He had planned to contact his partner after the ride and set up a meeting at the hotel, maybe over a power lunch, definitely on turf he owned. Not meet him riding a horse, in a jungle filled with platter-sized spiders and wild creatures that were best viewed behind glass in a zoo. No way was he admitting who he was, not until he was back to the hotel, in a suit, behind a desk.
“We’re almost to the rest point. We’ll have a water break, then head back to the barn before lunch,” Ryan called out to the group. Trigger must have liked that idea because he settled and investigated the foliage, like Brownie.
“How many rides do you run a day?” Jordan guessed it would take quite a few rides of five clients to pay for Trigger’s ocean passage from the States to Bendura.
“Depends on the need. We usually have a larger crowd, but I’m short a couple guides today. I don’t usually do the morning rides.”
“Where did your guides go?”
“They’re hungover.” Ryan grinned. “I didn’t want them hanging off a horse, puking. The guests frown on that.”
“Hungover.” Five clients, two irresponsible guides, lots of business turned away…Trigger probably had to swim over, packing his own feed. No wonder the horse was pissed about being here.
“It’s not every day you turn twenty-one. Granted, they’ve been legal here for a few years, but there’s nothing like being legal at home to spark a celebration here.” Ryan tipped his hat and smiled in a way that said he remembered his own twenty-one celebration too well.
“You allow that?” Drink and be sick on your own fucking time or swim home. That would be Jordan’s stance.
Ryan shrugged, his shoulders brushing brown hair that flowed from under the baseball hat. “I’m the boss. I make the rules.”
Jordan frowned. If the man hadn’t just shown him incredible skill in the saddle, Jordan would lump him in with the idiots of the island. He wasn’t very good with the business side if he was turning away clients to allow employees to get drunk. But he was one hell of a horseman. All of this set him on edge because Blake was no fool. Cowboy easy-crazy had to be an act of some sort. He whipped out his cell to text his PA back home in Manhattan and realized there were no bars. Not even a whisper of service.
Jordan must have looked horrified, because Ryan said, “Yeah, cells don’t work out here, unless you’ve got a sat phone.”
Jordan broke out into a cold sweat. “Jesus, what do you do without service?”
Ryan laughed, a throaty sound deep from his lean gut that tugged at Jordan’s stomach. “People have lived a long time without cell phones. You’re on vacation.”
“I’m on vacation, yes, but you’re out here, on that evil horse, with no cell.” What if Trigger dumped Ryan for real? That was stupid. They were on the side of a fucking volcano, and it wasn’t like an ambulance would race to the rescue. But Ryan could get airlifted to safety, right?
“Chill. I have a sat phone,” Ryan said, chuckling, his tone implying that Jordan was a pussy. “I can ride anything. Trigger is a walk in the park.”
“I wasn’t not relaxed,” Jordan said, pissed, because he was anything but a pussy in the office. At work he was in his element, with a cell phone so he could summon the masses to do his bidding, not on the side of a fucking, hopefully extinct, volcano with a rugged cowboy and fractious horses.
“Maybe you just need a good, long ride to unwind you more.”
Oh God, the way he said long ride made Jordan’s brain fuzzy, his mouth dry. It was the fresh air and sunshine, messing with his brain. He hadn’t gotten this much fresh air since college when he played lacrosse. And now his ears were ringing, or something, because the jungle noises had faded against this dull roar. He was going crazy.
Ryan halted the horse and called back, “Everyone ready? Over this ridge is the reason why I fell in love with this island. Keep your eyes up going down the hill. Your horse will take care of you.”
Jordan hoped over the hill was a bar, stocked to the gills with Scotch and excellent cell service. But as Brownie topped the ridge, Jordan understood exactly what made Ryan fall, hard, and where Blake wanted his ashes set free.
Out of the lush jungle, off the side of the imposing volcano, flowed a waterfall. Not the kind you could go over in a barrel, either. This one streamed down like some entity had turned on a huge hose and aimed it over the rocks above, down to this crystal pool at the bottom. The kind of waterfall you wanted to sprint around naked under, like a shower, then dive off the rocks into the pool below. Then climb out and have wild sex like crazed teens on the rocks.
Fresh air. Too much sunshine, too.
Jordan took a deep breath of the imposing oxygen and wondered if one, he owned said waterfall he wanted to have sex under. Two, how much would said waterfall net him in the sale.
Three, how much would it cost him to get Ryan to bring him back here. Alone. To lay Blake to rest, sure, but if that weren’t on the agenda, he’d still make that trip. No, that wasn’t right. He should want to have lunch with Ryan, get to know him like a true business partner, not celebrate hedonism like Blake would.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ryan murmured.
“You think Trigger’s seen a waterfall before?”
“No waterfalls like this in Texas.” Ryan smiled serenely at Jordan. “I left a whole world behind for this waterfall. Crazy, I know. But every time I see it, especially at this time of the day…kind of drives home why I did this.”
“The rides don’t usually come here?”
“No. This is a special trip. Usually we take clients down the beach to play in the waves. There’s a trip Saturday night that goes out to a location where we have a feast, complete with roast pig, fresh fish and seafood, and traditional island entertainment—called a
meke
. The riders stay the night in beach bungalows and we return the next morning at sunrise. We have five different trips, so clients can go out every day and see a different aspect of the island. But we only do this ride under certain circumstances, and we only take a small group.”
How had his PA known this was the trip Jordan had to take? Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so anxious about not having a cell phone. If Brownie tumbled down the hill, he was already one step closer to heaven.
But Brownie was as sure-footed as a garden gnome, meandering along in that plod of his between the dark volcanic rocks. The plants here were softer, and a few had flowers of some sort. Pretty. Not tasty, because Brownie let them be. Finally, the group came to rest at the bottom, halting next to the crystal clear pool of water.
The waterfall was actually farther away than he realized, because Ryan only had to shout a little to be heard. “The story told by the islanders is that a brave warrior of sorts sat on those rocks up there,” he pointed to an outcrop near the origin of the waterfall, “and watched the ocean for his love to come back from a wedding trip on another island. There was no waterfall or pool at the time.
“But a cyclone blew in and he was sure his sweetheart had perished. So he dove off those rocks to his death, only to be found later in the day by his soul mate who had survived the storm. The waterfall appeared, representing the tears of the couple, the pool a tribute to their undying love.”
The other clients oohed and ahhed at Ryan’s crock-of-shit story, probably the traditional, cliché crap every tourist expected to hear about a waterfall. Jordan snorted and shook his head.
“What,” Ryan asked, laughter sparking in his blue eyes as he dismounted from the quiet Trigger. “Don’t believe in the power of love?”
“No woman is worth diving off a cliff for.” At least none he had met thus far. He knew a lot of women, and for some reason, not a one did it for him. It wasn’t like he had a shitty past, either. His parents were happily married, as were his grandparents. There was absolutely no reason for him to think that way, except for the fact that he hadn’t met the right one, he guessed.
“Who said he dove off for a woman?” Ryan’s smile turned knowing, as if he held all the secrets and Jordan had none.
Jordan’s heart picked up the pace a little, his palms sweaty on the reins, unsure if Ryan was proclaiming his sexuality or challenging Jordan’s. Blake had been gay but had never mentioned if his business partner’s tastes followed suit.
Ryan walked his horse over to a hitching post of sorts, Jordan’s gaze glued on him, the firm thighs that would be corded muscle under the jeans. All lean and wiry, hard. Rugged. Powerful. As a jungle virgin, Jordan definitely wanted power at the helm, hardness wrapped in a package of sexy, blue-eyed cowboy.
Jordan bit back a groan of frustration. It wasn’t like him, thinking that way about a man. Fresh air, sunshine. It was a bad, bad thing.
Ryan McCale glanced back at Jordan Hill—Blake Hill’s uptight,
über
-rich, powerful half-nephew—and decided his partner and best friend had been right. If Ryan shoved coal up Jordan’s ass, it would be a diamond by the end of the trail ride. Ryan relished a tight ass, but Jordan’s virginal one would turn his dick into diamonds or mush or something really unsavory. He was that uptight.
Jordan radiated control even though Blake had made damned sure he’d be out of his element when they finally met. He had warned Ryan, over and over, that the only way to get Jordan on his side was to show him the waterfall. If he hadn’t made Jordan come here, Bendura Island Resort would have been sold, sight unseen, lock, stock and barrel. Ryan wasn’t so sure at this point that Blake was right—or sane—to toss the two of them together like this.
His partner’s dying wish was twofold—Jordan was to see the island and meet Ryan. Why, he had no clue on either account, especially when Jordan had a built-in calculator ticking off the money as he assessed everything. Jordan could probably tell him how much each horse cost in hay, how much the hotel wasted in olives not used in martinis, and how much everything was going to be worth when he sold it. Ryan got that. He didn’t want it, but he got it.
But him needing to meet Jordan—Blake was a loon. The man was straight as an arrow, not a blip of gay on his gaydar, so there was no hope of a relationship or hookup. They had nothing in common to cement them as friends except their love for Blake. Jordan was all city and business, tailored suits and cuff links, dinner at ten, mimosas for breakfast. If Ryan wasn’t doing a tour or needed at the stable, he was naked on the beach, tanning or swimming, eating mangoes for breakfast and drinking rum with dinner at five-thirty.
Ryan had done the big city life as a lawyer at a powerful firm in Houston. He hadn’t been spewing lies when he said the waterfall changed everything. The falls had worked their magic, lured him into thinking his life was here, made him believe there was something better than nine-to-five, high-powered deals and loneliness.
After Mark had passed, Ryan’s life had been an empty shell until Blake had given him a chance to change it all. Now he lived the good life. Little stress, sun and surf, his first love—horses—every day, all day. He wouldn’t change a minute of it, not even for the chance to ease the gentle whisper of loneliness.
Given all that, Ryan should have a strong dislike for Jordan. But as he glanced over as Jordan dismounted from Brownie in the most uncoordinated fashion, he realized his mind and body disagreed. His mind said no-fucking-way, but his cock stirred as Jordan bent to unwrap the rein from Brownie’s front leg, his ass and thighs firm under those new jeans. Thank God for that horse. He was worth every ounce of his weight in oats. Jordan gathered the reins and stood.
Out of the corner of Ryan’s eye, he cast an assessing glance. The man was fucking hot. Five-tenish, expensive haircut styling his jet-black hair, dark brown eyes that glittered with intelligence and cynicism as he watched the other clients. He’d forgone the shave and the hint of stubble edged a strong jaw. Perfect nose—Jordan Hill wouldn’t have ever gotten into a fight. Firm lips, a dimple in his chin. His frame was lean yet muscular from hours at the gym, a body that would look good in those tailored suits. Actually, Jordan rocked the painfully new jeans and conservative blue polo shirt.
Just when Ryan was silently cursing Blake for being a fucking idiot on so many levels, he caught Jordan gazing at the waterfall again, something wistful etching his handsome face. A look crossed his handsome face that reminded Ryan so much of himself, five years ago as he stood on the same spot. Jordan turned then, and the depth of expression was anything but calculating and cynical.
There was surprise in the chocolate brown depths, giving way to the tiniest flare of desire as his pupils widened. His lips curved into the hint of a smile, one that stole Ryan’s breath, made him want to taste the firmness of Jordan’s lips. Too quickly, Jordan blinked twice and turned away, back to the waterfall and his thoughts.
Ryan’s libido sat up, took notice, and smacked the gaydar reader to see if it might be broken. When was the last time he’d been this aware of another man, especially a guest? Eons. He didn’t do casual and didn’t dare risk his heart after losing Mark. His mind warred with his body. His body was winning, breaking down the defenses, offering the glimpse of a waved white flag that said if Jordan were willing, perhaps his mind would allow it.
Maybe, just maybe, Blake wasn’t crazy. Maybe he knew something, sensed things Jordan didn’t know about himself. Blake had a gift for that, seeing the man underneath all of the armor and trappings, stripping him down to the barest essentials to reveal him as human at his finest. Maybe Ryan had a little more in common with Jordan after all.
But then Jordan shot him a peevish look, one that blew any hope of friendship out of the water. Ryan was wrong. Jordan had come, and he would conquer and sell. Blake had set up this meeting to annoy the living shit out of Ryan. Or maybe it was a challenge, to see how long Ryan could go without killing him. Blake had a warped sense of humor like that.
In any case, Ryan had the impossible task in front of him. Convince this uptight guy that this island was paradise? One he didn’t want to sell?
Impossible.
Chapter Two