Rub It In (4 page)

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

S
IMON
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.

He was caught. But right now he didn’t care.

* * *

O
H
,
GOD
. Marcy was mortified.

Her feet slid against the hardwood floor as she tried to stop her movement midmotion. Her hips were thrust out, her feet pigeon-toed, and her knees collided together in mid gyration.

And Simon just kept staring.

She wasn’t a great dancer. In fact, she’d skipped her senior prom because she was afraid of making a fool of herself. You always heard about the awkward girls with long limbs and gangly arms who grew into their bodies and became tall, beautiful supermodels. Well, she hadn’t grown into hers. Instead, she’d gotten hit twice—awkward and short.

But she loved music, and whenever she turned it on her body just wanted to move. Her muscles twitched. Her feet flexed. Her shoulders swayed, urging her on. But she always made damn sure that she was alone before she ever gave in.

What the heck was Simon doing here? Interrupting her private time. Spying on her.

Scowling, Marcy shot across the room and snatched open the front door. Apparently he’d recovered enough from the shock of seeing her spastic movements, because he was propped against her doorjamb, a bottle of wine in his outstretched hand.

“I brought you a present.”

“What are you doing outside my house in the middle of the night, Simon?”

He frowned, pulling the bottle back against his chest. Pushing away from the frame, his tall, powerful body straightened, towering over her. Marcy felt the urge to take a step back, overwhelmed by more than just the shadow that fell across her. He was too close. And the room was suddenly too warm.

“Come inside,” she grumbled, “before you let all the cool air out.”

Stepping away, Marcy hoped Simon would close the door behind him…because she really didn’t want to reach around him. She didn’t like this man, she reminded herself, even as a familiar and unwanted tingle started at the nape of her neck.

Pushing it away, Marcy went on the defensive, stabbing him with the powerful glare she’d learned to use to compensate for her lack of height. People often dismissed her because of her size, but she’d learned to use their underestimation to her advantage.

Unfortunately, that no longer worked with Simon.

“Why were you spying on me?”

“
Spying
is such a harsh word.”

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

“I do not waddle,” Simon said with mock sarcasm.

Verbal sparring with Simon was like arguing with a silver-tongued snake. He always managed to talk in circles, never really answering a question unless he wanted to. She’d often wondered if he’d been on the debate team growing up. If he hadn’t, it was a shame because he most certainly would have dominated any competition.

Taking a deep breath, Marcy asked, “What do you want?”

The smile he flashed at her was lethal for so many reasons. It was charming, no question. Bright. His eyes lowered just a little whenever he did it, connecting with hers and somehow making the whole thing more personal. As if for that moment she was the most important person in the world.

Unfortunately, she’d seen him use the same tactic many times. He was an equal-opportunity exploiter. The problem was that even though she knew his charm was hollow, it always seemed to knock her sideways a bit. Her heart stuttered. Her brain went a little fuzzy, and she found it difficult to concentrate on whatever they were talking about.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the reaction.

“To borrow your shower. And maybe your kitchen.”

“No way.” No way in hell. The last thing she needed right now was Simon invading her space. Her sanctuary. The one spot on the entire island she was guaranteed to find some peace because it was solely hers and no one bothered her here.

“Come on. The crew still doesn’t have the water back on.” He took a step toward her, and then another, crowding into her personal space. Years of refusing to be intimidated by anyone was the only thing that kept her from retreating. “You know you can’t refuse someone in distress.”

The scent of him overwhelmed her, filling her lungs and invading every molecule of her body as she unintentionally breathed him in. Dark, spicy and all male with a hint of something light and…salty. There was nothing artificial about it—about him. Nothing from a bottle for Simon. Nope, he was all natural.

“I really need a shower.” His husky words tripped down Marcy’s spine and she found herself swallowing. Hard. Trying to get control of her senses.

He certainly didn’t smell in desperate need of a shower, but she wasn’t about to point that out right now.

Instead, she licked her lips. She had to. They were bone-dry. And said, “If you’re in distress, I’m the tooth fairy.”

He didn’t hesitate a moment, but popped off a comeback with the straightest face she’d ever seen. “When I’m done with my shower, will you show me your pile of teeth?”

Her lips twitched. Damn it all to hell.

How long could a shower take? Five, ten minutes at the most and then he’d be out of her hair. “Fine,” she groaned.

He was halfway across her bungalow before the word had even left her mouth, flashing another one of those damn smiles at her over his retreating back.

“But be quick about it. I have things to do,” she added in an assertive growl just to remind them both where they stood.

He disappeared into the bathroom, his voice floating 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 with renewed embarrassment and she was grateful he couldn’t see it from the other room.

“That’s a shame. I could use some entertainment. It’s rather boring in that big building all by myself.” He stuck his head back around the frame of the door.

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.

Marcy swallowed. Again. It seemed like the only thing she was capable of doing.

“I’m cooking dinner,” she blurted to keep from staring, or licking her lips or asking him to walk out of that room so she could see what was hidden behind the door.

What was wrong with her tonight?

Sure, she’d…reacted to Simon before—more than she would have liked, considering he was her boss and she’d been down that road before with disastrous results. But nothing she couldn’t handle. Hormones were easily controlled. He was a hot, virile male and it would have been foolish of her to expect
not
to react to him on occasion.