Rub It In (14 page)

The structure was high enough that no one could look in, so no guests ever felt worried about their modesty. In fact, the beach area for twenty feet in either direction was blocked off so no rowdy beach play could intrude.

Marcy had to admit that she’d always wanted to schedule an appointment, but it just never seemed to happen. She was a little excited as she walked through the open doorway to find Nicole waiting for her. She was fiddling with a line of bottles that ran the length of a low shelf.

“I’m going to step out and let you get undressed,” she said, indicating the privacy screen at the far end of the room. “Lie facedown under the blanket and relax. I’ll be back in a few.”

Marcy tried not to be self-conscious as she folded her clothes into a neat pile. The screen was strategically placed so that she had only three or four steps to the massage table Nicole had indicated. She realized no one could see her, but she couldn’t help feeling as if she was doing something naughty by walking naked across a public place in broad daylight.

An unexpected thrill rushed through her, sending goose bumps down her spine. Jerking up the blanket, she dived beneath the soft surface and situated herself. Apparently “sexy rebel” was not one of her characteristics.

Her heartbeat evened out as she took several steadying breaths. When she put her face into the face cradle, a sweet and relaxing smell filled her lungs. Vanilla maybe, although she couldn’t be sure. She’d have to remember to ask Nicole. Her eyes closed and after a few moments she realized her lungs had synchronized with the ebb and flow of the water washing beneath them.

The floorboards creaked behind her, but she didn’t turn to look at Nicole as she entered. Instead she asked, “What’s that scent. Vanilla?”

A quiet affirmative hum was her only response. Marcy wondered if maybe she wasn’t supposed to talk. It wasn’t as if she’d ever done this before. Were there rules? Maybe she should have asked that before she got naked.

Nicole’s warm hands pressed lightly into the blanket against her back. They rubbed slowly up and down. Marcy inhaled deeply, held her breath and let it out slowly, releasing the tension she hadn’t even been aware she was holding inside her body. A low hum of pleasure rolled through her and for a minute she was embarrassed at her reaction.

But Nicole didn’t seem to notice or care. After a few moments she felt the soft breeze of sea air against her naked back as the blanket was folded down to her waist. It went lower than she’d expected, stopping just at the top swell of her rear end.

But as soon as Nicole’s hands touched her skin she didn’t care anymore. Her muscles warmed with a deep heat as insistent fingers dug into her back, worked along her shoulder blades and kneaded her spine. Nicole was stronger than she’d expected. And her hands were larger, spanning halfway across Marcy’s back without even trying. Marcy had never really noticed that about the other woman, but maybe that’s why she was so damn good.

Thumbs dug into the dip at the base of her spine, rubbing against the abused bundle of nerves that rested there. Another gasp of pleasure and relief leaked through her lips as the muscles on either side pulled tight and then released.

Unexpected fingers of arousal arrowed out from that spot to settle between her thighs. Marcy tried to tell herself it was a biological reaction. Normal. But she fought against the urge to bring her legs tighter together to find some relief.

Before she had a chance to catch her breath, the blanket was replaced over her back and disappeared around her left leg. A draft gusted up beneath the blanket, touching her exposed sex and making her ache. The edges of the cloth were tucked around her hip, leaving the bottom swell of her ass bare.

Marcy tried to shift around, but a hand at the top of her spine stopped her. This time when the hands touched her, she was aware enough to realize something wasn’t right. Calluses ran across the top of each one where fingers met palm. Why would a massage therapist who made her living with her hands let them get in that kind of condition?

Strong fingers worked her calf, moving steadily up to her thigh. She could feel the muscles relax just as those along her back had. But there was more. Her body began to throb, to respond with a need for that hand to go higher.

A gasp blasted through her when the fingers slipped, brushing across the outer folds of her sex. Her body jerked at the caress, silently asking for more.

Marcy wasn’t sure exactly when she became aware that Nicole was not the one touching her…not that it mattered. She tried to raise her head to confirm—she was the sort of girl who enjoyed fact-checking—but a solid weight at the nape of her neck prevented her from moving.

“Simon,” she warned, although the single word lost all its power, directed toward the wooden floor and muffled by the headrest of the massage table.

He didn’t say anything. Suddenly the entire blanket that had been covering her body was yanked away. A shiver rocked her and she tried again. “Simon!”

But he was already running his hands up and down her body, pressing her harder into the soft padding of the table.

He continued to stroke her, mixing what probably should have been relaxing movements with stolen caresses. She tried to close her thighs, to restrict his access to her, but she couldn’t keep them that way. A few minutes later she’d find herself squirming against the table, opening again and begging him to touch her where she ached.

His lips pressed against her back and his teeth nipped at the low indent of her spine. Her brain told her the person touching her was Simon, but her eyes hadn’t seen him and a single finger of doubt kept trying to creep in.

She was fully aware that he’d done it on purpose. Her senses were heightened. Arousal mixed with adrenaline, driving her higher and making her writhe. Her breasts ached, the tight point of her nipples under constant torture as she rubbed against the cotton-covered table. Heat blasted through her.

And when he finally ran his fingers full tilt up the greedy opening of her sex, she nearly flew apart. “Simon,” she said again, but this time there was no reproach, only begging.

The pressure of his hands on her body disappeared. Taking the opportunity, Marcy flipped over onto her back. Simon loomed above her, his eyes hot and heavy as they dragged down her body.

“Simon,” she breathed again, part relief and part benediction.

Leaning up onto an elbow, she wrapped her hand in the cotton of his shirt and pulled him down with her. She claimed his mouth as expertly as he’d just played her body.

She just hoped the massage table could hold them both.

14

T
HE
TABLE
CREAKED
and swayed beneath them. Simon didn’t care if it collapsed to the ground. He’d buy a new one and it would be damn well worth every penny.

Touching Marcy had been pure torture. It had been difficult to hold himself back. He let her take control, enjoying the frenzy he’d built inside her.

He relished the way her hands moved restlessly over his body, seeking something she couldn’t quite find. When her fingers slid beneath his shirt to run up his back her soft purr of satisfaction made the muscles in his stomach twist.

His cock throbbed painfully. It wouldn’t take much to have him exploding. And when he did, he wanted to be deep inside her.

He wanted to ruin her for every man that she’d ever meet once she left him.

Marcy pulled his shirt off over his head and flung it away. He was afraid it might have gone straight out the opening in the wall above her head. At this rate he wasn’t going to have any clothes left.

Her nails scraped down the planes of his chest, flicking his stiff nipples and forcing a hiss through his teeth. She didn’t bother taking her time, arrowing straight to the waistband of his shorts. She made quick work of the fly. Simon tried to stop her, to slow her down, but she was a force to be reckoned with.

And he had to admit that he liked it.

Diving her hand into his back pocket, she smiled up at him, sultry and promising when she pulled out a condom. Her eyelids lowered over glittering blue eyes. She pushed his shorts down over his hips. They fell to his knees and stopped there. She moved on, leaving him hobbled.

His foot was a half inch off the floor still trying to get rid of the shorts when she rolled the condom down over his erection. The combination of cool latex and warm hands was thrilling. The thing constricted around him. He could hear his pulse pounding heavy and hard in his own ears, could count each beat in the throbbing erection she fisted.

Marcy’s tongue licked across her open lips. She spread her thighs wide and guided him exactly where he wanted to be. With her. Buried deep.

In one swift motion he brought them together, her warmth enveloping him and swelling up through his whole body. Simon grasped her head, silky strands of hair weaving in and out of his fingers. He took her mouth, bringing them together in every way possible. They worked together, hip to hip, breast to chest, mouth to mouth. Pushing, pulling, coaxing, grasping for one second more.

He breathed her in, lavender and vanilla. Sucked her tongue deep into his mouth, taking her in just as she was ensnaring him. The tremors that signaled his release began deep inside his belly. Simon clamped them down, refusing to let go just yet. Even with their lips locked, she panted against him, her body bowing up tight beneath him. He could feel the trembling pulse of her orgasm just on the edge.

He stroked in and out of her, reveling in the feel of their joined bodies.

Something hot and brittle expanded inside his chest. It hurt even as it felt good. A tightness that had his eyes closing and his hands clenching tighter around her so he could be sure she was still there.

Emotion overwhelmed him, something that had never happened before. He gasped, his eyes springing open. He found her, staring deep into him.

They came together, both giving in at the exact same moment. Marcy threw back her head, screaming his name at the top of her lungs. He couldn’t find the breath to utter a single sound. Instead, he leaned over and drank the words from her lips, letting them fuel him when nothing else could.

They stayed there wrapped together in a tangle of limbs, shallow breaths and sweat-slicked skin. Her racing heartbeat eventually slowed. The steady drum of it against his chest was the only thing that seemed solid.

After a few minutes she mumbled weakly, “At least we didn’t break the table.”

The ghost of a laugh tried to roll through his chest, but he just didn’t have the energy for the full thing. She got the idea, though, shaking her head in helpless agreement.

Tightening her arms around his body, she brushed her lips across his shoulder and said, “You’re going to have to tell me where you learned to do that.”

“What? Make you scream?” he asked, a satisfied smirk on his lips. What could he say? He was a smug son of a bitch.

Marcy smacked at his chest, breathless laughter bursting through her slightly swollen lips. “No. Give massages.”

“The same place I learned how to make you scream,” he said with a completely straight face.

She pushed against him, but a smile glinted deep in her eyes.

“That was a dirty trick.”

“What? Making you scream?”

“No,” she said, exasperation mixing with laughter. “Pulling a switcheroo. Do you know for about five minutes I wondered whether I was attracted to Nicole.”

“Liar. You knew it was me the minute I touched you.”

“Maybe,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Besides, I hadn’t exactly planned on doing it. I set up the appointment with good intentions.”

She scoffed. Simon gazed at her innocently. She raised her brows in a silent challenge.

“Really. I wanted to give you a treat. You’ve more than earned it.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet. And about two years late.”

Simon tried to ignore the guilt her words induced. “True. But better late than never has always been my motto.”

“No joke. Perhaps you should look at changing that. Maybe to something old and Latin.
Carpe diem
usually works for me. Seize the day.”

“Have you been paying attention? The only thing I want to seize is you.” To demonstrate his point, Simon began kissing up the side of her neck.

She tilted her head, giving him better access, but offered a halfhearted protest. “You are the most insatiable man I’ve ever met.”

Simon pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Only with you.” There was no trace of the humor and comfortable banter that they’d been batting back and forth. He was damn serious and it was suddenly important that she knew that.

He couldn’t tell her that he loved her, not when she was leaving. But she should at least know she was different. Unique.

She stared at him for several seconds, her bright blue eyes wide with surprise. An uncomfortable buzz zinged between them. She finally broke it by saying, “You sure do know how to make a girl feel special.”

“All morning the only thing I’ve been able to think about was you down here, naked on this table. Do you know how difficult it is to concentrate with a permanent hard-on?”

“Yes.”

Simon shook his head.

“I mean, no. But I know what it’s like to be so distracted that if you don’t find an outlet for the desire running through you, you’re either going to explode or go mad.”

A smile on his lips, he reached down and claimed hers in a quick caress. “Yes, that,” he said against her mouth. “You’re not so bad at making a guy feel sexy and powerful.”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

Simon jerked back, ready to break some other man’s bones. Until he saw the humor she couldn’t hide lurking in her eyes.

“Minx.”

Pushing up from the table, he grasped her hand and pulled her with him. With a little nudge toward the privacy screen, he said, “Get dressed.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she exaggerated the sway of her hips as she walked away. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”

“How about we try for another. Get dressed so you can find the shirt you threw out of this hut.”

Sticking just her head around the screen, she countered, “I don’t think so. Consider it payment for the shirt you tore.”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Not on your life.” She smiled, the expression sharp and wicked as she ducked away.

Raising her voice to be heard around the barrier, she said, “Besides, I’m covered in oil. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to get the sand off my skin if I go out on that beach right now?”

He pulled on his shorts and crossed the room. Leaning against the pillar closest to the privacy screen, Simon shoved both hands deep into his pockets and watched as she dressed. Her back was to him, so she didn’t realize he was there until he whispered, “Not hard at all, especially if I help.”

She whirled around, her shirt pressed against her chest.

“You haven’t seen my shower yet, have you?” Simon let his eyes travel slowly down her body. All he could think about was grabbing that shirt from her hands and taking her again. However, he refrained. “It’s pretty big. Definitely room enough for two.”

They never did find his shirt. When they went back several hours later, it had disappeared, probably taken out to sea with the receding tide.

* * *

O
VER
THE
NEXT
few days they settled into a routine. The new construction crew had arrived and were working hard to complete the repair list before reopening. Marcy spent most of the day at her desk, handling whatever resort business came up. Simon locked himself inside his office and she tried very hard to make sure no one disturbed him. At night they’d come together. She’d give him a rundown and he’d tell her what he’d written.

Marcy basically moved into his apartment, using the small kitchen there for probably the first time since Simon had renovated the place.

It was easy and scared the shit out of her.

She knew it couldn’t last, but the longer she stayed the more she wanted it to. A sense of dread began to turn her stomach at odd times. She was waiting for something to go wrong, for Simon to turn back into the antagonistic, self-absorbed, infuriating man he’d been before. Or for another disaster to befall the hotel.

She’d even taken to checking the National Hurricane Center website several times a day for forecasts. No storm was heading their way…yet…but she just knew the ease and happiness couldn’t last.

And she was right.

Late Tuesday afternoon she was sitting in her office, looking at the track of a storm that had just formed off the coast of Africa, when her phone rang. Picking it up absently, she answered, keeping her focus on the chart she was studying. It didn’t look as if it was heading for them, but if living in the Caribbean had taught her anything it was that storms could veer at any moment.

“Ms. McKinney.”

Mr. Bledsoe’s voice got her attention, though. She’d called this morning to make sure everything was progressing smoothly.

“I was surprised to get your message this morning,” he said, confusing her.

“I’m sorry? Why is that?”

“Well, when we didn’t receive your letter of recommendation we assumed you’d changed your mind about accepting the position. I really wish you’d called me and told me in person, but I respect your decision.”

Marcy propelled herself out of her chair, sending it rolling backward to collide with the wall. “What are you talking about? Of course I still want the job.”

Marcy’s skin flushed hot with anger and then cold with self-disgust.

Simon hadn’t sent her letter. And yes, she was pissed off at him for that. But she hadn’t followed up on it, either. She knew what Simon was like—easily distracted. She’d reminded him once on Thursday night and he’d promised her it would be taken care of. She hadn’t bothered him again, and hadn’t actually thought about it herself until now.

She’d
been distracted. By him.

Once again she’d let lust cloud her judgment and ruin her career.

Damn it! She wanted to scream. She wanted to storm through the resort and find Simon so she could yell at him.

A sense of betrayal welled up inside her. Had he really not sent the letter because he was distracted, or because he hadn’t wanted her to get the job? She was talking about the man who’d practically kidnapped her to keep her on the island. But that was before she’d known his secret and understood why he needed her here.

She’d promised him she would stay until his book was done.

But maybe that wasn’t enough for him.

God, she was an idiot.

Mr. Bledsoe cleared his throat and Marcy realized she’d begun to breathe heavily.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bledsoe. I was just working through some anger. Apparently my current boss didn’t send my letter, if I understand correctly.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was under the impression that it had been sent.” She fought against the small kernel of guilt buried deep in her chest. This was not her fault. But she wondered if Mr. Bledsoe would want to hire a manager who couldn’t follow up on the smallest details.

“Oh, my,” he blustered. “Well, that is unfortunate. We’ve already begun to interview new candidates.”

Marcy sucked in a steadying breath and then blew it out in a silent stream, trying to find some calm and get her mind in order.

“Perfect. Perhaps I can be part of that group. I could be on a plane to the States in a matter of hours. I know not interviewing me in person was your selection committee’s main concern.”