The Island Of Alphas: A BBW Paranormal Romance

by Amira Rain

  With his coal gray eyes twinkling, Eric explained that they'd likely have most anything I liked to eat, unless I was very partial to hamburgers and steaks. "We raise pigs, chickens, and turkeys for food, but for some strange reason, cattle don't seem to do as well in an environment almost entirely made up of sand."

  I laughed, not at all surprised. "That's absolutely fine. As long as I get a breakfast involving bacon once in a while, I think I'll be pretty happy. And as far as dinners go, I usually prefer chicken or seafood over beef anyway."

  "Well, in terms of seafood, we'll have you completely covered. In fact, after a few months on the island, you'll probably never want to look at a lobster ever again. Except maybe to see one scurrying far away from you."

  I laughed again, quite sure I could never get sick of lobster, one of my favorite foods.

  We continued our easy banter for the next half-hour or so, until we reached the airport, where I was soon to be shocked speechless.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Because Eric was obviously a man with extensive financial resources, I'd assumed we might be flying across the Pacific in first class on a commercial airliner before landing somewhere and taking a smaller plane over to the island. However, we were actually going to be taking a direct flight. A direct flight on a private jet more luxurious and opulent than any I'd ever seen pictures of, or had heard about, in my life. While Eric talked to the pilot, I strolled around the cream-and-gold decorated cabin, speechless, reminding myself not to leave my mouth hanging open like a complete rube.

  During the flight, Eric and I sipped aperitifs while relaxing on a couch upholstered in buttery-soft cream-colored leather. I had wine, and he had whiskey, neat, which for some reason I'd suspected might be his drink of choice. Probably just because, like him, the drink was straightforward, potent, and masculine.

  Once we'd finished our drinks, we moved to a mahogany table set with fine china and crystal. A waiter impeccably dressed in black pants, a crisp white shirt, and a black tie served dinner to us. During the meal, Eric asked me a bit about my life and background, eventually moving on to my interests and hobbies.

  I told him how I'd always dabbled in art and that I loved to play tennis. "I even play on a competitive doubles league in the summer. Or...well, I did."

  "Why not anymore?"

  Uncomfortable, I busied myself cutting my chicken breast, on my plate. "My former fiancé was my doubles partner, so I guess I'll have to find a new one now. We parted ways this past year."

  Trying to muster a smile, I looked up from my plate. "I suppose this probably isn't coming as a shock to you that I'm single, since you read the newspaper article. If I remember correctly, I think there was a line something to the effect of, 'Ms. Fowler, who sources have indicated is single after splitting with her fiancé last year....' something, something."

  Sighing, I gave my head a little shake. “Sometimes I think that publication is more of a gossip rag than a newspaper."

  I expected Eric to return my small smile, but instead, his expression remained completely serious.

  He spoke, looking deeply into my eyes. "I'm sorry that paper printed your personal details...and yes, I actually was, and am, surprised that you're single. You're an incredibly beautiful woman, Liz, and obviously very kindhearted and intelligent as well. The fact that your former fiancé somehow let you slip away, boggles my mind, to be honest."

  I wondered what he'd think if he knew that Jason had not only "let" me "slip away," he'd left me without so much as the hint of an explanation.

  With a little heat rising to my face because of what Eric had said, I thanked him and quickly changed the subject. If he kept talking how he was, and if he kept looking at me intently, with those heavy-lidded coal gray eyes of his, as he was doing, I foresaw some very difficult, tension-filled times ahead for myself on the island.

  As it was, I was already having a difficult time remaining focused on the conversation at hand and not the chiseled contours of Eric's chest, the outlines of which were noticeable even through the fabric of his dress shirt.

  While we finished dinner, I polished off an additional two glasses of wine, making the total amount I'd had that evening three glasses. During dessert, while Eric and I talked further and shared a few laughs, I sipped my way through another half-glass. Three-and-a-half glasses was much more than I usually had with dinner, and I knew that amount was just about my limit unless I wanted to wake up with a hangover the next day.

  I knew it was also just about my limit unless I wanted to do or say something stupid around Eric, probably something along the lines of blurting out how attractive he was and expressing surprise that he was single, which I definitely didn't want to do.

  So, once I realized how much I'd had, I discreetly pushed my wineglass away, not wanting to be tempted into another sip, or three.

  After a little more conversation while we finished slices of cake, a feeling of profound exhaustion joined my tipsiness.

  I stifled a sudden yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. "Sorry."

  Eric said not to be sorry at all, and that I could rest in one of several cream-colored overstuffed recliners in the cabin if I wanted. I thanked him and said that sounded wonderful. He said he had a mind to do the same, but first, he was going to check in with the pilot to make sure we were still on time and on course.

  He turned down the lights in the cabin, then left to go up to the cockpit, and while the waiter cleared away our dessert dishes, I settled into one of the overstuffed recliners. I began dozing almost right away, even before Eric returned to the cabin.

  But I knew that he did, and fairly quickly, because within a few minutes of me dozing off, I was pulled out of slumber just briefly when I felt someone cover me with a very soft, thick blanket. I didn't open my eyes, but somehow, I just knew it wasn't the waiter who'd done it.

  Once warm and cozy beneath the blanket, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. So deep, in fact, that when I awoke, however many hours later, I found myself in a bed, without having any memory of how I'd gotten there.

  I opened my eyes and slowly sat up, smelling salt air and faintly hearing the crash of ocean waves somewhere nearby. Recalling the whirlwind of events of the previous day, I just sat briefly, feeling as if I should be able to remember the events that had led me to the bedroom I was in as well, but I just couldn't. I didn’t recall the plane landing, exiting it, getting in a car or some other vehicle to come to the house I was in, nothing. My last memory was of Eric covering me with the blanket on the plane.

  However, I did remember that I'd had three-and-a-half glasses of wine with dinner. I hadn't eaten very much dinner besides, so I knew the alcohol might have hit me especially hard. It had been a very busy, exhausting day, too. I'd probably just completely crashed. After not being able to wake me, Eric probably had to carry me off the plane, and then into the house where I was staying. He'd probably personally tucked me right into bed.

  Slightly embarrassed, I contemplated all this, hoping I hadn't done any intoxicated sleep-talking, mumbling about how unbelievably handsome he was or something. If I had, I hoped my words had been too slurred for him to understand me.

  I also wondered about something else I might have done. I wondered if I'd rested my face against Eric's hard chest while he'd been carrying me. Figuring I'd had to, I wondered how it had felt. I wondered how all that chiseled muscle had felt beneath the softness of my cheek.

  After a few moments, I snapped myself out of my reverie, amazed that my first thoughts of the day had been about Eric, and not the women of the island and the job I had to do. After all, that was why I was there in the first place, no matter if my mind seemed intent on straying to other subjects or not.

  I blinked a few times, taking in my surroundings and inhaling the fresh ocean air, which was exquisite. The bed I was in was extremely large and comfortable, and the bedroom itself was spacious, bright, and clean.

  It was decorated primarily in shades of white, cream, and sand, fr
om the bedclothes, to the walls, to the hardwood flooring, which was such a pale shade of sand as to probably be a shade or two lighter than sand itself. Across from my bed, a breeze coming in the open screened windows ruffled the sheer white curtains covering them.

  In contrast with the decor, the ornately carved headboard behind the bed, a wide dresser, and two nightstands were of rich, dark mahogany. On one of the nightstands was a clear glass vase filled with purple orchids. Gorgeous and flawless barely even began to describe them.

  On the left side of the room, an open white door led to a master bathroom, and very soon I got out of bed, realizing that I badly needed to use the facilities.

  Afterward, I took a quick shower, unpacked my suitcases, which had been left in my room, and dressed in khaki shorts, a bright pink cap-sleeved top, and tan wedge sandals. I knew I was going to feel a bit funny reporting for work in such a casual outfit, but Eric had insisted that the dress code of the island was very casual, and he'd said there would be white lab jackets at the clinic for me to wear over my clothes anyway.

  After dressing, I applied a bit of makeup, then blow-dried my long, wavy light brown hair, grateful that the island seemed to have a very reliable source of electricity. I'd just finished, when I began to smell a scent even more heavenly than the fresh salt air. It was the smell of eggs and sizzling bacon, and I realized I was starving.

  Intensely curious as to who was cooking, I made my way through the open, airy, sunlit house, which was a bungalow, to the kitchen. Standing at an island in the middle of it stood a woman around my age, late twenties, with pale blond hair and sparkling green eyes.

  She was slicing up fruit, but stopped immediately when I entered. She gave me a big smile. "I was hoping you'd wake up soon. Breakfast is almost done. Are you hungry?"

  I returned her smile, nodding. "Starving."

  She welcomed me to the island, introduced herself as Laura Phelps, one of the nurses at the island medical clinic, then poured coffee for us both and began piling our plates with scrambled eggs, perfectly crisp bacon, thick slices of buttered toast, and tropical fruit salad.

  "See, here on the island, we don't have any vehicles, so we walk or bike everywhere. All this exercise means that most of us can indulge in big breakfasts like this whenever we want. Which is good, since I have a natural inclination to eat like a little piggy."

  I liked Laura already.

  The two of us ate on the island, on bar stools, with the beautiful sound of waves crashing in the distance. Out one of the wide kitchen windows, I could see the sparkle of the ocean in the distance. I was beginning to think I could be very happy on the island. So happy, in fact, that I wondered if I'd even want to leave when my three months of contracted work were up.

  Before I bit into my toast, Laura warned me that it might taste slightly different than buttered toast I was used to. "Here on the island, since we don't have cows, we get all our milk from a few goats we raise. So, all our dairy...all our yogurt, and cheese, and butter, is made from goat's milk. Which I personally like the taste of, but it is maybe just slightly different-tasting than dairy products from cows."

  I'd always liked goat cheese, so I took a big bite of toast, pretty sure I'd like goat butter as well, and I did.

  I chewed and swallowed, nodding. "It's good. It's honestly not that different."

  It really wasn't.

  While we continued eating, Laura told me some other little things about the island, things about the food and the climate mostly, before moving on to ask me some general questions about myself. I told her a little about my life and my career in medicine up to that point, and then asked her about her own career in medicine.

  "How long have you been a nurse?"

  She dropped her gaze to her plate and began pushing a few chunks of mango around, suddenly seeming very interested in it. "Oh, gosh. Well...I've been a nurse for so long I can't even remember exactly how many years it's been any more."

  Considering she wasn't that old, I thought this was sort of a funny answer.

  "Well, how old are you, Laura? If you don't mind my asking."

  She smiled a little, but still didn't look up from her plate. "I don't mind at all, and I just celebrated my twenty-eighth birthday a few weeks ago."

  "We're the same age, then. And happy belated birthday to you."

  She finally looked up, smiling. "Thanks."

  Seeming eager to change the subject, she asked me about my family, then I asked about hers.

  She said she was married to a man named Matt, and they had a four-year-old son, Ian, together. "He was actually the last baby born on the island, which makes Matt and me feel even luckier to have him than we already would, anyway. Ian is such a wonderful little boy, and we love being parents. We'd really love to have another, but...."

  She shrugged and took a sip of coffee, seeming like she wasn't going to continue.

  I set my own coffee mug back on the island. "But, what? You don't think all the fertility problems on the island are solvable? You don't think yours are?"

  She shrugged, sighing. "Honestly, it doesn’t matter what I think. You're the specialist, and it's up to you to determine for yourself if you think the fertility problems on the island are solvable. And that's probably all I should say."

  Before I could ask any more questions, she changed the subject, asking me what I thought about Eric. Spearing a bite of scrambled egg, she glanced up at me with her green eyes twinkling. "He's single, you know."

  With a little heat rising to my face, I said I knew. "He's essentially my employer, though, so I'm considering him very off-limits. I plan to be nothing but professional around him at all times."

  Laura looked up at me with her eyes twinkling. "Well...let me say that I'm a very happily married woman, satisfied with my husband in all possible ways. But I'm also not blind. Eric is a very attractive man, to say the least. So...good luck with all that acting 'professional around him at all times' stuff. If I were single like you, I'm not sure if I myself could do it. And...well, just judging by a few things he said about you...I don't think Eric wants you to remain strictly 'professional around him at all times.'"

  I suddenly coughed, nearly choking on a bite of starfruit. "What did he say?"

  Laura grinned, laughing a little. "Oh, just a few little things to the effect of that he thinks you're a beautiful woman. He might have mentioned something about your 'ocean blue eyes.' I think he was more than a bit captivated by them. So, if you ever do feel like interacting with Eric on a level other than a professional one, I don't think he'd be opposed. Although...." With her expression becoming more serious, Laura set her fork down. "I feel like I should warn you about something. Something relating to Eric's sex life."

  *

  When Laura said the words Eric's sex life, I half-choked on another piece of starfruit for the second time.

  I coughed a bit, then took a sip of coffee to get the piece to go down. "What, um...what exactly do you have to warn me about? And what does it have to do with Eric's sex life?"

  With just the hint of a smile curving her pale pink mouth, Laura coughed lightly.

  "Well, I guess what I have to warn you about is more about the fallout from his sex life. See, over the years here on the island, he's had a couple of serious girlfriends, though none he's ever seemed to have a very strong love connection with. I happen to know some of the particulars of these relationships because Matt, my husband, is Eric's best friend.

  “But, anyway, Eric's had three serious girlfriends over the years, and though he never seemed to have a true love connection with any of them, the three women themselves seemed to develop some pretty strong feelings for him. I'm sure these feelings were partly love feelings, but from what I heard...well, I'll try to be as tactful as possible about this. I'll just say that from what I heard, all three women developed some pretty strong feelings of addiction."

  "'Addiction?'"

  "Addiction. Addiction, to be very crude about it. And, yes, I did just mean to
emphasize a syllable that is also a slang term for a part of the male anatomy. Eric's three girlfriends all seemed to become addicted to that part. Apparently, Eric is very well-endowed, and very good in bed."

  I let this sink in for a moment, my face flaming for some reason.

  With her green eyes holding a bit of twinkle, Laura continued. "Anyway. So, after each breakup, however many years apart, all of them instigated by Eric, the women didn't take things very well, being that they were each, as I said, quite addicted by the time of their different breakups.

  “It's always been the same, each time. Eric calls things off; the woman kind of goes nuts, and stalks him, and threatens him, and begs for him to take her back, and generally causes trouble. Eventually, after repeated chances to live in peace, Eric asks her to move to a different part of the island. And not so much as asks, really, but commands.