“I really need a shower.”

Simon’s husky words tripped down Marcy’s spine and she swallowed. Hard.

“Okay, but be quick about it. I have things to do,” she said, just to remind them both where they stood.

Disappearing into the bathroom, his voice floated back out at her, “Like more dancing? I wouldn’t mind sticking around to watch that show.”

“No. No sticking, no show.” Her face flushed hot.

“That’s a shame. I could use some entertainment.” He stuck his head back around the corner.

He was naked. At least what she could see of him. All wide shoulders and taut, tanned skin. The swell of well-defined pecs and just the hint of sculpted abs. A sprinkling of golden hair narrowed to a line down the center of his chest to disappear behind the dark wood of the door frame.

His heavy-lidded eyes searched her face, for what she wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, he found it.

Simon wanted her.

And what Simon wanted, Simon got …

About the Author

When not working as an office manager for a project management firm or juggling plot lines, KIRA SINCLAIR spends her time on a small farm in north Alabama with her wonderful husband, two amazing daughters and a menagerie of animals. It’s amazing to see how this self-proclaimed city girl has (or has not, depending on who you ask) adapted to country life. Kira enjoys hearing from her readers at her website, www.kirasinclair.com. Or stop by writingplayground.blogspot.com and join in the fight to stop the acquisition of an alpaca.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever read a book where a secondary character caught your attention and just wouldn’t let it go? For me, that’s what happened with hero and heroine, Simon and Marcy.

I knew the minute Marcy hit the page in Bring It On, she’d have her own story. She was feisty—the way I like my heroines—and therefore needed a really strong man. And, oh, Simon fit the bill. He is the epitome of “looks can be deceiving” and I fell a little in love with him myself. Please don’t tell my husband.

My favorite relationships to write about are those where the characters strike sparks off each other the moment they meet. I don’t mean arguing, although these two do plenty of that. But that combination of friction and attraction that you know is just a smoke screen hiding so much underneath. It’s a lot of fun watching the haze clear.

I hope you enjoy reading Simon and Marcy’s story! It was a pleasure to write. And be sure to check out Bring It On and Take It Down—the first two books in my ISLAND NIGHTS trilogy. You don’t want to miss the fireworks leading up to Rub It In. I’d love to hear from you at kira@kirasinclair.com.

Best wishes,

Kira Sinclair

Rub It In

Kira Sinclair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I’d like to dedicate this book to a group of women who have become sisters of my heart—Kimberly Lang, Andrea Laurence, Marilyn Puett and Danniele Worsham. Without you guys this journey wouldn’t have happened—and it sure wouldn’t have been as enjoyable even if it had. It seems like you’ve been a part of my life for as long as I can remember instead of only a few years. Y’all mean the world to me and I hope you guys know that. Love you!

1

“NO, I CAN’T WAIT until next week for the delivery. You promised it would arrive today,” Marcy McKinney snarled into the phone. Taking a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her lips—because you really could hear it and her dad had always taught her you catch more flies with honey than vinegar—and said, “If you can’t have the building supplies here by tomorrow then I want you to cancel my order and I’ll get what I need somewhere else.”

Slamming the phone back into its cradle would have felt good, but Marcy resisted. Barely. She had no idea where she’d find a store that could fill her rather large order, but she’d figure that out if the dissolute man on the other end of the phone actually called her bluff.

It wasn’t as if hardware stores were thick on the ground in the middle of a secluded island in the Caribbean. Escape—the resort that she worked at as general manager—was actually the only thing on Île du Coeur. St. Lucia was the closest major hub, and it was forty-five minutes by ferry.

Getting the supplies from another island would probably double the cost … but that wasn’t her problem. It was Simon’s.

She should probably feel bad about making Simon’s life difficult. She didn’t. It was his turn, damn it.

The resort would be closed for the next two weeks—their off-season hiatus. In two days she had a job interview for the general manager position at a boutique hotel in New York City. This could be her ticket off the island and back to civilization.

And nothing, not Simon or lost building supplies, defecting security personnel, not even—

“Marcy!”

—whatever was the latest disaster to hit her desk could keep her here.

Tina, the front desk clerk, bellowed down the back office hallway again.

“Coming,” Marcy hollered back, modulating her voice to a pleasantly official tone. Scrambling out from behind her desk, she tried not to panic at the piles of paper, messages she still had to return and color-coded folders that needed her attention. She had so much to handle before she could walk out the door.

And by the time she could mark one thing off her list, three more tasks seemed to crop up to take its place.

The minute Marcy rounded the corner she knew there was trouble. Tina’s normally brilliant smile was tight and as fake as her long red fingernails.

A couple, sunburned and cranky, stood on the opposite side of the counter.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” Tina rolled her eyes. While it wasn’t their main focus, they had their share of Smiths, Joneses, Johnsons and any number of generically named guests who were most likely cheating on their spouses. Marcy didn’t like it, but there was little she could do.

“Thank goodness. I’ve explained to—” the woman leaned forward and squinted at Tina’s name tag “—Tina that we need to extend our stay.” She held out her lobster-red arm, “As you can imagine, explaining how I received a second-degree sunburn while on a business trip to London might be slightly difficult.” The woman sneered, including her companion in her raking gaze.

“And as I’ve told Mrs. Smith …” This time Tina couldn’t help but emphasize the misnomer. Marcy probably should scold her, but she wouldn’t. “We have no available rooms, as the resort is closing for two weeks tomorrow.”

“We’ll pay whatever.”

Marcy’s own smile was tight as she said, “It isn’t a matter of money, ma’am.” She refused to let the false name pass her lips. “The resort is undergoing construction and our insurance company won’t allow any guests on the premises for liability reasons.”

The woman’s scowl deepened. Marcy could see the snit she was about to unleash as it built in the back of her beautiful green eyes. Cutting it off at the pass, Marcy continued, “However, I’d be happy to contact a resort on St. Lucia and see if something is available while you recover.”

Instead of a tirade, a sigh of relief exited through the woman’s pink and pouty lips. “Oh, yes, that would be wonderful. If you wouldn’t mind.” Marcy fought the urge to smack the smile off Mrs. Smith’s face.

“Give us a minute.” She ground out the words through clenched teeth as she pulled Tina into the back office behind her. “Run down the list of resorts on the island and see what you can find. Start with the family-oriented resorts. The more obnoxious the kids, the better.”

Tina giggled. “Happy to.”

Marcy left her to it, heading back to her desk and the pile of work waiting for her there. Despite it being afternoon, the other offices were already dark. Most of the staff were busy packing their own bags for a change. Everyone except a skeleton crew left the island for these two weeks each year. When a tropical paradise was your home, vacations usually meant visiting family you hadn’t seen in forever.

Marcy had no family to see. Her mother had died when she was a little girl. Her father, a hotel manager himself, had died five years ago. She had no brothers or sisters, and only one aunt on her father’s side, but the last time she’d heard from Suellen had been at her father’s funeral.

She had several close friends from college, but they were all scattered around the country. And while she talked to them as often as possible, most of them were busy starting families and building careers. Several years ago they’d given up trying to plan a girls’ week away. It was just too hard to work around all their schedules.

Some of the staff would stay. She’d spent last year here herself. In theory having the entire resort to yourself—including all the amenities the guests used but she never had time for—wasn’t a bad thing. If she’d actually taken time to use those amenities. Instead, she’d spent the entire two weeks—weeks that were supposed to be her vacation—working.

Not this year. Tomorrow afternoon she was leaving. Marcy sighed. Two blissful weeks with no Simon—the bane of her existence.

In her opinion, no laid-back surf god should ever own a resort. It had gotten to the point where just the sight of Simon’s low-riding shorts and tight T-shirts had begun to grate on her nerves. They were running a business!

Besides, no man should look that sexy while somehow still managing to appear as if donning clothing had been an afterthought. The problem with that kind of … demeanor was that most of the time she feared Simon was two steps away from shedding his clothes again just because they were annoying him. And she didn’t want that. Really, she didn’t. It would set a bad example for the employees.

She preferred men with more structured wardrobes. The kind who wore business suits every day … and liked it. If she discovered Simon owned a single pair of tailored pants or a silk tie—let alone a suit—she’d die of shock.

Before moving to the island she’d lived in cities. Lots of them. London, Prague, Chicago, San Francisco. And she’d loved them all. But her heart belonged to New York, where the men definitely knew how to wear their suits. And run their businesses.

Simon might have had the money to purchase the resort, but he didn’t seem to care much about keeping it going. Even the disheveled blond hair that notoriously hung in his dark blue eyes bothered her. She constantly wanted to sweep it out of the way, but the one time she’d given in to the impulse her hand had tingled for twenty minutes. And that was the last thing she needed.

But it was difficult, as a woman, not to recognize that Simon was an attractive man. He was tall, his athletic body moving with a grace that seemed counterintuitive considering his height. Charm and devilment mixed with his inherent sex appeal—a potentially lethal combination.

But she refused to feel attracted. Not to her boss. She’d learned her lesson the first time around that block.

“Marcy.” The two-way radio on her hip squawked. “We have a problem.”

Tom, their only remaining security person, thought everything was a problem. Since the head of security, Zane Edwards, had left to follow the woman he loved to Atlanta and his replacement had lasted all of six weeks, Tom was all she had right now. Marcy couldn’t really blame the guy for his “the sky is falling” attitude—he was so far out of his element. Tom was great at watching the monitors and keeping drunken guests in line. But at twenty-two, he was hardly ready to take on the task of head of security for a resort as large as Escape.

Marcy was hoping to fix that problem before she left, as well. On her desk sat three résumés from three very capable candidates. All were to arrive on the afternoon ferry. They’d stay the night, be interviewed tomorrow, tour the facility and then leave on the morning ferry. Simon had balked at the expense, but after Zane’s replacement hadn’t been able to handle island life, she wasn’t making that mistake again.

The last stragglers would join them. Marcy was half packed and come hell or high water would be on the last ferry.

Snatching the radio off her belt, Marcy huffed, “What is it, Tom?”

“Several men—” she could hear the hesitation in his voice “—just got off the ferry. You said not to allow anyone off.”

What she’d said was not to allow any guests off. She had no doubt, based on the falter in his voice, that the group he was referring to were her construction workers.

“Do the men have toolboxes, ladders or anything else resembling construction equipment, by any chance?”

“Yes.” He sounded surprised, and Marcy fought hard not to roll her eyes.

“Could they be the crew coming to handle the maintenance and renovations while we’re closed?” she asked patiently.

“Maybe.” He drew out the single word, telling her that he was quickly reevaluating the situation in front of him. Really, he was a good boy who could do with just a little more common sense and practical life experience. Marcy could hear a rustle as he placed his hand over the phone. Unfortunately it didn’t dampen the sound enough for her to miss as he asked the men, “Are you construction guys?”

Their yes was muffled but audible nonetheless.

“Uh, yeah, they are.”

“Great. Maybe next time you’ll ask them why they’re here first before calling me up with a non-crisis. Put them in the old bunkhouse.”

The bunkhouse was left over from the days when the island had been a cocoa plantation, though it had been updated and renovated since then. The building was rarely used, but it would serve perfectly for the next two weeks. Most of the permanent employees had either bungalows at the back of the property, like hers, or living quarters close to the job, like their chef, who had a rather large apartment above the kitchens.

Great, now she had workers but no supplies for them to actually do anything.

Blowing at a wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes, Marcy flopped back into the executive chair behind her desk, not sure whether she wanted to scream, cry or start smashing things. Probably a little of all three.

Her to-do list was a mile long. Nothing was going right.

And she had no doubt that the minute Simon realized she was leaving tomorrow he would blow a gasket. Not that her departure should surprise him, since she’d told him in person, sent him an email and reminded him a dozen times over the past few weeks.

However, if there was one thing she’d learned about Simon Reeves, it was that his brain was like Swiss cheese and his hearing was more than selective … as in nonexistent.

But that was another thing that was his problem, not hers.

Pulling up the document she’d been working on, Marcy looked at the detailed instructions she’d written in an effort to help Simon through the next two weeks—and if the interview went well, to help her replacement. Part of her had wanted to leave him with nothing, but that just wasn’t her style. She’d put too much time and effort into the resort to see Simon ruin it the minute she walked out the door.

The document was currently sitting at twenty-two pages. Marcy was a little worried the sheer size of the thing would prevent Simon from reading it.

She stared at it for several seconds. Cut it down, or leave it as is? It was an argument she’d had multiple times over the past few days. Ultimately she came to the same conclusion she’d come to numerous times. Once again, what Simon chose to do or not do was not her problem.

And hopefully, if things went according to plan, wouldn’t ever be again.

SIMON FOUGHT THE URGE to grab the first thing and throw it at the door when a loud knock blasted through his office. The scene he was writing wasn’t working and he couldn’t figure out why. Frustration rode him hard and probably wasn’t helping the situation. Neither was the bustling noise that even here, behind the closed door of his private office, couldn’t be disguised.

The staff was happy at the prospect of having two weeks off. Frankly, he was happy to see them leave, at least for a little while. Having the place virtually to himself was going to be a godsend.

He was months behind on the deadline for his current manuscript. It was so bad that he’d actually unplugged his phone and uninstalled the mail program from his computer to avoid email from his editor and agent. If he didn’t finish this thing in the next two weeks he could probably kiss his career goodbye. Again.

Thanks to Courtney’s betrayal three years ago, the resulting plagiarism scandal and his fruitless attempts to prove the work was really his, his career had already dangled by a thread once. He really didn’t want to go through that again.

Île du Coeur and Escape were supposed to have provided him the space and seclusion to rebuild his career. Instead, they’d both become a huge time-suck.

Buying the place had seemed like a brilliant idea. He had the capital to purchase the island, and the resort would provide the necessary revenue stream for upkeep. A manager should have taken the responsibilities off his shoulders, leaving him free to lock himself inside his office to write.

Should have. Somehow things hadn’t exactly gone the way he’d hoped.

The problem was that not a soul on the island—not even Marcy—knew who he was. And he liked it that way. It protected his work. He wrote under a pseudonym and always had.

He’d wanted a clean break from the life he’d left behind. Wanted to start again and pretend the entire affair had never happened. Unfortunately, it was difficult to forget being betrayed by someone you loved.

That sort of deception tended to color your opinion of people. Always making you wonder who was going to stab you in the back next.

“Simon!” Marcy’s voice exploded through the wood of the door along with the rattling of the knob that he’d locked for just such an occasion.

Knowing from experience that she wouldn’t leave until he listened to her, Simon minimized his documents, brought up a gaming program he used to make everyone think he was just wasting time in here, and walked across the room. Yanking open the door, he lounged inside the jamb, one arm stretched across the gaping area so that she’d either have to stay on her side of the door or duck underneath his arm. She wouldn’t do that. One good thing about Marcy—she avoided coming into contact with him at all costs.

In the beginning he’d been happy. The last thing he had time for was a romantic complication with his manager. She was there to work and make his life easier, and from his experience, mixing business with pleasure rarely made anything easier. But the more she avoided him, the more he became aware of her deliberate distance. A distance that made him want to ruffle her feathers by pushing against the boundaries she’d erected. It was pointless, but he couldn’t help it.

Even now he inched his body closer to hers, crowding into her personal space just to see her spine stiffen. The infinitesimal shuffle backward was rewarding, especially when she stopped it midway, consciously determined not to let him fluster her.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips but he wouldn’t let it grab hold. Instead, he asked, “What do you need?”

She raised her hand, a sheaf of papers fluttering with the force of the motion. “We need to go over everything before I leave tomorrow. I sent you an appointment by email.”

“I uninstalled the program.”

Her eyes widened before narrowing to glittering slits. He loved it when Marcy got mad. Her blue eyes sparkled with a passion that made the muscles in his stomach tighten. She reminded him of a pixie; in fact, he almost hadn’t hired her because she looked as if a good stiff breeze could knock her on her ass. But beneath that tiny frame was a spine of steel and the heart of a drill sergeant. She was good at what she did, if a little too organized and into unimportant details for his liking.

“Why would you do something stupid like that?”

Simon shrugged, not caring that she’d just called him stupid. It was by far the least offensive term she’d used for him in the past two years.

“Because I’m avoiding someone.”

“Well, you can’t avoid me.”

If that wasn’t the most obvious statement of the year he didn’t know what was. He chose to let the softball setup she’d just given him slide by.

“What do you mean before you leave? Did I know you were going to be gone tomorrow? Isn’t the construction crew supposed to be starting? You can’t leave until you’re sure they know what they’re doing. I don’t have time to deal with them, even for a day.”

Marcy shook her head slowly, the slick blond strands of her ever-present ponytail whipping behind her. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she took a deep breath, held it and finally let it go. As chests went, hers was … fine. He tended to prefer big-breasted women with a huge handful he could grab hold of. Although it was hard to tell where Marcy was concerned. Despite the fact that they worked in a tropical location and the dress code was fairly relaxed, she insisted on wearing business suits when she was working—which was always.

He’d decided that the slacks, skirts, blouses and tailored jackets that still somehow seemed a little too roomy over her body were her personal armor. He just hadn’t been able to discover what she was hiding from. At first he’d wondered if it was men in general. He worried maybe she’d been attacked. But as he’d watched her dealing, smiling and, hell, almost flirting with their male guests over the years he’d decided that couldn’t possibly be it.

And while she hadn’t taken a lover in the past two years—at least not one that he was aware of, and he knew everything that happened on his island—it wasn’t for lack of offers. If she hadn’t said yes to anyone, it was because she hadn’t wanted to. Marcy McKinney was definitely the captain of her destiny and knew exactly what she wanted at all times.

It exhausted him just to think about that kind of structured existence.

“I’m not leaving for the day.”

“But you just said you were.”

“No, I said I needed to go over this—” she waved the papers again; now that he looked at them, the stack appeared rather large … and the type on them awfully small “—before I leave tomorrow. I’m taking two weeks’ vacation.”

“The hell you say.”

“We talked about this, Simon.” He heard her warning tone, but chose to ignore it.

“I don’t remember you mentioning you were leaving these two weeks.” Although it was possible he hadn’t been paying attention to her. He did have a habit of tuning Marcy out when she spoke. But it was usually because whatever she was saying wasn’t important to him—at least not more important than the other thoughts flowing through his mind.

He’d learned early that pretending to listen and nodding appropriately were usually enough to keep her satisfied. That way, they both walked away with a smile. Win, win.

“I most certainly did. We talked. I sent you reminders. Hell, I even went on your computer and blocked the days out on your calendar.”

“You went on my computer?” A nasty mix of anger, disappointment and betrayal burst through him. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the result of what Courtney had done. Not only had she stolen his work, she’d destroyed every speck of evidence that it had ever existed on his computer. She’d ruined his backup hard drive. She’d left him nothing to fight with.

He didn’t like people messing with his computer.

Clenching his hands into fists, Simon invaded Marcy’s space, bringing them nose-to-nose. She sucked a hard breath through her teeth, but didn’t back away. Her bright blue eyes searched his, puzzled and off-kilter. It should have been enough for him, but it wasn’t.

“Why did you do that?”

“Jesus, Simon, what is wrong with you?” She finally pushed against him, trying to get him out of her personal space. He didn’t move. “I knew you’d ignore my emails and forget our conversation. I was trying to help.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he growled at her.

Her eyes flared, the surprise quickly being overwhelmed by irritation. “Actually, you did when you hired me,” she snapped.

For the first time Simon realized he was towering above her, his tall body curled over hers. Anyone else probably would have bowed backward under the intimidation tactic. Not Marcy. Sometimes it was easy to forget how tiny she was. Her confidence and competence more than made up for her size.

“Move back,” she said and then waited patiently for him to do exactly what she’d ordered. Everyone always seemed to fall in line for Marcy. It was irritating.

Just once he wished she’d do him a favor and fall in line for him.

Instead, he slowly stepped away. She glared at him, her eyes sharp and hurt. He refused to apologize or explain his reaction.

And yet somehow the words fell from his lips anyway. “Look, I’m sorry, Marcy. I need you here during the break. I have something important that requires all my attention. I don’t have time to handle the resort, too.”

“Bullshit.”

His molars clanked together. “Excuse me?”

“Only a few of the staff will be left. I’m interviewing the candidates for head of security tomorrow before I leave. The construction crew is here, their materials will be tomorrow. Before I leave, I’ll make sure they have a clear agenda for the two weeks. These—” she waved the damn papers again “—contain every possible scenario that could come up and how to handle it. It’s the perfect time for me to take a vacation. You can’t afford for me to be gone while the resort is full.”

She had a point there. Although in a couple weeks he should be done with this book and could probably handle things for a little while.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he said, flashing her one of his patented grins in the hope that it might soften her up a little. It had always worked on women in the past, although somehow Marcy seemed immune. “Next month you can take as much time off as you want.” Within reason, but they’d cross that bridge only when she forced him to the edge of it.

“No, Simon. You can’t charm your way into getting what you want with me. I have plans.”

“Change them.”

“Nonrefundable travel plans.”

“I’ll pay the difference.”

“And people waiting on me to show up. Simon, I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon. Short of you kidnapping me—and not even you are that stupid—you’re going to have to find a way to deal without me for the next two weeks.”

His hands clenched again and a headache began to pound behind his eyes. She didn’t understand and he couldn’t explain it to her, not without revealing his secret. Or telling her why his privacy was so important to him that he would hide his identity in the first place. And he just wasn’t willing to make himself that vulnerable, not even with Marcy.

She was leaving, huh? Well, they’d just have to see about that.

2

THE RESORT WAS QUIET. Disturbingly silent without guests. There was no one splashing or yelling at the pool as she dragged her three matching pieces of luggage behind her. No couples strolling hand-in-hand across the warm sand. No painted-up thirtysomethings in string bikinis sipping drinks beneath cabanas and waiting to pick up whatever hot guy strolled past.

She was used to the hustle and bustle, and the place seemed almost eerie without it. As if the island itself were sad that no one was there to play and frolic.

The locals had a legend about Île du Coeur, something about finding your heart’s desire—whether it was what you’d come looking for or not. She’d never really paid that much attention to it because she didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, but at this moment the island felt almost alive.

As if maybe anything was possible.

The caws and whistles of the birds deep in the jungle and the ringing of hammers as the work crew repaired the restaurant roof broke through the moment. Their supplies had arrived on the morning ferry, and the last of the staff and the two candidates she hadn’t hired for head of security had left. She’d been surprised when Xavier, the man she’d hired, said he was prepared to stay and start immediately. She wondered briefly what kind of person could pack their entire life into a single suitcase, but decided she didn’t have time to find out. He was more than qualified for the position.

The repair of the roof was the first in a long list of upgrades and maintenance the crew would be handling over the next two weeks. Hurricane season was upon them and the last thing they needed was leaky roofs or unstable buildings. Marcy seriously hoped for their sake that everything went smoothly. She’d never actually seen Simon lose his temper, but something told her that between the distraction, the length of the list she’d left and her departure, he was precariously close to the deep end.

Too bad.

Served him right for not appreciating the long hours, detailed work and effort she’d put into this place for him. Instead of praise, she got snarky remarks and needling innuendos. Instead of understanding, she got exasperation and a locked door in her face.

Hopefully, no more. She was going to charm the socks off whomever she had to in order to get the hell off this island and back to the big city. Cramped apartments, twenty-four-hour Chinese food, men in suits, museums, shows, culture … that was her idea of paradise.

Her suitcases bumped across the raised boards of the dock. Normally she was a light traveler, preferring to fit as much as possible into one carry-on bag. The thought of losing all her luggage made her chest ache. But during her time at Escape, she’d collected more stuff than she’d realized. And hoping that she’d be able to tender her resignation from New York, she’d packed everything she owned. Well, at least anything she’d wanted to take with her. Her father had taught her that some things just weren’t worth the trouble.

Arranging her luggage in descending order, Marcy lined them up perpendicular to the boards, stared out across the vacant water and then looked at her watch. She was a little early. With a shrug, she plopped her butt onto the top of her largest suitcase and prepared to wait. She thought about pulling out the novel she’d packed into her carry-on but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. She had ten, fifteen minutes at the most.

But, oh, it called to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to crack open the spine of a good thriller. She loved them, a holdover from the days when her father would pass along his finished books to her. They’d shared that excitement, spending hours discussing the finer points of their favorite books over dinner.

Her love of thrillers wasn’t the only thing she’d inherited from her dad. His workaholic, detail-oriented, high-expectation requirements had also come with the genes. A familiar sadness crept up on her. He’d been gone for almost five years, but it still hadn’t gotten any easier.

Although she supposed there was a silver lining. He’d have been so disappointed in her over the New York debacle. Tears stung her eyes, but Marcy refused to let them fall. It had been two and a half years, and still it upset her.

She’d been so lonely. Looking for companionship and support and someone to share her life with. Marcy thought she’d found that in Christoph Fischer. Yes, she knew better than to sleep with someone she worked with—her boss, no less. But he’d swept her off her feet and she’d been helpless to resist. It didn’t help that they’d spent so much time together at work.

Even before she’d started at his hotel, she’d heard rumors that he and his wife were divorcing. A year later, when he began asking her out, she assumed the divorce was final. Shame on her for not checking!

The humiliation of discovering—in the middle of a crowded ballroom filled with industry professionals—that his wife was very much still a part of his life was something she’d never forget. Neither was having champagne thrown in her face and obscenities rained down over her head. Marcy had never thought of herself as a home wrecker, had never wanted or planned to be one.

Being lied to by someone she’d trusted was terrible enough, but then he’d had the audacity to fire her. And blackball her with every other reputable hotel in the city …

She’d taken the first job that she could—Simon’s offer—as far away from the city as she could get. She’d needed the time away. She’d desperately needed the job. And she’d needed the line on her résumé—a buffer between the debacle and whatever would come next.

But that was all behind her now. And this interview was the opportunity to make a fresh start. Surely, over two years later, everyone would have moved on to juicier gossip. She’d gotten the interview after all.

This job was her ticket back home. Back to civilization and structure.

A frown on her face, Marcy looked at her watch again. The tropical sun was baking her scalp and exposed legs. If she’d known she was going to sit here for a half hour she would have put on sunscreen. The ferry was definitely late. Standing, she walked to the edge of the dock and craned her neck to see if the squat vessel was visible across the water. It wasn’t.

This was exactly the kind of thing that drove her crazy! The entire place ran on island time and she was so sick and tired of it. Didn’t anyone respect punctuality anymore? The ferry was routinely late. People waited five, ten, even fifteen minutes on occasion, but never this long.

Maybe the ferry crew figured that with a skeleton staff and no guests to deliver, there was no hurry. With a scowl, Marcy returned to perch on top of her bag. They were going to get an earful from her whenever they did finally arrive. She had a plane to catch. Thank God she’d built some “disaster” time into her schedule.

SIMON STARED out the window at Marcy. He’d left his apartments and walked around to the far side of the building so he could watch her. Part of him couldn’t help but chuckle at the agitated way she kept jumping up from her seat on that coral-colored suitcase to pace along the length of the dock, only to sit back down again.

The suitcase was unexpected—he would have thought she was more of a traditional black or brown kinda girl—but her reaction wasn’t. The only reason Simon was standing there watching her was that he was a coward.

He’d meant to go down there at three, to cut her off as she reached the dock and explain that she wasn’t going anywhere because he’d called and canceled the ferry service for the next two weeks. But he’d gotten involved in a scene. The words had flowed, and considering that hadn’t happened in the past few days, he’d been reluctant to walk away.

And now he was going to pay the price. No doubt a tongue-lashing was in his future. Was it wrong that he sort of enjoyed riling Marcy up?

When she was angry her blue eyes flashed, reminding him of sapphires turned to catch the light. Her skin tinted a pale pink color and her jaw tightened so hard that he wanted to kiss her senseless just to startle her into letting go.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to go there. She was too valuable as his manager. He had a policy of never seducing employees. And he had no desire for a relationship. He’d never been great at them before Courtney. And after, the idea of trusting someone that much again didn’t sit well with him.

Marcy spun on her heel, knocking the smallest of her suitcases over and starting a domino effect that ended with all her luggage hitting the dock. He couldn’t hear the bang from behind the protection of the glass, but he could imagine that it—and her growl of frustration—had been loud.

Logically, he realized the longer he waited the worse the explosion was going to be.

Taking a deep breath, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference and headed out into the afternoon heat.

Tucking his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts, Simon ambled toward the dock. He broke through the line of rich tropical foliage to find Marcy had righted her bags and was staring in his direction, no doubt having heard his feet on the path.

“Simon,” she said, her face twisted into a frown already. Not great. “What are you doing?”

Propping his hip against the wooden railing that surrounded the dock, he said, “I came to tell you that the ferry isn’t coming.”

“What?” she exclaimed. The already high color on her cheeks flamed even brighter. She looked behind her over the water, as if the ferry might turn a corner and prove him a liar at any moment. “The ferry comes every day. Twice.”

“Not today.”

“What happened? Was there an accident? Is anyone injured?”

Simon felt the pinch of guilt as he realized that her first assumption was only an accident could stop the one form of transportation on and off the island. And she was worried about other people more than her own inconvenience.

He had to come clean.

“No, no accident. I called and canceled the service.”

Marcy swung her eyes back to him. They were wide with confusion. The cloud of her long blond hair, usually pulled tight into a smooth ponytail during work hours, floated around her face. He liked it down and couldn’t remember a single time in the past two years that he’d seen it this way. Free. Not exactly a word he would have normally used to describe Marcy. His gaze traveled down her body and he realized she wasn’t wearing her trademark suit, either. Instead she wore a pale green polo—every button done up to her throat—and a pair of crisp khaki shorts. Had he ever seen her legs bare?

Shaking his head, he jerked his mind back to where it should be. “Why the hell would you do that?”

He shrugged, knowing the inevitable shitstorm he was about to release. “Because I couldn’t let you leave. I need you here, Marcy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here for the next two weeks.”

“You … you …” she sputtered, her eyes turning hard and sharp. “You canceled the ferry?”

“Yep.” While he tried to maintain the relaxed air he’d adopted the minute he set foot on the tropical island, his eyes stayed clear and focused on Marcy. He honestly had no idea what she might do. “You gave me the idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who suggested I kidnap you. I always try to take your advice.”

She growled low in the back of her throat. It was the same sort of sound the pit bull he’d had as a child used to make when a stranger entered their yard. A warning. Only this time he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one about to have his hand bitten.

“You do no such thing. Ignoring me has become a sort of hobby for you and we both know it.”

Well, he had, but until this moment he hadn’t realized she’d been aware.

“Fine,” she said, her jaw hard and tight. “I’ll call Rusty for a private launch.”

He debated whether or not to let her make the call. He knew what Rusty’s answer would be—his and that of every other private boating service on this side of St. Lucia. He’d called them all and promised to pull the resort’s business from them if they accepted Marcy’s request.

And where that kind of threat hadn’t worked, he’d used bribery instead, offering to pay for their refusal to provide service to the island for the next two weeks.

Details were his thing, and he wasn’t about to bend over backward to keep Marcy on the island only to let her get away through other means. He’d closed off every possible avenue of escape.

Marcy’s phone was halfway to her ear when he decided it might be better for him if he cut her off at the pass. Perhaps hearing it from him instead of Rusty would lessen the impact … and her anger.

“I wouldn’t bother. I think you’ll find everyone is booked.”

Her phone dangled from her loose fingers as she stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just that I’ve paid them more not to come than you could pay them to come.”

And it had been worth every frickin’ penny.

She raked him with prickly blue eyes, making him feel as if ice was melting down his spine. She really did know how to use that gaze to intimidate. But he was a master himself, so it just wouldn’t work.

“You have no respect for anyone but yourself, do you?” she asked in a low voice that scared him even more than if she’d started yelling.

Time for the platitudes.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you. Name your price. A raise? An all-expenses-paid vacation? Diamonds? What will it cost me to keep you here for the next two weeks?”

“Not everything is for sale, Simon. Do I look like I care about diamonds?”

He couldn’t help it—his eyes traveled down Marcy’s body, from the tip of her blond head to the pale pink toenails that peeked out from her sandals. Really, she’d almost begged him to. And he had to admit that she didn’t look like the kind of woman who cared about jewels.

Oh, Marcy was stylish in a put-together businesswoman sort of way. But she didn’t drape herself in jewelry like some of the women he’d been known to associate with. In fact, the only jewelry she wore was a pair of small diamond studs and a single gold ring that looked suspiciously like a wedding band, only it was on her right hand.

“I had plans. Important plans. You can’t manipulate everyone and everything to get your way, Simon. You are not God and no one gave you the right to meddle in my life.”

His own anger was starting to kindle deep in his belly. He needed her here, damn it.

“I’m your boss, Marcy. I said I need you here. That should have been the end of the discussion. You’re valuable to me. Any other boss would have given you an ultimatum.”

“Right. Instead, you canceled the ferry and didn’t give me any choice in the matter.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

Her eyes sharpened before narrowing to tiny slits that reminded him of the arrow slots he’d seen in medieval castles—deadly depending on what lay behind.

“You know what—you’re right. I do have a choice. You can keep me prisoner here, Simon, but you can’t make me work. You can’t force me to lift a finger.”

“I’ll fire you.”

She threw her arms up in the air, letting them fall back down, the motion disturbing the cloud of hair around her face. The laugh that accompanied the motion was far from humorous. “Go ahead. I’m tired of busting my ass for you. I’m tired of going above and beyond to make this place run smoothly, be successful and high quality. I’m tired of having to fight you every step of the way when I try to do the job you hired me for.”

“Sounds like you just need a nap.”

“No, what I need is a vacation, part of the reason I was leaving for two weeks.”

“Only part?”

Marcy tipped her head sideways and studied him for several seconds before answering. “Yep, part. I also had a job interview in New York in two days.”

Simon didn’t understand. Sure, he needled her on a regular basis—it was fun to watch the steam pour out of her ears. And he often questioned her tactics and thought she bothered him with details that he didn’t give a damn about.

But she worked in paradise.

“Why the hell would you want to leave here—” he threw his arms wide to indicate the beach, jungle and gleaming water that surrounded them “—for the rat race of New York? Here you have a perpetual vacation outside your door.”

“One I don’t ever get to take because I’m too damned busy taking care of everyone else. Just once I’d like to sit in one of those lounge chairs on the beach and sip a fruity drink and think frothy thoughts. Or get a massage.”

Her eyes turned wistful for the barest moment, but he caught it before it disappeared. He’d never realized she hadn’t used Tiffany’s services. God, she had the most amazing hands.

Shaking his head, Simon realized he needed to keep focused on the little spitfire in front of him or risk getting singed.

“Please,” he scoffed. They both knew Marcy wouldn’t last fifteen minutes in that lounge chair before her body would start twitching with the need to do something. “You could have done that any time you wanted. You make me sound like a slave driver. I didn’t ask you to come into the office at five o’clock every morning. Or work until seven at night. You did that all on your own.”

“Because someone had to do it.”

Had he really been that blind? He didn’t think so. He might have his nose stuck in the Word program on his computer, but he did pay attention to what was happening around him. It was just that his idea of what was important and Marcy’s seemed to be diametrically opposed. Had she needed help at some point and he hadn’t realized it?

“Do you need an assistant? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it,” she exclaimed, frustration pulling down the corners of her mouth. “You don’t get it, Simon, and I don’t think you ever will. All I wanted was for you to give a damn about this place.”

“I do!” he shouted.

“Not from where I’m sitting. New York is home and I want to go back. It’s where I came from and where I belong. Working here is frustrating and I can’t take it anymore.”

“Bullshit. You belong here. You’re wonderful at your job.” Hadn’t he said that over and over again? Hell, he’d basically kidnapped her because he couldn’t survive two weeks without her. Wasn’t that demonstration enough?

“Nice to know you realize it.”

“Of course I do.”

Shaking her head, Marcy gathered her bags and pushed past him up the path.

“Where are you going?”

“To see if there’s another way off this island.”

A churning sensation started deep in his belly and quickly swirled out to overwhelm him. He knew there wasn’t—he’d made sure of that—but that didn’t seem to stop the nerves. Marcy couldn’t leave, not today, not ever. As if he didn’t already have enough reasons for keeping her here, knowing she wanted to interview for a position that would take her away permanently only made him more determined.

Over his dead body.

“There isn’t. I even called the tourist helicopter services. I’ve covered all the bases.”

Marcy whirled to face him again, framed by the thick foliage that surrounded the path. The vibrant green only seemed to emphasize the blue of her eyes, the pale blond of her hair and the deep tan of her long legs. Her fist gripped the handles of her luggage, the knuckles turning white with the force of her hold and the exertion of her control over her own temper.

Was he perverse to want to see what she’d do if she really let that temper fly? Oh, he knew she had it, but he also realized he’d never once seen the full brunt of it. He’d often thought passionate women made the best lovers because they rarely held back in life or in bed.

Marcy was the exception to that rule. He had no doubt there was passion beneath the controlled, tight, competent facade that she showed the world, despite the fact that he’d never seen it.

“Don’t think you’ve won, Simon.”

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. From where he stood that was exactly what had happened. Marcy couldn’t leave the island and they both knew it. He also knew that despite what she might say, she was enough of a workaholic that she couldn’t sit idly by and do nothing while there were things to be handled.

He was counting on her innate tendencies to override any residual anger that might still linger by tomorrow. He figured she’d stew today for sure. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, she’d be back in her office.

She just couldn’t help it.

3

WHIRRING, BANGING and the loud pa-pow of a nail gun reverberated through Simon’s skull. The construction crew had begun their noise at seven o’clock this morning. Three hours later it was getting worse, not better.

Normally, waking up that early wouldn’t have bothered him—he rarely slept past five anyway—but last night he’d stayed up until 2:00 a.m. reading through a stubborn scene.

He was bleary-eyed, tired and cranky. Not to mention that the mother of all headaches pounded relentlessly behind his eyes.

After a rather loud clamor that he could only assume meant someone had dropped an entire load of metal onto a hard surface, Simon jumped out of his chair and yelled, “Enough!” Not that they could hear him.

Surely they could work somewhere else on the island for a while and give him a break. A nap, that was all he needed to get back into the groove he’d found the other day. The fact that his mind kept returning to his conversation with Marcy when it should have been concentrating on the story in front of him had nothing to do with his foul mood.

Rubbing his hands over his face, trying to clear his cloudy vision, Simon headed for Marcy’s office.

Halfway down the hallway, Xavier, the new head of security Marcy had hired yesterday, walked out of the elevator.

“Oh, good,” he said, stepping back onto the car and holding open the door so Simon could join him. “I was just coming to see you. I’d like to sit down and discuss the existing security measures and evaluate any improvements I’d like to make.”

With a sigh, Simon closed his eyes for a moment before answering, “Our previous head of security was former CIA. Trust me when I say I can’t think of a single change you’d want or need to make. Zane was meticulous.”

“As am I,” Xavier answered with a smile on his lips but a hard glint in his dark brown eyes. “I’d still like to meet with you. Start out on the right foot, so to speak.”

“I’m pretty busy for the next few weeks. Can this wait until later?”

“Marcy mentioned the resort was closed and that a construction crew had been hired. I assume it would be more cost-effective to handle any adjustments while the crew is already here instead of having to bring them back.”

The throb that had set up residence behind Simon’s eyes increased in intensity. He realized Xavier had a valid point, but he really, really didn’t have the time or energy to deal with this right now. Saving money wasn’t always the most important objective. Something Marcy had a difficult time understanding.

It appeared that Xavier might reside in that camp, as well. Maybe putting them together was a good idea.

The elevator dinged their arrival on the lowest floor. The doors slid open silently and Simon reached to hold them back.

“I’m heading to Marcy’s office right now. Why don’t you follow me and discuss this with her?”

Xavier entered the long hallway, glancing back over his shoulder. “I would, but she said she no longer works here and that I’d need to deal directly with you.”

Simon stopped in his tracks. “What did you say?”

“Marcy said I should deal directly with you.”

“No, before that.”

“Marcy said she quit or you fired her. Or maybe it was both? I didn’t quite understand why she was still on the island, but I didn’t figure it was my business to ask.”

Simon knew exactly why she was still here. Because he wouldn’t let her leave. But he hadn’t thought she was serious about quitting. His threat of firing her had been a bluff. She’d known it, right? Why would he fire her and then continue to keep her prisoner here? It sort of defeated the purpose.

“Crap!” The single word exploded from Simon’s mouth.

Pushing past Xavier, he headed for the offices at a sprint.

“She isn’t there.”

Even before Simon skidded around the corner he knew Xavier was right and the office would be vacant. First, no light shone from the small space. Second, there was no noise. Every other time he’d ventured into Marcy’s territory—and he admitted exhausting all other options before giving in to that last resort—there was a flurry of activity. Phones ringing, keys being rhythmically tapped, printers whirring. Today there was nothing. The only sounds were from the construction crew outside.

A huge knot of dread tightened in the pit of his stomach. What had he done?

Backing out of her empty office, he almost barreled into Xavier, who was waiting in the hallway, his rather large arms crossed over his chest.

“Where is she?” he asked.

Xavier shrugged. “The last time I saw her she was by the pool.”

With a few strides Simon crossed the lobby and headed out the front door, Xavier a few steps behind him.

“Look, we’ll talk later. After I’ve straightened this out. In the meantime, why don’t you go unpack or something?” The man had just moved his entire life to their tiny island. Didn’t he have something better to do?

Raising his hands, Xavier backed away slowly. “I’ve already unpacked, but I suppose I can find something else to pass the time.”

Bright sunlight blinded Simon, spearing straight into his already gritty eyes and making him wish he’d stopped long enough to pick up his sunglasses. And some aspirin.

The construction noise was even louder without the barrier of walls to muffle it. It almost made him want to look at the six-foot-long list Marcy had plopped onto his desk, to figure out what the hell the crew could be working on. But that was the first step down a slippery slope. Looking at the list would lead to having an opinion about what they were doing, which would lead to getting involved and the entire project would become a distraction he didn’t need.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care what went on around the resort, but he couldn’t afford to take time away from his writing. Not if he wanted to keep his career from completely tanking.

By the time he rounded the corner into the pool complex he’d built up a healthy head of steam. Unfortunately, it didn’t stand a chance when faced with the vision of Marcy in one of the smallest bikinis he’d ever seen, stretched out on a lounge chair beside the pool.

He almost swallowed his tongue.

Where the hell had that body come from?

He had seen the woman every single day for the better part of two years. Simon knew that he would have remembered the firm swell of those breasts and the delicate flare of those hips if he’d ever seen them before.

He had the sudden urge to take every single power suit out of her closet and burn them all. They were doing her a grave disservice and he thought it might be his duty to men everywhere to rectify the situation.

Marcy was tiny. But she’d definitely taught him not to judge a book by its cover. That little body packed a punch … he just hadn’t realized the punch was aimed straight for his gut.

Simon couldn’t help himself; he had to look at her. As his eyes traveled up the length of her body the heavy weight of arousal settled at the base of his spine. With nothing more than a view of her gleaming skin, his cock turned semi-hard. It had been a long time since he’d been embarrassed by an erection—he did not like revisiting the sensation.

But this was Marcy.

And he was supposed to be upset with her.

“You’re blocking my light. Could you move?” The soft, lazy tone of her voice was so out of place that it honestly took him several seconds to realize Marcy was the one who’d spoken. Although it wasn’t as if there was anyone else around.

Clearing his throat, Simon managed to surreptitiously adjust his fly and desperately tried to dredge up the irritation he’d stomped out here with.

It was damn hard. Along with the rest of him. Especially when she turned to look at him, pulling down her dark tinted sunglasses just far enough to glare at him over the rims. She looked like a pissed-off pixie and he suddenly had the urge to kiss her until she forgot why she was angry.

He bit down onto the inside of his cheek, asking, “What are you doing?” instead.

“I’d think that would be obvious. Sunbathing.”

“Sunbathing,” he parroted like an idiot. As if the condescending tone of her voice hadn’t been bad enough. Shaking his head, and hopefully reawakening his brain, he said, “I mean, why are you out here and not in your office?”

“You fired me, remember?”

“I most certainly did not. I threatened to fire you. Big difference.”

“Great, well then, I quit.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh, I can.” With a wicked smile on her lips that he’d never seen before, Marcy pushed her glasses back up, pillowed her arms behind her head and leaned back against the lounge chair. The pose stretched her body, pushing the round swell of her breasts against the tiny squares of material covering them. Her stomach muscles pulled tight, drawing his gaze to the tempting little dimple of her belly button.

She was entirely too pleased with herself.

“What’s it going to take to get you back to work?”

“Nothing, but an apology never goes out of style. And now that I think about it, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you say those two little words before.”

That was because he really didn’t like them.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. But they were worth it. He’d tell her whatever she wanted to hear, just so long as it meant she’d start handling all the crap in his life so he could focus on his writing.

With a single finger she slid the glasses back down her nose and glared at him again. “That was pathetic, Simon.”

He was frustrated, exhausted and slightly sick to his stomach. “What do you want, Marcy?” he bellowed. “I’ll give you whatever you want. You have me by the balls—just name your price.”

“I don’t want your balls, Simon, and I never have.”

He reached down and pulled her up out of the chair. He had no idea what he intended to do—maybe march her back inside the building and handcuff her to her desk. Hell, it had worked for his friend and former head of security, Zane. The one and only time Zane had handcuffed someone on the island he’d ended up falling in love with her.

Only, Simon had no intention of falling in love with anyone, least of all Marcy. What he did want was his damn manager back.

“Let go of me,” she growled at him, deep in her throat.

“Not on your life.”

Somewhere along her upward journey, her glasses had been knocked off. Her eyes blazed. Her face was flushed, not with the warmth of the tropical sun but the passion of her anger.

He found himself letting her go anyway, unwrapping his hands from around her arms slowly. The inside edge of his fingers felt scalded where they’d touched her skin. He wondered if she’d been out in the sun too long, but didn’t want to risk touching her again to find out. She didn’t look burned….

Once she was free, instead of pulling away as he’d expected, she pushed forward, crowding her body into his space. His chest tightened.

Her pert little nose reached just to the hollow at the base of his throat, but that didn’t stop her from spearing him with her gaze. The tips of her breasts, barely covered by the pale yellow excuse for a bathing suit, pressed into the upward curve of his belly. Some sweet, floral scent mixed with sunscreen enveloped her.

The sudden vision of him rubbing the stuff into her soft skin filled his mind. He sucked a breath deep into his lungs, then regretted it when that scent swelled inside him, consuming him from the inside out.

The erection he’d somehow managed to get under control stirred again. Simon took a step backward in order to hide it from her.

“It’s about damn time you had to learn how to handle this stuff on your own. I’m tired of watching you gallivant around this place like it’s nothing more than a beach oasis that somehow manages to run itself. Maybe if you get a taste of what a single day of my life is like, you’ll appreciate whoever comes in to take my place when I am finally gone.” She returned to the lounge chair, stretching out.

“I appreciate you.”

“Empty words. And since you’ve given me no choice but to sit here for the next two weeks, I’ve made it my mission to change that. I consider it my civic duty.”

All Simon could think was Oh, shit.

MARCY STARED UP AT SIMON. She had to admit the bemused expression on his face was somewhat rewarding.

She wasn’t nearly as upset this morning as she’d been yesterday when Simon had announced he had her trapped on the island.

She’d made a phone call to Mr. Bledsoe, the owner of the hotel in New York, and when she’d explained that she was stuck, he’d agreed to arrange a video interview with the selection committee. Tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. with any luck she’d be well on her way to a new position.

In the meantime, she’d decided to take advantage of the resort amenities that she’d never had the opportunity to use before. It had been a long time—a very long time—since she’d sat on her rear and done nothing all day. She had to admit, at first, she’d been a little restless. Sitting idle wasn’t in her nature.

She’d gotten the hang of it pretty darn quickly, though. She’d made a huge dent in the Cooper Simmens thriller she’d hoped to read on the plane and had managed to take a little catnap in the sun. As long as she didn’t burn, those two activities seemed perfect enough to keep her busy for the next two weeks.

If she could survive Simon.

First, he honestly didn’t think he’d done anything wrong by forcing her to stay on the island and screwing up all her plans. He figured he wrote her paycheck, so that made her his slave. Yeah, right.

Second, his frustrating lack of interest in the resort drove her up the wall. He kept saying he had things to do, but in two years she’d never actually seen him do anything but mess with his computer, snorkel and surf. It wasn’t as if the man had another job. He just wanted this place to make money so he could fool around.

He was constantly locking himself inside the office or taking mysterious trips to the mainland for heaven only knew what—probably to visit his latest lover.

Marcy’s right eyelid began to twitch. The thought of him with a lover made her want to snarl, although she realized she had no right to care.

“I do not need a life lesson from you, Marcy. What I need is for you to do your damn job.”

“I don’t have a job anymore,” she responded patiently. How many times would she have to say it before he got it through his thick skull? Just because she was still physically on the island didn’t mean he could make her do a darn thing.

He opened his mouth to argue—she could see the stormy cast to his eyes—but a loud explosion rocked the ground beneath their feet, cutting him off before he could say anything else. It was followed by a towering spout of water.

Simon’s eyes widened. A series of loud curses and raised voices came from behind the main building.

“What the hell …” he said, moving quickly toward the chaos.

Marcy tried to stay in her chair. She really did. But she just couldn’t. Someone might be hurt, and while the appeal of teaching Simon a lesson was great, it couldn’t trump her basic human nature.

Grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her body sarong-style, Marcy sprinted after him.

Skidding to a halt, she came inches away from barreling into the solid wall of his back. Considering he was close to a foot taller than she was, he blocked her entire view. However, the pandemonium and the loud hiss of escaping water was enough for her to realize whatever was in front of him wasn’t good.

Bracing her hands on Simon’s hips for balance, she leaned around him. The scene before her was something out of a comedy—a bad one.

Five big, burly, tattooed men stood around a gushing geyser of water. One of those famous tropical breezes sprayed a fine mist directly into her face.

And beneath her hands she could feel the steady rumble of anger rolling through Simon’s body. For the first time she realized that her palms had heated through from the warmth of him. But there was something else, a sizzle of electricity that spiked up her arm and into her body to give her heart a little jolt. Startled by the sensation, Marcy jerked her hands away and scooted out from behind him.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Reeves. We’ll have this fixed in no time.”

“Define no time,” he said. From the corner of her eye she could see the glare Simon leveled at the single man who’d been daring enough to step forward from the pack. Although Marcy noticed the other four men had taken a rather large step backward, so it was entirely possible that his newfound status as spokesperson hadn’t been intentional.

The worker glanced down at the bubbling water. At least the geyser had eased off. No doubt the pressure of the explosion had bled off the force pushing at the water.

“Um …” He scratched his head and glanced up again without actually looking Simon in the eye. “I think we hit the main waterline, so …” His voice trailed off without him actually committing to a time frame.

“You think? Really? What gave it away? I’m guessing this means you’re going to have to shut off the water?”

In some perverse corner in the back of Marcy’s mind she had to admit that it was refreshing to see Simon’s signature sarcasm leveled at someone else for a change.

The other man nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, so we can work on the line. Anything fed by this line will be without water while we repair it.”

An expletive burst from Simon. “That’s everything but a few bungalows fed by the old water tanks.”

Soon after coming to the island, Simon had upgraded all the outdated plumbing and as much of the electrical as possible. The few bungalows the staff used had been too far back to tie into the new system, so he’d left them on the reservoir.

“How long?”

“One, maybe two days,” the other man said, but his tone didn’t exactly encourage confidence in the estimate.

“Two days isn’t acceptable. We have a business to run.”

Marcy decided not to mention that the only person inhabiting that building right now was Simon.

“I expect this fixed no later than five o’clock this afternoon. And if it isn’t, you’ll work through the night until it is.”

“But Mr. Reeves, how do you expect us to work in the dark?”

“I really don’t care.”

Simon spun on his heel. He stopped midstride, his gaze grabbing Marcy’s. His dark blue eyes flashed. For just a second, beneath that laid-back surf-god exterior, Marcy saw the outline of a driven, take-no-prisoners man.

“Don’t say a word.”

She opened her mouth.

“Not one word.”

And closed it again.

Her lips twitched. She tried desperately to keep them straight, but it was a battle she was quickly losing.

With another growl of frustration, he walked away.

Marcy tried to stop the words before they left her lips. Really, she did. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” she called out to his retreating back.

4

SIMON STUMBLED from his desk to the large windows behind him. When had it gotten dark? Stars twinkled overhead, brighter than anything he’d seen when he lived in the city. Palm trees swayed at the edge of the beach and he could almost hear the slush of water as it washed against the sand.

This was a view he’d never get tired of.

A sense of peace stole over him even as he rubbed at his tired eyes. The island had become his sanctuary. Tonight it was quieter than normal. Unlike most only children, he’d never had a problem with sharing what was his, as long as it suited his purposes. And although he’d become pretty adept at tuning out the background noise of the resort guests, it was nice to have the place practically to himself for a change.

Until a loud bang shattered the peace. Five men scrambled around the side of the building, one holding the waistband of his pants tight in a fist so they wouldn’t fall as his legs worked overtime. Simon couldn’t hear their words, but could definitely see the animated motion of their mouths that suggested they were all yelling.

He closed his eyes. He really didn’t want to know.

The sight might have been comical if their scurrying hadn’t meant his deadline was no doubt screwed.

He fought back a groan, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Crossing to the small sink at his wet bar, he flipped up the faucet handle and wasn’t surprised when a gurgle of air came out.

He needed a shower, some food and a few hours away from his computer so that his brain could recover from the marathon session of writing he’d just finished. Not to mention the words on the screen had started to blur, something that didn’t exactly help the creative process.

He had few options. All the guest rooms and cottages operated off the same water system as the main building, so they were out. Along with the apartments above the restaurant, where most of the other staff lived.

The bunkhouse was sourced by the old reservoir system, but he knew if he came in contact with the crew right now they were liable to get an earful … and possibly quit. He didn’t need any more of that going around. However, there were several employee bungalows that the highest level of staff used.

Tony and Sara, their dance instructors, used one. The couple had elected to stay on the island during the break and Simon was loath to impose on them, since they were newly married. Xavier had been given Zane’s old place, but he was just settling in and, considering the man had already tried to corner him about talking business, Simon had no desire to just drop by and give him an opening for the discussion.

That left Marcy’s cottage. Simon stared out the window for several minutes, considering. On one hand, she definitely wouldn’t be excited to see him. However, despite the tough outer shell she liked to present to the world, he knew she had a soft-candy center, and he thought she might find it hard to turn him away in his hour of need. Although he’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t Marcy’s favorite person—at least not at the moment.

Maybe if he buttered her up …

Simon stopped long enough to shut down his computer and lock his office before heading out across the island. He thought about checking on the work crew, but decided ignorant bliss was probably a better option at the moment.

A quick side trip to the wine cellar beneath the restaurant yielded a bottle of wine, a crisp chardonnay he knew was Marcy’s favorite. Not that she drank on a regular basis, but the island was small and he tended to pick up on details. He’d seen her leaving the restaurant, the same bottle tucked under her arm, several times over the past two years.

Today that knowledge would come in handy.

The island was dark as he walked along the pebbled path toward the employee cottages at the back of the property. The bar was closed, without the lights, music and laughing guests that usually spilled out of the rustic structure. The soles of his shoes crunched along the path and the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end.

Oh, what he could do with a scene like this. Someone walking alone at night along the edge of the jungle …

One of the hazards of his job was an overactive imagination. It was something he’d always had—especially as a child. His mother had explained over and over that there were no monsters under the bed, in the closet, behind the bathroom door or lurking outside his window just waiting for the moment he closed his eyes.

He no longer believed in monsters—at least of the make-believe kind. But he’d done enough research on serial killers, rapists, child molesters and the general dregs of society for him to believe wholeheartedly in the twisted, psychopathic possibilities of the human mind. There were monsters in the world, all right, but they didn’t live under the bed. They walked among the rest of humanity, going largely ignored and unnoticed.

Shaking off the eerie sensation, Simon rounded the corner to Marcy’s bungalow. Warm lights burned into the night, welcoming. Stepping up onto the small porch that lined the front of her cottage, he couldn’t stop himself from peeking inside the large picture window … just to get an idea of what he might be up against.

But what he saw was far from what he expected.

Marcy, in a pair of small gray shorts and a bright blue tank top, was dancing around her small space. The furniture was fairly standard for the island. A large four-poster bed made of rich, warm wood. A small dining table with two chairs set against the far wall of the tiny open kitchen. And a plush sofa in a bright red color that surprised him.

The cord connecting her earbuds to the iPod clipped at her waist jerked in time to her movements as she twisted and turned around the entire place. Simon sucked in a breath when she closed her eyes and nearly slammed into the side of the coffee table. But she somehow managed to miss it.

Her hair was down, her skin flushed from exertion. The tight muscles in her calves and thighs flexed as she bounced around the cottage. Her back arched. The round swell of her breasts swayed beneath the worn cotton of her shirt. She didn’t have a bra on.

And suddenly Simon couldn’t swallow.

He’d never seen her like this … unfettered, alive, glowing. He should move. Knock on the door. Logically, he realized that. But his feet wouldn’t budge. He just stayed there, glued to the worn boards of her front porch, and stared.

Until she spun in front of him. Her eyes popped open and connected with his through the clear glass between them.

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