Читать книгу Rub It In - Kira Sinclair - Страница 8

THE RESORT WAS QUIET. Disturbingly silent without guests. There was no one splashing or yelling at the pool as she dragged her three matching pieces of luggage behind her. No couples strolling hand-in-hand across the warm sand. No painted-up thirtysomethings in string bikinis sipping drinks beneath cabanas and waiting to pick up whatever hot guy strolled past.

She was used to the hustle and bustle, and the place seemed almost eerie without it. As if the island itself were sad that no one was there to play and frolic.

The locals had a legend about Île du Coeur, something about finding your heart’s desire—whether it was what you’d come looking for or not. She’d never really paid that much attention to it because she didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, but at this moment the island felt almost alive.

As if maybe anything was possible.

The caws and whistles of the birds deep in the jungle and the ringing of hammers as the work crew repaired the restaurant roof broke through the moment. Their supplies had arrived on the morning ferry, and the last of the staff and the two candidates she hadn’t hired for head of security had left. She’d been surprised when Xavier, the man she’d hired, said he was prepared to stay and start immediately. She wondered briefly what kind of person could pack their entire life into a single suitcase, but decided she didn’t have time to find out. He was more than qualified for the position.

The repair of the roof was the first in a long list of upgrades and maintenance the crew would be handling over the next two weeks. Hurricane season was upon them and the last thing they needed was leaky roofs or unstable buildings. Marcy seriously hoped for their sake that everything went smoothly. She’d never actually seen Simon lose his temper, but something told her that between the distraction, the length of the list she’d left and her departure, he was precariously close to the deep end.

Too bad.

Served him right for not appreciating the long hours, detailed work and effort she’d put into this place for him. Instead of praise, she got snarky remarks and needling innuendos. Instead of understanding, she got exasperation and a locked door in her face.

Hopefully, no more. She was going to charm the socks off whomever she had to in order to get the hell off this island and back to the big city. Cramped apartments, twenty-four-hour Chinese food, men in suits, museums, shows, culture … that was her idea of paradise.

Her suitcases bumped across the raised boards of the dock. Normally she was a light traveler, preferring to fit as much as possible into one carry-on bag. The thought of losing all her luggage made her chest ache. But during her time at Escape, she’d collected more stuff than she’d realized. And hoping that she’d be able to tender her resignation from New York, she’d packed everything she owned. Well, at least anything she’d wanted to take with her. Her father had taught her that some things just weren’t worth the trouble.

Arranging her luggage in descending order, Marcy lined them up perpendicular to the boards, stared out across the vacant water and then looked at her watch. She was a little early. With a shrug, she plopped her butt onto the top of her largest suitcase and prepared to wait. She thought about pulling out the novel she’d packed into her carry-on but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. She had ten, fifteen minutes at the most.

But, oh, it called to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to crack open the spine of a good thriller. She loved them, a holdover from the days when her father would pass along his finished books to her. They’d shared that excitement, spending hours discussing the finer points of their favorite books over dinner.

Her love of thrillers wasn’t the only thing she’d inherited from her dad. His workaholic, detail-oriented, high-expectation requirements had also come with the genes. A familiar sadness crept up on her. He’d been gone for almost five years, but it still hadn’t gotten any easier.

Although she supposed there was a silver lining. He’d have been so disappointed in her over the New York debacle. Tears stung her eyes, but Marcy refused to let them fall. It had been two and a half years, and still it upset her.

She’d been so lonely. Looking for companionship and support and someone to share her life with. Marcy thought she’d found that in Christoph Fischer. Yes, she knew better than to sleep with someone she worked with—her boss, no less. But he’d swept her off her feet and she’d been helpless to resist. It didn’t help that they’d spent so much time together at work.

Even before she’d started at his hotel, she’d heard rumors that he and his wife were divorcing. A year later, when he began asking her out, she assumed the divorce was final. Shame on her for not checking!

The humiliation of discovering—in the middle of a crowded ballroom filled with industry professionals—that his wife was very much still a part of his life was something she’d never forget. Neither was having champagne thrown in her face and obscenities rained down over her head. Marcy had never thought of herself as a home wrecker, had never wanted or planned to be one.

Being lied to by someone she’d trusted was terrible enough, but then he’d had the audacity to fire her. And blackball her with every other reputable hotel in the city …

She’d taken the first job that she could—Simon’s offer—as far away from the city as she could get. She’d needed the time away. She’d desperately needed the job. And she’d needed the line on her résumé—a buffer between the debacle and whatever would come next.

But that was all behind her now. And this interview was the opportunity to make a fresh start. Surely, over two years later, everyone would have moved on to juicier gossip. She’d gotten the interview after all.

This job was her ticket back home. Back to civilization and structure.

A frown on her face, Marcy looked at her watch again. The tropical sun was baking her scalp and exposed legs. If she’d known she was going to sit here for a half hour she would have put on sunscreen. The ferry was definitely late. Standing, she walked to the edge of the dock and craned her neck to see if the squat vessel was visible across the water. It wasn’t.

This was exactly the kind of thing that drove her crazy! The entire place ran on island time and she was so sick and tired of it. Didn’t anyone respect punctuality anymore? The ferry was routinely late. People waited five, ten, even fifteen minutes on occasion, but never this long.

Maybe the ferry crew figured that with a skeleton staff and no guests to deliver, there was no hurry. With a scowl, Marcy returned to perch on top of her bag. They were going to get an earful from her whenever they did finally arrive. She had a plane to catch. Thank God she’d built some “disaster” time into her schedule.

SIMON STARED out the window at Marcy. He’d left his apartments and walked around to the far side of the building so he could watch her. Part of him couldn’t help but chuckle at the agitated way she kept jumping up from her seat on that coral-colored suitcase to pace along the length of the dock, only to sit back down again.

The suitcase was unexpected—he would have thought she was more of a traditional black or brown kinda girl—but her reaction wasn’t. The only reason Simon was standing there watching her was that he was a coward.

He’d meant to go down there at three, to cut her off as she reached the dock and explain that she wasn’t going anywhere because he’d called and canceled the ferry service for the next two weeks. But he’d gotten involved in a scene. The words had flowed, and considering that hadn’t happened in the past few days, he’d been reluctant to walk away.

And now he was going to pay the price. No doubt a tongue-lashing was in his future. Was it wrong that he sort of enjoyed riling Marcy up?

When she was angry her blue eyes flashed, reminding him of sapphires turned to catch the light. Her skin tinted a pale pink color and her jaw tightened so hard that he wanted to kiss her senseless just to startle her into letting go.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to go there. She was too valuable as his manager. He had a policy of never seducing employees. And he had no desire for a relationship. He’d never been great at them before Courtney. And after, the idea of trusting someone that much again didn’t sit well with him.

Marcy spun on her heel, knocking the smallest of her suitcases over and starting a domino effect that ended with all her luggage hitting the dock. He couldn’t hear the bang from behind the protection of the glass, but he could imagine that it—and her growl of frustration—had been loud.

Logically, he realized the longer he waited the worse the explosion was going to be.

Taking a deep breath, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference and headed out into the afternoon heat.

Tucking his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts, Simon ambled toward the dock. He broke through the line of rich tropical foliage to find Marcy had righted her bags and was staring in his direction, no doubt having heard his feet on the path.

“Simon,” she said, her face twisted into a frown already. Not great. “What are you doing?”

Propping his hip against the wooden railing that surrounded the dock, he said, “I came to tell you that the ferry isn’t coming.”

“What?” she exclaimed. The already high color on her cheeks flamed even brighter. She looked behind her over the water, as if the ferry might turn a corner and prove him a liar at any moment. “The ferry comes every day. Twice.”

“Not today.”

“What happened? Was there an accident? Is anyone injured?”

Simon felt the pinch of guilt as he realized that her first assumption was only an accident could stop the one form of transportation on and off the island. And she was worried about other people more than her own inconvenience.

He had to come clean.

“No, no accident. I called and canceled the service.”

Marcy swung her eyes back to him. They were wide with confusion. The cloud of her long blond hair, usually pulled tight into a smooth ponytail during work hours, floated around her face. He liked it down and couldn’t remember a single time in the past two years that he’d seen it this way. Free. Not exactly a word he would have normally used to describe Marcy. His gaze traveled down her body and he realized she wasn’t wearing her trademark suit, either. Instead she wore a pale green polo—every button done up to her throat—and a pair of crisp khaki shorts. Had he ever seen her legs bare?

Shaking his head, he jerked his mind back to where it should be. “Why the hell would you do that?”

He shrugged, knowing the inevitable shitstorm he was about to release. “Because I couldn’t let you leave. I need you here, Marcy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here for the next two weeks.”

“You … you …” she sputtered, her eyes turning hard and sharp. “You canceled the ferry?”

“Yep.” While he tried to maintain the relaxed air he’d adopted the minute he set foot on the tropical island, his eyes stayed clear and focused on Marcy. He honestly had no idea what she might do. “You gave me the idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who suggested I kidnap you. I always try to take your advice.”

She growled low in the back of her throat. It was the same sort of sound the pit bull he’d had as a child used to make when a stranger entered their yard. A warning. Only this time he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one about to have his hand bitten.

“You do no such thing. Ignoring me has become a sort of hobby for you and we both know it.”

Well, he had, but until this moment he hadn’t realized she’d been aware.

“Fine,” she said, her jaw hard and tight. “I’ll call Rusty for a private launch.”

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.