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
