Trusting Branch: Shifters in Paradise: Book 1
1. Milly
There was no way this was going to work, but I figured if I kept telling myself that it would, then I at least stood a shot at pulling it off. I keep trying to keep my mind from wandering down the worrisome path of being caught, but I finished the only book I thought to bring with me on the plane ride to my new home, and there is nothing else to occupy my thoughts.
To make matters worse, the novel I was reading had ended on a particularly spicy note that left me squirming ever so slightly in my seat. We”ve been in the air for over an hour, and perhaps my choice of attire had been poor: tight jeans and a crop top, but the way my pants are pinching between my legs is causing delicious friction whenever I shift to the right or left. It is, actually, the only thing keeping me sane right now.
”Everything okay back there, Ms. Taylor?” the only other passenger besides the pilot asks. He”s tall, taller than the pilot, and built like a truck with tan skin over tight muscles, dark hair, and amber eyes. I can see the hints of black-inked tattoos poking from beneath his rolled-up sleeves and a humongous bulge where his own pants lay tight between his legs. Maybe I”m not the only one getting turned on right now. Either that, or he can somehow sense my arousal, which would be weird.
”Yes, everything is perfectly fine,” I lie and shift again, the movement bringing a small smile to my lips.
He doesn”t smile back, but the pilot of this small plane turns in his seat and gives me a dazzling smile of his own. I can make out my reflection in his aviator-style sunglasses and realize I”m biting my bottom lip.
”We”ll be landing in about ten minutes,” he informs me. Then, bending his head forward so I can see his green eyes popping above the reflecting orbs, he adds with a sly grin, ”Ever landed at sea before? It can be a little wet and rough, so better hold on.”
I gulp for a multitude of reasons, only some of which having to do with landing in a small plane in the middle of the ocean. The other passenger, who I know to be a security guard for the island we”re flying to, buckles up and faces forward without giving me another glance. I hastily do the same and then train my eyes out the window while trying my best not to move in my seat.
I don”t even know the name of the island we”re flying towards, but then again, I”m not the only one here in the dark. The two flying with me think my name is ”Mildred Taylor,” the jewel-encrusted sole heir of a late widow with the net worth of a small country. They have no idea who I really am: low-born Milly Jones, foster child, thief, and once secretary to the wealthy, important, and downright nastiest cunt there ever was: Millicent ”resting bitch face” Taylor.
She also happened to be my legal guardian until I aged out of it and was instead employed as her personal secretary. I really lucked out with the Islander Life Package she was looking into before she passed away. It was surprisingly easy to sign her name on a few documents and give myself ownership of the entire, very luxurious package. Then, after she died, I made sure to do the same on all her titles, deeds, and holdings. The bitch owed me, and now all her assets are mine.
Now I”m on a plane flying to a luxurious hiding place where no one knows who I am, not even these two deliciously attractive men... no, nope. Not now, Milly. Focus! I need to keep my mind focused! No one can find out that I”m not really Millicent”s rightful heir, or else it”s a one-way ticket off this grandiose island paradise and straight to fraud jail. No, thank you! I hear the food there is terrible.
”If you look out to your right,” the pilot interrupts my thoughts, ”You can see the island now!”
I do as he says, glance out the perfectly clean windows, and gasp when I see the island below. He tilts the plane at an angle that would normally have me gripping my seat in terror, but the view is too amazing to think of anything else.
”You”re arriving at the perfect time of year—spring,” the pilot continues. I gape out the window at the small island”s pristine sandy beaches and turquoise waters. Palm trees litter the shore, along with colorful hammocks and sparkling seashells that glitter like ropes of crystals in the late afternoon sun.
”This is... paradise!” I breathe and hear a low, rumbling chuckle from the beefy security guard, but it”s the pilot who responds.
”Well, that is what you paid for, Ms. Taylor.”
I clear my throat and do my best to wipe the astonishment off my face, but I can do nothing about the nervous, jittery feeling creeping up my spine.
He takes us in a loop around the island, providing me with an aerial view of the quaint, individual cottages I know every islander chooses upon final payment. And because of this, I know exactly which one belongs to me now. After all, I was the one who filed and completed the paperwork for Millicent because she never got around to it before she died of the ripe old age of ninety-nine.
I miss her in a strange way, maybe because she was the only mother I can remember. But she was a hard and cruel person and ensured that I had to rely on her for everything. Even well into my twenties, I found myself still working seven days a week with little to no compensation except the tiny room I slept in and the meals I scrounged up for myself in her expansive and mostly empty kitchen.
It”s why I didn”t feel bad forging her signature on a few contracts and making sure everyone associated with her estate thought she had legally adopted me into the Taylor family and left me everything—including the bungalow on this mysterious island she”s been considering before her death. I covered all my tracks very well, but worrisome thoughts still haunt me and leave me paranoid that someone will figure it out. If only I could...
”Ms. Taylor?”
”Hmm? What now?”
”We”ve landed. Do you want to get off the plane?” the pilot asks. I look over at him and watch my reflection in his sunglasses for a moment before taking a deep breath and smiling.
”Yes, of course, thank you for the ride...”
”Flint, Flint Nova,” he tells me, pointing again to the plane”s open and waiting door. ”Hit me up if you ever want to take a little joy ride in the sky with me, the landings aren”t always rough, but they are always wet.”
I laugh nervously and slip out before he can see my flushed face. I was so lost in thought that I didn”t even notice we landed. Ugg, I”m not even on the island yet and have lost all my focusing abilities. And it”s not going to get any better if all the men here are as attractive as the two hunks on the plane with me.
”Ms. Taylor!” screams a short, tubby man running up to me, and I almost hug him for being so normal looking. He”s older than me but nowhere close to Millicent”s age and has an impressive mustache that looks well cared for.
”Oh, hello!” I say, and he beams up at me.
”We”re so excited to have you here, yes! Your things arrived the other day and have been stowed away safely in your bungalow and I”ve taken the liberty of ordering you up an early dinner as I”m sure you are tired from a long day of travel, yes?”
”Oh, yes, uh, yes! I am. Thank you so much!” I stammer, fumbling with my purse and the small carry-on duffle bag I”ve brought with me.
”Oh you are just going to love it here, my dear! We”ve spared no expense and remember, our commitment to providing the best island life experience knows no bounds, and rest assured, your satisfaction is our top priority. You can count on me for any assistance you may need! And welcome, welcome, welcome, my dear! Welcome to Corona Cay!”
The little man sticks his hand out to me, and I have no choice but to adjust my bag straps and shake it. His palms are warm and soft, unlike what I had just been imagining the security guard and pilot”s hands to be like, but still, I indulge him with a smile.
”Now that you”re here, you have the right to know our little island”s name. Corona Cay! Beautiful, yes? I”ll be your island host, Mark,” he says with pride.
”Nice to meet you, Mark. Please call me Milly,” I ask, hoping he”ll leave it at that. The less information he asks of me, the less I will have to tell him or makeup. So when he turns on his heels and gestures for me to follow him down a shaded pathway, I follow in silence.
Mark tells me he works in the big building I”ll find in the center of the island and that I can call on him or his assistant named Patricia at any hour of the day, any day of the week. I want to know if he ever has time off, but I am afraid to ask too many questions, so I keep it to myself.
We pass by one of the bungalows, a pretty dark blue one with a thatched roof, but it looks like no one is home.
”Oh well, you”ll have to meet up with your closest neighbor some other time,” Mark sings as we continue walking. ”He might be out getting a bite to eat before the storm.”
”Storm?” I ask, stopping abruptly.
Mark grinds to a halt ahead of me and turns around with a worried expression.
”Yes,” he says. ”Radar says we”re due for a big one tonight, but it”ll be gone by the morning and it”ll be perfect beach weather!”
I can”t fight the chill that coats my skin in goose pimples. I”ve always hated storms, even as an adult. It was a storm that changed my life completely when I was a child, and they”ve never sat right with me since.
It”s almost evening by the time we make it to my designated and fully paid-for home, and Mark bids me a kind farewell before hurrying back down the path so he can ”let me settle in.”
I drop my duffle bag and purse by the door and take a deep, grounding breath. The air here is sweet and so unlike the musty stank that lived in the walls of the Taylor Family mansion. This air smells like salt, leaves, and vanilla, just as if it were a high-end sunscreen.
Before going inside, I take a quick walk around the little house. There”s only one door at the front, and it irks me a little not to have a secondary escape in case something happens. At least there seem to be plenty of windows. I could flee from one of them if needed, though I”m not sure where I”d go.
It”s painted pale, seashell pink, and the roof is cherry red. I know the inside will be just perfect because I designed it myself. But before I can go in, something catches my attention, and I find myself abandoning the door and floating towards the beautiful sunset, as if in a blissful reverie.
”Whoa,” I can”t help but mutter out loud as I creep closer to the beach. There is only a small patch of sand on this side, and just beyond is a smooth cluster of rocks. Small tide pools cluster just where the waves break onto the shore, and I bend close to gaze at them in wonder, watching the little fishes inside dance and twirl about.
Everything is so peaceful and perfect here. But while my heart wants so badly to let go and relax in the glorious sunset, my brain will not allow me to idle long, so I make my way back to my small pink bungalow.
But as I”m walking the short distance, something catches my attention and I stoop down to see a rabbit shaking in the bushes. And the poor thing is drenched! Almost as if the ocean spit him up, and he crawled onto land in order to dry off.
He startles when he notices me and I slowly reach out a hand to rub down his wet fur. I had a pet rabbit once, but he wasn”t allowed to come with me to live with Millicent, and I never knew what happened to him.
”You poor thing,” I murmur, and the rabbit”s eyes go wide as I reach over to scoop him up in my arms. ”Why don”t you come inside with me and warm up.”
The rabbit doesn”t struggle; in fact, he buries his face in my cleavage for warmth as I kick my purse and duffle bag inside the front door of the bungalow.
The inside is exactly how I pictured it. Smooth hardwood floors all around, and a long white leather couch circling the back wall. I know that the door to my right will lead to a simple kitchen, and the opposite door will lead to the bathroom. Knowing that the kitchen won”t be very impressive because I remember choosing for the basic package, since my cooking skills are limited to making grilled cheese sandwiches, I decide to check out the bathroom instead, and I”m so glad I did.
The rabbit pokes his head out from my tits and looks around the expansive room with me. I chose the white and blue designer tiles for this room and upgraded to include real live plants set in various planters along the walls. There is a huge, double walk-in shower with four shower heads, and the whole thing is big enough to hold a party inside.
Sitting against the other wall, which is actually a giant window covered in a misty privacy fog, is the biggest clawfoot bathtub I have ever seen. Even the elegant fixtures inside Millicent”s mansion are nothing compared to this.
”I”m going to make good use of that thing tonight, little guy,” I say to the rabbit, and I swear he gulps in response.
He”s stopped shivering, but I want to make sure he”s comfortable before wrapping him up in some warm towels, so with him gripped tightly, I reach over and turn the water on over the large, golden tub. Once it”s to temperature, I lower the now squirming rabbit into the water and use my hands to slowly bathe him in the warm liquid.
”I heard there might be a storm tonight,” I tell the rabbit. ”I really hope not, I don”t think I could handle one right now.”
The rabbit looks at me with curious eyes but doesn”t respond as I lift him out, grab some of the softest, fluffiest towels in existence, and wrap him up in a little bunny burrito. I take him with me into the last room, my new bedroom, and set him carefully on a huge bed that looks big enough to hold the after-party from the shower.
”There you go,” say to him. ”You rest up and I”ll let you out as soon as I can get out of these travel clothes and get unpacked.”
The rabbit wiggles his nose and watches intently as I start to strip myself of all my clothes.