IslandAffair

Chapter One
     
    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