All the Way to Shore

by CJane Elliott

  “Okay, good. I’m glad Andy’s looking out for you too.” Damn, the blue of Jonah’s eyes was especially vivid today.

  They reached the dock and were immediately approached by several men who clamored for them to take their cab. “Drive you around the island! See the sights, mon.”

  Marco turned to Jonah. “What do you want to do first? It might be fun to drive around the island.”

  “Sure.”

  Marco surveyed the selection of drivers. One held his sign while he read a book, leaning against the low stone wall that bordered the street, oblivious to the circus in front of him. “How about him?”

  Jonah followed Marco’s gaze. “Why am I not surprised that’s who you’d pick? Okay.”

  As they walked over to the man, Marco asked, “What do you mean?”

  “You picked the most aloof and self-contained one. Kind of like you. But minus the aloof.”

  “Hmm. You say the most interesting things.” Marco hailed the driver. “Hello there! Are you available to take us on a tour around the island?”

  The man lowered his book. His eyes were a startling green in his brown face. “Hour or full day?”

  Marco and Jonah exchanged glances. “What would we do for a full day?” Jonah asked.

  “Plenty to do, mon. Beach, rain forests, lunch in a real island place. No tourist traps for my riders. You name it, we can do it.”

  “And get us back to the ship by six?” Marco checked.

  “Of course. Fifty dollars for the day tour. Up front. But then I’ll take you places you wouldn’t have seen.”

  Marco nodded. When both he and Jonah reached into their pockets, he put a hand on Jonah’s forearm, noting the nice muscle definition. “Let me get this.”

  “Okay. Let me buy lunch, then.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  They entered the cab, which was nicely maintained, with a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror. As the driver started the car, classical music filled their ears. Marco recognized it as Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto.

  Jonah immediately met Marco’s eyes and smiled. “Rachmaninoff. I love this concerto.”

  “Me too. I like this one even better than the Second.”

  “I think it’s a tie for me.” Jonah leaned toward the cabbie. “Thank you for playing classical music.”

  “No worries, mon.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Mel.”

  “Okay, Mel. I’m Jonah, and this is Marco. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise. Where do you gentleman want to go first? I can drive along the beach so you can see the water, then head up into the hills. We go through some nice rain forests. And I know a little place to take you for lunch.”

  Jonah cast Marco a questioning glance, but he gestured for Jonah to go ahead and decide. Taking a backseat to Mel and Jonah tickled him.

  “Can you also take us by gardens or where island flowers grow?” Jonah seemed a bit shy about asking this, but Mel’s face in the mirror visibly brightened.

  “Yeah, mon! We have some of the most beautiful flowers in the world. You like poinsettias in the States this time of year, eh?” At their assents, Mel puffed up. “They grow wild here. Whole hedges of them. Along with birds of paradise and bougainvilleas.”

  “Yes, please!” Jonah clasped his hands, his eyes shining with delight.

  Marco ran his fingers through the short blond hair at the nape of Jonah’s neck and squeezed gently, watching the color rise in his cheeks. “I love seeing how excited you get about flowers.”

  “Oh, well, I….” Jonah took a breath, then shot Marco a look. “Yep. So if I call you Petal, you’ll know it’s a good thing.” His sassy smile took Marco’s breath away.

  “As long as I get to call you Petunia.”

  “No way!”

  Mel’s voice cut in over their laughter. “To the right is one of the most beautiful beaches on the island. Sugar-white sand, and water so clear you can see the reefs from the surface when you get a ways from shore.”

  Marco let go of Jonah’s neck, resting his arm along the back of Jonah’s seat. “Have you ever scuba dived?”

  Jonah wrinkled his nose. “No. I’m kind of claustrophobic, so the thought of all the water over my head is—” He gave an exaggerated shudder.

  “How about snorkeling, then?”

  “Yes, when I was a kid and my parents dragged us on a cruise. I got water up my nose. I was pretty unathletic until recently.” Jonah frowned, then seemed to regain his cheerfulness with an effort. “What about you? I bet you do both.”

  “I got my scuba diving certification a few years back, but I haven’t had much time to use it. We should go snorkeling while we’re here. The reefs and the fish are beautiful. I never believed fish actually came in those colors until I saw them in their natural habitat.”

  Mel nodded his head in agreement. “Best reefs in the world a few hundred feet from shore. Great snorkeling. I can take you after lunch.”

  Jonah’s smile widened. “Sure. Why not?”

  Mel eyed Jonah in the rearview mirror. “Be sure to wear a T-shirt over your swim trunks, pale guy. That way your back won’t get burned.” He turned onto a road that led away from the beach.

  “Pale guy,” Marco whispered, and Jonah snickered.

  The last movement of the piano concerto began, its sprightly chords filling the cab. Marco let the music wash over him, and a glance at Jonah showed him moving his head to the rhythm. The coastal grasses soon gave way to dense rain forest as the road wound around and up. Mel’s open window let in soft tropical breezes fragrant with spicy aromas. Marco moved his arm from its resting place and took Jonah’s hand. Their eyes locked. He inhaled deeply, wanting to savor this moment. If he could capture it in a bottle, he would label it “perfection.”

  JONATHAN MET Marco’s eyes, feeling the warmth of Marco’s hand enclosing his as Rachmaninoff’s music poured over them. Verdant green foliage embraced the small road, and the air smelled alive, full of intriguing scents. He never wanted this moment to end.

  The cab lurched over a sudden pothole. “Sorry, mon. Road gets rough, but we’re almost to the gardens.”

  Mel’s voice snapped the spell Marco’s gaze had put Jonathan under, and he turned to watch the rain forest. A squeeze of his hand brought him back to Marco.

  “Do you play Rachmaninoff?”

  “A little. Some of his preludes. I never tackled the piano concertos, though.”

  Marco picked up Jonathan’s hand and considered it, stroking each finger. Jonathan shivered. “Why not?”

  “Too big. Too scary. Once I figured out I never was going to be a concert pianist, I didn’t pursue learning the repertoire.” Jonathan suppressed a wince as all the opportunities he’d bypassed in his life paraded through his mind. “Maybe I’ll take on learning this one.”

  “You should. Do it for yourself. What’s to fear? It’s not like you’ll have to perform it in front of anyone else.”

  “No. You’re right.”

  “Although I’ll probably want a private concert.” Marco smiled alluringly.

  “Uh, I believe that can be arranged.” Jonathan smiled back, but it was a shaky effort. Once Marco knew the truth, there’d be no private concerts. Banishing the thought, he allowed Jonah to take the reins again. “You, I could handle. You’re not scary.”

  Marco laughed. “That’s not what most people think. But that’s at work. I guess it’s good to instill a bit of fear into people when you’re running a company.”

  “Oh? Your employees fear you?” As if he didn’t know.

  Marco grew thoughtful. “I hope not. Not after they get to know me. But I’ve been told I can be intimidating.”

  This was the point in the conversation where Jonathan really needed to ask Marco where he worked, if he didn’t want to seem like a completely self-absorbed nitwit. He braced himself, but then Mel’s voice interrupted.

  “Coming up on the gardens.”

 
Saved by the Mel. Jonathan turned his face to the window and gasped. A hedge studded with red poinsettia plants flanked a lush garden teeming with bright flowers. “Oh, wow!” He gave Marco a delighted glance and found him beaming back.

  “Your flowers! Let’s go see.”

  Marco didn’t make Jonathan feel like an idiot for what he loved. Far from intimidating, he was turning out to be a total sweetheart. They got out of the car, and Marco took his hand again.

  Mel leaned against the taxi holding his book, and waved them off. “Go. Enjoy. I’ll be here.”

  Hand in Marco’s, Jonathan ventured into the garden, then stopped at an unusual flower. He knelt down to study it, not even realizing he’d let go of Marco’s hand until he felt it on his shoulder.

  “What is it called?” Marco’s voice sounded hushed, like they were in a cathedral. A cathedral of flowers.

  “I don’t know. It’s like a bromeliad, but I’ve never seen one this color. It’s beautiful.”

  “Do you grow bromeliads at home?”

  “Only indoors. They’re a tropical plant.” Jonathan stood and surveyed the bright expanse. “It’s so wild to see all these plants in their natural habitat.” A stand of birds of paradise caught his eye, and he walked over to check them out. “Look at these, Marco. Aren’t they gorgeous?”

  Marco came alongside him and cupped one of the orange-and-blue flowers in his hand. “They are. Do you think I could grow them in Boston?”

  “Only if you had a greenhouse,” Jonathan said laughingly.

  “Then I’ll just have to enjoy them right here and now. Wait. Stay there.” Marco whipped out a small camera to take a picture.

  “Hold on.” Jonathan removed his visor and ran his fingers through his hair. “Andy wants to burn this visor. He’d never forgive me if you got a picture of me in it.”

  “I think it’s cute.” Marco aimed and took the shot. “Beautiful. You look like one of the flowers in your bright colors.”

  That made Jonathan laugh again. “I want a picture of you too.”

  Marco joined him, pressing his head close as he held out the camera to take a picture of both of them. They considered it. “I like it. Us amongst the flowers.”

  “Yes, Petal. Send me that one. I’ve got to see those poinsettias up close.” Jonathan heard Marco chuckle as he took off.

  He wound his way through the various plants, feeling more at ease than he had all trip. He could lose himself in a garden, just tending the plants and watching things grow. As he neared the poinsettias, his mouth fell open. Hundreds of the red plants formed a yards-long hedge taller than he was. He touched a red flower, thinking of his mother with a pang. She used to fill the house with poinsettias during the holiday season.

  Jonathan felt Marco’s presence next to him. “Mother loved poinsettias at Christmas. The color is so vivid. Beautiful.” He glanced at Marco to find him staring at Jonathan, not the poinsettias.

  “You are too. Beautiful. Sei così bello.”

  Feeling his heart rate kick up, Jonathan tried and failed to think of a witty comeback. Instead, he told the simple truth. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

  Marco regarded him with such a serious expression. “May I kiss you?”

  “Y-yes. Please.”

  Marco leaned in and pressed his full lips on Jonathan’s. Marco kissed him once, twice—short, sweet, almost chaste kisses. He drew back, considering Jonathan, searching his face—for what, Jonathan didn’t know. The breeze slid lightly over his skin and stirred the bright red flowers, birds called back and forth to each other, and Jonathan’s pulse roared in his ears. Then Marco put his index finger under Jonathan’s chin, tilted it gently, and settled his mouth over Jonathan’s like he planned to stay there awhile.

  Jonathan swayed, his senses on fire at the incredible heat of Marco’s mouth. Warm and lush and moist. Tropical, he thought dazedly, and opened up to let Marco’s tongue dance with his.

  KISSING JONAH was a revelation. He didn’t hold back as Marco feared he might, instead sinking in, twining his tongue around Marco’s like he’d been kissing Marco all his life. He tasted minty and comforting, and Marco let go of his last shreds of reserve. He wanted this—the sweet, heartfelt way Jonah clung to him, which set off a surprising rush of affection in Marco’s chest. How could Marco have almost missed out? He’d lived a lot of life in his thirty-three years and been with many partners, done everything sexually one could imagine—and nothing came close to the tingly warmth spreading through his body simply from kissing Jonah.

  They broke apart for breath and stared at each other. Jonah’s lips were red and plundered, his hair tousled from the wind, his eyes dreamy and stunned. God. Marco wanted to tumble him down to the grass and take him right there.

  Despite his cool exterior, Marco wasn’t a particularly patient man. What he wanted, he wanted now. And he wanted Jonah Rutledge. Badly. So why was he hesitating and acting like some bashful suitor? He glanced around. The place was deserted, and Mel had been absorbed in his book. With any other guy, Marco wouldn’t have thought twice. But Jonah wasn’t just any guy. He was special.

  While Marco debated, the situation resolved itself. Mel’s voice called out from the direction of the car, “Hey, mon! We’d better get going for lunch if you want to snorkel and get back to the ship on time.”

  Jonah gave him a rueful smile and not-so-subtly adjusted his bright yellow shorts. Then he held out his hand. Marco took it with a small laugh and felt Jonah grip him tightly, infusing him with his energy. Jonah’s energy—whole, clean, good, pure—almost indescribable. Marco felt like a new man as they strolled out of the garden.

  Mel opened the cab doors with a flourish. “The chariot awaits, mons. I’m taking you to a little place not many people know of ’cept island folk. You ever have conch stew?”

  Chapter EIGHT

  CONCH STEW turned out to be something like clam chowder, only with conch meat instead of clams. Marco inhaled the aroma of the savory broth and took a sip of the island beer Mel’s friend Tonka had brought them. They sat in a little shack with a screened door and windows, a few linoleum tables, and not much else in the front room. Clatters sounded from the back where reggae music thumped. A fan circled lazily overhead.

  He and Jonah hadn’t talked much since the gardens, but their hands now seemed welded together. They even held hands at the table and ate with their free ones. Their kisses appeared to have had the same renewing effect on Jonah. None of his shyness or nervous energy was in evidence as he wrapped those delectable lips around the beer bottle. He seemed settled.

  Slowing down to vacation pace took some getting used to. “Island time, mon,” Mel had said when Marco started to get antsy about how long the food was taking. Then Jonah had nudged him, and Marco had gotten lost in his blue eyes.

  After eating the seconds that Tonka insisted they have, Marco thought about the snorkeling plan. “What time is it?”

  Tonka pointed to the wall above the curtained kitchen entrance.

  “Three thirty? That’s impossible!”

  With an eloquent shrug, Tonka drew the curtain aside to go into the kitchen. “I’ll get your desserts.”

  “We’ll never be able to snorkel and get back to the ship by six.” Marco frowned.

  Jonah lifted his hand and kissed his palm. “There’s always tomorrow. Isn’t Grand Cayman supposed to have good snorkeling reefs?”

  “Yes. It has great reefs. But that isn’t the point.” He knew he was being grumpy, but he didn’t like things not going according to plan.

  “Relax.” Jonah pulled gently on one of Marco’s curls, then wound it around his finger. “We have all the time in the world.”

  And just like that, the tension left Marco’s body. “You’re like a drug. But a good one.”

  Jonah patted his cheek. “I’m just what the doctor ordered, babe.”

  As Marco laughed, Tonka came out with two plates of coconut custard and two more beers. “Enjoy, mon. It’s island
time.” She walked over to join Mel, who was smoking a slim cigar as he read a newspaper at a table under the window.

  Jonah stuck his finger into the custard, then offered it to Marco, who promptly sucked it into his mouth. Jonah’s lips curved into a wicked smile. There was a devilish side to sweet, innocent Jonah, it seemed, and Marco was glad to see it. Marco stuck his own finger into the dessert and returned the favor. Jonah suckled his finger and swirled his tongue around the tip. Lord. Marco barely suppressed a humiliating whimper as he grew hard in his shorts.

  They cooled off enough to actually eat their desserts—creamy and not too sweet—and were finishing their beers when Mel folded his newspaper and set it down on the table with a thwack. “Okay, mon. Time to hit the road.”

  Once back in the cab, Mel said, “Sorry about missing the snorkeling, guys. You got any other sights you want to see before I take you back to the ship?”

  On impulse, Marco asked, “Are there any churches near here?”

  Mel turned all the way around to stare at him. “Churches?”

  “Well, yes.” Marco indicated the rosary.

  “Okay, mon. I’ll take you to one of the oldest Catholic churches on the island. And it’s on the way back to the ship.” He started the engine and turned on the radio.

  “Churches?” Jonah asked, as a Chopin étude filled the car.

  “Yeah.” Marco shifted in his seat, slightly embarrassed. He wanted to be with Jonah in a church, although he had no idea why. He hadn’t darkened the door of a church in years. When Mama was alive she’d been able to get Marco to go with her to Mass from time to time, but he hadn’t been since her death. He groped for a logical explanation to give Jonah, even though nothing about this experience with Jonah seemed logical. Magical, yes, although Marco didn’t really believe in magic. Spiritual? Maybe. Marco gave up trying to make sense of it and said whatever came into his head.

  “I had this idea that I’d like to visit a church. Just to be inside one again. And I wanted to do that with you. Maybe because we were talking about religion last night. Do you mind?”