All I Do: Paradise Beach #3 Read online

  All I Do

  Paradise Beach #3

  Tamara Lush

  Copy Editor

  Rebecca Cartee

  Cover Design

  Najla Qamber

  Contents

  All I Do

  ALL I DO — PLAYLIST

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  All I Desire — Sneak Preview

  About the Author

  All I Do

  Remy Hastings is known as the playboy of Paradise Beach, and he can't believe his luck when a gorgeous mermaid literally swims up to his boat. She's not a real mermaid, of course, but a woman with a gorgeous... tail.

  Leilani Kostas is opening Mermosa, a mermaid-themed bar on Paradise Beach. When she finds Remy Hastings in the Gulf of Mexico, she's intrigued by the bronze-skinned, amber-eyed boat captain. Even though she's always had questionable taste in men, she's a bit mer-mazed when she follows him back to his sailboat for a hot night of fun.

  Before they hook up, Remy lays down the law: no-strings sex. He's a confirmed bachelor. Leilani enthusiastically agrees, because she's getting out of a bad relationship.

  But for the first time, Remy wants more than one night. Soon, no strings turns into a tangled knot, and for the first time ever, Remy's casting a net for only one woman...

  ALL I DO is book three in Tamara Lush's Paradise Beach Series. They are all standalone romantic comedies and can be read in any order. If you adore beach reads, hilarious alpha men who how to sail, and heroines who work as mermaids, this is the book for you!

  Content warning: emotional and physical abuse by a past romantic partner.

  Copyright © 2019 by Tamara Lush

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ALL I DO — PLAYLIST

  Tom’s Diner, Suzanne Vega

  Gypsy, Fleetwood Mac

  Often, The Weeknd+Kygo

  Only Want You, Rita Ora

  Sweet Jane, Velvet Underground

  FM, Steely Dan

  Let’s Go, The Cars

  Cinnamon Girl, Lana Del Rey

  All My Happiness is Gone, Purple Mountains

  Wake Up, Arcade Fire

  Click here to listen to the playlist on Spotify!

  Welcome to Paradise Beach.

  There’s sugar sand, warm water and endless sunshine.

  It's a state of mind. A place with the most stunning sunsets in the world. An oasis with a legacy of passion. And island life is even hotter after dark...

  Come to Paradise and fall in love.

  Chapter One

  Leilani

  “Mom, what’s this?”

  I frown as I hold the check between my thumb and forefinger, counting the zeroes. A million dollars, made out to me. I turn it over and over in disbelief. What the what?

  “Mom? Seriously. Is this a joke or something? Did I take too much cold medicine?” I hold the check up to the light, wondering if there’s a watermark stamped on the slip of paper. Something along the lines of: You thought this was real? Sucker…

  She rests her head on her chin. “The lawyer gave it to me yesterday when he read the will. That’s why I had to go to Tallahassee. It’s your ticket out of Hernando County.”

  My eyes are still on the check. “Why is this my ticket out of here?”

  “It’s your share of Aunt Shirley’s estate. You were her favorite niece.”

  A laugh bubbles from my lips. “I was her only niece.” I pause, because it’s probably bad to chuckle under these circumstances, considering my dear, slightly batty crazy aunt is dead.

  “Aunt Shirley lived in a trailer in Sopchoppy. She had this kind of money? That’s hard to believe.” I blink several times, recalling how she used to brag that she never owned a credit card, a new car, or a cell phone.

  Mom lifts a shoulder. “She worked for the school district all those years. She was great at saving money and at investing. She did a bit of day trading. I guess I never told you that.”

  “No, you never revealed the detail that little, silver haired Aunt Shirley was the Wolf of Wall Street.”

  The corners of Mom’s mouth turn up. “Remember how she used to reuse the tinfoil until it was paper thin?”

  “Yeah, and the half-priced food in the dented cans. I remember when I was little, and we went to visit her. You made a big show of bringing food, because you thought we’d get botulism or something from the expired soup.”

  Mom and I grin at each other.

  “That was her generation, from the Depression. All of those eighty- and ninety-year-olds are like that. I talk with them all the time at work. Listen to their stories. But my older sister was frugal to a fault. Cheap is a better word.”

  “Obviously,” I sniffle, then sneeze. “Sorry. And you? Please tell me she left you something. You two were close.”

  “Are you sick?” Mom studies me.

  “Just a little cold. Can’t seem to shake it. Probably stress.” It’s always stress, lately.

  “Hmph. Well, to answer your question, I received a little more than you did. Enough to quit my job at Mangrove Manor.” That’s the nursing home where Mom’s worked for years.

  A hiss escapes my mouth, pushing out my bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say. How to feel. What to think.”

  “Thank the universe for Shirley’s thriftiness, and then start making plans. Put that in your purse.” Almost as if she’s worried that someone will snatch the check from me, she looks around the near-empty chain restaurant, then takes a long sip of her sweet tea.

  With trembling hands, I take the check and slide it into a red folder I’d gotten from work, the one that contains the details of the park’s new mermaid show, Wish Upon a Starfish. “This could change everything,” I say slowly.

  “No, this will change everything.” Her tone is forceful, which is unusual when we're together. “This is your ticket out of this hellhole, Leilani. Away from that… that… pitiful specimen of a man. Away from a life of poverty and misery.”

  “But… but… aren’t you being a bit dramatic?” I lick my lips. Gah. She’s right. The love has long since faded between Brent and me, if it ever truly existed. Why do I stay? Because I make nine dollars an hour — plus benefits — as a mermaid at a roadside tourist attraction in Florida. It’s enough to scrape by, but not to have a future. A fact that Brent, who is the vice president of a local bank, never lets me forget.

  I’ve tried getting another job, or a second job, but as it turns out, two years of college combined with looking cute and swimming underwater with a tail fin isn’t exactly the experience most employers are looking for.

  “You could do anything with that kind of cash. Go back to school. Buy a house. Open your own business, like you’ve always talked about.” Mom’s blue eyes, so much like my own, glisten with tears.

  “Mermosa,” I whisper.

  “Exactly. Your mermaid bar idea. That’s within
your reach now. If that’s what you want. But whatever you do, just don’t do it here. Get away from him. He’s sucked enough life out of you.”

  Under the table, I twist my fingers together. “I’ll have to think about it. It’s a lot to take in.”

  A group of six men, construction workers, sits at a table a few feet away. Mom glances at them, her eyes scanning each man. She’s always loved the bad boys, and is on her fourth marriage. Those kinds of guys haven’t been kind to her over the decades, and I guess I’ve somewhat followed in her footsteps in that department, because I like that type too.

  Except I haven’t married Brent. Thank God I’ve avoided that mistake. So far.

  “Please tell me that you’re not thinking of staying with him.”

  “I’m not,” I say quickly. “Whatever I do, I’m leaving him now that I have this money. I promise.”

  The enormity of my words hits me like a thirty-foot wave. I can leave. Not just talk about leaving, but actually go. Heck, I could walk out of here, drive off into the sunset, and never see this place again.

  Hmm…

  I rub my forearm gently, over a faded bruise that’s mostly covered with waterproof makeup.

  “Did he do that to you?” Mom’s nostrils flare.

  At first, I don’t respond, then I lean in. “He hasn’t hit me.” To a casual observer, my tone says that I’m defending him. Really, I’m justifying the relationship. To myself.

  “Not yet.”

  And not because he didn’t want to. He knows that if he leaves a mark on my face, it will be harder to cover up. Tourists study the mermaids’ faces and don’t want to see one with a black eye. And he loves having a local mermaid as a girlfriend, so…

  A bruise on the arm or leg is easier to cover up with a costume or body paint.

  “He only pushed me that one time, two months ago.” I hate myself for uttering any positive words about him, and bite my tongue before I say any more. Since he pushed me, my heart’s gone cold for him. And yet, I stay, out of fear of the unknown and sheer necessity. I’ve been trying to squirrel money away, and just yesterday, checked my bank account. And nearly started crying.

  “Only once,” she says, her mouth in a hard line. “But what did he do to your arm?”

  “He pinched me, two days ago.” During an argument, while he was drunk. I’d been fortunate enough to escape after the pinch. I’d gone into my car and locked the door. When I came back inside, he’d already passed out. The next morning, he had been contrite and apologetic. As he always is the morning after a fight.

  I’m having a harder and harder time accepting his apologies.

  “Bastard. I’ll never forgive myself for encouraging that relationship in the beginning.”

  I shrug. “Brent can be charming. Was charming.”

  “You can’t trust the charming ones. That was always one of my rules, and I broke it when you brought him home. Well, broke it for myself a time or two, also.”

  I press my lips together. It’s so easy to feel defeated when I have these conversations with Mom. Even when there’s a life-changing slip of paper in my purse.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t marry him. Or have his children. Christ,” Mom says. “Just make sure you don’t deposit that check in his bank. Open a new account, if you need to. Out of town somewhere. Don’t tell him anything. Just leave in the middle of the night.”

  “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? Brent’s a jerk, but he’s not going to do anything that could jeopardize his job. I think you’ve been watching too many of those Lifetime movies.” She’s probably right, though. My mind starts spinning with everything I need to do. Maybe I should drive two hours to Tampa to open an account…

  “Hmm. Not sure. I’m worried for you.”

  “It’s not as though your relationship’s much better. What about Frank? Aren’t you concerned that he’s going to gamble that inheritance away?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel terrible.

  Mom’s been through just as much crap as I have. More, actually. She and my dad had a nasty divorce when I was a kid, and I’d split time between them. Then there was Richard, and Steve, and now, Frank. A veritable parade of middle-aged, male mediocrity.

  Frank’s the reason I haven’t moved out of Brent’s house and in with Mom. Her fast-talking fourth husband isn’t just a gambler, but has also made more than one creepy, sexually inappropriate comment to me. I’ve never told Mom. I keep hoping she’ll leave him for good.

  “You can leave, too, you know.” I fiddle with the soggy, thin, wood coffee stirrer, breaking it in half.

  She fixes an unblinking stare on me. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t thought of.”

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “I guess we’ve both screwed up.”

  Her eyes brim with tears threatening to spill over her lower lids. “There’s still hope for you.”

  “And for you?”

  She gives me a sad smile. “I’d like to think there is. And who knows? If you open your mermaid bar, maybe I’ll come work there.”

  There’s an uncomfortable silence for several moments, while my mind spins with possibility and fear.

  “Wouldn’t it make sense to open a bar like that here, near Weeki Wachee Springs? People already come here for the mermaid attraction.”

  Mom takes a napkin from a holder and dabs at her eyes. I can tell she’s relieved that I’ve changed the subject from our messy relationships. As much as I hate to admit it, we’re too much alike, always looking toward the future, never absorbing the lessons of the past.

  Lately, though, the future has seemed equally as dismal as the present.

  Until today.

  “The park has a lock on all things mermaid in this area. Go somewhere different. Somewhere quirky, somewhere with money.” She sips her coffee.

  I swallow a growing lump in my throat. “The park’s like home because I’ve been there ten years. It feels good to be the most senior mermaid, and I love mentoring the younger swimmers.”

  Now I have to grab a napkin and wipe my own eyes. “Hell, I’m a mess,” I mutter. The fact that I’m sadder at the thought of leaving my friends — the other women who swim in the mermaid shows at the park — than Brent, speaks volumes.

  “Of course you adore the park and your co-workers. But this is an opportunity for you to start fresh. You’re still so young.”

  “Some days, I feel eighty,” I grumble. It’s funny, because at the park I’m bubbly and upbeat. It’s as if the real me comes out when I’m working, swimming and performing. The rest of the time, I’m depressed, sullen and quiet.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. Shirley left you a letter.” Mom turns to the chair next to her, where her giant, white leather purse sits. I settle in, because it could take a while for her to dig through the black hole that is her bag.

  I lean forward, eager to read the letter from the woman whom I’d always admired for being eccentric. Shirley had lived her eighty-six years on her own terms and died in her sleep. Just the way she had wanted.

  Mom surfaces with an envelope. She hands it to me.

  I inspect the front. “Leilani Kostas,” it says. The envelope is that of the local electric company, with its address crossed out in ballpoint pen. Reusing and repurposing envelopes had been another of Shirley’s tactics; I recall getting similar ones as a kid on my birthday, filled with a crisp $2 bill. Those had been Shirley’s most generous gifts.

  Until now.

  I break the seal and open the envelope.

  Dear Leilani—

  If you’re reading this, that means I’m gone. Don’t spend too much time crying over me. I had a good life.

  Somehow, this makes me grin, this no-nonsense salutation from the grave. I continue reading.

  I’m leaving you a substantial inheritance. My only wish is that you use it to create joy. To create a life that you will be proud of when you’re my age, a life that will bring joy to others, but more importantly, to you.

  The word y
ou is underlined. Twice.

  I have been so proud hearing about your adventures as a Weeki Wachee mermaid. You have brought happiness to thousands of people over the years. Isn’t it time you work on making yourself as happy as you’ve made others?

  I love you, my dear.

  Shirley

  I nod through my tears. Shirley had known all about my life with Brent — our whirlwind courtship, and how I’d moved into his newly built home when we’d only known each other for a month. I’d been staying in a trailer with two other mermaids, and living with Brent in his beautiful, new house seemed like a dream come true. That was two years ago.

  How wrong I had been, about everything. He’d started drinking and pushed me one night when we’d fought about something stupid. I went back to my friends’ trailer. He begged for forgiveness. Stupidly, I took him back, egged on by my friends. He didn’t mean it, they said. Everyone makes mistakes, they said.

  But with every harsh word and nasty comment in the months that followed, I began to slowly lose myself. I withdrew from everything I loved. Except swimming.

  Isn’t it time you work on making yourself as happy as you’ve made others?

  “I want to stay in state; I’m a Florida girl,” I say, almost defensively, as if Aunt Shirley’s sitting at the table with us.

  “That’s fine. You can do that. Just get out of here. What about Miami?”

  I wiggle my nose. “It would be great, but it’s pretty expensive. And there’s so much to do already, I don’t know if people would want to visit a mermaid-themed bar. And I love the Gulf Coast more than the Atlantic. The sunsets are better.”