Neither outcome would probably receive the Madame Eve stamp of approval.
Garret couldn’t help it, though. No one had ever made him so hot so fast. He couldn’t believe his insane attraction for a man he’d met through a service. It was surreal. When they stopped at a sign, he allowed his disbelieving gaze to drink its fill.
Marty turned and their eyes met.
Green leaves kissed with blue moonlight and the sparkle of the sea framed him in a snapshot, burned into Garret’s consciousness for the rest of his days. Once tidy hair, now blown into disarray, the strong line of his neck still red from the way he’d ravaged him in the parking lot, but most importantly—the willing submission shining in his big, brown eyes.
Garret had never seen anyone more beautiful.
Blinking and breaking the spell, Marty let out a breathless laugh before glancing away. “Where are we headed?”
“Wondered when you were gonna ask.” Garret accelerated the Jeep.
“Riiight….” Marty broke off with another self-conscious chuckle. “I suppose I should’ve, right? You’re not an ax murder, are you?”
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, lowering his voice. “Unless you ask me to.”
Marty sucked in an audible breath. “Right.”
“Don’t worry about that yet,” he told him, seeing Marty tense when he allowed the word “yet” to hang in the night with dark promise. “Let’s have some fun first.”
He gave a half laugh. “Sounds lovely. I haven’t been out much since my arrival.”
“What do you do for the resort?”
“I am a personal concierge. I’m based out of Canada but I often travel to the different resorts to care for some of our more exclusive clientele. That’s why I’m in Grand Turk.”
“Wow, that’s great at your age.”
“I’m thirty-five,” he said, his tone defensive.
Garret sniffed in surprise. He’d presumed himself to be the older one after the way Marty folded under his authority. However, nothing as trivial as age could stop them from fitting into the roles they’d been born to.
Garret decided to change the subject to more pressing matters. “So what kinda stuff are you into?”
“I like all sorts of things. I like to read, and cook. Gourmet dishes mostly. My parents used to take me hiking. I’m not very good at sports—sure you guessed that—but anyone can walk, right? Though I do enjoy watching football on the telly once in a while. I believe you Americans call it soccer, right?”
“Yeah.” Garret hid a smile. He hadn’t been asking about his hobbies. Rather, he had intended to establish a set of ground rules for their sex play. But Marty’s infectious enthusiasm had him interested, so he let him talk.
“And I have a cat. Would you like to see a photograph?”
Enjoying his boyishness, Garret nodded. “Sure.”
Marty pulled out his cell and showed him a longhaired orange tabby on the home-screen.
“What a big poof ball.”
“A poof for a poof,” Marty joked.
Garret didn’t like the self-deprecation in his tone.
“Her fur is a bit wild, right? Positively hates to be brushed. That’s why I named her Hermione.” As fast as it had emerged, Marty’s pleasant mood faded, and he fidgeted in his seat. “Oh, you must think I’m pathetic, showing you a picture of my cat.”
“No, I don’t. I have two, Fred and George.”
“As in Fred and George Weasley?”
“Yup.”
“What a stitch.” Marty slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a Harry Potter fan.”
“Why not?”
Marty shrugged. “Don’t know, actually.”
“I’m not always serious.”
“Right,” he agreed—the word ‘right’ a bit of a word whisker for him, Garret had begun to realize. Who had made the man so insecure?
“Hermione is with my neighbor in Canada,” Marty continued. “I work so much she probably couldn’t care less if I even come home. The cat, I mean. My neighbor probably doesn’t mind either which way, right? She likes the cat.”
Once Marty opened up, he chattered on. Maybe it was nerves, or no one had listened to him in a long time. Sure, they saw him, but if Garret wasn’t off the mark, Marty served as scenery for the resort guests. Someone there, yet forgotten the moment he left the room.
Garret could guarantee the man would not be ignored tonight.
Warmth filled him when he realized he held exactly what Marty needed, so Garret took his hand. Marty stopped mid-sentence, and they shared a smile. Complete contentment and understanding between them, their grip on one another tightened.
“Where in Canada are you from?” Garret asked.
“Alberta, outside Banff, but I’ve put in for a transfer to our new casino in Toronto. I went to university there.”
“I hope you get it, Marty.” The drive between Detroit and Toronto was a piece of cake.
“Why do you call me that?” His surly tone softened when he added, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Because I like it. It suits you.”
Marty scrunched up his face and did not reply.
Sorry for teasing him, Garret rubbed their clasped hands against his thigh, the scratch of Marty’s leg hair pleasant. “So do you have a lot of family, Martin?”
He offered a soft, appeasing smile. “You can call me Marty.”
“Thank you.” Garret gave him a squeeze. “Family?”
“Just my da.”
“He’s probably proud of your success.”
Marty shrugged. “As proud as a steel-worker can be to tell his mates at the pub his bent son is a glorified waiter.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that about yourself,” Garret scolded at the sound of regret, the need for approval, in Marty’s tone.
“Not what I think, just how he sees it.”
He didn’t ask more since it seemed Marty had finished talking. They continued the drive in companionable silence.
Its hidden drive camouflaged by dense, jungle-like flora, No Woman No Cry, the club Garret had discovered on his first night of vacation, sat on a secluded stretch of beach, unseen except by those who knew where to look. Tinny tropical music wafted out of the ramshackle building. Garret parked in the nearby gravel lot, where two men stood, kissing and petting.
Marty climbed out, wide eyes taking it all in. Hair windblown from the open-top Jeep ride, Martin and his stuffy ways had been left behind at the hotel where they belonged. “Where are we?”
“A gay bar.”
“Oh, right.”
“You dance?”
“If you want to, sir.”
Garret took him by the arm and led him inside. “Good answer.”
Named as a tribute to the Bob Marley song No Woman No Cry—which Garret didn’t think the reggae singer had intended—the bar housed a den of homoerotic sights, strong alcohol, and Caribbean music. The kind of seedy place Martin’s drycleaner wouldn’t approve of for those white shorts. Air rife with cigarette and marijuana smoke, the tropical temperatures and writhing bodies on the dance floor had rendered the atmosphere thick and sultry. The ripe scent of sweaty male filled his nostrils, and a stir of arousal began low in his belly.
“Garret.” The French-speaking owner, Josef—mocha-skinned, exotic, and sexy—greeted him with a hug and a kiss on each cheek.
He didn’t stop Josef from stealing a third kiss on the mouth, wanting to see how Marty reacted. Glancing over at Marty, Garret noted his ruffled feathers, the forced but polite smile.
“Josef, this is Martin.” Garret pulled his flustered date close, placing a proprietary hand on his chest, informing Josef he might play the familiar with Garret, but his date was off-limits. The moment Garret touched him, Marty’s defensive posture subsided.
Josef quirked a brow. “Bonsoir, Martin.”
“Bonsoir, enchanté.” Marty had a flawless accent—as if that were a surprise. When he ex
tended his arm for a shake, Josef laughed and slipped into the crowd of half-naked men.
Marty said something about the owner’s mysterious exit, but Garret couldn’t hear him clearly him over the reggae band.
“Let’s get a drink.” He slipped Marty’s hand into his back pocket and shouldered through the crowd. Marty followed close, as if he’d been put on a leash and Garret held the other end.
Finding an empty place at the end of the bar, Garret told the bartender, “Tequila.”
Removing Marty’s death grip on his jeans, he switched their positions until Marty stood against the wall, taking a protective stance so no one took any liberties with him. Garret replaced his hand in his back pocket. Thus shielded, but still able to take in the sights, the tension in Marty’s body lessened, Garret his anchor in this unfamiliar environment.
Marty watched the half-naked men coupled on the dance floor, twisting and moving in the ancient, erotic rite of sensual dance. His eyes got huge when a shirtless guy with mountainous biceps walked by in assless leather pants, body glistening from oil and sweat.
“How can he wear leather in this heat, right?” Marty leaned in to ask.
Garret laughed and swore he was in love. Marty’s innocent curiosity reminded him of Baby in Dirty Dancing. If he turned to Garret and said, “I carried a watermelon,” Garret might to have to get on his knees suck his cock right there in front of everyone.
Fuck, maybe he would do it anyway.
Chapter Four
Where in blazes did he bring me?
Though grateful for his hold on Garret’s jeans pocket, Martin worried such behavior might be unwelcome after too long. However, the soft, reassuring brush of fingertips over the back of his hand let him know Garret wanted it, maybe even liked being connected with him that way.
In his secure position between the bar, the wall, and Garret, his pulse calmed and he watched two attractive Latin boys grinding on the dance floor. The taller one pressed his backside into his partner while the shorter chap stroked his bare chest, their movements so much like intercourse Martin’s skin flushed with self-conscious arousal. He had been to plenty of gay-friendly establishments in his lifetime, but nowhere like this. The smoke in the air and the heat roused his groin, making his head woozy. Straight out of an illicit fantasy or pornographic film, he wondered if there were glory holes in the bathroom. His blood pounded at the prospect of finding out.
Garret placed a shot glass into his palm, and he tore his attention away from the erotic sights.
“What was the toast you made?”
Collecting himself, Martin leaned in to be heard over the music—getting a nose full of Garret’s decadent sweat and no doubt illegal smoke, as well. “Slainte.”
“Slainte.”
Clinking glasses, Martin tossed back the shot, the alcohol burning down his gullet. He winced, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. Drinking would either make him lose all control of himself or calm him down.
He didn’t know which he wanted more.
Garret laughed, taking the empty from him and placing it on the bar. “You drank it too fast.”
“Sorry, sir.”
His cheeks warmed and his fingers tightened on the edge of Garret’s pocket. Where had this “sir” nonsense come from? And why didn’t Garret correct him?
“Let me show you.”
Curious, he allowed Garret to pry his fingers free. Lifting his hand to his mouth, Garret licked the back of it, and a powerful shudder wracked Martin’s entire body…bloody hell!
Before he had a chance to enjoy the feel of his tongue on him, Garret pulled back, the devil in his eye, and salted the wet spot.
“Slainte.” He downed his shot of booze then raised Martin’s hand to lick the salt, causing him to shiver once more. Biting into a lime from a dish the bartender must’ve brought, Garret winced. “That’s how you do it, love.”
The endearment stole his breath.
Setting the glass down, Garret pulled him closer. “C’mere.”
Unable to deny the man anything, he went.
Garret drew their bodies together, his warmth a welcome sensation despite the humid air in the bar. Wearing a hungry expression, he rubbed the flat of his palms up Martin’s back, then around front, caressing his hips and thighs, close to his cock. “You’re so sexy,” Garret whispered.
“Right.” He gave a sarcastic chuckle, pleased by the compliment, yet feeling exposed from the way Garret searched his face, as if he could see past what Martin wanted the world to know. Maybe seeing something he didn’t even understand himself.
The steeliness of Garret surrounding him, the sensation of touch, felt so good, he rocked his hips closer, begging for Garret to stroke him again yet terrified if he did, he might burst in his pants.
Why hadn’t he thought to wank before he left his room? If they made love—please, God, let it happen—he prayed he wouldn’t embarrass himself. It had been far too long.
Garret’s fingers trailed up his chest but when he began to unbutton his shirt, Martin flinched. “W-what are you—?”
“I wanna see if you have freckles all over.”
“Are you out of your bloody mind?”
But Garret continued to work the buttons, his faint chuckle lost in the music. Martin couldn’t have stopped him if he’d tried. Deep inside his soul, he knew he had no right to stop him from doing whatever he wanted. The fact that he didn’t want to embarrassed and excited him.
I’ve lost my mind….
“You’re blushing!” Garret spread his shirt open and ran his hands over Martin’s chest. “You’re even blushing down here!”
His cheeks heated further. “C’mon, don’t tease.”
“Relax, Marty,” he purred, kissing his throat and making him tremble. “I won’t hurt you.”
Why he believed him, he couldn’t be sure.
Eyes drunk with wonder and admiration, Garret glided his palms over Martin until he forgot such questions. Thumbs stroked his nipples, flicked and teased. He hissed as ghostly sparks of promise worked across his skin.
“Like that?”
Breathless, he nodded.
Cupping the back of his neck, Garret brushed a kiss over his throat, leaving a tiny wet spot behind. “I love your freckles.”
Martin’s head rolled back a little, and he had a difficult time getting enough air with those questing fingers exploring him, tracing the definition of his abdominal muscles.
“So sexy….” Garret murmured, tonguing first one nipple then the other.
Martin groaned, but all too soon, Garret broke contact.
Appearing completely collected despite all the intimate touching, Garret poured two more shots. “Let’s try it the right way this time.”
When Garret salted his nipple, Martin flinched from the unfamiliar sensation, but did not back away, knowing what sinful treat would follow.
Garret selected a wedge of lime, and Martin held his breath. Grinning that dominant grin which made his prick leak like a sieve—damn, are the front of my shorts wet?—Garret threw back his shot.
Martin groaned when Garret’s tongue swept over his nipple, the wet heat raising goose bumps across his skin. Garret held so much mastery over him, and it felt so damn good he barely noted the men nearby watching them. Embarrassed, but praying it would never end, he closed his eyes while Garret cleansed the salt away. When he withdrew, Martin sighed in longing.
“Your turn.” The smack of the empty shot glass on the bar punctuated Garret’s words.
Eyes still closed, he gave a faint smile, savoring the memory of Garret’s touch. “Right….”
But anticipation to get his hands on the other man spurred him back to reality. Fingers fumbling, he reached for him, pausing to get permission before he touched. Garret nodded, the blood pounding louder in Martin’s ears than the music. Trembling with excitement, he inched Garret’s V-neck open, licking a line across the exposed collarbone. He groaned. Salty with sweat, he tasted manly and marvelous.<
br />
Unable to resist licking him a second time, Martin allowed his tongue to linger on his pounding pulse. Garret drew in a long, raspy breath through his nose, and lust fired in Martin’s groin.
Breathing him in, Martin drew back, so their eyes met. With shaking hands, he sprinkled a dash of salt on Garret’s skin, only breaking their gaze to ensure he hit the right spot. Under Garret’s potent scrutiny, he selected a lime then picked up the tequila.
His mouth watered, and his breath came short. “Slainte.”
He tossed back the shot then dove in to taste the salt from Garret’s neck, stopping the ascent of his tongue when the heavy growth of facial hair tickled his lips. Blood racing, he longed to taste more, but with reluctance, he pulled back to bite the lime. Though he winced, the burn, tartness, and salt went down smoother than expected.
Taking the shot glass and rind, Garret placed them on the bar then pulled him in for another mind-blowing kiss, his hands sliding up the back of his shirt. Martin would never tire of his lips. Tasting his mouth and savoring the warm wetness, or the way Garret sucked on his tongue and licked the circumference of his mouth, slow and languid. With unhurried exploration, he made love to Martin’s mouth, kissing his lips, one cheek then the other.
“Damn,” Martin whispered. “You’re the most brilliant kisser.”
“I could kiss you all day.” The hands under Martin’s shirt continued to rub his back, sending tremors through him, his body charged and ready.
“Sounds like a fabulous plan.” Quiet laughter bubbled out of him, and he buried his face against Garret’s shoulder, sensing every eye in the place on them, though it surely had to be his imagination.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Like what?” Garret teased, running his tongue up and over Martin’s chin before nuzzling his nose. “Licking a man in public?”
“Um…right. Among other things.”
Accidentally Beautiful Page 3