Take It Down

by Kira Sinclair

  Fulfill all your cravings at our intimate adults-only resort on a secluded Caribbean island. It’s lush, decadent and filled with treasures from around the world...some of which may be stolen.

  Artist Elle Monroe is looking for a painting that was taken from her, and she’ll do anything to get it back. Little does she know how good “anything” will feel.... Or that she might end up on her back finding out.

  Security head CIA Zane Edwards knows she’s up to no good. But as he keeps her under surveillance, he learns there’s something more to Elle than her criminal tendencies. Something that makes his blood burn, and her eyes dance.

  Something that they can’t fight for long.

  And there’s only one way to satisfy this craving....

  “I told you I’d be watching.”

  His voice sounded gravelly, filled with craving as he stared at her from the shore.

  “Are you stupid or just suicidal?” he asked.

  “Neither.” She shot him a taunting grin.

  “You have to be one or the other to walk into the jungle alone.”

  “You managed to find me, Officer Edwards.”

  “Special agent.”

  Her smile grew.

  He waded into the water and grasped her ankle. She thrashed and rolled.

  “Let me go!”

  “Not a chance.”

  With his free hand he reached down to grab her arm. Instead, he got a palmful of silk-covered breast.

  She stilled. Her face was blank, but her eyes burned as she watched him. They’d both been fighting this for days.

  His lips pulled down into a frown. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Shut up and kiss me,” she whispered.

  Dear Reader,

  I have to admit that the ideas for my Island Nights trilogy didn’t exactly come in order. In fact, Elle in Take It Down appeared to me first and inspired the entire series.

  Sometimes characters just take over, and that was the case with my little firecracker. Elle is daring and impulsive, and I had so much fun finding her an equally strong hero in Zane—a man who could not only go toe-to-toe with her, but also balance out that impetuous nature.

  Elle first appeared in my head breaking in to hotel rooms, although she was quick to point out that she didn’t actually take anything. That brought up so many questions. What was she looking for? Why hotel rooms? And who would be the worst possible man for her to fall for in the middle of all this? The rest of the story just sort of snowballed from there.

  I had so much fun writing Elle and Zane’s story. They struck sparks off each other from the first moment and it was a joy to put them into precarious situations that fought against their idea of what they should/could want.

  I hope you enjoy Take It Down as much as I do! I’d love to hear what you think. You can contact me at Kira@KiraSinclair.com or visit me at www.KiraSinclair.com.

  Best wishes,

  Kira Sinclair

  Kira Sinclair

  Take it Down

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When not working as an office manager for a project management firm or juggling plot lines, Kira spends her time on a small farm in north Alabama with her wonderful husband, two amazing daughters and a menagerie of animals. It’s amazing to see how this self-proclaimed city girl has (or has not, depending on who you ask) adapted to country life. Kira enjoys hearing from her readers at her website, www.kirasinclair.com. Or stop by writingplayground.blogspot.com and join in the fight to stop the acquisition of an alpaca.

  Books by Kira Sinclair

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  415—WHISPERS IN THE DARK

  469—AFTERBURN

  588—CAUGHT OFF GUARD

  605—WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

  667—BRING IT ON

  To get the inside scoop on Harlequin Blaze and its talented writers, be sure to check out blazeauthors.com.

  All backlist available in ebook. Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  I’d like to dedicate this book to three strong, savvy and supportive women—Vicki Lewis Thompson, Rhonda Nelson and Andrea Laurence.

  You guys are not only a font of information, but also a well of support that I’m so lucky to have in my life. I couldn’t do this without y’all!

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “WHY THE HELL ARE THESE people in my bedroom?”

  Zane Edwards leaned back into a dark corner—the only spot in the place that wasn’t buzzing with activity—and prepared for an excellent show. Between the photographer shouting instructions, his assistants moving furniture, light stands and anything else that got in their way, and Marcy constantly flipping through a clipboard of papers she hugged to her chest like a lifeline, the normally large space suddenly felt pretty small.

  And Simon Reeves, his boss and longtime friend, was about to make it smaller.

  Even from his melt-into-the-background location, Zane could see Marcy, the resort’s manager, grind her teeth. Her skin paled before flushing an angry pink. Oh, goody, the fireworks were about to start. Up until now, his day had been pretty damn boring.

  Marcy had asked him to shadow the production team there to take marketing and publicity photographs. Not exciting, although not much about his job as head of security for Escape, an adults-only Caribbean resort on Île du Coeur—an island just off the coast of St. Lucia—was.

  He knew how important this shoot was to Marcy, though, so he’d do his part. She needed these photographs for a magazine ad campaign, and the deadline was fast approaching. They’d intended to feature a couple, but the pair they’d had an agreement with backed out at the last minute—after the photographs had already been taken.

  The couple, Colt and Lena, had paid for the photographs and compensated the resort for the cost of production, so Escape wasn’t out any money. But they’d definitely lost time. Marcy’d had to regroup and brainstorm an entirely new concept, since she didn’t have time to hire more talent.

  Apparently, Simon had forgotten he’d given Marcy permission to shoot in his private space. Not unusual when the man had his nose buried in that computer—which was always.

  With a cutting tone of voice that reminded Zane of his high school calculus teacher, Marcy said, “This marketing campaign is going to bring us the kind of exposure that draws guests, Simon.”

  “We don’t need more guests,” was Simon’s rather predictable response. It was entirely possible that Zane was the only person on the island who understood why the man had no desire to fill the resort to the rafters.

  Fewer guests meant fewer disruptions, giving Simon the space and time he needed to write. Simon had his reasons for keeping his career as an author a secret—even from Marcy. Betrayal by someone you trusted could make you rather…reluctant to let people in. And Simon had definitely been betrayed. Courtney, his ex-girlfriend, had really done a number on him, stealing his work and passing it off as her own.

  The only reason Zane knew the truth was because he and Simon had been friends since their fraternity days. They might have gone their separate ways after college, bu
t they’d always had each other’s backs. When Zane’s life had imploded, Simon had been the first to offer him somewhere to stay, and when Zane had refused the handout, Simon had given him a job. Hence his position at Simon’s resort.

  Not everyone knew Simon had bought Île du Coeur not as a business investment but as a secluded place to come and lick his wounds. Apparently, the island was good for that. Marcy didn’t know the truth, so she didn’t understand. All she saw was a man who’d bought a resort and then didn’t give a damn about actually making it run. Which was actually far from the truth. Zane knew Simon needed the place to support itself. The man had some money, but the upkeep for Escape was unbelievable and he needed to cover operating expenses.

  “We have empty rooms, Simon. We need more guests. Especially during the off season.”

  Simon leaned languidly against the door frame, completely uncaring that every person in the room had stopped moving to turn and stare. “I like the off season just fine. I enjoy the peace and quiet.”

  Zane figured he had exactly thirty seconds to step in or Marcy was going to lose it. Her blue eyes flashed a warning that Zane knew Simon would ignore. A smile played at the corners of Simon’s lips, almost as if he were looking forward to the fallout of whatever was going to come next.

  And if there hadn’t been an audience, Zane might have slipped quietly out of the room and let it happen. The two of them had been striking enough sparks off each other lately to light the bonfire they held on the beach. But they weren’t alone, so…

  On silent feet, Zane moved between Marcy’s glaring gaze and Simon’s impish grin and said quietly, “Not the time or place, guys,” tipping his head to the spectators.

  Simon looked over Marcy’s shoulder at the people staring, and his lips tightened into a straight line. Oh, that was worse. Marcy pissed he could handle. Simon angry was unusual and therefore infinitely more volatile. Even though Zane was an ex-CIA agent trained in fifty ways to kill with household objects, he tried to avoid Simon when the man’s temper flared.

  Simon’s eyes narrowed as he looked around Zane to Marcy. “I don’t want strangers in my space. I need to work.”

  Marcy snorted. Probably not the smartest thing she’d ever done. Zane widened his stance and braced for the consequences.

  “Well, you’re going to have to wait. The marketing director for the campaign specifically asked to photograph your private rooms, Simon. And you agreed.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. You’re on the highest floor, with the best view. From this vantage point, we can show a luxurious room with the jungle behind surrounded by deep blue water.”

  It was uncomfortable, being at the center of their angry standoff. They stared at each other, through him, but Zane figured this way at least he wouldn’t have to witness a murder.

  “You’re not going to go away until I let them do this, are you?” Simon finally asked.

  “Nope,” Marcy responded.

  “Fine,” Simon said, whirling around on his heels and heading for the door. “But I start throwing people out the window if you’re not done in an hour.”

  Most people might think Simon was kidding. It was hard to take a man who dressed like a surfer seriously. But Zane knew firsthand that surf-god exterior hid a spine of steel and a drive to succeed. Hell, even he forgot sometimes. It was easy when Simon smiled that crooked grin.

  With a huff, Marcy prowled over to his former corner and stood there, glaring at the production crew. They quickly found something to do and somewhere else to look.

  Crossing his arms and returning to the piece of wall he’d been holding up, Zane didn’t look at her, either, when he asked, “Want to talk about it?”

  “Some days I want to kill him,” she grumbled.

  “I know.”

  “How do you stand him? How can you still be his friend after all these years?”

  “Because he’d give me the shirt off his back if I needed it. Practically did. He’s loyal to the people he cares about, Marcy. Trust me when I say you don’t know the whole story.”

  She shot him a pointed look. “No one will tell me.”

  Zane raised his hands in an unarmed gesture. “Not my story to tell.”

  “He just…drives me insane. He knows how important this photo shoot is. And he knows what I went through to get this set up in time. If Colt and Lena were here, I might be tempted to wring their necks....”

  “You know that’s not true.” Zane bumped her hip with his own, hoping to jar a smile from her. “You liked those two. And you could have refused to sell the photographs back to Colt. But you didn’t. Admit it, you have a romantic soft spot beneath that drill-sergeant exterior.”

  The ghost of a smile played at the edges of her lips. “If you breathe a word of that to Simon, I’ll kill you.”

  “I’m shaking in my shoes.”

  1

  ZANE STARED OUT THE CLOSED window to the panoramic picture of tropical beauty and sighed. It was perfect and he was bored.

  He shouldn’t be. This laid-back, no pressure lifestyle was exactly what he’d signed up for—the complete opposite of the life he’d left behind.

  For good reason.

  He swiveled in his desk chair until his full attention returned to the bank of security screens that occupied the wall in front of him. He should probably run back the tapes to check those sixty seconds he’d been distracted. But he wouldn’t. In the eighteen months he’d been on the island, not a single exciting thing had ever shown up on those screens.

  And why would it? The resort—the only thing on Île du Coeur—might have plenty to take, but there was only one way off the island. The chances of a thief being caught before the ferry arrived were pretty damn good. Especially with him on the job. None of their guests had ever had so much as a candy wrapper taken. The worst thing he’d had to deal with since he’d set foot on the island was a drunk who’d fallen through one of the thatched huts along the beach.

  The only thing hurt had been the hut.

  Zane looked at the timer in the bottom right corner of one of the screens and registered that Tom, his replacement, would be there in about twenty minutes. So far the boy was working out, and Zane was happy he’d hired him.

  After Tom arrived, Zane planned on walking the grounds, checking that no guests from the couples side of the resort had left their cabana doors standing open in their romance-fueled haze.

  The resort specialized in adult vacations. Singles came not only to relax but to also meet other successful singles. They tended to stay in the main building of the resort. Couples came for the romantic, secluded atmosphere Escape excelled at creating. And since they usually wanted more privacy, they occupied the bungalows on the far side of the resort. In between were various buildings and shared amenities—a bar, five-star restaurant, gym and spa, water sports equipment and instructors, tennis courts, a large pool complex and, of course, the beach and jungle. Somehow the entire resort managed to maintain an untouched, romantic feel, while still offering the latest in modern amenities.

  Part of that could be attributed to the remnants of the French plantation house, the face of the entire complex. The house itself had been expanded and updated over the years, but it still retained the air of gentility and mystery. The public rooms were more than two hundred years old, keeping their period pine floors and rich interiors. The guest rooms had been added on to the back of the existing house at least fifty years ago when it had first been converted to a resort. Since then, the structures had been updated and modernized several times over, the latest when Simon purchased the place.

  After Zane had verified that everything and everyone was locked up tight, he was going to head to his own quarters at the back of the resort to see if there was anything interesting on TV.

  That was his plan.

  Until sirens began blaring overhead. Zane jackknifed in his chair, his eyes immediately sharpening and scanning the bank of monitors before him.

  The information scree
n blinked fire zone six just as the telephone at his elbow rang. He punched a command into the system, his screens filling with every camera they had in zone six. Nothing. No flames. No smoke. All he saw was panicked guests running around. He shook his head at the pandemonium. Picking up the ringing line, he spoke to the nice woman from the alarm company on the other end.

  Insurance required they maintain the service, although he had no idea why. No one from St. Lucia could get here in time to be of any help. Even with boats, it would take the fire department forty minutes to reach the island.

  However, they were prepared. Even now, the head of the grounds crew was mobilizing the pump truck that they painstakingly tested once every month.

  Not that Zane thought they’d need it.

  Dropping the phone into the cradle, he immediately snatched it back up.

  “Marcy, I don’t see an actual fire. Evacuate the guests just in case, but I’m thinking this was either a short in the system or a drunken guest playing a prank.”

  “Zane, you know better than that. Our guests don’t get drunk…they get happy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, feed me the line tomorrow, when I’m not dealing with a crisis.”

  The grumble in his voice belied the rush of adrenaline flowing through his veins…the first zing of electricity he’d felt in months. He’d missed it, this flurry of activity that meant he had a purpose.

  “The staff is already implementing fire procedures. I’ll let you know when all guests are accounted for,” Marcy said.

  “Let me know if anyone finds sign of a fire while you’re at it.”

  Marcy chuckled.

  Slamming down the receiver, Zane began to furiously type in commands, systematically scanning each zone, starting with five and seven before backtracking to one.

  He didn’t get much further.

  Halfway through scanning the fourth-floor hallway, he watched a woman disappear inside one of the guest rooms.

  “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath. She’d obviously heard the fire alarm. Hell, it was practically spiking into his brain and making his eyes throb. God only knew what she thought was more important than meeting a fiery death.