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Soon after coming to the island, Simon had upgraded all the outdated plumbing and as much of the electrical as possible.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
