GRAHAM would have recognized that ass anywhere.
The man, standing a few feet from Graham with his back turned, wore tight faded blue jeans that hugged the curve of his sharply toned backside. From his hips to his feet, the blue material accentuated every line of the guy’s powerful legs. Graham had seen those legs completely bare more times than he could remember. And Graham had a very good memory. Especially when he was star-struck.
Even clothed, there was no mistaking the identity of the man who owned the sweetest ass this side of the equator. Graham’s eyes lifted from the other man’s butt to the back of his head and smiled, even more sure of his recognition. Where Graham’s dark brown hair was cropped in a short military style crew cut, the man standing in front of him had shoulder-length light blond hair with a slight hint of gray. The guy had pulled back a few strands into a ponytail on top of his head, but the remainder rested lazily down the back of his neck. They were probably near the same age—Graham was pushing forty—but the wisps of gray made the other seem older, wiser. Sexier.
Graham imagined the stranger had probably had many more experiences; he could teach Graham a thing or two. Graham would play the willing student and the other man would play the dominant yet gentle teacher. Their interaction would be one for the movies, no doubt. Graham chuckled quietly to himself. Or television.
Graham gazed with longing at the back of the guy’s head. There was no doubt in Graham’s mind what his face would look like: chiseled jaw, sharp nose, high cheekbones. He’d surely recognize the thin red lips he’d fantasized about many nights, sitting on his couch in the dark, mesmerized by the tube. He’d dreamed for years about that face.
It had to be Bruce Newsome.
Bruce was a ruggedly handsome actor most famous for his soap commercials. Graham had watched Bruce take off jeans similar to the ones he now had on a hundred times before walking into a hot shower and lathering his well-toned body. And ass. Faux steam filling the makeshift bathroom on some Hollywood set, showing just enough skin to make a man weak in the knees.
Hell, Graham had purchased more than his share of the green-striped bars after being coaxed by the sexy, suds-filled ads—whether he needed them or not.
What were the odds the masculine stud from television would be on vacation at the same time as Graham? At the same hotel? On the same island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?
He knew visiting paradise would be a dream come true for most, but he’d doubted it would be so for him. Not really. He’d never been one for travel or vacations. Work had been his life—he’d endured year after year of long (and what he’d imagined to be thankless) hours. Usually it didn’t bother him, but lately life had gotten overwhelming. This trip was more of a methodical plan to get as far away from New York as possible, but still be in the US. It was his escape—even if only for a few days—from his high-powered job as a Fortune 500 stockbroker. A way to relax, but he hadn’t been expecting much more.
Watching the television star complete his check-in made Graham think that perhaps things were looking up. If he’d be able to see the soap hunk every day, maybe this trip really would turn out to be paradise—or more.
The concierge handed Bruce his room key. When he turned around and faced Graham, the pressure in his chest increased. He couldn’t breathe. Graham’s heart slammed against his chest. The actor was even more handsome in person than on television. He looked taller, more masculine, and more gorgeous. His chiseled features were accentuated by his deep tanned skin. He had dark blue eyes—almost black—that reminded Graham of the sky right before a storm. The sharp lines of his cheeks were a perfect match for his firm jaw.
Graham imagined that he and Bruce would make the perfect couple—a fantasy he’d had before. The hint of gray in Bruce’s hair would make it seem as if the two enjoyed a May-December romance, even though they were near the same age. Graham was just as physically fit as Bruce, and only a few inches shorter. Graham’s brown eyes would contrast nicely next to Bruce’s. The two men would surely turn heads.
He was so lost in his imagined pairing that Graham didn’t notice at first when Bruce turned his way. Bruce smiled at Graham, and he almost giggled like a girl at the way Bruce’s entire face lit up. Yes, he was definitely star-struck. Bruce’s thin lips curved upward and crinkled the skin next to his eyes. It was one of the sexiest damn things Graham had ever seen.
Graham smiled back and said something he hoped resembled a casual “Hey” as Bruce walked by. A slight brush of their shoulders made Graham clench his teeth in an attempt to stave off the passionate shudder that threatened to shake his entire body to its core.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the other man. Graham turned his head slightly to the side and watched Bruce walk away toward the elevator. Bruce’s taut ass shifted enticingly in his skin tight jeans. The white T-shirt Bruce wore molded just as securely to the star’s back, allowing Graham to memorize every line of muscle. At six-foot-four, Bruce was built like a Greek god. Graham’s mouth watered—even though he didn’t consider himself the religious type, it wouldn’t take much persuasion for him to agree to worship a god like that.
Hello paradise, he thought and turned back toward the concierge.