All I Know Read online

  All I Know

  Paradise Beach #1

  Tamara Lush

  Contents

  All I Know

  ALL I KNOW — PLAYLIST

  1. Kate

  2. Kate

  3. Damien

  4. Kate

  5. Kate

  6. Kate

  7. Kate

  8. Damien

  9. Kate

  10. Kate

  11. Kate

  12. Damien

  13. Kate

  14. Kate

  15. Kate

  16. Damien

  17. Kate

  18. Kate

  19. Kate

  20. Damien

  21. Kate

  22. Kate

  23. Damien

  24. Kate

  All I Want — Sneak Preview

  Want More of Damien and Kate?

  Booklist

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  All I Know

  Kate Cooper has come home to Paradise Beach to help her mom recover from surgery. After all, who else is going to run the family's tiki bar?

  A few months on a Florida island won't hurt, even if her memories might.

  Then Damien Hastings, her high school crush, walks into the bar one night. He's stunning, intense and far more muscular than she remembers. And he can't take his eyes off Kate.

  And when Damien finds out that Kate needs health insurance, he does what any gentleman would: ask her to marry him. He's going away soon as a military contractor, and he's loved her for years. It's the least he can do.

  They didn't return to fall in love. They didn't expect to have the best sex of their lives. They didn't plan on a farting dog or a fake engagement.

  But strange and wonderful things often happen on Paradise Beach...

  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.

  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.

  ALL I KNOW — PLAYLIST

  Last Nite, The Strokes

  The Boys of Summer, Don Henley

  Steal Away, Robbie Dupree

  La Camisa Negra, Juanes

  Deacon Blues, Steely Dan

  It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere, Jimmy Buffett

  Higher Love, Steve Winwood

  Hey There Delilah, Plain White T’s

  Vivir Mi Vida, Marc Anthony

  Thunder Road, Bruce Springsteen

  In My Heart, Ilo Ferreira

  Come Monday, Jimmy Buffett

  The Only Place, Best Coast

  Life is Better With You, Michael Franti

  Doin’ Time, Lana del Rey

  Could You Be Loved, Bob Marley

  Dog Days Are Over, Florence + The Machine

  One

  Kate

  “It’s like a dick swinging contest, Kate.”

  I grin and look up from rinsing the sink, a roar of motorcycles filling the air. The raspy voice of Bernice, the elderly woman drinking the piña colada, echoes through the empty bar.

  She’s a regular at Lime and Salt, my mom’s thatched-roof tiki hut, and her butt has warmed that wooden stool since I was a teenager.

  “Goddamn bikers.” She swivels in her seat to glare through the bank of potted palms separating that side of our open-air bar from the parking lot. “Why the hell do they have to keep revving like that? They know the exhaust comes right in here, and we can smell it. Assholes.”

  She slurps the remnants of her cocktail and pushes the plastic cup toward me. I don’t need to ask if she wants another.

  The Harley engines sputter and die, and as I mix Bernice’s drink—hand-shaken with coconut cream, pineapple juice and Bacardi light rum, no frozen pre-made sludge for her—a cloud of testosterone invades the bar like fog over the Gulf of Mexico. I glance up, my muscles tensing.

  Since returning home to Paradise Beach, I’ve been on edge, awaiting something ominous. It’s probably because of my complicated history here. I both love and loathe this island, and my feelings about it change by the hour.

  Two bikers strut in, their boots thudding against the wood plank floor. The guys are beefy and wearing leather jackets even in the mild Florida fall weather. They take over a high-top table in the corner, one of only five in the whole place. It’s the one that would have the best view of the beach if it weren’t eight at night.

  I catch the eye of Jane, our raven-haired waitress. She winks and nods. My shoulder muscles ease away from my ears. A longtime employee, I know she takes no shit and loves guys with Harleys. She’s got this.

  I’m pouring the piña colada, focusing on not slopping it everywhere like Mom taught me, when I feel a body slipping into the seat next to Bernice. It’s a bartender’s sixth sense: when someone takes a stool and needs a drink.

  “That’s all it is with men these days,” she adds a few more colorful swear words under her breath. “A dick swinging contest.”

  I slide a glance to her left, straight into the familiar, whiskey-colored eyes of my high school crush.

  Damien Hastings?

  Here, in my bar? How did I not notice when he walked in? So much for that sixth sense.

  I immediately over pour Bernice’s colada and shake my head. My skin crackles with awareness because I’d looked into his stunning eyes right on the beat of the word dick. I snicker.

  “No alcohol abuse, girlie.” Bernice brushes a lock of silver hair off her forehead and lights up a Pall Mall.

  My face flushing hot, I finish pouring, then wipe the sides of her drink with a rag, and hand it to her. She takes a big sip.

  “Don’t tell your mother, but you make a better cocktail.” She tips the cup in my direction.

  “I’ll keep that between us, Bern.”

  I’m scrubbing my hands with the dishcloth to conceal them from visibly shaking when I turn to the man candy on the other side of the bar.

  “Well. Damien Hastings. It’s been a long time.”

  He grins, showing straight, white teeth. He always had a gorgeous, boy-band smile, almost too pretty and sweet for a guy. But when did he get so big and muscular? I guess the Marines did that. Over the years, I’ve often wondered where Damien ended up, what he looked like, if he remembered me at all.

  Now I know.

  That black scruff of a beard on his face makes him look dangerous.

  Dangerously hot.

  Lordy, he’s like rain in a desert, if the desert is a metaphor for my vagina.

  Then again, my insta-lust for him doesn’t come as a shock, either to my vagina or my brain. I’ve always had a thing for Damien, long before we kissed at a party our senior year of high school. He was my first crush and probably my first love. A largely unrequited, interrupted one, but an intense love nonetheless.

  “Ten years, but who’s counting?” His grin is lazy and lascivious. His eyes do a quick, yet definite, scan of my body. My forehead prickles with perspiration.

  “Haven’t seen you since graduation, girlie. You back on the island for good? Or you passing through and headed back to Chicago soon?”

  I study him, wondering why he’s come here, how he knew I was tending bar, if he’s aware of what his mere presence does to me. His old nickname for me—girlie—sends a ripple of warmth through my body. His smoldering stare turns the ripples int
o crashing waves of fire.

  Jesus, enough with the mixed metaphors about sex. This isn’t one of my romance novels that I read in the tub on Sunday nights. It’s real life, which has been pretty shitty lately.

  In fact, Damien walking into the bar might be the best thing that’s happened in the last month. The most visually appealing thing, anyway.

  “Came home because Mom had a medical thing,” I say in a breezy voice, trying to ignore the seriousness of her situation. It’s not the info to unload on someone I haven’t seen in a decade. I pretend to buff a spot on the counter with the rag. “She needed comfort, the bar needed help, and here I am. Came back from Chicago. For a few months, anyway. You? Saw your brother Tate the other day at the hardware store, and he said you were a military contractor.”

  And I’d been thinking about Damien hard ever since. Tate neglected to mention his brother was coming home. Had I known that, I might have worn something around the island other than faded jean shorts, frayed tank tops, and questionably clean hoodies.

  He nods once. “Something like that.”

  “One of those if-you-tell-me-you’ll-have-to-kill-me kind of things?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then I won’t ask, so you won’t have to tell and kill me.” We grin stupidly at each other. “What would you like to drink?”

  I extend my left hand and place it flat on the worn wooden bar. He glances down at my fingers, and his eyes widen and flash. Did it register that I’m not wearing a ring? Goosebumps race up my arm. I snatch my hand away, and he looks up.

  “Did I see Cigar City Maduro on tap?”

  “You did.”

  “I’ll take a pint of that, thanks.”

  “You got it.” I move aside to pour his beer, acutely mindful that he’s staring at me. Hyper-aware that my skin feels tight, a bit too hot. Lamenting the fact that my tank top is too thin and my bra doesn’t hide, well, anything.

  Memories of us as teenagers come rushing into my mind fast and hard, so intense that a wave of unreality crashes into me. I have to pause and grip the cooler for a few seconds. I slide it open, grateful for the burst of cool air, which dries the perspiration on my forehead. I pretend to check for inventory, shuffling the bottles back and forth. Maduro…Maduro… The way he looked at me made my stomach tighten in a way it hasn’t since high school.

  He wanted a draft, not a bottle. Shit.

  Push the past back where it belongs.

  “How’s your mom comin’ along?” Bernice’s voice, loud and raspy, jolts me out of my thoughts. “I went to visit her yesterday, and she seemed down.”

  I stifle a sigh and slide the cooler closed. This isn’t what I want to talk about now, not with Damien sitting there. “Mom’s doing fine. Doctors say she’s recovering on schedule.”

  “Double mastectomy.” Bernice shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a surgery to have, Jesus Christ.” Bernice sputters a few more choice swear words. So much for keeping family business to myself. And so much for a brief respite from the shit sandwich the universe has steadily served up these past couple of months.

  Ah, hell. Damien probably already knows about Mom anyway, because there are no secrets on Paradise Beach. Especially with people like Bernice around. She’s the secretary at the local police station and has a mind like a trap.

  She’s a legend on the island, one of those gals who probably wore a neon-colored thong bikini and feathered hair back in the 80s. Now her skin’s deeply tanned leather, and her legs are a little too thin. She’s wearing a hot pink windbreaker, white shorts, and a matter-of-fact expression.

  “Mom says she’ll return to work in a month or so, but I’m trying to get her to rest as much as possible.” I take a thin inhale and grab a pint glass, holding it a little too tight as I glance at Damien.

  He stares at a napkin on the bar and bites his full bottom lip, as if he’s embarrassed about what he just heard. I’m so thrown by his presence and talk of Mom that I’ve already forgotten his order.

  “You wanted Maduro, right?” I ask breezily, trying to gloss over the fact that my short term memory has gone to shit. Divert the conversation away from all medical issues. Divert, divert, divert.

  “That’s right.”

  Pouring his beer takes eons because of the frothy head. Probably a good thing, taking a pause after that mention of Mom and her cancer.

  I set the pint in front of him and smile. “You starting the night here, then going to the mainland to one of the clubs? Or you headed over to the Square Grouper for the live music?”

  His gaze goes from my eyes, to my mouth, and down my body. “Don‘t plan on going anywhere but here tonight.”

  I nod, my breath coming in shallow gulps. This man is pure temptation, wrapped in desire, dipped in lust. Like some crazy-sexy man-chocolate snack.

  He strokes his black stubble with his hand and raises his eyes to mine. There’s only desire in his expression, not pity or embarrassment or pain. Thank God.

  “Came here specifically to see you, Kate.”

  In my mind, I’m jumping up and down, hands in the air, cheering. Shit sandwich, find someone else’s dinner plate. In reality, I chuckle and stare into those eyes that are not only the color of Johnnie Walker Black, but as intoxicating as a double shot of it, too.

  His grin is positively wicked. “Maybe you can join me for a drink later. After you close.”

  Foom. I feel as though I’ve been lit on fire. Never mind I’m not supposed to be drinking. I suspect Damien Hastings could entice me into doing many things that aren’t good for me, and I’d love every second.

  “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”

  Two

  Kate

  “You wanna join us? We’re going clubbing.”

  I twist my head away from the shelf, where I’m stacking the last of the clean pint glasses.

  I’d almost forgotten Jane and those two bikers were still here because I’m so wrapped up in conversation with the only other person left: Damien.

  He’s at the end of the bar, studying my every move with those intense eyes. We’ve been talking about everything and nothing over the past hour. The weather, his siblings, people we knew in high school. Banal stuff.

  All while eye-fucking each other.

  “Kate? Earth to Kate?” Jane’s at the door, staring at me expectantly. The bikers look like rabid raccoons in leather jackets. Long noses, deep-set eyes, furry. I don’t know if they’re talking about a dance club, a Sons of Anarchy-type motorcycle club place or actually physically beating other human beings with clubs.

  And I don’t care, because I have a sweet-tempered, raven-haired Marine waiting for me at the end of the bar.

  “Nah, she’s with me tonight.”

  Jane, the bikers, and I swivel our heads in Damien’s direction. His firm, deep voice and self-assured smirk announced to the world what’s on his mind. Oh yeah.

  And just like that, I’m crushing on him hard, all over again.

  I break into a grin and stack the final glass on their rack. Then slip from around the bar to stand near Damien.

  “I’m with him tonight.” I jerk my head in his direction.

  “Too bad. We’re headed to the mainland on the bikes,” one of the biker-raccoons says.

  Damien doesn’t say a word. He slides his arm across my shoulders and pulls me toward him a few inches.

  “Didn’t get a chance to hug you before,” he murmurs. “C’mere.”

  A fresh wave of giddiness washes over me. Right then, Spotify plays The Strokes, a raw and smoky song that was popular the year Damien and I kissed.

  I’m with him tonight.

  The very words I’d longed to say out loud in high school. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck and hug him tight, burying my nose in the skin near his ear. He smells like spicy lime soap. Irish Spring, possibly. I inhale deep. Yum. His palms press against my mid-back. Not in a sexual way, but in a protective, I’ve-got-you-girlie kinda way.

  Jesus, being in his a
rms feels ahh-maz-ing.

  I reluctantly break away but Damien keeps one hand on my back.

  Jane sniggers and eyeballs us. “Gotcha. See you, Kate. Tell your mom I said hi.”

  “Will do. Drive safe. Or ride safe. Have fun clubbing. Oh, and I’ll email you the graphics for your birthday party invite.”

  She points her finger at me and cocks her thumb like a pistol. “You’re incredible.”

  The three strut out, and Damien releases his hand. He’s probably great at massages with those strong fingers. Here’s to finding out.

  I narrow my gaze toward palm tree-lined exit, and the buzz of the Harleys fills the bar. “I’m designing the invites to her birthday party. She wanted an Easy Rider theme.”

  “Imagine that,” Damien chuckles. “She seems to like motorcycle guys. I watched her flirt all night. When I wasn’t watching you, of course.”

  There goes my face with the hot flush again, probably because the sound of his deep voice with the faint Southern accent tickles my senses. And other places. “I’d feel bad about leaving her alone with them, but she said she’s known them for a while and trusts them, so...”

  I meet Damien’s cognac-colored eyes, and my voice falters. Moving quickly, I round the bar and pluck a bottle of Jack off the shelf.

  “And you’d rather be here with me than on the back of a Harley.”

  Laughing, I come back around and realize we’re going to need something to drink out of. My mind isn’t working right tonight. I climb on a stool, lean over the bar, and grab two glasses. My feet ache, my skin is sparking from being touched by Damien, and I’m so ready to relax.