Martin Baird is perfectly content in his safe, predictable job as head concierge for Castillo Resorts, but when a handsome stranger whisks him away for a night of tropical escapades—first visiting an isolated gay bar then to a secluded beach where erotic delights await—Martin’s world is thrown upside down. He’s never met a man like Garret Fisher, but it seems he has been waiting for a night like this all his life.
Could something truly beautiful come out of this accidental meeting? Or was it really not an accident at all?
I’ve lost my bleeding mind.
I’ve lost my bleeding mind.
Perhaps there was an ancient fairy knoll in Grand Turk, like the ones Da wove tales about, where babies were swapped for changelings and the spirits of the Fae bent people to their will. Surely a mystical influence reigned, leading Martin to follow this Garret on a mysterious journey.
Bloody hell, I almost called him “sir” and we haven’t even been properly introduced!
On cue, Garret extended a hand and Martin took it. That hand wrapped around his, similar in size, but worn and rough. Electric sensations ran through his blood at the lightly calloused fingers. This man did not sit around being idle. “Garrett Fischer.”
“Nice to meet you, Marty.”
He should correct him—he hated being called Marty—but Garret had not let go, his playful gaze rendering him unable to assert himself. He swallowed hard, envisioning those palms running over his body with deep appreciation, stroking his budding erection, caressing his ass, parting him…spanking him? Shite!
He dropped Garret’s hand at once, cheeks reddening.
Grinning, Garret returned to making the drink, his cocky demeanor a solid indicator he knew where Martin’s thoughts had wandered. Damn Jagger for putting those ideas into his head—and awakening ones he’d
not entertained in a long time. Then again, maybe Garret Fischer held all the blame.
When Garret presented the cocktail—an illicit-looking, frothy, white concoction which again had Martin’s mind going to places it shouldn’t—he placed both arms wide on the bar, waiting for a reaction.
“Slainte.” Martin raised the drink to his lips, and the creamy, sweet beverage went down smooth. The alcohol warmed his blood but the intense way Garret studied him brought him to a full boil.
He placed the glass down, hand shaking. “Quite good. Not too sweet, either.”
“Glad you like it, Marty.” Garret leaned forward. “Here. You have something….”
Before Martin saw it coming, a masculine thumb brushed across his lower lip. A visceral reaction shot molten fire through his center and he gasped. When Garret slipped that thumb between supple lips to suck away any residue of alcohol, Martin swore his cock grew two inches.
Garret pulled his thumb out of his mouth ever so slowly, purposefully. His green eyes, full of wicked promise behind those glasses, never left Martin’s. “Delicious.”