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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.
