Those fucking white Speedos. And that fucking smirk. And those damn eyes, and that trail of dark hair that disappeared behind the fabric that barely concealed anything. His defined thighs, his abs, his shoulders… Did I mention his smirk?

Get a grip, Foster. You’ve dealt with guys like him before.

All bravado and ego. Though I was sure something was different with him. He was vulnerable here, trying to de-stress and re-evaluate his life, his career choice. Yet he still had that air of righteousness. What did he tell me? Not to confuse arrogance with honesty?

God, wasn’t that the truth.

The problem was, when I looked at him, I saw myself. Ten years ago, I was just like him. And maybe it was arrogance, but it stemmed from being the best. Me saying I was the best in mergers and acquisitions wasn’t arrogance; it was the truth.

So Stuart saying that to me struck a familiar chord, a memory of who I used to be. I didn’t miss my old life, not one part of it. I prided myself on excellence back then, as I still did today. Only now my office wasn’t at the top of a building in Sydney or Singapore. It was a fourteen-metre yacht and my market was the Whitsundays.

No, I didn’t miss my old life.

But I did miss the challenge of coming out on top. Seeing who could hold their ground the longest, who had the balls to wait until the other folded under pressure.

And I wondered which of us, me or Stuart, would fold first.

He was playing me, hard. He was putting on a show, playing with words and innuendos, hitching his towel to reveal the silken skin where his thigh met his hip. Giving me the hottest set of “take me to bed and fuck me” eyes I’d ever seen, and his tongue would caress his bottom lip and I wanted to taste it, to suck it into my mouth, and…

Fucking hell.

At this rate, I’d need to dive into the water every twenty minutes. Having to remove myself and throw myself into the ocean, just so I didn’t bend him over the control panel and teach him a lesson for teasing me, was bad enough.

God, now I was thinking about doing that.

But I liked how he’d backed off when he thought I was already taken. I liked how he had standards in regards to not bedding just anyone. Jesus, when I’d been in his shoes a decade ago, I hadn’t much cared for rules. Willing and condoms were the only two rules I had.

I wasn’t wrong when I said men threw themselves at powerful people, and if they’d looked at me twice, there was an exchange of bodily fluids soon after. It wasn’t as though I never cared if they wore wedding rings or not, it was that I never thought to notice.

I didn’t then, but I would now.

Stuart was a new generation of financier. And although I didn’t miss my old life, I did envy him a little. The power was a pedestal, and guys either wanted to be him or wanted to be with him, and that was a heady thing. But even after only a day, I could tell he had integrity, and that was something that couldn’t be bought.

He also had a hot arse and those freakin’ Speedos framed it like a work of art.

I was pretty certain it’d be me who folded first.

He was playing me like a violin, and I couldn’t even be pissed about it. The rules I’d enforced when I first started this private charter business were getting a little hazy around the edges, and I was just waiting to give in to him.

After he’d tidied up from breakfast—which was my job, not his—he clapped his hands together. “Right then, Captain. Show me how you sail.”

“You need a floatation device on before we go anywhere.”

“Really?”

“If you intend to be on deck with me, yes.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

I got the waist belt floatation device out and held it up. “Here, put this on.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Is that a bum-bag or a belt?”

“Were you expecting floaties?” I snorted. “They’ve come a long way since the old life vests.”

He laughed and clipped it on, but it was kind of loose on his trim waist. He bit his bottom lip. “I don’t think this one is tight enough,” he said, holding the strap and grinning at me.

Of course he had it so the clasp was sitting right above his crotch. I looked him right in the eye and pulled it, hard. His whole body jerked forward with the movement, so we were almost touching. And of course he stared up at me and grinned. “How’s that?” I asked.

“So much better,” he whispered. His smile became something dirty and flirty.

He was being all cute and shit, which I didn’t mind one bit. And truthfully, pulling up anchor and sailing was a much-needed distraction. I gave him orders and he followed them to the letter. He was astute, careful, and never questioned my authority or knowledge. He was the perfect student.

He was also wearing nothing but Speedos and the belt, grinning into the wind. He even put up his hand and let out a ‘woo-hoo’ as we hit top speed, the look on his face one of complete joy and freedom.

I knew exactly how he felt.

I took us away from the coastline. Though the water under us was deep, it was crystal-clear and azure blue. “You know where you’re going, right?” he yelled over the wind.

I laughed, and letting go of the wheel, I waved him over to the GPS which showed our position on the chart. It was more protected in the cockpit near the cabin so I didn’t have to yell. “See here?” I pointed to our destination. “At this speed, we’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

The wind tousled his hair, and for the first time since I’d met him, he had life in his eyes. “This is incredible!”

“I know.” I took him back to the wheel. “Stand here,” I instructed. “Keep her steady.”

The shine in his eyes deepened and the span of his grin grew wider. He hadn’t stopped grinning yet. I pointed out our direction and he nodded, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a client enjoy sailing so much. I’d never had anyone want to learn, and I’d certainly never had one-on-one lessons. I’d always loved sailing. Always. But there was something special about experiencing the joy of his first time at the helm.

I let him bring it around the bottom of the reef and I dropped the mainsail, and once it was done, I turned to find him glued to his post, grinning from ear to ear. It did stupid things to my heart, and I told myself I was just caught up in his excitement. And I was; it was true. But the way my belly tightened was something else entirely.

I joined him at the wheel, liking the excuse to stand close to him. We’d slowed down considerably with just the jib, but there was something peaceful about the lazy pace. “We’re going to bring her around and follow the reef line. Keep an eye on your depth.”

I knew these waters and we had plenty of room under keel, but he didn’t know that. His gaze focused, his attention sharp, and he did everything right. I lowered the jib and secured the line and sighed. “This is my favourite part,” I said. “This, when the sails come down and we just…” I put my hands out and moved to the beat of the ocean. “There’s a peacefulness you won’t find anywhere else.”

Stuart nodded like he understood completely. “I have never seen any place so beautiful,” he said, taking in the sights at every direction. “And the silence? I could get used to this.” Then he put his hand on my arm. “Thank you.”

He said it with such sincerity, I couldn’t doubt it came from his heart. “You’re welcome.”

“Can I swim here?”

I looked out behind the yacht. “Yeah, of course.”

While he ducked below deck to grab his things, I dropped anchor and pulled over the sun visor. Stuart came back up, vest gone, towel draped over his arm, and the bottle of sunscreen in his hand. He held it out to me. “Would you mind?”

I took it and rolled my eyes. “It’s not exactly a hardship.”

He chuckled and turned around, giving me his back. I applied sunscreen, covering his back and the nape of his neck, rubbing his shoulders, and even giving him a little massage. “You’re not so tense today,” I said.

“Imagine how relaxed you could get me,” he said, his voice low. I dug my thumbs into the knot of his shoulders, intending it as a jab to what he said, but he moaned instead. “Jesus, your hands…”

I dropped them and took a small step back. “You’re done.”

He turned to face me, his imploring gaze full of mischief. “Would you mind terribly doing my front? I’d hate to get sunscreen on your yacht.”

I stared at him. And Jesus, he was being serious.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He looked around the cockpit. “I know. That’s why I asked. I’d hate to get sunscreen on your seat or your ladder when I hold on.”

I fought a smile. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I know.” He sighed dramatically. “Well, if you won’t do it for me, could you watch me do it and point out any parts I miss? I’d hate to get sunburnt.” He dropped his towel onto the seat and made a show of pouring sunscreen onto his palm. How could he make that sexual? God, it may as well be honey, or lube, or any-fucking-thing I’d like to lick off him.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then he rubbed it all over his chest, his abs, down below his navel… and his eyes never left mine. His tongue peeked out at the corner of his mouth, and he stretched his neck and rubbed one hand over his throat while his other hand slipped just under his Speedos. It made me look at the bulge barely concealed by his swimmers. “Did I get everywhere, Foster?”

I swallowed hard and forced myself to make eye contact. “You were pretty thorough, yeah.”

One corner of his mouth rose in a sexy-as-hell smirk. “I’ve been told that before.”

My nostrils flared. “You don’t play fair.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not playing.”

Fuck.

Sure, it was summer, and sure it was the tropics, but that had nothing to do with the sweat that beaded all over my body. I let out a shaky breath and reached up to a line of sunscreen he’d missed under his eye and smeared it with the pad of my thumb. I wanted to slide my thumb across his lip. I wanted to slip it into his mouth, let him suck on it…

“Join me,” he whispered. “You know you want to.”

I knew exactly where we’d end up if we got into the water together. “I was going to make a start on an early lunch,” I replied. There was no conviction in my voice, and he knew it.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I’m not hungry for food.” Then he turned, collected his towel, which he dropped near the ladder, and dived into the water.

I all but collapsed onto the seat, taking in deep breaths. I wiped my forehead, my face, and felt my heart hammering in my chest. Jesus, Lord have mercy, he was going to kill me.

I shouldn’t encourage this. I should have told him when this whole playful flirting thing started that it was a no-go. I had rules in place for a reason. I had a business, a reputation.

I also had a hard-on that wasn’t going away any time soon.

I had urges and desires that I hadn’t wanted to act on with anyone else. Then Stuart Fucking Jenner boarded my yacht and everything went to hell.

I should go down to the galley and prepare some lunch. I should turn on the TV for a distraction, or read a book, or go into my bathroom and take care of my aching dick, thinking about anything but him.

Him in the water, just a few metres away. Him, with the come-fuck-me eyes, who wants me to join him—and not just join him in the water. Him, with the scorching hot body who’s offering himself to me. Him, yes him.

I should not want him. I should not want this. And most of all, I should not get into the water with him. I knew how it would end. I would dive into the water with him, and he’d swim over to me with that devastating smile, and he’d reach out for me and I’d pull him close. He’d wrap his legs around me and I’d tread water, holding us both up, and he’d crush his mouth to mine. I’d finally get to taste him, to have that gorgeous pink tongue of his in my mouth, and then we’d bring it on board. On the deck, on the cockpit seat, down in the cabin, on the floor, on the table, in his bed, in mine.

“Fuck.”

I stood up, pulled my shirt over my head, took two long strides, and dived headfirst into the water.