Page 1 of Takeover
Chapter One
Michael Sebastian satat the poolside bar of his hotel, nursed a gin and tonic, and wondered how the hell he could have spent the past five nights in Curaçao and not gotten laid. Here he was on the most gay-friendly island in the Caribbean during the last night of his vacation, sulking in a nearly empty bar rather than being out on the town.
Lack of sex wasn’t for the absence of beautiful, willing men. No, there were plenty of those, even in the staid environment of the corporate hotel he’d spent his travel points on. A young man in a tight black t-shirt across the bar had been giving him looks all evening. Nice body, but too boyish a face.
The other nights he’d spent hitting the bars and clubs in Willemstad, flirting with men with rock-hard bodies and erections to match. He could have had any number of them, but he hadn’t because he was too damn choosy, tooparticularabout what he wanted in a one-night stand.
He stirred his drink, avoided the gaze of the kid across the bar, and wished he had a bit more gin in his tonic. Who the hell had checklists for flings?
Tomorrow, he’d fly back to Pittsburgh, where it was bound to be cold, and return to his desk job. Back to fighting with the VP of Software Engineering not to release half-baked, untested crap to customers, even if the board of directors wanted them to.
Shit. The office should have been the farthest thing from his mind. This was his first real vacation since—
Since being screwed over by Rasheed and Susan. Since his demotion. And he damn well wasn’t going to dwell on what happened three years ago.
He should have taken up that tall blond’s suggestion of getting a room at a nearby hotel. That man had been willing to do just about anything and his inviting smile had stretched so wide, dimples had formed in his cheeks. Probably moaned prettily, too. Except he’d never been into blonds or obviously submissive partners. What he wanted, what he’d hoped to find was a man of power. Someone in industry or politics. A decision maker. A man no one would ever expect would want to be bent over and taken by a guy who drove an old Honda and wore shorts and t-shirts to work.
There were plenty of suits on the island due to the density of hotels with conference centers, but few of those men ventured into the heart of Willemstad to sample alternative options. Michael couldn’t blame them. The top echelon of business wasn’t exactly gay-friendly. He’d known more than one closeted guy whose title started withC, but he’d hoped that he’d find at leastoneon the island willing to step out of the mold, at least for a night.
He didn’t want to have to deal with a partner deep in the closet ever again, but for a fling? He could do that. Revel in it, even.
Or he could go with someone with no walls at all. The young man across the bar laughed at something the bartender said. Michael looked up and considered his options. Stay and flirt with black t-shirt, head back to his room and pack, or ask for another drink?
He was still ruminating over his choices when a suit walked into the bar. Short dark hair, charcoal jacket and pants that looked as if they’d had been tailored onto the man’s legs, crisp white shirt, and a power tie of reds, yellows, and oranges. Despite the confident stride, the suit’s shoulders slumped forward a bit too much and his gaze was downcast. His hands were clenched, as if the weight of the world sat on his back.
Now, there was a man who needed a drink. No ring on his finger, either.
The suit sat down at the bar, eight stools away.
Michael flagged the bartender. “The gentleman who just came in. Give him the best brandy you have, neat.”
A tiny smile crossed the bartender’s lips and he nodded.
Yeah, it was an obvious move, but it would answer the pertinent question quickly.
When the brandy appeared in front of the suit, he looked up, and the bartender nodded toward Michael. The suit swiveled in his seat and looked at Michael.
A slight parting of lips and a flush to his cheeks, but he didn’t turn away, didn’t bolt. Even from down the bar, it was obvious the suit was considering. Weighing options. Pale eyes. Sharp nose. Long, sculpted face. Not too young. The lines of worry Michael had seen before smoothed over, and the man picked up his brandy, stood, and strolled toward Michael as if he owned the place.
Yes. For the first time since Michael had arrived in Curaçao, a shower of pinpricks traced down his spine. The smoky, intense expression etched onto the suit’s face stiffened Michael’s cock.
Blue. The man’s eyes were pale blue. He sat next to Michael. “How did you know?”
“That you were gay?”
A nod.
“I didn’t. I took a chance.” Michael allowed himself to smile. “Besides, you looked like someone in desperate need of a hard drink.” With any luck, that wasn’t the only hard thing the suit needed.
“And here I’d thought I was hiding that, too.” He took a sip of the brandy and smiled into the glass. “Thank you for this.”
Silver glinted at the man’s wrists. Cuff links. Everything from the cut of the suit to the glimmer of a gold watch spoke of money and power. “For the brandy?”
He chuckled. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone has bought me a drink? Or tried to pick me up?”
The tingling in Michael’s spine spread to his arms and legs, and down into his balls. “I’m not trying to pick you up.”
The suit stared at him.
