White Speedos. Tiny white Speedos at that. Why did he have to wear them, of all things? I don’t care how many linings they had, those tight white swimmers barely concealed anything. And as if they weren’t revealing enough when dry, but wet? I could see everything. Every line, every vein, every single thing.

He was uncut, almost hairless. His balls were drawn up tight, his cock snug across to the left.

How was I supposed to get through two weeks of this? I’d barely made it one day.

White Speedos were my favourite. Tiny white Speedos made my mouth water and my dick take notice. Like it hadn’t noticed already.

I liked the way he listened when I taught him about the yacht, the way he asked questions, the way a line of concentration formed between his eyebrows, how he chewed on his bottom lip. I liked how he used his hands; he liked to touch everything. The smooth fibreglass of the cabin, the feel of the wooden slats on the cockpit, the cords of twined cable and rope in the lines. He liked to touch, that was pretty clear. To feel, to reconcile the texture with the word, the object.

He was tactile.

I liked that a lot.

He took care of his body. He was here to take care of his mind. And I had to remind myself he was a client. The last thing I needed was a lawsuit for sexual harassment if I made a pass and he rejected me.

Despite the look in his eyes.

Despite his play on words.

Despite the blatant display of his body.

Despite his fucking white Speedos.

His tiny white Speedos.

Jesus.

I needed to dive into the water to clear my head and hoped the cool water cleared my libido. This wasn’t going to end well. How the hell was I supposed to survive the next two weeks with him, just the two of us? There was nowhere to escape, except for diving into the ocean to put some distance between us. I hadn’t expected the intimacy of there being just the two of us. There was no one else to buffer conversation, to absorb our attention. I would have to switch on the TV and pretend I needed to tend to things below deck. Hell, if my dick didn’t settle down, I’d have to lock myself in my room.

I stayed close to the yacht and pretended I was doing some hull check while I had the chance, and by the time I hauled my arse back on board, Stuart was lying on his back on the deck, enjoying the sunshine. At least he had his towel around his waist.

Thank God.

I dried off pretending not to notice him. Then he lifted one leg, bending it at the knee, and his towel fell open to reveal the white swimwear at his hip.

Tease.

“Refreshing, yes?” he said, his eyes still closed.

Oh yes.

“Very.”

“I may never want to leave,” he murmured. Then he undid his towel completely, revealing his bulge. He opened his eyes, just to watch me watch him. Then he ever so slowly rolled over, lifted his hips, and readjusted his dick, then lowered himself back down and spread his legs.

Damn.

He sighed, and my gaze shot to his face. He smiled as he closed his eyes. “Would you mind hitting me up with the sunscreen again?” he asked.

Fuck.

As if he could sense my hesitance, even with his eyes closed, he added, “I’d hate to get sunburnt.”

I was frozen for a split second, so unlike me. This was a terrible idea, but I couldn’t very well admit to why without giving myself away. I squirted the cream onto his shoulders and began to rub it in. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck as I did my part. If he was playing it up or if he was really that reactive to touch, I could only guess. But the idea took my mind places it shouldn’t go. While I wanted to linger, rub harder—hell, I wanted to straddle his thighs and give him a massage he’d never forget—I remembered my job and ignoring my hardening dick, I finished quickly. “Done.” I wiped my hands on my towel. “I’ll fix you a snack,” I said, quickly taking the steps into the cabin.

I leaned against the kitchen cabinets and took a deep breath. Forget it, Foster. Just do your freakin’ job.

I refixed the towel around my waist, palming my dick into submission in the process, then washed my hands thoroughly before plating up some cheese, fruit, and crackers. I figured after his swim and walk on the beach and now relaxing in the sun, he’d have worked up an appetite, so I grabbed him a bottle of beer as well.

I carried them back upstairs to find him still lying on his belly, his head turned, his eyes closed. I allowed myself a second to take in his form. Tanned, fit, and white Speedos.

Those fucking white Speedos.

He opened his eyes, and a knowing smirk pulled at his lips.

Fuck.

“Afternoon tea is served,” I said like I hadn’t just been caught checking him out.

He rolled onto his side, groaning as he sat up. “Oh, swimming and sunshine are like a sedative.” He climbed down to sit on the long bench seat. He held his towel, and making no attempt to cover himself, he lay it across his thigh. His dick was half-hard and filled his Speedos deliciously.

God, I was in trouble. He hadn’t even been on board a day.

He seemed to like being on display for me. Teasing me, tempting me. There was a slight curl to his lips, daring in his eyes. He ate some cheese, then a strawberry and some honeydew melon, groaning. “This is so good.”

I handed over his beer. “For you.”

He took it. “Don’t you want one too?”

“I don’t drink when I have clients on board.”

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting this is your actual job, not just a dream holiday.”

I chuckled. “Sometimes I forget too.” There was more truth to that than I cared to admit. Like ten minutes ago when I was imagining straddling him. A client. Yes, sometimes I forgot this was my actual job. Better to head back to safer waters, so I redirected the conversation. “It’s easy to forget when your office looks like this,” I said, gesturing to the entire horizon.

“Ever had anyone want to defect?” he asked, sucking on a strawberry. “Run away from their lives and do what you do?”

I ignored the strawberry juice that pooled on his lips and fixed some cheese onto a cracker. I shrugged. “They all talk about it, but no one ever does. It’s just a dream for them.”

He sighed. “Well, it does seem surreal. You have to admit.”

“What? Having enough of the rat race, spending your entire life savings on a yacht, and sailing off into the sunset?” I laughed. “Surreal, yes. Not impossible though.”

He took a pull of his beer and looked out at the water. “Some days, I could so easily walk away.”

“Then why don’t you?”

His gaze shot to mine. “I don’t know. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being forgotten, replaced. Lack of financial security.” A sad smile tugged at his lips. “It’s not that easy.”

I held his intense stare. “It’s exactly that easy.”

“You just walked away?”

I nodded. “Yep. There I was, busting myself, literally killing myself for a boss that, if I had actually dropped dead, would’ve replaced me by eight the next morning. And it struck me like lightning.” I laughed at the memory. “I was in the middle of a meeting. Huge contract, multimillion-dollar businesses, international clients, the deal of a career, and I realised I was just a cog in the machine. I was replaceable, interchangeable, expendable in every way. I’d sacrificed everything for people who didn’t give a shit, and it struck me right in the middle of the meeting.”

Stuart was watching me, intrigued. “What did you do?”

“I stood up and walked out.”

“Just like that?”

I grinned at him. “Just like that.”

He let out a breath, then took a drink of his beer. “I couldn’t do that. I’m pretty sure my boss would track me down. He seems to think he owns my soul.”

I snorted. “They all do. Hell, I was the same. I used to chew people up and spit them out. And for what? To make them miserable? To break them?” I sighed and shook my head sadly. “I often wonder what happened to them.”

Stuart studied me for a second, then handed me his beer. I was going to say no but thought, fuck it. I grabbed it, took a long pull, and handed it back to him. “Thanks.”

He smiled. “You sound like me. It’s what I do for a living. Chewing people up and spitting them out. I’m good at it too. It’s why my boss owns me. Well, that, and because when I threatened to leave, he offered me a shitload of money to stay. So maybe he did buy my soul. Some days I think he did.”

“What’s your field?” I asked.

“Investment banking,” he admitted. “Global and capital markets.”

Well, I’ll be damned. “Mergers and acquisitions, corporate banking, treasury, debt and equity…”

His gaze shot to mine. “You know about that?”

I gave him half a smile. “I know all there is to know about investment banking.”

He stared at me. “Is that… is that what you walked away from?”

I nodded. “Yep. Senior analyst for EconAsia.”

“Econ…,” he mumbled, his eyes wide in disbelief. “The world’s largest corporate bank. The financial bridge between China and…” His words trailed away and he stared at me.

“The rest of the world?” I finished for him. “Yep. That EconAsia.”

He continued to stare at me for a while, with utter disbelief. “You… senior analyst…”

I laughed at his reaction. “Senior analyst for EconAsia, yes. I bought and sold insurance companies, banks and financial institutions all over the world. Hell, I influenced the trade market and economy of small countries, deciding which companies to buy and which to crush, which families kept their homes, which didn’t. You wanna talk about selling your soul.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Recognition, maybe. Sadness. Understanding. He whispered, “And you walked away.”

I held his gaze and gave a nod. “Best thing I ever did.”

Stuart swallowed hard and sat back, pulling his towel over his crotch. He looked out over the ocean, the beer in his hand forgotten. I’d obviously thrown him for a six. Or given him something to think about, at least. “I’ll just go start fixing dinner,” I said and left him to his thoughts.

We’d not long had a snack, but I needed some distance and I figured he did too. I made us a salad and boiled some baby potatoes and was seasoning the steak when Stuart came back down. He put his empty beer bottle in the bin and leaned against the sink next to me. “Anything I can do?”

I got him a fresh beer and he took it with an appreciative smile. “You can sit and relax. We can have dinner any time you like. I thought we might stay here in the inlet tonight. It’s a safe spot, and we’ve already anchored. Unless you want to head further out?”

He sat on the in-built sofa and stretched out his legs. He looked a little sun-kissed and even more relaxed than he had just a few hours ago. “I will leave it in your very capable hands.”

“You can have a swim before breakfast if you like. Then we can sail east to Sudbury reef.”

“Sounds good.”

“I don’t know which are more spectacular here; sunrises or sunsets. You’ll have to see both and tell me which you prefer.”

“Can we eat dinner in the cockpit?” He looked kind of hopeful.

Normally I preferred to eat actual meals at the table in the cabin. Snacks were okay up top, but it was just the two of us. “Sure.”

He watched me for a while. “Don’t need me to help?”

I gave him a grin. “Nope. The key to being skipper and chef is keeping meals simple. Simple beet and rocket salad, boiled baby potatoes, and steak. It takes all of ten minutes.”

“You have it down to an art.”

I poked a potato to see if it was cooked. “The real key is knowing what to cook with the conditions outside. If it’s rough and stormy, I wouldn’t be boiling potatoes.”

“What’s the worst conditions you’ve ever encountered?”

“When the cyclone hit three years ago, I had enough warning to head south. I haven’t had much worse than a Category 2 storm.”

He shuddered. “Was it bad?”

“Not really. I didn’t have anyone on board though, which was a blessing,” I explained. “If we get a severe weather warning, the head office will cancel. That doesn’t happen often though. Never in my time, anyway. And at any rate, this is Queensland. How does the slogan go? Queensland, beautiful one day…”

“Perfect the next,” he finished with a smile. “Unless there’s cyclones or Category 5 storms.”

I waved him off. “Pfft. Well, you can expect perfect weather for your trip. We might get rain next week, but when are forecasters ever right?” I switched the potatoes off and drained them in the sink. “Anyway, if we can time it right and if the forecast stays true, we should be at Low Island, so if you’re worried about seasickness, you have the option of staying on land.”

“I’m good with seasickness,” he added with a smile. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have picked a yacht hire as my only vacation in five years.”

I let my head fall back and I groaned. “I don’t miss those days. You can have them.”

He smiled at that but didn’t reply. He watched me put the steaks on the grill plate. “How do you like your steak?”

“Medium, thanks.”

Okay, again with the closeness of it just being us two. It was far more intimate than I was used to. I needed a distraction. I nodded toward the small flat-screen TV bracketed to the wall. “You can turn on the TV if you want. Catch some news? Cricket results?”

He looked at the black screen like he was considering it. “You know what? I’d rather not. If the world’s gone to hell in the last twelve hours, I don’t want to know.” He sighed and almost smiled. “Can you do me a favour?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Sure. As long as it’s legal.”

He snorted. “If my boss contacts you, tell him there’s no internet connection, no phone connection, and no TV. I may have told him I was uncontactable.”

I chuckled. “Deal. Would he have called you even when you’re on holiday?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you need to even ask?”

I conceded with an eye roll. “Yeah, sorry.”

“I haven’t turned my phone on since Jason called last night to cancel on me.” His lips twisted in an amused pout. “I thought I’d have internet withdrawals or wouldn’t know what to do with my hands, but as it turns out, Jason standing me up took care of that dilemma. Well, knowing what to do with my hands, anyway.”

I barked out a laugh at his implication. “I don’t miss having my phone plastered to my ear twenty hours a day, that’s for damn sure. Phone calls, emails, it just never ended. Especially being on a global platform, no one cared what time zone I was in.”

“I could imagine.”

“You’re based in Brisbane, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Paulington.”

Hmm. Paulington was a reputable company, gaining some clout last I’d heard. “You must be good.”

“They’re trying to move me to Sydney,” he said, looking at his beer like he’d forgotten he was holding it.

I turned the steaks. “But?”

“But I’m not interested. I turned down Singapore too.” He sighed, long and loud. “But I guess I can’t put it off forever. If I want to further my career, that is.”

“Do you? Want to further your career?”

He took a long while to answer, frowning. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m at a crossroads. Like I need to decide. Do I want the career and wealth, penthouse apartment, sports car, the endless lines of meaningless men? Or do I want a life that isn’t those things.”

Endless lines of meaningless men. “Sounds familiar.”

“And you don’t regret your decision?” His eyes were earnest, and I knew this wasn’t just a conversational question. This was him asking me for professional and personal advice.

“Not one bit,” I answered. “But it was the right decision for me.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know. I need to make the decision for me.”

“Can I be honest?”

He nodded.

“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“How so?”

“You’re questioning your being there. You’re questioning whether you want any part of it or not, and that’s kind of an answer in itself.”

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, stretching his legs out, and that look of exhaustion crept over him again. “I was stretched too thin for too long. But I put in for annual holiday leave rather than stress leave. Because… well, you know why.”

“Because the sharks circle, non-stop. One whiff of blood in the water and you’re gone.”

His eyes cut to mine, sharp and knowing. “Non-stop.”

I took the steaks off the grill plate and turned the stove top off. I let the meat rest for a bit and plated up the salad and potatoes. “When I left, I had two different prescriptions for blood pressure and stomach ulcers, took headache pills constantly. It’s how I dealt with the pressure. Most of the other guys I worked with took cocaine, so I consider myself lucky my vices weren’t so bad.”

“Well, you were in a different league than me,” he mumbled quietly. Then he snorted, smiled, and shook his head. “Where I’m from, I’m the best there is. I’m the king of corporate finance. Compared to you,” he said, his smile wry, “I feel like I’m sitting at the kids’ table.”

I stopped slicing the steak. “Compared to me? I walked away from it. Now I’m a nobody in your world.”

He looked up at the ceiling and gave a slight shake of his head. It was pretty clear he didn’t agree. “You were swimming in the big league. I’m barely surviving paddling in the kiddies’ pool.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He shot me a look. My words obviously surprised him. I finished slicing the steaks and gave him a smile. “It’s a different game these days. What’s it been? Six years since I left. How long have you been doing it?”

“Six years.”

“The world I left behind would be unrecognisable to you. It’s so different now; the world gets smaller every day, yet expectations are so much higher. Technology and the internet are wonderful things, and sure, the opportunities are bigger, but bloody hell, so are the demands. How you operate today would run rings around me.”

He stared at me and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe.”

I added his sliced steak to his salad, added some dressing, and put our plates on a tray. I added another bottle of beer for him, some cutlery, and serviettes. “Dinner is served. Now let’s go and see what kind of sunset we’re gonna get today.”

I carried the tray upstairs and slid it onto the long seat. He sat on one side of it; I sat on the other. I picked up my plate and a fork, and he chuckled. “Ah, I wondered why you sliced the steak up,” he said. “Plate in one hand, fork in the other. You’ve done this before.”

I laughed. “Once or twice.”

He smiled, then took a forkful of steak and salad. His groan was obscene. “Holy shit,” he mumbled around his food. “What is this?”

I grinned at his reaction. “The salad? Roasted beets and pumpkin with rocket. The dressing is my dad’s Spanish onion recipe that I’m sworn by blood to keep secret.”

He swallowed and licked his lips. “It’s amazing.” He looked out over the small beach, then back out over the ocean, and shook his head. “Everything here is amazing.”

We ate in silence after that, and he drank his beer as we watched the sun set over the horizon. The sky was brilliant shades of pink and orange, the water crystal blue, the quiet between us was pleasant, and I felt oddly serene. I also had the feeling that if we’d met under different circumstances, in a bar or at work, Stuart and I could be friends. I liked him. His gorgeous looks, killer smile, and heart-stopping eyes aside, he was a nice guy.

“You know what?” I said, not really knowing what came over me. “I’m kinda glad your friend Jason didn’t come along. I get the feeling you’re being the real you because you’re not keeping up with who he’d probably expect you to be. You can just be the real you, no pressure, no expectations.”

He stared at me for the longest time, searching my eyes. He swallowed hard. “I think you might be right.”