Eye Of The Storm

Eye of the Storm

Delilah Devlin

www.spice-books.co.uk

A gust of rain-soaked wind at my back pushed me through the heavy teak doors into the hotel lobby. I stood, dripping onto the carpet, feeling as dispirited as I ever had in my life.

I’d made a gamble and lost. Flying to Jamaica in the eye of a storm, I’d hoped to find the part of me I’d left behind a year ago.

So many regrets swirled inside my head. I’d waited too long to come back. I’d been a coward—afraid to grab for the brass ring when it had hung within my grasp.

“Miss Smith, you need a towel?”

I glanced at the desk clerk, whose dark solemn face told me he knew how unhappy I was. Okay, now I could add looking pathetic to my list of woes. “Thanks, Bob,” I said, twisting my lips into a parody of a smile.

He passed me a stack of towels, and I began to rub my sodden hair. My clothes were beyond hope—my jeans and short T-shirt clung to my skin.

“Da hurricane party jus’ started,” he said, his tone gentle. “You can get yourself a rum toddy at da bar. Warm you to yer bones.”

I started to shake my head, wanting only to flee to my room and lick my wounds in private, and then thought better of it. I’d spent a wad of hard-earned cash to get here in the middle of a storm—why not live a little? Or at least get really, really drunk. “How’d you get so smart, Bob?”

“Seen a lot in my years,” he said, pointing to his old, rheumy eyes.

“I can’t believe you remembered me,” I murmured. “I was only here for five days, and you must have met thousands of guests in your time.” Although I hadn’t forgotten him, either. I hadn’t forgotten a single moment of my previous visit.

“Knew you’d be back.” He gave me a wink. “Don’t give up just yet.”

I gave him another false smile and headed toward the bar, automatically smoothing back my wet hair, although I really didn’t care what I looked like. The one person who mattered wouldn’t be there.

Gray daylight spilled into the lobby through the small ice-block windows high up under the eaves, but it didn’t reach very far inside the bar because of the boarded up windows. I hesitated until my sight adjusted. The interior was as dark as a cavern, the bar lit only by a line of hurricane lamps because the electricity had gone out.

I hadn’t stepped three feet inside the room when a hand snagged my wrist. I closed my eyes, a sweet trembling starting deep inside my core.

“Hello, Janie.” That voice—a deep, rusty baritone—elicited a delicious shiver.

“Marcus…” I whispered, leaning back against him and allowing him to surround me with his brawny arms. “I thought—”

“That I wasn’t coming?” He snorted, his breath warming my cheek.

“It’s been a year,” I said softly. “A lot could have happened since then. I thought you’d changed your mind.” I didn’t tell him that I’d cried when I’d found his small office near the wharf boarded up.

“How could I miss your birthday?” His lips glanced against my cheek.

I turned in his arms and reached up to slide mine around his neck. His dreadlocks were longer than they’d been, but his warm gray eyes an