Foster was right about a lot of things. The sunset was stunning; there was no other way to describe it. And I think he was right about Jason not being on board. If he had been here, I’d still be in professional mode. Jason only knew the professional me, the no-nonsense me that had time constraints and deadlines. Our time together was based purely on sex, and I pretty much had our time together written in my schedule. I could literally slot him in from nine till ten on a Wednesday and Saturday night. He’d turn up, take care of me in all the ways I needed, and be gone.

And now that Foster had pointed that out, that I was now free to be truly me, I had to wonder what the hell I was thinking asking Jason to come in the first place.

Sure, the guaranteed sex would have been nice, but I could see now that soul-soothing relaxation, finding myself—being myself—was more important.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d just got to be me.

That I just got to breathe.

Before the sun had set completely, Foster tidied up and collected the tray, but I stopped him. “Here, let me take that.”

He gawped at me. “I will not.”

“Why not?”

“You’re my guest. My client, paying me to look after you.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just us two. I can’t sit down while you clean up after me.”

“Why not? That’s exactly what you should do.”

“Have you ever had a mutiny?”

His eyes went wide. “A mutiny?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what it’s called when the crew argue with the captain?”

“A mutiny is more of a takeover.”

I took the tray from him. “Then I’m taking over. I’ll wash, you dry.”

I grinned at his expression and went down the stairs to the galley. He was right behind me. “Stuart. You really don’t have to do that.”

“I want to, and you wouldn’t deny a paying client what he wanted to do, would you?”

He sagged. “You’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?”

“Always. I don’t take no for an answer.” I found the detergent and filled the sink with hot water, then collected the dirty pan and utensils. “You’re a very tidy cook.”

He gave me a disgruntled huff, but then he almost smiled. “When you’re the cook and the cleaner, you soon learn that minimalism is good. And there’s a dishwasher.”

“This won’t take us long,” I replied. And in no time at all, I had everything washed and Foster had everything dried. “See? Many hands make light work. Or something like that, my mum says.”

He folded the tea towel and hung it neatly to dry. “Well, thank you for your help.”

I opened the small fridge and pulled out two beers, cracked the lid on one, and handed it to him. “Go on, I promise not to tell anyone.” He looked like he might argue, so I added, “It’s a mutiny, remember?”

He snarled at me but took the beer. “You haven’t even been on board a day and I’ve broken three of my rules already.”

“Three?”

“Letting you clean up, one. Drinking beer, that’s two. And the third, I left you alone on deck when I got in the water.”

I popped the lid on my beer and took a swig to hide my smile. I sat at the table, and looking at him, I nodded. “Ah, the white Speedos. Did you dive in the water to hide from me or to cool down? I mean, I know those Speedos are hot.”

He blushed. “I didn’t…”

“You totally did.”

He plonked himself at the table across from me, our feet almost touching. He sighed and took a long pull of his beer. “I wasn’t expecting them. That’s all I’m admitting to.”

I laughed. “I’m kidding, really. I was nervous about wearing them. I should’ve packed some board shorts, but I’d packed when I thought Jason was coming and forgot to take them out when he’d cancelled.”

He took another drink of his beer and stared at the bottle when he spoke. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry.”

I grinned. “You like?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know you look good in them.”

Now I laughed. “What can I say? They emphasise my best feature.”

His cheeks tinted pink, and he cleared his throat. He was still staring at his bottle. “And what would that be?”

I laughed again. “My arse, of course. Why? See something else you like?”

I was only joking when I’d said it, but wow, something flashed in Foster’s eyes when he shot a glance at me. “I uh… I have certain rules.”

“Which you’re quite happy to break, apparently,” I said, nodding to the beer bottle he was fascinated with.

He drained the rest of his bottle, then stared right at me, and the warm night just got a whole lot hotter. The space between us felt both far too close and far too wide, and it crackled with tension. He licked the corner of his mouth, his pink tongue sending a jolt of want straight to my dick. But then he looked away, breaking the trance we both seemed to be under. “I better go and do a final check up on deck,” he said, his voice rough and strained. “Then I’ll be turning in for the night. Thank you for helping me clean up after dinner. Sleep well.” He left the bottle on the galley bench and darted up the stairs, disappearing into the night.

So there it was; my cards were now officially on the table. And I knew desire when I saw it. The way his eyes darkened and sharpened, the way his cheeks flushed, and the way his breath hitched ever so slightly.

I was adept at reading people. It’s what made me good at my job. I knew how to read their reactions, and I knew when to apply pressure and when to retreat.

He might be physically attracted to me, but his moral compass was driving this ship. In more ways than one. He’d put as much distance between us as this boat allowed, so I would give him the distance he sought.

If he changed his mind, he knew where to find me. It wasn’t like we could exactly hide from each other on a fourteen-metre yacht in the middle of the ocean. So yes, I’d let him decide. I could push a little harder to see if the spark of desire in his eyes would catch fire. I mean, we were barely on day one of twelve, and we’d already blurred some of his rules. I couldn’t wait to see what day two brought.

With that in mind, I put our empty bottles in the bin and went to bed.

I never knew I could sleep so well. I had fully intended to listen for Foster to come back down into the cabin, the sound of a door closing or toilet flushing, but I heard nothing. I’d also fully intended to take care of my semi-hard dick when I crawled into bed, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, the lull of the water and the gentle rock of the boat had me out like a light.

I woke with no clue what the time was, only that it was still dark outside my little window. But I heard footsteps in the quiet and I knew Foster was up. By the time I’d taken a piss, washed my face, and brushed my teeth, I found him up in the cockpit looking at one of the screens he’d shown me yesterday. The sky was beginning to lighten, enough so I could see him, the water, and the coastline. It looked fresh and peaceful, remarkably beautiful, Foster included.

“Morning,” I said as I joined him. I wasn’t going to pretend my implied offer last night didn’t happen, but I wasn’t going to make it awkward either. I was going to flirt and be playful, and I sure as hell wasn’t getting out of my white Speedos any time soon. I had a towel around my waist, my chest bare.

“Morning,” he replied, giving me a quick smile before turning back to the screen. “Sleep okay?”

“Like the dead. I don’t know if it’s the water or the boat or the silence, but I haven’t slept that well in… well, years.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled. “I’m just checking the tides and wind direction.”

“How’s it looking?”

“Perfect. We should be good to sail northeast after breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great. Am I still right to have a swim beforehand?” I asked, looking toward the back of the yacht.

“Sure. Water’s a beautiful twenty-six degrees.” He turned and looked at me directly. “Breakfast’ll be ready when you’re done.”

I held his gaze and pulled at my towel, revealing the swimsuit he liked so much, barely confining my semi-morning wood. His gaze went straight to my dick, then to my face, and he stared at me with a you bastard expression as he fought a smile. “Excellent,” I said, grinning right back at him. I was going to ask him to join me but figured the eyeful I just gave him was invitation enough.

I dropped the towel, bent over, and lowered the stairs like he’d shown me—while pointing my arse right at him—and dived cleanly into the water.

It was a fresh way to wake up properly, and I broke the surface with a laugh. I turned to face the yacht and trod water, smiling when Foster came to the back of the boat, probably to see what I was laughing at. “This is amazing,” I said. “I should wake up to this every day.”

He grinned and replied, “It’s not exactly terrible.”

“You should get in,” I called out.

He stared for a full three seconds. “Maybe later,” he said, before going back to whatever he was doing.

Maybe later.

Maybe we’d be doing a lot of things later… I hoped we would be. He was interested, that was for sure. The way he’d looked at me when I pulled the towel off told me all I needed to know. He looked like he wanted to eat me for days, and I was totally on board with that. Eleven more days, to be exact.

I floated on my back and grinned up at the cloudless sky. It was getting lighter, the sun was almost beginning to break the horizon, and something occurred to me. It hit me like a jolt that had me struggling to get upright, to tread water again.

What if he wasn’t single?

What if he had a boyfriend?

A husband? A wife?

Oh God. Maybe he was being polite because I was his private client for two weeks and I was making him incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe he was trying to find a way to let me down without offending me.

Because while Foster might have his rules, I had mine too.

My golden rule: I didn’t touch what belonged to other people.

I didn’t play second fiddle for anyone. And I didn’t sneak around or cheat. I didn’t do messy relationships for a start. Or complications.

I didn’t have time for that kind of involvement anyway, but there was a certain integrity to be upheld when I invited men into my bed. If they were single and free to do what they wanted, then hell yes, the more the merrier. If they were in a mutually open relationship, hell yes, the more the merrier. If they were a couple who liked to enjoy a third, hell fucking yes.

But if a guy was looking to be unfaithful to his boyfriend or husband, then absolutely not. I’d had guys tell me we should fuck anyway because my conscience was clear, but that wasn’t the point. Relationships were a big fucking deal; a matter of heart and trust. And if a guy thought nothing of that, then he certainly was never getting a piece of me.

One-night stands, casual fuck-buddies, blowjobs in nightclub bathrooms were all part of any given weekend for me. But in the clubs I went to, in the bars I frequented, I knew who was single, and I knew with just one look who was lying.

I swam back to the ladder and climbed up, drying off before wrapping the towel around me and tying it off at my waist, just as Foster was coming back up out of the cabin with a tray.

“Back already?” he asked, sliding it onto the seat. “Let me just grab the coffee.”

I sat down, water dripping from my hair, running down my neck. It felt nice against the breeze. It was just after six o’clock in the morning and it was already warm. I let the towel fall open a bit, not being crude, but revealing enough that he’d notice.

Foster reappeared with a plunger of coffee and two cups. I took one and he poured me a cup before filling his and sitting on the other side of the tray. And yes, he noticed how my towel was open just so. He licked his lips and looked at my face. “How was the water?”

“Perfect.”

He met my eyes then, his cheeks tinting pink, knowing he’d been caught. Then he shook his head a little, as if to clear it, and nodded at the tray. “Yoghurt, granola, fruit. Help yourself. I get the organic granola that’s made locally.”

“Looks healthy,” I said. And it did. Beautiful, even. “With a diet like this, it’s no wonder you look so good.”

He sipped his coffee and blushed some more before putting his cup on the tray and taking a bowl of yoghurt. “It’s a pretty physical job. It’s not hard to stay in shape. I can make you some eggs on toast if you’d prefer?”

I watched him pile on some granola and berries. “No, this is perfect,” I replied. “The swim and the sunrise… It’s kind of a spectacular way to start a day. You won’t ever get tired of it?”

He snorted. “Never.”

I hated to delve into personal-question territory, but I needed to ask this before I went any further with the whole flirt-and-playful routine. “So, this is your house, so to speak. No port you call home? No special someone who expects you to moor your yacht next to his? Or hers?”

He chewed his mouthful thoughtfully, and he smiled as he swallowed. “No port, as such. I have a post office box in Cairns and a registered mooring. If that makes Cairns home, I’m not sure. I guess it does.”

He left my other question unanswered. Or maybe that was his way of answering it. I couldn’t deny I was a little disappointed; he was gorgeous and clearly very good with his hands, and I was certain that would be the same in bed. But it just wasn’t meant to be. I put my coffee down and fixed my towel, covering myself completely. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

He seemed amused by my reaction, and curious. He ate his yoghurt while I served some up for myself, and we watched the sunrise in silence. He kept glancing at me, his smile widening each time, and eventually I raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s so funny?”

He put his empty bowl back on the tray. “Were you trying to ask if there’s anyone in my life who would mind me sailing around the tropics alone with a hot single guy who wears tiny white Speedos?”

“Maybe.” I licked my spoon and he watched. “I don’t touch what belongs to someone else.”

His gaze met mine, and he tilted his head just a bit. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. A slow smile crept across his lips. “Something funny about that?”

“No, not at all. I just got the impression that you were—” He made a face. “—open to whatever might come your way.”

“You thought I was some corporate financial hotshot who’d have anyone he wanted in his bed, whenever he wanted? Fast deals, fast cars, fast sex, not caring about collateral damage.”

“I’ve lived in your world, remember?” he said, his gaze unflinching. “I know how it is. It’s fast and full on. You have power in certain circles and men are drawn to that.”

I heard what he was saying, and one thing I’d learned in my career was that criticism was quite often harshest when it hit close to home. I’d also learned how to let it roll off me. I put my bowl down and shrugged. “True. Sure, I’ve had guys offer to suck my dick under my desk if they thought it would get them a sweeter deal. But if you truly know what it’s like in my world and what it’s like to be the best, then you’d know I do background checks on every person who crosses my path, and I know if they’re dating, engaged, married, divorced, straight, bi, gay. If they’re anything but single, they’re not on my radar.” I popped a blueberry in my mouth. “Plus, I don’t have anyone from the corporate world in my bed. I like to be fucked into the mattress, and the very last thing I need is to meet an acquaintance in a boardroom, if you know what I mean. They can hold all the power in the bedroom they want, but I would never let anyone hold that kind of power over me in my job.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek and studied the coastline for a while, a dozen different emotions flickering over his face. Was my comment about being fucked into the mattress too much? Did it make him uncomfortable? Did he like it? He stared out at the ocean, not giving much away. After a while, he said, “I’m not seeing anyone. No one to moor my yacht next to, as you put it, and certainly no one to care if I spend two weeks with a guy wearing tiny white Speedos.”

“Hot guy,” I amended, trying not to smile.

He shot me an incredulous look. “Pardon?”

“Before, you said ‘hot guy wearing tiny white Speedos.’ I was correcting you.”

He grinned, the eye-crinkling kind, and held my stare. “Silly me. I forgot what kind of arrogance it took to run in M&A.”

I smirked at him and hitched the towel up my thighs so the fabric bunched over my dick. “Don’t confuse arrogance with honesty.”

He looked down at my display of skin, his eyes raking over me like a touch. I pushed the knot of the towel at my waist past my navel, revealing more skin and my happy trail, and gave my dick a palm as I stretched my legs out. The droplets of water on my skin were replaced with sweat. “You were right about one thing though,” I said. “The sunrise is as pretty as the sunset, but boy, it sure is hot already.”

Foster bit back a groan, shot to his feet, and leapt up to the back of the yacht, taking his shirt off as he went. “I’m just gonna cool off,” he said before I heard the splash behind me.

I laughed and gave my dick a squeeze. So he was single and interested. It was just his ‘no sex with clients’ rule that was holding him back, which I was sure he was warring with right then. But I knew I’d win, I always did. He’d give in eventually. It was like catching fish; you had to let out a little line before you could reel them in. So I could act coy, show some skin, be forthright, and be downright slutty. He was a smart man, economically minded, and I could match him in intellectual conversation, stimulating his mind while wearing nothing but my white Speedos, stimulating him elsewhere. Oh yes, playful flirting was my very favourite mating ritual.

I got up on my knees and peered over the back of the yacht. He was just a few metres away, treading water and smiling. “Feel better?” I asked.

He laughed and shook his head but swam back to the ladder and climbed aboard. He was dripping wet, his hair slicked back, his board shorts clinging to his body and bunching in all the right places. Realising he’d forgotten a towel in his haste to cool off, I stood up and undid my towel and threw it to him. He caught it and rubbed it over his hair and face, then he held it to his chest but stopped when he realised I was now standing there wearing nothing but my swimmers. My tiny white swimmers that barely hid my semi-hard dick. All this thinking about reeling him into the bedroom was turning me on. I stood there pleased and proud while he ogled me, letting him know what he could have if he wanted.

He blinked out of his trance and patted his face again with the towel. Oh yes, he’d give in for sure. Smiling, I picked up the breakfast tray. “I’ll take care of this,” I said. “While you take care of…” I glanced at his crotch. I didn’t need to finish my sentence.

I already had the sink full of hot soapy water when he came down into the galley. He seemed to have collected himself and didn’t baulk at seeing me still wearing just my Speedos. “Is there something wrong with the dishwasher?” he asked like he was trying very hard not to look below eye level.

“Not at all. But it’s two plates, two spoons, two cups. Won’t take a second.”

He frowned. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” I ignored him and had the few things washed before he could argue. I grabbed the tea towel and picked one of the bowls, then leaned against the sink as I dried it. “Aren’t we sailing northeast soon?”

I wondered how much restraint it took for him to maintain eye contact, given my attire. “Ah, yeah. Did you want to wear some shorts or something…?”

I smirked at him. “Are there any safety rules regarding the wearing of swimwear while sailing?”

“No.”

“Then, no. I’m fine wearing this. Are you fine with me wearing this?”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw bulged, and he fought a smile. But he said nothing. So I put the dried bowl down and took the other one, then proceeded to dry it while biting my bottom lip so I didn’t grin too hard. “I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it.”