1. Zack

Iloved fucking for money, but it'd been months since I'd had a break. The stress had kicked me in the balls when EEMM had almost been taken for two mil, and even though Sean and his brother, along with an ex-client hacker, had fixed the mess, I hadn't been able to set that shit aside as easily as everyone else.

Add in the fact the senator's son had somehow gotten my new cell number, and I'd walked a fine line of going feral on people's asses—and not in a good way—for a couple of weeks.

He texted the same as every time he managed to get in touch with me, asking if we could talk.

I had jack to say to him other than to fuck off, and there was nothing he could spew that would erase the betrayal that had ruined my life. Hadn't he figured that out after the similar responses I'd sent every time?

He'd fucked our friendship and knifed the love I'd had for him when he'd left me to deal with the fallout of his own goddamned selfishness.

What he'd done was unforgivable.

Period.

Automatic block—again.

But the reminder of my past had laid heavily on my mind, making my need of a little help to get it up almost a constant in the previous couple of months. Except for the two other times I'd met up with Jamie again, I'd been hard-pressed to perform. Something about that boy filled the hole inside me and not just my ass. Had I been willing to put my heart on the line again, trust someone other than myself, it would be for someone like him.

EEMM hadn't heard a single complaint from my other clients because I did whatever I had to for the sake of getting the job done—and well. With Drake moving in with his stepbrother Preston a few weeks earlier and no longer being on Elite's menu, I'd become their number one escort. The demand was tiring as fuck.

Easier nights meant merely being eye candy with a ready smile and simple conversation, and while I preferred to withdraw into silence and be on my own, I'd learned how to play a room and bullshit with just about anyone. It helped that people tended to enjoy talking about themselves, and asking questions as though interested in their lives stroked egos and kept them focused on their favorite topic.

I'd gotten even luckier with my latest booking.

I was in-flight—first fucking class with all the perks—for five days in paradise playing a companion for some rich guy on vacation at a secluded island resort somewhere off the coast of Mexico.

Sure, I still had to put out, but a few days of relaxing with only one man's needs to fulfill? Hell, even if he proved insatiable, I didn't have to do anything else but shower, eat, and breathe.

No cooking. No cleaning up after myself. No worrying about the kids I sponsored at Humanity House, the LGBTQ community home I spent time at in Malden. I also didn't have to volunteer or check in with the regulars at the local shelter someone—I expected Drake—had gifted with a hefty donation. The money would outfit the old building with a new roof, rehab the living areas and kitchen, and update bathrooms, thanks to Blake Harper, another ex-Elite, and his construction company. Brand new cots and linens would offer warm, comfortable beds for those in need, and there would be enough left over to cover electric and water bills for the months ahead.

The semi-break couldn't have come at a more perfect time too, since that uneasy, sick feeling over the attempted extortion still stained my mind, casting a shadow over everything and dragging me low.

Blue waters stretched outside my plane's small window, reaching for the western horizon lit in a rainbow of color. Peaceful beauty untouched by the ugliness of the world gave me hope I might find more of the same in the paradise we approached.

I looked forward to soaking in the heat and rays since it hadn't been a warm spring in New England, and I was jonesing to catch up on my sleep. I imagined drinks with little umbrellas. Sand between my toes. Sunlight to reawaken my mind and tan. Refreshing waves breaking cool over my thighs. The scent of the ocean and fresh air in my nose and filling my lungs, rejuvenating my spirit.

And the file I'd gotten from BetsyAnne assured me the guy who'd hired me was easy on the eyes too. Slightly older than my thirty-two years, just shy of six feet, lithe from what I could tell in his picture from the waist up. Not skinny but far from bulky since a hint of pecs had bumped his T-shirt. Definitely my type with dirty blond hair, blue-green eyes, and a clean shaven, sharp jawline. And he was vers—major points right there.

Fucking Callum or bending over for him would be a pleasure rather than pure work.

The plane touched down on what felt like weightless wheels, as smooth as the flight itself. Grinning at having things go my way for a change, I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead bin and exited the plane, ready to start my vacation.

No responsibilities other than sex on demand ahead for the next few days…sign me the fuck up.

I'd been asked to meet our client in the outdoor restaurant behind the hotel for dinner. Once checked in to a room I would have to myself—another bonus, which promised some privacy if I wanted it—I hopped in the shower for a quick scrub to rid the day-long travel off me. Hoping for some good food and that Callum was just as hot in person as in his file's picture, I made my way back outside into the humid warmth, thankful the sun had set.

I wore shorts, a nice T-shirt, and flip-flops because why the fuck not? There was no dress code in the email from my client, Callum, no suggestion of how I ought to prepare for him either. But I'd cleaned myself out just in case he was in the mood to top.

Actual butterflies played around in my stomach, a sense of expectation and excitement I hadn't felt in years. Sure, meeting new clients tended to be a good time, but something about the ocean breeze caressing my face, the scent of flowers and spice, and even the ruckus of tropical birds in the forest off to my right suggested peacefulness.

Tranquility and rest.

All of which I was in desperate need of.

Tiki torches lined a stone pathway leading toward the outdoor dining area. Palm trees swayed and rustled overhead against a pink-streaked navy sky, and a hint of charcoal and grilling meat teased my nose.

I filled my lungs, expecting I looked like a dork with how wide my grin stretched my face.

A hostess in black shorts and a white button-down greeted me by name as though she'd been supplied with a picture of me.

"Right this way, Mr. Briggs," she murmured with a welcoming smile.

I followed the twenty-something woman through a maze of greenery and flowers, noting the private nooks for intimate dining we passed.

Live music played quietly off to my left, and when we rounded a bend in that direction, I noted a small dance area and a few couples all up in each other's spaces. A sense of romance and love hovered, and even though my jaded heart wasn't interested in either, its allure tingled over my skin and left me hungry for more than seafood or steak.

The hostess led me to an area tucked away from the music and other patrons. The table was narrow enough that my and Callum's knees would touch beneath its surface, and two tiki torches on either side provided plenty of light so our faces wouldn't be cast in shadows and unreadable.

"Your dinner date will be joining you shortly," she assured me, motioning for me to have a seat.

"Thanks." I settled into one of three chairs, noting the bucket of ice and bottle of wine chilling. While I'd rather have a cold beer, I would make do with what had been supplied.

Glass of chilled white in hand, I sat back, lingering flutters in my stomach enticing adrenaline into my bloodstream as I glanced over the menu. A heady, rich scent of some sort of flower sweetened the air, intermingling with the grill, causing my mouth to water. I swallowed it down with a sip of the crisp wine.

The liquid cooled my esophagus, and I made a noise of appreciation for both the wine and the local cuisine listed on the sheet I held. Pasta and steak were available as I'd expected considering the fragrant scents around me, but it was the seafood that drew my eye. No lobster, but I could do without until back in New England.

Could the evening get any better?

I mean, I was all about fucking hot clients, but this guy obviously wanted something more, the type of "date" I enjoyed most and didn't get to experience often. A slow start. Small talk, bullshitting, putting the client at ease prior to rocking their world and making them feel appreciative for having spent their money on an Elite escort.

I would ensure his satisfaction, watch him shuffle aboard his flight home in five days, his ass sore and balls spent. His mind would be at rest too from whatever had caused his need of a vacation with an escort as his guest.

Said client appeared, heading my way without guidance, proving that the night ahead of me would indeed be a good one.

Heart thumping with a strange yet heady cadence, I set aside both my wine and the menu.

Firelight danced over Callum, causing the wavy hair atop his head to glint like spun gold. Wide shoulders tapered down to a trim waist. He was on the slim side, more a swimmer than weightlifter, or perhaps a runner. But it was his fisted hands that piqued my interest the most. Was he nervous? Scared? Or just uptight and in need of a good, hard fuck?

I slid my gaze back up to his face to get a quick read on the sexy man I'd been hired to cater to. Our eyes connected, and instantaneous attraction roused to life like I'd never experienced before, waking every hair follicle on my body.

I'd had some hot-as-hell clients in my day—Jamie included—but this man? Goddamn, he was fine as fuck.

He attempted an easy smile with his full lips but didn't quite pull it off. Arresting blue-green irises framed by excessively long lashes revealed the same unease as his hands, but I had practice at helping men relax when they felt tense from guilt over hiring a sex worker.

Not having to force the visible desire like I did with some clients, I rose to my feet and offered Callum my hand. We stood almost eye to eye, electrical currents teasing all my erogenous zones, balls especially, as a hint of cedar filled my nose.

Time to wine and dine his ass straight into his or my bed so I could sniff and lick every inch of his body.

"Callum?" I asked. His file hadn't done the man justice.

"Yes, and you're obviously Zackary." He greeted me with a low, warm voice, his palm sliding along mine in a firm grip, considering his apprehension.

Zaps of lightning shivered up to my shoulders, raising the hairs on my forearms.

His lips parted on a quick inhale as though feeling the same, and I let him see the need tightening my groin in my bold stare. "Zack. And it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Same," he murmured, swallowing hard before releasing his hand from my hold.

I lightly touched his back while pulling out his chair.

"Wine?" I asked, already reaching for the bottle as he sat.

"Please."

Silence hovered over us until I settled across the small table from him. "Thank you for choosing me," I stated.

His gaze flickered over my face as though searching for…I wasn't sure what. Recognition? Confirmation of some assumption he'd made prior to seeing me in the flesh? Assurance I would live up to his expectations? Fulfill his desires and make sure he got his money's worth?

Whatever went through his mind, I had no fucking clue, but something about the man called to me on a soul-deep level, causing a shift beneath my usually sturdy feet.

For the first time, I found myself unsure of how to set my client at ease. But, I would have no issue bringing him pleasure.

And not because I'd been paid to.