Ian Shawford, a small press owner, isn’t looking for love along Barefoot Beach in Florida. He's a quiet man with irrepressible responsibilities to uphold. Publishing books is his craft, not finding the man of his dreams.
Ging Hu, owner of Hu and You Yoga and Ian's best friend, insists that Ian needs to get a life. Ging finds Ian a little dull lately, and decides to throw a Memorial Day beach party with his fun lover, Nick Batton.
At the party, Ian meets Brayden York, the hottest real estate mogul on Barefoot Beach, and sparks fly along the Gulf Coast. The two men hit it off quite well and decide to go for a private walk along the beach. Ian suffers from sunstroke and ends up in the hospital. To his surprise, Brayden is right at his side. Thereafter, Ian and Brayden become inseparable and share a summer of lust, fun, and everything naughty.
Just when summer is in full swing and Ian and Brayden have moved into a comfortable relationship, Ian’s ex Christopher Sunday returns to Barefoot Beach. A sociopath with a daunting history, Christopher has a villainous plan to sever Ian’s relationship with Brayden at any cost. Not only does Christopher want to bed Brayden instead, but he also wants to physically ruin him.
Can Ian save his new love from Christopher’s psychotic wrath? Or will he and Brayden forever be separated by Christopher’s fury?
Perhaps I melted when first seeing Brayden York because his eyes were a magnificent and glittery blue that I found captivating, and his shoulders were block-structured with impressive triceps. And yes, I did in fact enjoy my hand slipping against his strong one in a masculine handshake. Shame on me for admitting such menial likings, but Brayden was not an average man by any means. In truth, he seemed more like a god; one who was immortal, dangerous, and yielded much power, particularly over weaklings like me.
Not once did I faint during our united lunch, although I easily could have. Within seconds after sharing an afternoon drink with him (two longneck bottles of light beer) I realized how mega-sexy the man was. His charm was effervescent and he was smart and witty. Of course compliments flooded out of his beautiful lips regarding the tight pants I wore, my expensive looking haircut, and other attributes; proof that he knew his game of men, and well, I surmised rather quickly after meeting him.
I wasn’t a fool, though, and didn’t fall for his wicked little whatever. Brayden was out to obtain my property from under me to add to his millions of net value. I did hope he realized he wasn’t going to lay a finger on my stretch of land, anything I just happened to own, or my skin.
Approximately twenty minutes into our salads, he said, “You’re a very hard man to break. At points during this conversation I don’t even think you’ve been listening to me. If I didn’t know you better, Ian, I would say your defense is at a high level.”
I regretted saying: “You’re eyes are intoxicating, Brayden. Stop looking at me with such allure.”
“Thank you for the compliment. A lot of women tell me that.”
I wanted to tell him that women were the last thing I thought about, but kept my sexuality a blur for him, even if I mentioned his handsome eyes. Instead, I closed out the meeting with: “I should be getting back to the office.”
“So soon.” He sounded alarmed and somewhat disappointed at my announcement. “You should stay and have another beer with me. We can discuss the history of your bungalow and other things.”
I wondered what other things he wanted to talk about, but didn’t ask. Work on my desk had accumulated in piles and called for my attention, which I had to return to and promptly. “Until next time, Mr. York,” I said, dropped money on the table for my salad and beverages, and then held out my right hand for him to shake.
He stood, pressed his hand over mine, shook it in brisk motion, and said, “The sooner the better, book publisher. I do enjoy your company.”
Again, he baffled me by his statement, but I showed no sign of confusion. Rather, I waved goodbye in a generous and polite manner, exited the bar, and returned to Turtle Bay Publishing for an afternoon of hard labor.
When did I fall asleep that night? I think around three o’clock, but was unsure. Eventually, though, my eyes closed and I drifted into a poetic and blue-glazed dream that consisted of swimming in the Gulf. It was Brayden in the folded dream, bare-bottomed and concealed by warm ocean water. Our naked bodies combined in the most homoerotic movement, twisting together in the waves. Our mouths touched, but just for the briefest amount of time. And at one point in the dream, a flicker of sorts with much heat shared between us, he rolled one of his palms down and over my brown-hairy chest, touched my navel and the erection between my legs. He gave the cock a gentle squeeze and the Gulf started to fill with a white cloud that burst out of my cock. The white cloud consumed his strapping torso in full, but for only a short period of time, and then he fell under the water’s turbulent surface, ready to continue his naughty game of play with me by using his mouth, until day’s break, or sometime thereafter.