It wasn’t like him to appreciate a boat, no matter how luxurious she appeared. But although he tried to focus outward on the water, when he studied his sketch pad, he’d drawn the yacht.

He scowled at it, despite its aesthetic beauty. Now what made me draw you? I like landscapes, not still life. As if in answer a figure appeared on the deck, and Harlon’s mouth went dry.

He stood still, dressed only in black cutoffs with gold accents. He was tall, broad, and his sculpted physique suggested a man who worked at keeping himself fit. His dark hair was thick, but his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. The odd thing was, he wasn’t the usual type of man that attracted Harlon. He usually liked a boyfriend who was a little more ... rounded. Something to hold on to, rather than hard muscle.

Another man appeared. His hair was closer to red than the usual ginger, and skinny much like Harlon himself. He sighed, then laughed at himself thinking he’d even stand a chance with such a man.

However, as close as the two men seemed to be, Harlon couldn’t help but notice there was nothing ... intimate about the way they moved together. A touch to an arm or shoulder seemed about it.

A flush heated his face as he realised he was staring. Flipping over his sketchpad, Harlon couldn’t resist drawing the man who’s so caught his imagination. If Emma asks, I’ll say it was just the artist in me.

He was so engrossed in getting the stranger’s features just right, that it took him a moment to notice the presence at his shoulder.

“You flatter me. I’m not as ripped as that.” The voice was soft, held a teasing tone, and when Harlon looked over his shoulder, he wanted a hole to open up and swallow him.

It was indeed the man he’d been drawing. The man from the yacht. But his artist’s eye instantly took in that the man was indeed more rounded. What the fuck? He had more defined and solid muscles like my drawing. I know he did.

“Look. I don’t normally draw complete strangers, and you can have the sketch, and --”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” The man held up his hands. “Slow down. It’s a really good drawing. Excellent, in fact. You’re talented. Are you a real artist? I’ve never met one before.”

Harlon blinked, letting his brain catch up with everything. This gorgeous hunk of a man was impressed to meet him?

“Hey, Harlon, everything okay?” Emma’s voice cut through his brain fog, and he looked at the stranger. The disappointment in his was all too obvious, and Harlon almost stumbled over his words in his haste to explain.

“Sister.” He flailed a hand in Emma’s direction. “Um ... Emma, my sister.”

“Oh,” the man brightened instantly. “Pleased to meet you, Emma.” He added as she reached them. “I’m Bran. That’s my yacht. Harlon has been sketching us.”

“He has?” Emma’s eyebrows rose, then she peered at the sketches, before grinning at Harlon. “Yes, he has, hasn’t he.”

“A little flattering of me.” Bran laughed. “But his work is exquisite.”

“Yes, my brother is an artist.” Emma stood tall, as if making an announcement. “A very talented one.”

“Do you come to the marina often, Harlon?” Bran asked, and Harlon shrugged.

“When I can. Emma’s not always available to ferry me around.” He indicated his leg, then frowned, looking quickly around. Bran had hissed in sympathy, but Harlon could swear he’d heard a drumming noise.

“Motorcycle accident.” Emma snapped. “Not my brother’s fault. Fucking drunk driver.”

“I see.” Bran nodded. “Look, I know this may seem a little sudden, considering we’ve only just met, but are you both free tomorrow?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am.” Emma grinned. “And Harlon’s here convalescing while our parents are away, so he’s always available.”

Harlon knew his eyes were boggling at his sister’s forwardness, but it was as if his mouth wouldn’t work to remind both Bran and Emma that he was there.

“In that case, come here tomorrow, around 11 o’clock. I can take you both out on the yacht. Harlon, if you want to bring your artist equipment, my friend and right-handman Tevy will pick you up so it can all be put in the car. I can take you out on the lake. Tevy’s an excellent cook, we can have a leisurely lunch. Maybe a swim for you, Emma.”

“I ... I ...” Harlon wasn’t sure if he was alarmed or elated at the turn of events, but Emma was already nodding enthusiastically.

“We’d love to. I’ll bring a dessert.” Emma held up a hand. “It’s the least we can contribute.”

“That’s settled then.” Bran beamed with such obvious delight, his face lighting up, and Harlon smiled despite himself. “Any dietary requirements Tevy need know of? Any allergies? Okay with seafood?”

“A family favourite.” Emma patted Harlon’s shoulders. “Isn’t that right, Harlon?”

“Yes. I love crayfish.” Harlon chuckled. “But the price makes it a rare indulgence.”

“That’s good to know. “ Bran briefly rested a hand on Bran’s shoulder, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. “I have to get back to my yacht, but we’ll be here tomorrow.” Bran started to move away, then stopped. “I’m an idiot. I need to give you my number.”

A moment later, their cell phone numbers exchanged, Harlon watched Bran stride back to his yacht, giving them a last wave before disappearing below deck.

“You don’t normally like the muscle-guys, what made you draw Bran like that?” Emma leaned over Harlon’s shoulder, staring at the sketch. “Apart from that, you’ve caught him perfectly.”

“Emma, you won’t believe this,” Harlon tapped on his drawing. “When I was drawing this, I’d swear this was what I saw. “ He twisted to look at his sister. “I have an artist’s eye. I’d never get it so wrong.”