Rub It In

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.