The Reef Roamer (The Roamer Series Book 1)

by Deborah D. Moore

  After Daniel left, Mark grinned down at Jayme. “Are you ready?” She nodded. “Listen, Jayme, about last night at the dock…”

  “I hope you can forgive my reaction, Mark, and let it go. I have. A wise person once said, ‘Don’t waste today on yesterday.’” She beamed warmly, touching his hand. “Let’s go!”

  ***

  The boat ride over to Hope Town took forty minutes at the leisurely pace Mark set. Their conversation was leisurely, easy, and friendly, the strain they both worried about nonexistent. Mark tried to explain to Jayme what to expect at Hope Town.

  “It’s really not much to see, Jayme. I hope you won’t be too disappointed. The lighthouse is the main attraction, and there is quite a history to it. Once you’ve seen it, you’ll never forget it, and that’s about it. There’s a restaurant on the other side of the island I’d like to stop at first. The Club Soleil, a great seafood and fried chicken place. I didn’t even have time to have breakfast this morning. How about you? Have you had lunch yet?”

  “Now that you mention it, I had a light breakfast. I feel like I could eat a whole grouper!”

  “A whole grouper?”

  “Well, being hungry enough to ‘eat a horse’ doesn’t sound quite apropos in the islands, and groupers can get quite large,” she explained with a laugh.

  “I’ll see if they have grouper on the menu,” Mark teased her.

  ***

  After an exquisite lunch of conch chowder and shrimp cakes, they moved the boat to a slip on the lighthouse side of the island. Jayme sat on the deck, cross legged, unpacking her camera and checking the memory cards.

  “That truly is an interesting case, Jayme. It looks custom-made,” Mark said hesitantly, fearing it would sound like he was prying.

  Jayme beamed at his interest. “It is. I do a lot of traveling, and my equipment can take a real beating. I designed this case three years ago after losing some expensive lenses to the airline. This compartment holds full memory cards, while this one has blanks, and these two are for the thumb drives that usually stay with my computer. The cut outs in the foam hold each of my cameras securely, and these cut outs hold different lenses, and one for the underwater strobe. The closure was the tricky part. It’s now waterproof. So even if the case accidentally ends up overboard, it floats.” Jayme explained each elaborate aspect of the compact case to Mark without hesitation. It felt wonderful to be so honest and open with someone, and her pleasure showed in her eyes.

  ***

  Climbing the steep stairs to the top of the 153-year-old lighthouse, Jayme was amazed as Mark related the recent work done to the old structure.

  “A few years ago, six painters and carpenters on the Port Authority team set to work at sprucing up and repairing this old gal. It took them more than four weeks to apply two hundred gallons of red and white paint. They even accidentally dumped a can of red paint down one side of the tower, and at 120 feet high, that’s a long way down. Hope Town’s lighthouse is one of the last kerosene powered and manned lighthouses left in the world and is probably the most photographed with its red and white barbershop-type stripes. Most lighthouses are now automated and without keepers, running on batteries and propane gas cylinders. You’re visiting one of the last truly great landmarks in the world.” Mark was obviously proud of the structure and the service it provided.

  “Well, I’m certainly impressed. This is a long walk up, and the steps are so narrow. Aren’t there many accidents? People falling on the steps, I mean.”

  “Not that many want to make the trek up. You will be well rewarded for your tenacity, though, milady. The view from up here is like none other in the world.” Mark couldn’t resist using one of Jayme’s phrases and was surprised when she didn’t respond.

  Jayme had heard, however, with a slight shiver up her spine, though said nothing.

  Once through the tiny hatch-like door at the top, Jayme gasped. “Oh, Mark…what a view! I’ve got to capture this,” Jayme said, checking lighting and adjusting the meters on her digital video camera.

  Mark leaned against the railing, content to watch her move. She was graceful and intent. Every move had a purpose. Mark was overwhelmed with unfamiliar yet wonderful feelings. Jayme leaned over the edge, looking down, then out. She brought her camera up to face level and began a slow panoramic scan of the area. When she got to the area Mark was leaning, her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at the camera. Suddenly she stopped, and her face paled.

  “What’s wrong, Jayme?”

  “Is that coming this way?” Jayme pointed over Mark’s left shoulder, out to the sea, her voice barely a squeak.

  Mark turned to the direction she pointed. His heart sank, and his throat went dry. He lifted his face to the quickening breeze, feeling the direction and smelling the ozone. Blue-black thunderheads stretched to the south; lightning lashed within the clouds as the rumbling spilled out in muffled growls.

  “If it isn’t, it’s going to come mighty close. It looks to be about thirty miles away and moving fast. We better get out of here.” He tried not to sound too worried, but Jayme could tell he was concerned.

  “How long?” she asked simply, letting him know she understood it could be bad as she followed him back down the narrow rusty metal stairs.

  He let out a deep sigh after a moment’s thought. It would do no good to sugarcoat the situation; he may need her help. “Tropical storms come up in a hurry and tend to move fast. I’d say a half hour at the current speed, an hour if it slows a bit.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “It looks like a big storm that could last for many hours, and we don’t want to get caught here. We haven’t any time to lose, Jayme. We’ll probably make it back with only minutes to spare before all Hell breaks loose.”

  All she could do was nod and follow his lead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Once they were back on the boat, Mark handed Jayme a life jacket and slipped one on as well. Jayme didn’t question him. She had learned long ago to follow the lead of the best qualified, just do what you’re told with no questions asked. She bent to pack her camera away, safe from the ensuing sprays of salt, and slipped in some water. She reached inside her other bag for her skid proof surf-shoes, shedding her delicate sandals. Mark silently nodded his approval and set to work guiding them out of the harbor. Once on open water, he opened the throttle as wide as safely possible, and they skimmed the tops of the increasingly violent waves. The darkening clouds of the tropical storm edged ever closer.

  “Hold on, Jayme, it’s going to get rough! And after that, it’s going to get rougher! Look behind you. The storm is gaining!” Mark was shouting now, trying to be heard over the engine and the thunder. “We should be able to make it to my side of the island in about ten more minutes!”

  Nine minutes later, Jayme felt the first hard splattering of rain pelt her back. Her blouse was soon soaked with stinging salt water. She looked anxiously at Mark. He kept his concentration forward, his usually soft mouth now a hard thin line, willing them to beat the fury of the watery beast that followed behind them.

  ***

  Jayme stood ankle deep in water when Mark slowed the boat. With both bags nearby, she was ready to toss them on the dock, leaving her free to help Mark do whatever needed to be done.

  “There’s a fitted tarp under that seat! Start hooking on the pins! If we don’t cover her up, she’ll be sunk in the morning for sure! She may be anyway!” Mark shouted over the increasing gale as he throttled back even more, coasting into the dock bumpers. They worked quickly and efficiently, moving as one, until the boat was finally secured. Mark grabbed the camera case while Jayme took the other bag, and they made a dash up the one hundred yard beach. By the time Mark opened the glass patio doors, they were both thoroughly soaked to the skin.

  Mark set her camera bag down by the side of the low-slung couch. The wind roared outside the closed door, trying to get in. “There are matches by the scuttle. Everything’s set to get a fire started. I’ve got to go back out and c
lose the storm shutters. I won’t be long.” Mark dropped a kiss on Jayme’s salty mouth and was gone.

  Jayme started the fire, knowing they would need it to take the chill off. It might have been ninety degrees earlier in the day, but the storm had brought a cold wind, plunging the temperature severely downward. It couldn’t be more than 50-55 degrees now. Jayme realized that meant hurricane weather. Was that what was happening? Surely there would have been more warning. The thought that Mark was out there by himself sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, and she darted out the door.

  She found him struggling with a latch while at the same time trying to hold the shutter closed. Jayme pushed his hand away from the latch and pointed to the shutter. Mark pushed his shoulder into the wood, holding it against the forceful wind. Jayme threw the bolt home. They moved to the next window. While Mark forced the wooden plank into the wind over the glass, Jayme managed the side that was with the wind, and threw that bolt in place. The unspoken exchange of teamwork continued around the building until they were back to the glass door-wall. The raging storm had gained twice fold in the short amount of time they were securing the old yet sturdy storm shutters. The ocean churned and lashed violently at the shore; the tiny boat bobbed mercilessly against the dock. They darted inside as a large tree branch fell where they had been standing. Mark pushed the glass door closed, shutting out most, though not all, of the thundering cadence.

  “We may have ourselves a full-blown hurricane before the night is over. We made it back just in time.” Mark looked down at Jayme, rain dripping from his disheveled hair. “You were wonderful, by the way. I couldn’t have gotten the shutters closed without you.”

  “You would have managed,” Jayme protested, secretly pleased by his recognition of her help.

  “I don’t think so. The wind was already too strong. We make a good team.” Mark’s gaze drifted over her body. The rain-soaked blouse showed every feminine curve. He sucked in a breath. “I’ll get some towels.” He turned away before Jayme could see the rising hunger in his eyes.

  Afraid he would lose control if he got too close to her, Mark handed Jayme a large fluffy blue towel, then moved in front of the now-blazing fire, a second towel draped around his neck. Medically he understood the adrenaline pumping through his veins could cause a heightened sexual awareness, but he also knew he didn’t need adrenaline to be aware of wanting to hold her close to him, safe from the vicious and growing storm.

  Jayme met his eyes briefly, then put the towel over her head and began to rub vigorously. She breathed deeply. Even the towel smells like him, she thought. Spicy, clean, sensual. Sliding the piece of terrycloth down over her shoulders, Jayme again caught Mark’s eyes. His gaze covered her body in one sweep and then started again, sensuously meandering across every curve and hollow. Jayme’s heart pounded in her ears. Surely he could hear it from across the room! She willed her heart to slow as Mark covered the few feet separating them.

  He took a corner of her towel and gently wiped a drop of water from her cheek. Jayme stood mesmerized by his touch, unable to unlock her green eyes from his gray ones. With a groan, Mark pulled her to him, molding her body to his. Covering her waiting mouth with his, he succumbed to the flurry of sensations that threatened to drown him. Jayme moaned as she leaned her body against his.

  “Oh, Jayme,” he murmured, leaving a trail of little kisses across her cheek, down her neck, and across her throat. He eased his hands under her wet shirt, caressing her bare skin. As he massaged between her shoulder blades, he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, and another moan escaped his throat. He pressed his body more tightly against hers. She could feel his arousal, and it fed her own. He pulled away slightly, running his hands down the sides of her ribs, his thumbs caressing the sides of her bare breasts. Jayme closed her eyes, tilting her head backward, relishing the sensation. When she opened them again, Mark was poised with his hands on her top button, waiting for her to say stop. The moment passed; his gray eyes clouded with want and need and pure lust as he undid one button after another. Finally freeing the last clasp, Mark pushed the rain-drenched shirt from her bronzed shoulders.

  “Beautiful. So beautiful.” He lowered his head to take a brown nipple in his mouth. As he sucked then stroked with his tongue, first one breast then the other, Jayme arched her back in ecstasy, unable and unwilling to control her own mounting desire. He brought his face to hers and kissed her deeply, plundering her mouth with his tongue.

  Pulling back, Mark started unbuttoning his shirt. Jayme reached for his hands to stop him. For a moment, he thought she was rejecting him, until she started undoing the buttons herself. As she undid one clasp at a time, she placed a kiss on his chest, working her way down to his firm belly. He grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he demanded in a husky rasp. Jayme only smiled in answer and reached for his belt buckle, her bare breasts brushing the furry mat of hair on his chest. He pushed her hands aside with a muffled moan, undoing the belt and stepping out of his jeans. When he looked up, Jayme had stepped out of her shorts and was standing in front of the fire, her slim body a shadow, silhouetted by the blaze behind. Mark clutched her firmly and lowered her to the pillows he had tossed on the floor.

  He kissed her thoroughly, tasting every part of her sweet mouth, then began a sensuous trail down her neck, across her breasts. His tongue filled the depression in her taut belly. His touch turned to liquid heat. Everywhere he touched her, her skin ignited in passionate flames. She arched and moaned as his hands drew delicious circles along her inner thighs.

  Mark balanced on one elbow, rising up over her as she opened to receive him. He slipped one hand under her firm buttocks, raising her to meet him. He kissed her gently as his throbbing member teased and probed. Jayme groaned breathlessly, her hands dancing along his back, pulling him closer. When he entered her, Jayme let out a cry of pleasure. Fearing he had hurt her, Mark started to pull back. Jayme clutched at him, pulling him back into her. He buried his face in her hair, nibbling her neck, caressing her on the outside as he was on the inside.

  Jayme met him, thrust for passionate thrust, oblivious to the mewling sounds that escaped from deep inside her throat. Her passion mounted as Mark quickened his pace. Abruptly, he stopped, pulling out of her, breathing hard.

  “This is going too fast, Jayme. I can’t hold on unless I slow down.” His breathing was rapid and erratic.

  “I don’t want you to slow down, Mark. It’s been a long time…Love me, Mark. Love me,” Jayme pleaded.

  With a delighted groan, Mark moved on top of her again. His swollen maleness fit into her hot, wet sweetness with ease. As they moved as one, Jayme felt herself ride wave after wave of luxurious sensations, spiraling upward, ever upward. Completely detached from all except the glorious feelings cascading around her, Jayme felt the exquisite convulsions begin. Riding the crest of a million stars exploding around her, she cried out Mark’s name as he joined her blaze of climaxes.

  ***

  They clung to each other in the afterglow. Jayme stroked Mark’s back, her sensitive hands exploring every well-developed muscle, crossing over to hold him against her. Mark lifted himself on one elbow over her, his dark eyes unreadable in the failing light. His face softened the longer he gazed at her, and then he smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “Don’t go away,” he teased as he stood. He had a well-toned body that Jayme delighted in watching move gracefully away. He soon returned and covered her with the large, soft blanket he brought.

  Their bodies met again under the warmth of the cover. Mark’s need was rising again. He pulled Jayme close to him, kissing her hypnotically. He took her desire-swollen breast in his mouth, flicking his tongue rapidly across the hard nipple. Jayme gasped. Mark rapidly hardened with her exquisite responses. Even though he knew he was ready for her again, he was determined to take it slower this time, to please her every way he knew how.

  They made love again, deep into th
e night as the violent storm raged on outside. Finally satiated, they fell into a blissful slumber, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  ***

  Mark left Jayme sleeping on the pillows in front of the dying fire. The storm had subsided, and the first rays of morning sun now began to shine through. It was a night he was not likely to ever forget. Just thinking about holding Jayme, making love to her, Mark’s groin twitched with excitement.

  Am I ever going to get enough of her? he thought.

  Feeling her respond to him was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he had had a good deal of experience. None of the other women he had slept with even came close to his green-eyed beauty.

  Gazing out the window to the now-calm sea, he heard Jayme stirring behind him. He looked down at her slight figure huddled under the blanket. Groaning in pain, Jayme lashed out with her feet, trying to kick some invisible assailant. She pushed with her hands, only they were tangled in the blanket. Sending up another muffled cry, she thrashed harder, trying to free herself from whatever held her in the nightmare. Mark reached down and shook Jayme’s foot to waken her, uneasy with her fitfulness. His growing concern exploded when he saw a wet red stain blossom across the blanket.

  Deep in her dark dreams, Jayme was back in the cool blue water, diving amongst the corals. Her lungs ached as her air began to run out, so she kicked a powerful thrust toward the surface, only her feet were tangled in something. She kicked harder, to no avail. This time something took hold of her foot and was keeping her from reaching the surface where she could breathe. Her lungs ached and screamed for air. What was holding her? An octopus? Too timid. A squid? They could get aggressive. Maybe a patch of seaweed had wound around her fins. She thrashed again, flailing her arms, striking out at this unseen menace, when the incredible pain ripped through her arm. Shark! A scream fixed in her dry throat and died there.