Island Affair

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An Excerpt From: ISLAND AFFAIR

Copyright © CAIT MILLER, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

He was a god.

Ever since his neighbor arrived a couple of days ago, John hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the man. He certainly wasn’t the kind of guy who usually drew John, with his slim athletic body, boy-next-door face and light-brown hair. Normally he went for bigger, more muscled, hairier guys. The kind of man who couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a man when they were under you. Or on top of you. John wasn’t fussy about position, sex was sex and it was all good. Not that his neighbor could be mistaken for a woman, not with that body. Today he wore a semi-transparent white shirt, open to display a smooth, tanned, hair-free chest and ridged abdomen. A pair of baggy khaki shorts instead of his usual black swim trunks sat low on his hips. His short, wavy brown hair was covered with a navy-blue baseball cap and his feet were bare. He carried a pair of flip-flops in one hand.

John let his eyes caress the length of him. He suspected he was only a couple of inches short of his own six-two height. His gut knotted as an image flashed into his head of those sleekly muscled arms wrapped around him, the hair-roughened legs entwined with his. Hard cocks brushing against each other. John would drop to his knees on the hot sand, press his face against the damp Lycra and breathe in the musky scent of the other man’s arousal. He could slide the trunks down those lean thighs and take the straining erection into his mouth.

John groaned and shifted his stance to ease the pressure of his hard-on. Oblivious to the lust-filled thoughts directed at him, the man walked slowly along the white sand on the edge of the ocean. His head tilted to the warm sun in silent worship until he reached the path through the trees that led back to the center of the resort. Making the kind of impulsive decision that had landed him here in the first place, John jumped off the shaded deck of the cottage and followed him.

Great, John, just great. Here you are in paradise and you’re passing your time by stalkin’ some innocent man. What the bloody hell are you doin’?

He willed his heated body into submission, concentrating on the beautiful surroundings in an effort to calm himself. The name Paradise wasn’t far wrong—the small island where he had spent the last three weeks had it all. It was hard to believe he was located somewhere off the southwestern shore of the United States and not somewhere in the Caribbean. Sunshine, blue skies, palm trees, white sandy beaches, a warm, clear ocean and just enough people to keep you from feeling bored or lonely. But bored and lonely was exactly how he had felt. Despite the fact that nowadays he was technically never alone. Even now he was aware of the eyes on him and now and again he caught the rattle of static from a handheld radio, though they did their best to give him the illusion of privacy. What is it they say? No man is an island? He smiled to himself ruefully, very fitting.

During the first week he knew he had driven his bodyguards crazy, pacing and twitching like an addict coming off a high, only John’s drug of choice had been work. And it had gotten him into trouble just as surely. After two weeks he had finally gotten used to the inactivity but his brain was screaming for some kind of occupation. He hadn’t wanted to have anything much to do with the activities taking place in the main resort and so he had kept mainly to his cottage. He told himself that a distraction was all his handsome neighbor was to him. The fact that the man also seemed to have little interest in leaving their little stretch of beach intrigued him, but part of him knew there was more to his attraction than that.

If only he hadn’t let his customary impatience overrule him that day. If he’d waited for the elevator instead of taking the stairs he’d still be back in New York, listening to Carol, his secretary, nag him about how he needed to get a life. He wouldn’t have found himself embroiled in a murder case and separated from everything that mattered in his life. And if he had taken care of his reservations instead of letting Carol handle it then he wouldn’t have found himself hiding away on a resort for gay couples and singles. He could have been in Scotland, visiting relatives and fending off aunties who wanted to know why he hadn’t married a nice American girl yet. He should have known his secretary would seize the chance to interfere. On top of that, it was largely his overprotective mother’s fault he was surrounded by bodyguards. His life was full of interfering women, was it any wonder he swung the other way?

He smiled with grim humor. His secretary would hardly recognize him now without his sober suit and tie. In its place he wore a bright Hawaiian shirt and knee-length khaki shorts. It had been days since he last shaved. His jaw sported a fair crop of bristly red-blond whiskers and his sensible haircut had grown out to hang over his shirt collar and blow in his blue eyes. What use did he have for business suits on a tropical island? And no one here gave a damn whether he shaved or cut his hair, himself included.

John rounded a corner in the path at a trot, catching sight of his neighbor just ahead. He slowed his pace, keeping his distance as his neighbor wandered through the pool complex, gaze fixed on the horizon. He caught his breath when the man stumbled over a bag and nearly fell into the heavily chlorinated water. John quickened his pace, reaching him just as he stepped on a pair of sandals and lost his balance again, teetering over the edge of the pool. As he reached out to clutch the man’s shirt, gravity won the battle. John had time to grab a quick breath of air before they splashed into the shallow water in a confusion of limbs. John’s head hit the tiled edge with a thud that reverberated through his skull and brought with it a wave of darkness.