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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.
