Page 13 of September’s Tide (Island Tales #2)

What now? Taylor rolled his eyes. Duh . You go in.

He slipped inside quietly. The space was as clean and minimalist as the pictures Vanessa had shown him when they’d first spoken about the tenancy.

Everything in its place. Then his gaze landed on the kitchen counter, where an open blister pack of pills sat, a few of its contents scattered across the surface.

Taylor peered at the logo on the box, and his stomach tightened.

Painkillers.

He crossed the room and crept to the glass door leading upstairs. David lay in bed,

the covers half-kicked away, one arm slung over his head with a pillow pressed against his ear. An empty glass sat on the nightstand. His back was to the door, his muscles slack beneath the sheet that barely covered his arse.

Taylor’s cock gave a hopeful twitch.

Focus. He’s clearly not well.

He moved closer, cautious. “David?” he said quietly. “It’s Taylor.”

David stirred, shifting the pillow enough to squint up at him. “Taylor?” His voice was scratchy, hoarse. “What time is it?”

“A little past ten,” Taylor said gently. “You didn’t show for breakfast. I got worried.”

David groaned and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Woke up with a blinding headache at six. Took something. I must’ve passed out waiting for it to kick in.”

“Are you still feeling it?”

David lay still, as if doing a mental scan. Then his shoulders relaxed. “No. It’s gone.” He let out a long breath. “God, what a shit start to the day. Sorry I bailed.”

“Forget that,” Taylor reassured him. “You need air. And I’ve got the perfect thing.”

David cracked an eye open. “Oh?”

“Do you get seasick?”

He arched an eyebrow. “No. Why?”

Taylor grinned. “Eric—he’s a friend of mine—he’s got a boat, and he’s invited me out this afternoon. A bit of sailing, maybe some fishing. You should come.”

David sat up, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to crash your plans.”

“You wouldn’t be. Eric loves company.” He grinned. “Especially the kind that’s not me.”

David hesitated. “When you say ‘boat,’ are we talking dinghy, or something that actually floats without paddling?”

Taylor snorted. “It’s a thirty-five-foot yacht. Eric comes from money, and he likes his toys. Except it isn’t his, it belongs to his dad.”

David blinked. “A yacht?”

Taylor gave a slow nod. “So are you coming or not?”

David looked tempted. More than tempted, actually: he resembled someone who desperately wanted to say yes but didn’t want to presume. Taylor homed in on that flicker of indecision and acted before it could take root.

“You’re coming,” he declared. “The sea breeze will blow the rest of that headache clean away.”

David chuckled. “Just as long as it doesn’t blow me overboard.” His stomach rumbled loudly. “Although before I get on any boat, I should probably think about food.”

Taylor stood. “How about this. You shower while I raid your fridge and see what I can throw together. Deal?”

David blinked. “You don’t have to?—”

“I know,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But I want to.”

David looked at him for a beat too long. Then he nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

He stood, and Taylor’s breath caught at the view, David naked, casual, utterly unselfconscious. The man had definition in all the right places. Those arms… that back… that arse .

A throat cleared.

Taylor snapped out of it to find David watching him with amusement.

“I’d love to know what you were thinking just now,” David said, his voice lazy. “Whatever it was, it made you smile.”

Taylor flushed. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, and beat a hasty retreat downstairs.

The fridge held eggs, cheese, some ham and tomatoes.

He grinned. Omelette it is then. He found a chopping board, cracked the eggs, and got to work.

He’d poured the mix into the pan when he heard the shower shut off.

The plate was warming in the sink. By the time David walked in, clean and tousled, Taylor was sliding the omelette onto it.

David stopped short. “Wow. I was expecting toast.”

Taylor couldn’t account for the wave of bashfulness that washed over him. “It didn’t seem like a toast morning.”

David sat down at the table, his eyes flicking to the plate as if it held some sort of treasure. “This smells incredible.”

Taylor turned away, opening a drawer for cutlery, trying to hide his blush. “Eat. Then we’ll talk boat plans.”

David took a bite, moaned softly, then grinned. “Damn, boy, you sure can cook. You’ll make someone a wonderful wife.”

Taylor laughed and batted his lashes. “Why, Mr. Hannon, is that a proposal?”

David cracked up, and Taylor took that as his cue to exit.

As he walked along the path to his home, he pulled out his phone and rang Eric.

“We’re on,” he said. “But there’ll be two of us.”

Eric snorted. “Let me guess. You’re bringing the American you told me about?”

“He has no idea what he’s in for,” Taylor said, grinning.

“Then I’ll go easy,” Eric promised, not entirely convincingly.

Taylor ended the call and pocketed his phone.

He’ll cope just fine, he told himself. They both will.

What would be interesting was how his friends would handle David. Taylor had never brought anyone along before.

That reaction might be even more telling.