Читать книгу Rub It In - Kira Sinclair - Страница 10

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.

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.