The Island Of Alphas: A BBW Paranormal Romance (2 page)

I glanced at it, wincing. "Sorry. Please step around, I guess."

Eric looked from the broken glass to me, frowning. "I'm so sorry. Did I make you do this? I
thought
I heard some sort of a crash earlier. Here. Please direct me to the nearest closet with a broom and dustpan, and I'll clean this up for you."

I said that really wasn't necessary, and I meant it, but Eric insisted that he should clean up what he'd caused, so I told him there was a cleaning closet just around the corner in the hallway.

"I'm pretty sure there's a broom and a dustpan in there. Somewhere, anyway. I don't think the cleaning crew was ever too organized."

Eric gave me a half-grin that instantly turned my insides to jelly. "Be right back."

He left my office and soon returned with the needed supplies, plus a small hand-held vacuum cleaner and then he got right to work. Not really knowing what to say while he did so, and with the vacuum cleaner running half the time anyway, preventing conversation, I busied myself packing up more things from my office.

However, I couldn't help but sneak a few peeks at Eric as I went along. Crouched on the floor in his immaculate black suit, running the hand-held vacuum over various patches of carpet that glittered with micro-fine glass particles, he made quite a picture. Quite an unusual and irresistible picture.

Even cleaning up glass pieces on the floor, he moved in a confident, purposeful, masculine way. If he was an alpha male, which I was positive he was, the cleaning task took nothing away from that status. Whereas, most men might have looked awkward and emasculated crouched down, running a hand-held broom across carpet, he didn't at all.

His presence was still commanding, somehow. He moved with his broad chest up and shoulders thrown back. This made me wonder how commanding and "alpha" he might look in other situations, ones maybe not involving cleaning.

It was during one of my peeks that I noticed he was left-handed. I also noticed the absence of a wedding ring on his left hand, though I knew this didn't necessarily mean that he wasn't part of a very committed couple. I knew he could be one of those men who didn't like wearing a ring, for whatever reason, or he could have been half of a committed couple that simply wasn't officially married. I reasoned that being that he was visiting a fertility clinic, presumably seeking advice, one of those two scenarios had to be the case. Just the same, though, I was a bit curious to hear him say
exactly
what his reason was for coming in.

I was a bit curious what his answer would be when I asked him a question that I planned to, which was if he and his wife, or partner, needed a referral for a fertility doctor dealing in some sort of a specialized issue. Though I figured that him saying the answer I wanted to hear, which was that he didn't have a wife or partner, was quite a long-shot.

He had the picture frame mess cleaned up in a minute or two and returned the cleaning supplies to the closet in the hallway before striding back into my office and taking a seat.

I thanked him for cleaning up the mess, and then got right to it. "What can I help you with today, Eric? Do you and your wife or partner have a specific fertility issue that you'd like to be referred to another doctor for?"

He shifted in his seat, sitting back a little more, making his muscular shoulders appear even a bit broader. I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for his response.

Finally, after only a second, though it had felt like several, he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Not exactly. For one thing, I'm not married, nor am I in a relationship of any kind at the moment. The reason I'm here today
does
concern a fertility issue, though not of the kind you're probably used to dealing with. I'm here today because I have a business proposition for you."

*

The first thing Eric had said, about not being married or being in a relationship of any kind, made my heart do a little flutter. And, if I was being completely honest, it had made my loins do a bit of a flutter, too. The second thing he'd said, about having a business proposition for me, seemed to tamp down all that fluttering with a lead weight.

The last time I'd accepted a business proposal from a man, things hadn't ended so well, obviously. I really wasn't in a rush to get into the possibility of that happening again. However, at the same time, I couldn't deny that I was intensely curious about what the beyond-handsome man sitting across from me had to say. I was so curious, I leaned forward across my desk a bit, without really being very aware of the action.

"What kind of a business proposal?"

Eric took a deep breath, still leaning back in his chair, seeming completely at ease. "Well, I'll lay it right out. This may seem like an unusual proposal, and I'm sure it is, but here are the main particulars. I live outside the United States, on a privately-owned tropical island inhabited by a thousand or so people.

“Some of these people, who live on the eastern side of the island, consider me their leader. As a group, we're generally happy on the island. But recently, the women have had some fertility issues. Our doctor has discovered that many of them aren't ovulating as usual, and the few of them who
have
become pregnant, lost the pregnancies very early on.

“Of course, all of this has disappointed and saddened us as a group, and as the group's leader, I've realized that something must be done to fix the fertility problems and produce more children to live on the island, or else my people will eventually cease to exist.

“This is where you come in, if you decide to accept my proposal. Since it would be difficult for all hundred-some of my group's women to come over to the States for testing and treatment, I'd like to hire you to fly over to the island to stay for a while, maybe three months or so, to try to get to the bottom of our problem.

“In exchange, I'd be willing to pay you a large sum of money for your time and expertise. Say, a hundred thousand up front, directly wired into the bank account of your choice, today, even before stepping on a plane. That would simply be for your commitment to make the trip and attempt to sort out the problem, no matter how long you would ultimately stay.

“If you stayed only for a day, that hundred thousand would still be yours. However, if you were to choose to stay for the full three months, I'd pay you another hundred thousand, regardless of whether or not you were able to solve the fertility issues. I'm offering such a large sum in exchange for help because I realize that being out of the country, away from friends and family, for a few months solid, may not be a situation to everyone's liking.

“Also, though I hate to admit it, my people and I are growing desperate. We need to solve this problem, and soon, or face eventual extinction."

Eric paused, seeming to be waiting for me to say something, but I couldn't. I could hardly even think, let alone speak. My mind was racing. It was flitting from thought to thought, from the debt I owed to the IRS, to the fact that I probably
wouldn't
mind being out of the country, to the realization that this offer was a possible way for me to repair the shattered pieces of my life.

Not only would my financial predicament be solved, but adding the experience of traveling to a remote island to solve the fertility issues of a whole group of people certainly wouldn't look bad on my resume, either. I imagined it might overshadow what had happened with Andrew's and my clinic.

I was also having a few thoughts about how unbelievably attractive Eric was, and it wasn't lost on me that I'd likely be spending some time with him on the island, an experience I knew I'd enjoy, even if he
would
essentially be my employer, and even if I
would
have to keep things completely professional because of that.

There was also something about the sound of "tropical island" that appealed greatly to me, as well. It was January in New York City, meaning mostly everything was covered in snow and ice. I hated it. I always had. Having lived in the city my entire life, I knew by this point what winters did to me. They sapped my energy. They depressed me. They had me daydreaming about warm sand and palm trees not long after the very first snowfall.

However, at the same time that all the potential positives of me accepting Eric's proposal flashed through my mind, I couldn't deny that his proposal was, as he himself had said, unusual. Not just a bit.

I'd heard of folks inhabiting and owning private, non-government controlled islands before, sure, but not quite the way he'd explained it, with one leader seeming to be in charge of a group of people. There was something that smacked of cultishness to me, or rather, I felt like it
should
have, maybe.

It just simply didn't. If another person had been describing the same scenario to me, a private island with one leader, presumably an American citizen judging by his American accent, seemingly "in charge" of a group of people, my knee-jerk reaction might have been to think something along the lines of a cult, or at least some similarly strange and possibly dangerous group dynamic.

But because
Eric
was the leader, I didn't think that. The same as I hadn't gotten a serial killer vibe from him, I didn't get a "cult leader" vibe, either. I knew some folks might have said
so what
, but I was a person who'd always had strong gut feelings and whose gut feelings were usually correct. Before opening the clinic, I'd had a vague, nagging bad feeling about partnering with Andrew, but I'd made the mistake of ignoring it.

Bottom line, whatever the group structure of the people on the island, despite it being unusual, I didn't think it was likely that the group was a cult. My gut just wasn't telling me that. My gut was, however, telling me that accepting Eric's offer might be the best thing for me and my life, and that the people of Eric's island needed help desperately.

So desperately that their leader had come all the way to New York City from wherever the island was located, in order to seek help. More even than the money or the allure of living on a tropical island, this was beginning to sway me. After all, my passion to help people have children was the reason I'd decided to become a fertility specialist in the first place.

When I didn't respond right away to his pitch, because I was thinking too hard to do so, Eric continued. "I've been looking for someone to come to our island to help for quite some time now. I've made numerous trips to the city here, looking for someone talented, someone who can solve our problem. Most of the fertility specialists I've spoken with aren't able to come to the island on account of family commitments, or work commitments, to where they can't just pack up and leave for three months.

“Then I happened to see the article about your clinic's closing in the paper. I hope you don't mind, but I did some research on you and discovered that your patient success rates are some of the best anywhere. That's when I knew I had to at least try to get you on board. So, if you'll at least agree to think it over, I'd be very-"

"I'll do it."

Eric blinked a few times, slowly, seeming not to comprehend what I'd said. The effect of his uncertainty was almost comical, and I fought a strange urge to laugh.

"I'll do it, Eric. I want to help your people have children, and my mind's already made up. I'm on board."

With a slow, sexy half-grin curving his mouth, he studied me for a long moment. "How soon can you be ready to leave?"

The next couple of hours were a flurry of activity. Eric transferred the first hundred thousand of my earnings to my attorney, who'd distribute part of the funds to the IRS and use the remainder to pay my bills while I was gone. I sent emails to my landlord and my best friend, telling them that I'd accepted an unexpected job offer and was going to be gone for a few months. Then, I tidied up my apartment and packed several suitcases.

Exhilarated, I'd just finished adding a bright red bikini to the last one when Eric knocked on my apartment door, saying that he had a car waiting downstairs. The car would be taking us to the airport.

Eric insisted on taking all my suitcases downstairs himself, not allowing me to lift a finger. He and our driver loaded them into the trunk of the car, which was quite a car. It was a glossy black stretch limousine.