Accidentally Beautiful Page 2

  Flinching, his hand brushed over the nametag he wore which read: Martin Baird—Head Concierge. His brows furrowed, and Garret figured he didn’t like being addressed as Marty.

  Tough.

  He was Marty now. Garret liked the sound of it.

  “Yes,” Marty answered, the unspoken “sir” just loud enough for Garret to detect. “But it’s Martin, if you don’t mind.”

  Ignoring the last remark, Garret stood. “Don’t worry, Carlos. I’ll make it for him.”

  He hadn’t made a request, simply stated his intentions.

  Carlos turned to Marty for permission to allow a guest behind the bar.

  Discombobulated, he nodded.

  Of course he did. A guy like Marty never said no to a guy like Garret.

  With his date’s attention locked on his every move, Garret lifted the divider and stepped behind the bar. When he glanced over, the man’s expression was filled with confusion, worry—and desire.

  He could reassure him, let the uptight guy know he’d take care of things from now on. However, something that intimate in nature should be addressed later. Maybe Marty didn’t even understand what had happened during their subtle exchange. Maybe he’d never been submissive to anyone. Fortunately, Garret could always pick up on those who craved control, needed his influence. But he would take it slow, for Marty’s sake.

  After retrieving a martini glass from the ceiling rack, he placed a scoop of ice inside it to chill the glass while he made the cocktail. “Whipped cream vodka?” he asked Carlos.

  “Don’t have any here, but we can check in the back.”

  Garret frowned. Shouldn’t Madame Eve have planned for all the ingredients to the drink his date had been told to order? Whatever, he could ad-lib if he had to. Before allowing Carlos to lead the way into the storage room, he tossed a wink at Marty.

  The man sat up straight, appearing shocked, pleased, and embarrassed all at once, his face blushing crimson.

  Fuck, he’s cute.

  Being in his own environment behind a bar and tending to Marty calmed any unease Garret had been experiencing over this whole one-night stand business. Not living a celibate life back home, he’d nonetheless been intrigued by the way 1Night Stand offered more than a fantasy fuck, er…date—Madame Eve’s word choice and no doubt a legality. The clever broad had to know if two dudes signed up for this, they were after sex. Yet 1Night Stand represented more than just a chance to get his rocks off. Garret knew of two honest to goodness couples who’d met because of Madame Eve.

  That was why he called.

  Turned out, the bar didn’t have the ingredients so he would make do with regular vodka, whipped cream, and a dash of simple syrup to make it a bit sweeter. If he had to guess, Marty wouldn’t like it too sweet, and he’d know if Garret used well vodka. Best to opt for the Belvedere.

  Exiting the storage room, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of an unexpected feminine voice. “Martin?”

  “Miss Witzler!”

  Garret recognized John’s sister Grace at once. And where she was, her gorgeous husband, Jake, wouldn’t be too far away.

  Figures. I travel thousands of miles to run into someone from home.

  “Do you work here now?” she asked Marty.

  “I came down to help with their busy season.”

  While interesting to see their interaction, Garret Fischer did not lurk in shadows. “Of all the islands in all of the Caribbean,” he began, “you two had to show up here.”

  Grace turned in surprise—inebriated surprise if his bartender’s expertise wasn’t off. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Vacation.” A regular cougar in her red bikini and sarong, Grace’s long brunette hair had been tied back with a ribbon. If he swung her way, he would’ve asked her out, his buddy’s sister or not. He accepted a companionable fist-bump from her husband, one of the many ex-ballplayers who frequented The Fourth Base.

  “Hey, G. Behind the bar already?” Jake said.

  “Can’t help myself.” Bars had always been a part of his life. Growing up, he’d sat behind one doing homework, chatting with the daytime drinkers his mother waited on, while his brothers wrestled around and fought. The middle child, he often refereed their battles and would continue to do so his whole life. It felt right, taking care of others. With Mom and Dad divorced—her in Florida, and him semi-retired—Garret now ran the bar with his brothers.

  Winking at Marty, he began to gather the cocktail ingredients he needed.

  The wink didn’t escape Grace’s keen notice. Her eyes moved between Marty and Garret then she let out a bark of laughter, slugging Marty on the arm. “You old dog!”

  He stared at her in shock before Jake stepped in to rescue him. “Forgive my wife, we’ve been rum sampling in the courtyard.”

  The raspberry Grace blew at her husband got cut off when Marty seized her arm. “Wife? You got married? That’s brilliant.”

  When Marty stood to give her a congratulatory hug, Garret took the opportunity to steal his first glimpse of the man’s ass. Good God, it filled out the fabric like two ripe melons begging to have a bite taken out of them. His mouth watered.

  Damn, Garret loved his friends, but they really needed to hit the road.

  “Give me all of the details.” When Marty dropped the hard E in the word “details,” it sounded like he’d said, “Awll the datails.” Not American, then. Canadian, maybe? Usually good at this, Garret couldn’t place his accent.

  Just one more mystery he couldn’t wait to uncover about this Martin Baird Madame Eve had selected for him.

  “Last week.” Grace held out her whopper of a diamond toward Marty, but spoke to Garret. “You should’ve come.”

  “Had to work.”

  “How do you two know one another?” Marty asked.

  “Old friends,” Garret replied, not elaborating.

  “You missed a good party,” Jake said.

  “John sent the pictures.”

  “It was an intimate affair.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “Just me, Jake, and about four hundred of our closest friends, sponsors, and family members.”

  “Jake used to play first base for the Colorado Rockies. American baseball.” Garret jumped in, seeing Marty’s obvious confusion. He wouldn’t allow the poor guy to appear ignorant in front of a former major leaguer.

  Lips in an understanding O, Marty nodded.

  Somehow, Garret knew his date didn’t follow sports, which suited him fine. He lived and breathed them every day at work. A whole world existed outside sports, and he planned to collect the stamps in the passport of his life to prove it. He’d hiked the Appalachian Trail, before that, surfed in Tahiti. He’d visited a monastery in Belgium last summer where they brewed dark ale, and during this trip he’d been sampling the local color of the Caribbean.

  As Grace extolled the beauty of their wedding to a very interested Marty, Garret’s mind flitted over dragging him backpacking through the heather fields of Scotland, a vacation he planned to take in the near future. He could envision the lean, blond man wearing a kilt, laughing over a pint with him in some nameless Scottish pub, the fun they would have.

  Damn, what was it about the guy? He hadn’t even kissed him, yet he could already imagine traveling together. Crazy.

  “I have an idea,” Grace announced. “Let’s all go out to dinner.”

  “No,” Garret said. “Marty and I already have plans.”

  His date’s head shot up. “We do?”

  “Yes. We do.”

  “Um…right,” he agreed, his cheeks pinking.

  Garret stared meaningfully at Grace, knowing damn well she could read the “beat-it-ya-cock-block” look in his eye.

  Turning to her husband, she said in a falsetto, “Well!Garret has spoken.”

  Jake laughed and Garret shrugged. He made no apologies for the blunt response but, to his surprise, Marty appeared taken aback.

  “C’mon.” Jake dragged his wife away. “You have some new p
ositions to study from that dirty book on your Kindle, and I have some windsurfing to do before dinner. Catch ya later, G.”

  Once he had Marty all to himself, Garret flashed him a grin. “How about that drink?”

  ***

  While pleased to see another happy 1Night Stand couple, after they left, Martin’s attention once again centered on the man behind the bar. A dark haired man with a dominant glint in his sexy, green eyes Martin couldn’t help but be affected by. Heart racing, an unexplained veneration overcame him. Never before had someone bewitched him so effortlessly, rousing his blood with a single look. And they had plansfor the evening? He should ask what they were, but he assumed Garret would tell him—eventually.

  Even if he didn’t, Martin would go.

  I’ve lost my bleeding mind.

  Perhaps there was an ancient fairy knoll in Grand Turk, like the ones Da wove tales about, where babies were swapped for changelings and the spirits of the Fae bent people to their will. Surely a mystical influence reigned, leading Martin to follow this Garret on a mysterious journey.

  Bloody hell, I almost called him “sir” and we haven’t even been properly introduced!

  On cue, Garret extended a hand and Martin took it. That hand wrapped around his, similar in size, but worn and rough. Electric sensations ran through his blood at the lightly calloused fingers. This man did not sit around being idle.

  “Garrett Fischer.”

  “Martin Baird.”

  “Nice to meet you, Marty.”

  He should correct him—he hated being called Marty—but Garret had not let go, his playful gaze rendering him unable to assert himself. He swallowed hard, envisioning those palms running over his body with deep appreciation, stroking his budding erection, caressing his ass, parting him…spanking him?

  Shite!

  He dropped Garret’s hand at once, cheeks reddening.

  Grinning, Garret returned to making the drink, his cocky demeanor a solid indicator he knew where Martin’s thoughts had wandered.

  Damn Jagger for putting those ideas into his head—and awakening ones he’d not entertained in a long time.

  Then again, maybe Garret Fischer held all the blame.

  When Garret presented the cocktail—an illicit-looking, frothy, white concoction which again had Martin’s mind going to places it shouldn’t—he placed both arms wide on the bar, waiting for a reaction.

  “Slainte.” Martin raised the drink to his lips, and the creamy, sweet beverage went down smooth. The alcohol warmed his blood but the intense way Garret studied him brought him to a full boil.

  “Well?”

  He placed the glass down, hand shaking. “Quite good. Not too sweet, either.”

  “Glad you like it, Marty.” Garret leaned forward. “Here. You have something….”

  Before Martin saw it coming, a masculine thumb brushed across his lower lip.

  A visceral reaction shot molten fire through his center and he gasped. When Garret slipped that thumb between supple lips to suck away any residue of alcohol, Martin swore his cock grew two inches.

  Garret pulled his thumb out of his mouth ever so slowly, purposefully. His green eyes, full of wicked promise behind those glasses, never left Martin’s. “Delicious.”

  Throat dry, he wanted to ask if Garret liked how he tasted, wanted to taste more. But the notion of a different sort of whiteness dribbling down Martin’s chin, and Garret licking it clean, made him bloody incoherent.

  “We’ll meet at the main entrance at eight.” Garret’s casual tone brooked no disobedience.

  He nodded at once. “Um…right. Okay.”

  Chapter Three

  Marty looked nervous as hell standing inside the main hotel entrance, fists bunched into his lower back and posture ramrod straight. Garret still wore the same jeans but Marty had changed all his clothes. A fitted, navy silk shirt showed off his date’s well-built chest and narrow waist. Garret’s fingers itched to unbutton it, discover how far those freckles spread. White cotton shorts, snug at the inseam, appeared custom-tailored to make his backside even more scrumptious. He could already visualize burying his face in it until the guy screamed out his name in a come-to-Jesus moment, leaving them both covered in sweat and spunk. Then he’d slide his dick deep inside him, those round cheeks pressing against his groin while he fucked him….

  Damn! His skin flushed all the way to his toes. Without wasting another moment, Garret stepped forward. “Hey.”

  Marty jumped, spinning to face him. His demeanor brightened, relief flooding those expressive brown eyes. His face had the smooth appearance of freshly-shaven skin, his hair gelled to perfection.

  Cute as a goddamn button.

  Garret couldn’t help himself—didn’t want to. He kissed him.

  A light kiss, barely a brush of lips, but Marty stepped back in surprise, fingering his mouth. “Oh…right…hello.”

  Hiding his amusement at Marty’s adorable discomfiture, Garret licked his lips to savor the hint of cinnamon toothpaste. “You ready?”

  Cheeks flushed, Marty nodded. “Um…right. Yeah, I’m ready…i-if you are?”

  He couldn’t stop the chuckle. Taking a firm hold of Marty’s hand, he dragged him toward the exit. “You need to relax, babe.”

  Hurrying after him, Marty squeezed his grip. “Yes, sir.”

  Garret stopped dead on the threshold of the exit.

  He’d finally said it.

  Sir.

  Reaching out, Garret cupped his chin, thumbs stroking over those freckled cheeks, the cool, ordinary A/C on one side, the sultry, hedonistic tropics beckoning to him on the other. Marty smelled of a crisp aftershave. Lemony and tart. Fucking delicious.

  With an awkward intake of air, sounding both excited and nervous, Marty leaned in. Disappointment colored his expression when Garret didn’t kiss him again.

  Not releasing his face, Garret offered him a reassuring smile. “Trust me. I’ve got everything under control, okay?”

  With an awkward nod, Marty let out the breath he’d been holding, the tension leaving his body. Their eyes held for a moment longer, a silent exchange of understanding. Words were unnecessary. They had said it all in their first glance.

  Taking his hand, Garret led him to the Jeep he’d rented and opened the passenger door. Without hesitation or questions, Marty moved to climb in. Observing such willing trust, to get into a car with a stranger in a foreign land, made Garret hot so fast he halted Marty with a touch on his arm. “Hold up a sec.”

  When Marty turned in expectation, he pressed him against the vehicle, eliciting another surprised gasp from his date. Intoxicated by the display of submissive obedience, Garret couldn’t hold back any longer. One little taste had not been enough. He wanted that lean, compliant body pressed to his own, to sample those full lips. They were the same height, perfect for kissing and the Jeep shadowed them from view so Garret took full advantage and slanted his mouth over Marty’s.

  A fire consumed Garret the moment their lips united. Marty didn’t resist at all, offering up his lips, his tongue, for Garret to taste and savor. He sucked the wet muscle all the way into his mouth, swirling his own deeper into the exquisite warm and slippery inside of Marty’s mouth, pulses of heat and desire working through his middle.

  Melting into his embrace, Marty eased into the kiss, his cotton shorts thin enough Garret could feel his erection grow. When he took a long awaited grip on that fantastic bubble butt, he groaned, the firm cheeks yielding under pressure.

  “Damn, this ass is all I’ve been able to think about.” Garret squeezed him in illustration and made an approving grunt. “It’s so firm and round. I can’t wait to slide my dick inside it.”

  Darting a nervous glance over his shoulder, Marty actually giggled, the sound making Garret harder. “Um…right. Okay.”

  “Am I moving too fast, Marty?”

  Eyes glazed, his cheeks turned red and his voice went husky. “Um…no, I’m okay.”

  Garret chuckled and nibbled on
his neck, tasting the tang of face lotion or aftershave over the flavor of man. A man he wanted so suddenly, so desperately that his head spun from all his senses kicking into overdrive. Seized with hunger, he wound his fingers into Marty’s blond hair, the scent of his shampoo fruity and crisp, and licked up his throat until he claimed his mouth once more.

  Marty arched his chest against him, and for a moment Garret considered hauling him back to his room and getting on with the main act. Despite his willingness, Marty wasn’t the kinda guy for a hurried, casual fuck. He required special care only someone like Garret could provide. And he wasn’t about to take advantage of the man’s submissive nature or the fragile trust they had established, no matter how bad he wanted him.

  They would get there soon enough.

  He glanced toward the hotel entrance. Someone could wander through the doors at any moment. “Not here, lover. And not yet.”

  “When?” Marty whined, the hint of an accent trying to escape as he thrust his hips into Garret a bit.

  “Soon,” he promised, reaching down to trace the outline of Marty’s erection.

  “Oh…oh!”

  Hands dug into Garret’s biceps and Marty’s head fell back. His mouth gaped while Garret explored, teased him beneath his shorts, stroking him in wicked preview, all the while keeping an eye open to guarantee they stayed unnoticed. Marty’s cock was wider than Garret’s at the base, not as long though, he noted with pride, but thick and juicy.

  When Garret rolled one of his nuts between his fingers, Marty moaned, buckling over. “Oh, bloody hell!If you do that again, I’ll come.”

  “Hmmm, wouldn’t want that yet.” He released him with a smirk. “Get in.”

  Marty climbed into the Jeep—his movement hampered a little by his erection.

  After adjusting his own stiff cock and buckling up, Garret turned the engine over and peeled out of the lot. Weirded out about by driving an American car on the wrong side of the road, he concentrated on the task at hand, trying to ignore the way Marty stretched his arm up to hold onto the roll bar, revealing the sexy veins in his forearms. He swallowed hard, lips still tender from that passionate kiss. If he allowed himself to stare too much at the other man, think about his warm cock under his palm, they would either end up driving into a ditch or fucking on the side of the road.