So Jordan improvised. “What if I move into your spare room and make your life miserable every day? I’m a neat freak. You’d go offer yourself to the volcano gods after a week of me and be dead. Dead men don’t care if their land is sold.”
He expected Ryan to be pissed, but he just laughed that easy, intoxicating laugh of his. “Bring it. The house needs a good cleaning.”
“You sound so sure.”
“Watching you squirm about an extinct volcano is a freaking hoot and a half. I’ll just amuse myself with finding things to piss you off, of which I’m sure there are many. We have huge spiders, Jordan. Huge. I’ll make sure they find you.”
Jordan hated spiders, with a passion. Real men with power and huge fortunes didn’t hate little wiggly bugs with eight legs. Fuck Blake for sharing his secret. “Fuck you, huge spiders. I’m not afraid. In fact, bring it, asshole.”
“And you’ve kissed me with that filthy mouth.” Ryan grinned.
Jesus, yes. Yes, he had. Wanted to kiss him again. Maybe that was the problem, not grief. Ryan’s hand had come to rest just inches from his thigh. He wished his cock had ears, because he’d tell it to be still. Lie down. Wait. Ignore the annoyingly handsome man at the wheel. “Don’t remind me.”
“Regrets?” Ryan’s tone turned serious, his eyes a little darker.
“Lots. None of them about last night, though. I just didn’t want to be reminded of your hot mouth. It’s not seven.”
Ryan nodded. “What do you regret, then?”
Jordan closed his eyes and took in a ragged breath, suddenly unable to deal with the emotions. Too fucking many. Grief, lust, unease. They didn’t mix well, either, his stomach unsettled, palms sweaty. He tried to move the lump in his throat, beat it back down to his gut, but it remained seated, locked around his Adam’s apple.
“Why didn’t I come when Blake asked? He knew he was sick, but he didn’t say, ‘Gee, I’m sick, this could be it, buddy.’ I would have come in a heartbeat.”
Ryan pulled the truck to the side of the road where it widened just a bit, overlooking the sea. “That wasn’t Blake.”
“He knew. If I knew—”
“Blake didn’t want you to come because he was sick. He wanted you to come because
you
wanted to be here.”
“Then why didn’t I want to be here?” The words were out before he could stop them. Did it matter in the grand scheme of things? He didn’t like vacations. He didn’t like tropical resorts. But Blake had been here, and he’d put up with a hell of a lot of things he hated over the years for Blake. Like spinach pizza. Hated it, but would suffer through when it was Blake’s night to buy. Or those stupid comic book take-off movies. Hated those, too, but he went if Blake was in town, just to be with him.
So why?
Ryan said, “I think that’s the question you need to answer this weekend. What is it about Bendura, about Blake’s dream, that scares you?”
Jordan’s eyes opened to see Ryan leaning against the door of the truck, the ocean behind him, rivaling the color of his eyes. Jordan wanted to squeeze his eyes tight, to block out the pain and lust, but forced himself to maintain eye contact, not wanting to look weak. “I’m not scared.”
But Ryan was right. He was terrified for some reason, scared shitless about this entire weekend. He’d been leery before Blake tried to tempt him here and he was as skittish as Trigger about the whole island thing now.
Ryan shot him a skeptical glance. “If you say so.”
Christ, Ryan was worse than the therapist his dad had made him see after his accident, to make sure he wasn’t mentally scarred for life. Lot of good that did. “Okay, so let’s say I am apprehensive about Blake’s vision. Finding out why will give me…what.”
“Peace.” Ryan reached over and took Jordan’s hand, despite it being warm and sweaty. The look in Ryan’s blue eyes was knowing, and Jordan felt a stab of jealousy because he was out of the loop. Ryan held his gaze and lifted Jordan’s hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back, right by his knuckles. The contact was something Jordan felt way down in his groin, his dick throbbing again.
“Peace,” Jordan repeated, more for something to focus on than anything. He’d never been overcome by lust before, the need to shove his cock inside of some willing part of Ryan almost too much to bear. He blamed the fresh air again.
“I don’t think this trip isn’t about you relaxing. It’s about you finding peace. I don’t know with what, but definitely yourself, probably Blake.”
Jordan swallowed, and the lump in his throat finally let go of his Adam’s apple. “You can’t buy peace. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to buy a lot of things. Blake new kidneys. My dad, relief from the pain he’s in. My mom, sanity. You can’t buy any of that shit. Money only gets you great seats for a ball game.”
Ryan nodded. “Maybe you’re afraid of the things you can’t buy.”
“That’s stupid.” But it wasn’t, not if you thought about the huge, long list of things not for sale. Blake had found a lot of those, right here.
Ryan’s thumb drew a lazy pattern over Jordan’s hand, the motion both exciting and oddly soothing. “What haven’t you tried to buy?”
Jordan swallowed, in desperate need of something—anything—less emotional. “A volcano?”
Ryan laughed. “And what have you bought for yourself lately?”
Jordan opened his mouth to say companies, lots and lots of companies, factories, hotels, industries, you name it. But did he buy them for him? No. He bought and sold them because they made him lots of money and gave him endless power and control. When had he bought something for him? Just for him? “A Hawaiian shirt.”
“You bought that for me,” Ryan reminded him softly. He studied Jordan for a long moment, his expression one that reminded him of a wise elder sharing the secrets of the world. Ryan was two years older, so how that could be, Jordan had no clue. “I have a challenge for you.”
“Jesus, no.”
Ryan laughed again. “You’ll like this challenge. You have to buy something for
you
this weekend.”
“Me.” No one had ever ordered him to buy something for himself. Ever.
“You. Something that you won’t want to sell, either. Like artwork, for example. I’d love to see you buy something that moves you.”
Jordan’s heart lifted. This was easy. “Sell me the waterfall painting.”
“Nope. Something else. It can be a finger painting from a little kid or something from the marketplace. But it has to be something you would keep.”
“Okay. I can handle that. I don’t think I’m going to find anything I want to keep because I’m the ultimate consumer and salesperson. But what the hell.”
“So optimistic.”
“It’s hard to be optimistic when it’s eleven o’-fucking-clock and I can’t touch you until seven. That’s eight-fucking-hours away.”
Ryan laughed, and Jordan hated that one man could get such joy from his discomfort. “I said you can touch or kiss anything above the waist. All you had to do was ask. And here I thought I’d taught you something last night.”
“Last night was a fluke.” Jordan growled with frustration. “I don’t ask. I demand, command, order and tack a please on the end so people think I’m asking. Somehow, demanding that you kiss me in front of your horny employee didn’t seem to be the right thing to do.”
“Meg just broke up with her boyfriend, and you’re hot. You can’t fault her for trying to get you in bed. Hell, I did.”
“You succeeded,” Jordan corrected. Ryan had succeeded in a lot of things, not all sexual, either. It made him hot, bothered, and grumpy. “Damn it.”
“All you have to do is ask,” Ryan tempted. “What do you want, Jordan?”
“I want you to fuck me. Please.”
Ryan chuckled. Seriously, the man was too amusing. “That sounded like an order with please tacked onto the end to make me think you were asking.”
“You think this is so funny. Fuck you, sitting there, not the least bit hot and bothered by any of this.”
“I’m hot and bothered. I’ve had a raging hard-on since we left the barn. I’ve wanted to kiss you a zillion times, and if hay weren’t so scratchy, I would have shown you the hayloft and how hard I can fuck you against a bale or two. But hay is not soft or romantic and will leave you with these itchy bumps all over your pale skin.”
“You hide it well.” Relief washed over Jordan, knowing Ryan was just as turned on, just as bothered. And in another first, Jordan could label what he was feeling as insecure. Him, imagine that.
Ryan blinked as he sat across the truck from a very agitated yet handsome-as-hell Jordan. He’d spent so many years hiding how he felt in public when Mark was with him that hiding it with Jordan was second nature. Plus, a relationship with a man was new territory for Jordan and though he seemed comfortable in the bedroom, proclaiming one’s sexual orientation in public wasn’t easy.
Ryan cocked his head. “So that’s part of your problem. It pisses you off that you’re horny, and I’m not looking horny.”
“Part of it.” Jordan blew out a breath, definitely annoyed. “Yes.”
Ryan swallowed in discomfort, because sharing anything about his past life with Mark hurt, even the less than stellar points. “Mark was in the closet. He didn’t want the world knowing, so I learned to hide how I felt to make his life easier. I want you, Jordan. Don’t think I don’t.”
Jordan’s deep brown eyes flared with lust, his breathing shallow. For a moment, Ryan saw it all on Jordan’s handsome face, the vulnerability, the rawness of emotion, and the sadness. This wasn’t the business mogul, the tyrant of Wall Street. This was the man who Blake loved so desperately, and that man hurt like a motherfucker.
“I…” Jordan’s Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice. “I need you. Please? I just don’t know what to ask.”
“Come here,” Ryan said, his voice sounding a bit graveled. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed being needed for something other than fixing the computer or smoothing out relations with disgruntled clients. Jordan needed him and it was empowering.
Jordan slid closer on the truck seat, his thigh against the stick shift. Ryan leaned over and kissed his firm lips, hesitating just a second before letting his tongue slip between them.
Jordan opened his mouth, meeting him halfway with his tongue, his kiss more demanding, deeper, dragging Ryan down the path of excitement and lust at Mach speed. Ryan’s cock went from semi-hard to fully awake, ready to explode, and the heat radiating from his body had nothing to do with the humidity cranking up.
How could need ratchet up that quickly for a man he barely knew? A small voice whispered that he knew Jordan too well. Blake had laid the groundwork, as if he’d known the level of intimacy Ryan would need to connect with Jordan. Blake had obviously told Jordan very little, and he got it. Jordan was a runner, and if he had thought for a moment this would happen, he would have sprinted to the other side of the world.
But Jordan also was an in-the-moment guy, just like Blake. Blake always said if life surprised Jordan with oranges, he would make juice and marmalade and would sell it all for a profit. But if Jordan were forewarned there were oranges, he would run.
“There,” Ryan said as he ended the kiss, his hand lingering in Jordan’s shorter hair, loving how his nape had a cowlick. “Feel better?”
“I won’t feel better until seven.”
“Neither will I, but we have a mission. If we go back to the house and have sex, the only thing you’ll be sure of is which sexual position you like better, and that won’t help with your decisions.”
“Fucking fresh air,” Jordan muttered.
“What?”
“Fresh air. That’s what my problem is. Fresh air made me want to swim naked, made me attracted to you. The real me doesn’t do these things. Never. Since New York City’s air is anything but fresh, that has to be the problem.”
Leave it to Jordan to rationalize his issues with non-polluted air. “You ever stop to think maybe Blake knew what he was doing when he dragged you here?”
“No. The fresh air screwed up his mind, too.”
Ryan hid a smile, wanting to choke sense into Jordan, but instead, he chose to point out Jordan’s obvious solution. “Well, when you go back to the pollution at the beginning of the week, you’ll know the truth, won’t you.”
“I hope so.” Jordan closed his eyes, breathing deep.
Losing Blake had hit Ryan just as hard, but he sensed in Jordan’s world, Blake was probably the only voice of sanity and clarity, calling him back from the stress of high-powered deals and the running of an empire. Maybe Jordan’s need to touch him stemmed from that loss.
Ryan turned down the road that would take them into the village and hoped to hell this morning’s adventure would show Jordan what the island and her people needed—Jordan. Not a developer. Not some uncaring person that didn’t get Blake’s vision. No, the island needed Jordan and his ability to make juice and marmalade out of the oranges he’d been surprised with, but then sell them for the good of the people. Ryan hoped Jordan figured it out long before his return trip home.
A tiny voice asked what Ryan wanted…what he needed. He smacked that down quick. Ryan wasn’t even going to contemplate what he needed. Not when too much hung in the balance.
Chapter Six
“Your challenge here at the marketplace is to find something you enjoy,” Ryan reminded Jordan with mock sternness.
Jordan rolled his eyes as they parked the truck in the lot by the market place and got out, Ryan pocketing the keys. The street was crowded with tourists from the hotel and villagers, the tourists easily recognizable with their cameras and more leisurely attitude. The villagers were eager to get their shopping done and get on with life.
Jordan slid sunglasses on his face and whispered, “Is the challenge going to self-destruct in fifteen seconds?”
“Smart ass,” Ryan muttered but grinned.
Jordan didn’t grin back, since he was pissed about the whole challenge thing. Having to resist kissing Ryan senseless and then fucking him in the back of the truck proved to be enough of a challenge. But Jordan rose to the occasion like a gentleman and took his place at Ryan’s side.
“Fresh air,” Jordan groaned for what seemed the millionth time that day, and it was eleven-fifteen. The man knew how to brew up a hard challenge, for sure. “You think I can find moving artwork, here, in a flea market?”