Just Ask (4 page)

He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, deciding he wasn’t truly crazy. And in the genuine spirit of celebrating Blake’s death, as was instructed by the will, Jordan should act on any whim or desire during this vacation weekend.

“Go for it, Jordan, boys gone wild,” Blake had said in his video will. “Let loose like I’m there, and live for me. When Monday or whatever day comes and it’s time to go home, it’s over if you want it to be. No guilt, no pressure. This is my last, dying wish, and it’s my gift to you. Go, brother, and live.”

Jordan blinked back a fresh batch of tears as he wandered into his bedroom, his gaze hitting the nondescript brown box that held Blake’s remains. He hated the tears but in some ways, he was grateful for the memory. This was the order he’d craved for years. So what the hell? Jordan found Ryan attractive, and maybe Ryan felt the same. Blake had been gay, so seeking out Ryan, for experimentation, wouldn’t be over the line. Actually, Blake would laugh his sorry ass off if he could see Jordan cleaning up from an orgasm induced by a male fantasy.

Jordan hummed as he dressed in his new clothes, liking how this plan was firming up. He would indulge in a little boys-gone-wild action if Ryan was game. He’d lay Blake to rest, go home, sell everything, and be none the worse for wear. If he decided he liked guys better, then what the hell? He didn’t give two shits what the world thought.

But he did care about what Ryan thought.

Which led to the burning question of what
did
Ryan think? Jordan had never cared about that, either. What if Ryan was straight and had been yanking his chain at the stable? He had no sense of these things, and being Blake’s friend didn’t mean he was gay by association. But at the waterfall, Ryan had pointed out that the story could have been a man diving off a cliff for his
male
love.

Jordan stepped up to the mirror and spiked some gel through his hair, his mind settled and clear for the first time since the waterfall. He had an agenda. Get Ryan to agree to some sort of sale. Get Ryan to take him back to the waterfall, alone, not only for Blake but because he wanted to swim naked in that pool. And maybe, just maybe, he’d explore this undeniable attraction.

****

Ryan put the finishing touches on dinner while waiting for Jordan to show up. He’d opted for fresh, grilled swordfish dressed with his special mango chutney, a salad featuring lettuce he’d picked from his tiny garden out back, finished off with slices of cheesecake he’d gotten from the island bakery.

No doubt Jordan had spent the afternoon scouring files and paperwork, finding out all about him. He had expected it, and Jordan would be armed with a game plan to get what he wanted—a quick sale of sorts. No way was Ryan giving in, either, not until Jordan had done as Blake stipulated. Jordan would have to sit his lily-white ass down on one of the beaches and do exactly as Blake wanted him to—relax.

So Ryan formulated a game plan of his own. One, Jordan would do as Blake stipulated—an entire long weekend of relaxation. Two, if Jordan was willing, Ryan would personally escort him around the island, show him the good stuff, how to let his hair down, so to speak. Jordan needed to realize what a great thing Bendura was, for all involved. Three…

Well, his mind didn’t have a three. It was too busy trying to save his home and livelihood. He didn’t have the money to buy Jordan out, and he feared some developer would come in and ruin the good things about Bendura, the things that kept clients, like the Murphys, returning year after year.

The afternoon trail ride he took out had been hard in many ways, because he’d almost been unseated several times by Trigger’s antics since he was distracted by thoughts of Jordan, his lean form in the saddle, awkward yet athletic, so fucking gorgeous. He had savored the memory of Jordan’s broad shoulders as he stared out at the waterfall wistfully. It had gotten him whacked by a palm frond and left him fighting for his seat.

Ryan’s libido…it had a number three. It wanted to see if that flicker of desire in Jordan’s eyes had been real. If Jordan did indeed find him attractive.

Then there was the look that flared in Jordan’s eyes when Ryan had laid down the law, one of excitement despite the body language that screamed defiance. He’d been kidding at first when he’d issued the order to wear a blue Hawaiian shirt. Only tourists wore them, unless it was to the Saturday feast, and then everyone did because it was a fun thing, one of Blake’s many wacky rules. Rewards were given for the tackiest shirt.

But when Jordan’s shoulders had stiffened and his jaw took on the same stubborn set that Blake had rocked, it made him want to push Jordan to see how far he’d go to get what he wanted. A part of Ryan wished Jordan would purchase that shirt to make him happy—fat chance in that. Jordan would buy the damned shirt because it would get him what he wanted. And from what Blake had said, Jordan usually got what he wanted.

Jordan was driven. Blake had told him that when Jordan was a kid, his parents had to skimp and save, do without, to give Jordan and his sister a good life. He was loyal to family and he’d worked himself relentlessly to pay back the student loans, get his parents out of debt, to give them the life of ease Jordan thought they deserved.

Very noble, and Blake had been proud that Jordan would take care of his brother that way, a disabled vet injured in a helicopter accident. Almost a decade ago, it had nearly killed Blake to inherit a fortune after his step-dad’s death when Jordan’s dad, Mike, needed it most. Mike had stubbornly refused to take a penny of it from Blake.

So once Blake invested it in the island and the money started rolling in, he had enlisted Jordan’s mom’s help and had discretely started paying off bills. Jordan had found out and put a stop to that once he hit it big.

No doubt when Blake died, the vultures had descended, the rest of his family being petty and material. There was something expensive left to everyone, with Jordan getting the bulk of the inheritance, which was expected and consequently disputed, seeing Jordan was filthy rich.

But Jordan wouldn’t squander Blake’s money, which was the difference. Even if Jordan were broke and begging, he’d give his last dime to anything Mike needed. Blake had been astounded and impressed, too, at the obscene amount of money Jordan gave away every year to assorted charities.

That’s also why Blake had put the restrictions on the inheritance, because Jordan would sell it and give the money away, even if he were poor. Then Jordan would turn around and work himself into the ground. Blake had decided long before his death that Jordan had done enough and now needed to relax. What better place than Bendura?

A knock sounded. Ryan wiped his hands on a rag and went to answer it. Jordan stood at the door, a bottle of something in one hand and was wearing a really hideous blue Hawaiian shirt, one that screamed tourist.

But damn, Jordan made it work. His jet black hair was spiked with gel, his face freshly shaven, that shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a soft patch of dark chest hair. Not too much hair, either. The khaki shorts were sharp over firm thighs and muscular calves. He’d opted for leather sandals, not flip flops.

“You follow orders well,” Ryan observed, unable to let it go.

“You said five-thirty, and it’s five-thirty.” Obviously, Jordan wasn’t going to acknowledge the clothes. He held up the bottle. “I brought wine. I had the hotel sell us a bottle. The sommelier said you liked this vintage.”

“Yes, I do. Thanks. Come in.” Ryan held open the screen door, and Jordan entered, casting a cool gaze around the place. It wasn’t the biggest or nicest home on the island, but that wasn’t why he had wanted it. No, he wanted it for the beach. A private stretch of sand on a secluded cove he could call all his own, complete with a hammock between two palm trees.

“Nice place,” Jordan observed.

“It’s not Park Avenue.” Jordan lived on Park Avenue.

“No. If it were, I’d be fighting the wind chill and worrying about that Nor’easter soaring up the east coast.”

“Another plus for Bendura. It’s summer every day. Come, why don’t you open the wine? You can join me out back.”

Ryan took the plate of fish out to the grill and put them on. A moment later, Jordan appeared, carrying two glasses of the dry white wine he’d brought. The sun was setting into the water in a display of golds and reds. Jordan went to the edge of the deck and leaned his elbows on the railing, taking in the view.

“Like what you see?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, I know why you bought the place. The view and that beach, right?”

“I sort of liked the crooked floors in the living room. It was a big selling point.” Ryan flipped the swordfish steaks and closed the grill lid.

“Speaking of selling point…”

“Christ, we are not going there. Drink your wine, Jordan. Admire the sunset. I refuse to talk business on an empty stomach.”

“I wasn’t going to pressure you into a sale. Yet.”

That was a surprise. “Then what do you want?”

“I want to go back to the waterfall. Just the two of us.”

Ryan put down the spatula and whirled, spilling his wine in the process. There was no way Jordan wanted to do what Ryan wanted to do under that waterfall. Jordan’s face was unreadable in the fading light, but his shoulders were tensed, rolled. “Okay. Can I ask why?”

“Blake loved the waterfall. I…I have his ashes. He wanted to be set free here, somewhere. He said I would know where when I saw it.”

Shit.

Grief welled up, seizing Ryan’s stomach. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the ache away, savoring one of many memories. “Blake was funny like that. Not really giving the answers, huh.”

“Yeah. My family had a fit about his ashes coming here. It was the only reason I gave in to his stupid-assed stipulations. I wanted to come set him free.”

Ryan knew exactly why Blake had made that rule. “I felt bad for not making it back to the States for his funeral. I couldn’t leave. We had a cyclone brewing, and everything happened so fast.”

“He would have wanted you here, protecting what was his and yours. You know that.”

Ryan took a sip of wine and studied Jordan, not getting him at all. “If you love Blake so much and Blake loved the island, why would you want to sell it?”

“I can’t run an island. I’m Mr. Park Avenue, and as you noted, I didn’t own casual clothes until this afternoon. I don’t do informal or casual or anything but business and work. It was Blake’s dream.”

“Do you have a dream?”

“I did, once.” Jordan sipped his wine. “I wanted to own the free world.”

If Ryan didn’t know what drove Jordan, it would have seemed like a really sad dream. Okay, it was still sad. But noble, too. “Seems to me like you own a good share of it.”

Jordan nodded slowly. “I own what I want to own. Unfortunately, this island isn’t part of that.”

Ryan nodded and removed the swordfish steaks from the grill. He had to convince Jordan, somehow, that the island was definitely part of the free world he wanted to own. “You hungry? It’s done.”

Ryan lit a few cheesy Tiki torches, and they sat on the deck to eat, watching the stars brighten as dusk faded. He loved that the night sky was filled with stars, bright and dim, constellations galore, so many more than at his brother’s ranch in Texas.

Tentatively, the talk turned of home, because home was a safe place. They both liked baseball, though opposing teams, and neither had made the Pennant Race, thank God. Ryan didn’t need Jordan crowing with delight. Ryan discovered Jordan had played lacrosse in college, a game Blake had enjoyed, too. Ryan had played baseball through high school and college. They both liked pizza, same toppings. The same music and beer, though Jordan seemed to like the more artisan stuff to drink.

“So. What are you going to do to relax this weekend?” Ryan asked.

“What would make me really relaxed is hammering out the deal we need to make.”

Ryan laughed, because it was so Jordan. “Not happening. I’ll talk to you Monday morning about this, no sooner. Blake made his wishes clear, and I intend to meet my side of the obligations. You’ll relax, see the entire island, and we’ll talk Monday.”

“Fuck.”

There’s that, too…
“I can escort you around and show you all of the aspects I’m sure you’ll want to see before making a decision.”

“I have a decision.”

“No, you have a pre-disposed notion. You don’t want an island, it’s not your dream, and so you’re out. You don’t even have a dream. Maybe that’s why Blake did this, to make you sit back and take stock in your life. Find a dream, something that excites you.”

Jordan’s shoulders tensed as he stabbed a piece of fish with his fork like a man out for vengeance. “Who the hell are you to make assumptions about my life?”

“I’m someone who was in your shoes five years ago. I had power, money, suits. Life isn’t worth that stress.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed as he chewed then swallowed. He set his fork down. “So you live here like a beach bum and ride horses all day.”

“Yep. Don’t try to make me ashamed of my life. I love it. There’s nothing you can say or do to make me want something different.” The only thing that would make his life totally complete would be someone to share it with, but he knew the odds of that. Slim. He’d found love once. He didn’t expect it again and had made his peace with that.

Jordan took a moment, sipping his wine, studying Ryan over his glass as if he were a science experiment gone wild. “All right. I’ll rise to the bait. Blake wanted me to relax, and it seems you’ve got a good handle on that. Teach me how. Prove to me your life is better than mine.”

Ryan, shocked, stared at Jordan as he sat back in his chair. It couldn’t be too much wine, since they’d only had half a glass so far. Maybe the guy bumped his head on a tree during the ride. “You want me to teach you how to relax.”

Jordan nodded. “I think that’s exactly why Blake wanted me to meet you. You have a weekend. Change my mind.”

Wow. He couldn’t have asked for a harder challenge if he were Sisyphus, rolling that fucking rock up the hill. Or a more desirable challenge, teaching uptight Jordan to live.