnetic waves that disrupt the shark’s electroreceptors. And the sunscreen we gave you all had a product called Anti Shark 100 mixed in. It’s eco-friendly and doesn’t harm sharks, fish or wildlife. Once it’s released, as it was from your skin, shark’s won’t get near for thirty to forty five minutes.”
“You know Hollywood changes people and it’s changed you. Do you realize how ridiculous you sound right now? One of those things brushed against me. Imagine what it could have done to your sister. Your own sister!” I pause. “You can take all your electromagnetic stuff and stick it up your ass. You put your sister in harm’s way like that again and I’m coming for you,” I say shoving Eric back where his butt and hands quickly find the sand behind him.
I go back to my tiny accommodation which is nothing more than some sheets of plywood for walls, corrugated metal roofing, a concrete floor, all of it held together with two by fours.
I’m still fuming but being by myself for a minute is what I need. If not I would have really laid into Eric right now…or Isabella.
But laying into Eric is one thing and laying into his sister is something else entirely.
My anger subsides as I remember how she felt on my shoulders.
I feel my cock harden immediately, throbbing against the interior of my trunks. I can feel beads of come already forming at the tip as my rod slides around underneath my shorts.
And a second later I see a wet spot seeping through my shorts.
All this sun out here is overloading my body with Vitamin D, a precursor of testosterone. And now seeing her?
I’m so damn close to pulling my cock out right now and seeing how these walls look with a fresh coat of cream coloring over the top. I know I’d shoot it that far and hard, my body intent on getting her pregnant that I would literally shoot my seed like a geyser.
But unlike her brother, I’m not a jerk off…figuratively or literally.
I lie back on my small bed and stare at that metal ceiling. It’s gray and cold and completely uninviting…the exact opposite of her.
My eyes glaze over and my mind leaves the room as I think about her and how damn bad I want her.
And that means, unless Eric tries some more nonsense, we’re going to win this silly TV show competition and the cash that comes with it.
And then I’m gonna win her, and use that money to put a down payment on our first house…which she’s going to fill with all my babies.
CHAPTER 4
Isabella
I spent the last few months trying to get a job at places like Samsung and Shimano and in a matter of seconds I practically get a job in Shamu’s cousin’s stomach.
Okay, so those sharks weren’t that big in hindsight, but they’re still sharks for Pete’s sake.
What was my brother thinking?
I take another bite of this thing called Poisson cru, my nerves calming thanks to the raw fish marinated with lime juice and soaked in coconut milk. I’m usually not a big raw fish person, but this is so delicious and light that I swear it’s practically melting in my mouth.
But as delicious as it tastes what I really want to get my mouth on is him.
I take a break in-between bites thinking about how his chest and shoulders felt when I had my hands on them. It makes me want to go back to my dinky accommodation right now and touch myself.
But that can’t happen. The walls are paper-thin and the last thing I need are the other contestants hearing me scream again.
But this time it would be his name in pleasure, not from a fear a sharks.
And after the way Isaiah went after my brother I’m not sure who was the bigger predator out there today…my brother’s best friend or those carnivorous ocean creatures.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see a Moorean woman smiling at me.
“Yes, fine. Thank you,” I say.
She takes my horizontal glass of coconut milk from the table and sits it upright and then quickly wipes up the mess.
“Oh. Sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay,” she says with a smile before taking off back towards the beach bar where they prepare the food for the contestants.
Did I knock that over?
I look around and realize I’m the only one in our little cafeteria area. There’s just a very light ocean breeze.
Yeah, I knocked it over…and didn’t even notice.
Because all my thoughts are on him.
If I make it out of this week alive there’s something I have to finally do.
Tell him I can’t wait another day living my life without him because he makes me feel more alive than anything else in the world.
CHAPTER 5
Isaiah
The next day
The sound of knocking on our flimsy doors signals it’s time to tape day two.
Last night the island’s tropical climate drenched us with rain, keeping everyone inside in their own quarters for the night.
But even if we would have been able to step outside we weren’t allowed to intermingle.
Not yet.
Eric insisted that the first night he wanted to keep everyone separate to avoid alliances being formed going into day two.
I didn’t mind and thought that made the competition fairer.
But I did mind is what it did to my thoughts and how I fought all night to try and get some sleep, not able to see her or speak to her.
But tonight there was apparently some sort of mixer for whoever made it through the day.
We were already down to ten couples from twenty. The shark challenge eliminated half of the contestants.
And apparently after such an aggressive challenge, and maybe because of my words, the competition for today was going to be much different.
It was practically a kid’s game compared to yesterday, but just as important.
The men and women were to split up. Five men sat on one side of the table facing five other men. For thirty seconds the men on one side would try and get the other side to laugh and then vice versa. The three players who cracked first were eliminated.
It was something like a speed dating setup, from what Eric told us.
But I wouldn’t know. The idea of speed dating or anything that turns finding the person you’re supposed to live the rest of your life with into some sort of factory sounded absolutely repulsive to me.
Especially now, because I know exactly who’s meant for me and who I’m meant for.
She’s mine and I’m hers. And when this competition is over the entire world is going to know it…and how unstoppable we are in tandem.
We get set up and I’m on the receiving end of the humor first…or at least what’s suppos
ed to be humor.
The guy across from me is making childish faces and bodily noises. What the fuck?
I’m a thirty-year-old grown man, not some child. Bodily noises were never funny to me, and even if they had been aren’t you supposed to grow out of that kind of rubbish in…I don’t know…junior high?
This comedy clown realizes he isn’t getting anything from me so he tries a different approach.
Insults.
But he doesn’t insult me, he insults my woman.
It’s basically a “yo momma” joke, again a juvenile attempt, but instead of “yo momma” he goes with “yo girlfriend.”
And when I reach across the table and grab him by the windpipe he realizes real quick that it’s time to grow up. And just in case he needed any help I stand, using the entire strength of my two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle attached to my six foot six inch frame as my outstretched arm lifts him clean out of his seat.
“Daaaaamn!” one of the other contestants yells, just before I feel Eric and one of the other cameramen come running over and start pawing at me.
“Apologize,” I say.
He mumbles something that I can’t really make out, but I can already tell he still doesn’t get it.
“To her, dipshit.”
I squeeze tighter with my thumb and forefinger leaving a little slack in my lower fingers so his head can turn and his voice box can move.
His beet red face turns toward Isabella and he manages to cough up an apology that literally saves his life.
I release him from my grasp and watch as his body drops to the ground, his forearms catching the table before his chin.
He hits the ground coughing and wheezing.
“Isaiah!” Eric yells and motions over to the tree.
I walk with him out of the earshot of the other contestants, but I know they’ve surely got cameras and microphones on us…not that it would make a difference.
“What in the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You heard what he said about your sister?”
“Who cares? They’re just words.”
“I care. And I’m going to stand up for her. Every. Fucking. Time.”
Eric moves in closer and through gritted teeth he says, “There’s a violence clause in the contract. I should kick you off.”
“If you’re going to kick me off do it. If not, stop talking about it.”
“Don’t threaten me, Isaiah.”
“If I was threatening you it would feel like this,” I say stepping into him so my forehead touches his. Eric is no small guy either. It’s how we became such good friends when we were kids. We formed the most feared linebacking tandem in the history of our state starting with Pop Warner football all the way up through high school.
But apparently protecting his sister isn’t as important as protecting the end zone.
“Step back, Isaiah,” he growls.
“Or what?” I snarl back. “You throw me off this show and when this airs you’re going to have a shit storm on your hands. Is this how you let women get treated on your watch?” I pause, letting that sink in. “You could learn something from me…the difference between right and wrong. Or you can toss me, which I don’t want to be here if that’s how you’re going to let women be treated, and continue on living with your head up your ass when it comes to manners.”
The cameraman grabs Eric and pulls him back, but I know it’s all for show.
“He can’t press charges, boss. It’s in his contract.”
“It’s in every male’s contract. It’s called being a man,” I say. “Apparently he never learned that so I had to take him to school.”
Eric and the cameraman walk over underneath a palm tree a few yards away and talk about everything.
Next thing I know we’re reshooting the scene but this time they’ve got the contestants spread out…way out.
Ironically it works better. I actually helped the show, although that was never my intention.
With everyone on pins and needles and shocked after what just happened people aren’t exactly in a smiling mood.
Everyone except for Isabella that is.
She flashes me a smile of appreciation in-between rounds to which I reply with a nod of my head.
I was tempted to not even do that. A man should never be acknowledged for what he’s supposed to do. He should just do it and go on about his business.
That’s what being a man is all about.
Especially when what you did, you did for the only woman in the world that matters.
Your woman.
And that’s exactly what she is.
Mine.
CHAPTER 6
Isabella
It’s dinnertime and tonight we’re having a mixer for all the contestants.
My plate is filled with the pork that’s been slow roasting by the fire pit all day. My glass is filled with water as I try and stay hydrated after the sun tried to suck it all out of me all day. And my ears are filled with something else that will feed me in a different way.
Gossip.
I came here expecting to get eliminated after the first challenge and go home shortly thereafter. But the more looks I get and the more comments I hear the more I want to actually play to win. To win not just because I could really use the money but to shut these other girls up.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
But the real reason is every challenge Isaiah and I win or advance through equals more time for the two of us to be together.
For him to see that we can be a really good team, and not just in some TV show challenge…but in life.
“That’s her,” one of the seven remaining female contestants says behind my back.
“We should steal her guy and dump our guys on her and see how well she does then,” another says.
I turn, plate in hand and stare the women down.
“You’re not stealing anything from me. He’s mine and together we’re going to be the ones who steal…the chance for either of you to win a damn thing,” I say.
My words were kind of scrambled at the end and didn’t make a lot of sense, but their intensity and the look I gave them more than made up for my sentence structure and threat. I’m not used to talking to people that way, nor do I want to become that kind of person.
And although I may not speak their language I will speak tough bitch if they try and come at my man like that again.
They flip their hair like catty middle schoolers and walk away. So much for a contestant mixer. The only mixing that’s about to go on here is this delicious looking pork into my beans as soon as I find a place to sit.
And when I look at the seating area I know that’s not going to take long.
Isaiah is holding his fork in one hand and his upper back is hunched over his plate. He looks like a hungry boot camp soldier who’s been given one minute to down all his food…but the look he’s giving me says his food just might not be the only thing he’s hungry for. And I can imagine him chowing down on something much, much different.
Something which moistens immediately when he raises his other hand and makes a come hither motion with four fingers.
I feel my pulse skyrocket and my grip on my plate loosen. Just as it starts to wobble my fingers tighten on it and I make my way over to where Isaiah is like I didn’t almost fumble my food right onto the ground, or all over me.
His eyes follow me as I walk to his table. I feel like I’m walking on pins and needles for some reason. I just want to impress him and not trip or do something else that makes me look like the clumsy goof that I can be at times.
But when I arrive at his table there’s nothing clumsy about the way the chair somehow slides out for me. He must have moved it with his foot underneath the table.
And his eyes move from mine to the chair, followed by a head motion, telling me to sit.
“I see you’re making friends,” he says.
I want to slap him on the shoulder. His dry sense of humor is pretty
funny I must admit and it helps me forget about those catty bitches.
“Strategy. You know. Keep ‘em close and then when there’s a chance to team up with them we’ll show them how much they really mean to us.”
Instalove Island: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 82) Page 2