“My ego? That isn’t usually what women compliment me on.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Sure sounded like one to me. Didn’t you just say I amazed you?”
With a huff, Marcy turned and grabbed a glass of wine from the counter. The contents sloshed over the side. She reached out, snatched one of his hands, pulled it close to her body and slapped the glass against his palm.
“Drink,” she ordered. “At least that’ll keep your mouth occupied for a while.”
His eyes unerringly strayed to her mouth. Those full lips, more often than not pulled into a tight line of frustration or concentration, were now parted. He could see the delicate pink inside her mouth and wanted to dive in and taste it for himself. He leaned closer, although he couldn’t remember consciously deciding to do it.
Marcy’s eyes widened. The pulse at the base of her throat began to throb and he could feel the answering echo as it shot straight to his groin. That tantalizing tongue darted out to scrape across her open lips. Simon’s eyes narrowed, focusing totally on the prize that he wanted—her mouth.
With an almost inaudible gasp, Marcy turned away, breaking the connection that had caught them both.
Simon studied her as she quickly dished food from the pan on the stove onto two beautiful plates. They were thick, heavy and, on closer inspection, Simon realized probably handmade. Indigo and burgundy swirled across the surface in an abstract pattern. They were definitely not island issue, but something she’d brought with her to Île du Coeur.
And he realized it was the first touch of something personal he’d seen. Her office had no photographs, no knickknacks, no little baskets or cartoony staplers. Everything was silver, stark and professional.
Her hands were steady now, but he was almost certain they hadn’t been when she’d first turned around. He’d been seducing women since puberty, so he knew the signs of interest well enough. Hell, he had the perfect tutorial outside his front door. Every night at the resort some man—or woman—was making the moves hoping to end up in someone else’s bed.
Although he really didn’t need the lessons.
Marcy wanted him. Physically at least. Of that he was damn sure. She might not like it, but that didn’t change the facts.
She brushed past him and a blast of lavender hit him square in the face.
His body responded.
Marcy studiously ignored him as she ate her dinner. Simon, on the other hand, studiously watched her. And the more he watched the more agitated she became.
A tiny smile tugged at the edge of his lips as he slipped a piece of chicken into his mouth. She really was a good cook. He had no idea why that surprised him, but it did.
“This is excellent,” He said finally, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them.
“It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s simple and good. I didn’t realize you could cook.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Simon,” she said, looking up into his eyes for the first time since she’d sat down across from him.
He quirked a single eyebrow. “Like what? Enlighten me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Simon set his fork on his plate and leaned across the table. He stared into her azure eyes—they were so bright and clear. Such an unusual shade that he was sure she’d learned long ago to use to her advantage. She wanted to look away. He could see it in the way the corners of her eyes compressed. But she wouldn’t. Instead, she lowered her chin and silently challenged him in that frustrating way of hers.
But he was no coward and actually enjoyed the provocation. “Why not? What are you afraid of? It isn’t like I’m asking you to strip naked in front of me. Just tell me where you learned to cook.”
Her skin flushed a soft pink the minute the word strip left his mouth. But her eyes flashed and her lips thinned and he knew she’d rise to the bait.
“I taught myself. I lived most of my life in premier hotels with just my father. And while he was a wonderful man and a great father, he was a terrible cook. He’d always say that not taking advantage of the gourmet meals available to us was tantamount to committing a sin.”
“Not very religious, your father, then, hmm?” he asked.
Marcy reached up and ran her hands through her hair, ruffling her bangs. The soft blond strands settled back around her face in a disheveled mess that did nothing to dampen the buzz of attraction fighting through his blood. His fingers curled against his palm, the only way to keep him from reaching out to brush the wisps away from her cheeks.
She was uncomfortable. Simon wondered if it was sharing part of her background and life that made her so, or if it was specifically sharing those details with him that flustered her.
“So why did you learn to cook? I thought you’d spent most of your adult life living in a hotel, as well.”
“I did.” Marcy’s lips twisted into a self-deprecating semblance of a smile. “This place—” she looked around, but her gaze returned to him and Simon felt a tiny thrill blossom in the center of his chest when she did “—was the first time I’d ever had access to a kitchen, actually.”
“Wait,” he said. “Are you saying you taught yourself to cook while you’ve been living here?”
When had she done that? And for heaven’s sake, why? “What’s wrong with our restaurant? And why haven’t you fixed it?”
“Nothing,” she asserted. “There’s nothing wrong with the restaurant. We get rave reviews and our chef has an excellent reputation.”
Simon’s eyebrows beetled. He didn’t understand. “Then what in the world made you take up cooking?”
She looked away again. “I don’t know. I was bored, I guess. There really isn’t a lot to do after I leave the office. I’m not much for TV or movies. I guess I was used to a big city with lots of museums and theaters and social events.” Her eyes wandered back and she shrugged. “It filled the time. And I discovered I was good at it. Sort of surprised me.”
A smile, gentle and unlike anything he’d ever seen on her face before, curved her lips. “Dad always said my mom was an excellent cook.”
There was a vulnerability there that made the center of his stomach twist uncomfortably. While he liked this softer side to Marcy, he wasn’t used to it and didn’t know what to do with it. Vulnerable was the last word he’d ever use to describe the tiny bulldog that normally ran his resort. Capable, fearless, dominating, frustrating, enticing…these were all words he would have used.
Searching for familiar ground, Simon grabbed on to something she’d said. “What do you mean there isn’t any entertainment on the island? We have plenty!”
“Sure, if I was interested in a weekend fling with some stranger. And that’s assuming said stranger wasn’t just looking for T and A.” Marcy looked down at her own body and frowned. “It isn’t like I fit the stereotypical mold for that sort of thing.”
“Putting aside your derogatory view of our guests, any man who doesn’t jump at the chance to sleep with you is an idiot. You’re beautiful.”
Marcy blinked, appearing nonplussed. It was a new look for her, one he liked for some reason. Maybe it made her more human than he was used to her being. She was Marcy. Efficient, unflappable Marcy. But he’d made her stumble.
“I…you…” She sputtered before finding her footing. “Thank you. I think.”
They stared at each other for several seconds. Simon realized that at some point in their conversation they’d moved closer to each other, both leaning over the table that separated them. Whether from the heat of their argument or the awareness pulsing relentlessly beneath his skin, it really didn’t matter. The result was the same.
He wanted her.
And for the first time since she’d stepped foot on his island, he couldn’t remember why that was a bad idea.
Oh yeah, she worked for him.
Or, rather, she had.
Past tense. Not anymore. Which meant there was no reason to deny what
he wanted.
The fantasy that had been haunting him since he’d opened that damn bottle of shampoo burst through his brain again.
He wanted Marcy. And he was a man who usually got what he wanted.
* * *
MARCY HAD NO IDEA what was going on behind those devilish blue eyes, but whatever it was made her…uncomfortable. In fact, she’d been uncomfortable since the moment Simon walked through her door.
She reached up and fiddled with the straps of her tank top. Why was she suddenly so hot? The stove. That’s what it was.
In a flurry of activity, Marcy began clearing the dishes off the table. The mundane chore allowed her to not only turn her back on Simon and the effervescent feeling he stirred in the pit of her stomach, but also to hopefully speed up his departure.
Dinner was over. He’d had a shower. And now he could leave.
Marcy’s lips were suddenly dry and tight. She ran her tongue across them to try to find some relief. It didn’t help.
Frowning, she turned back to grab another handful of dishes and nearly collided with Simon. His hands were full of her favorite dishes, so he couldn’t reach out and steady her. Instead, he jerked the plates above their heads and pressed the line of his body against hers, giving her a solid surface to rest against.
That rolling, bubbling sensation in her stomach erupted, spilling through her entire body. Her skin tingled from the inside out, the tiny hairs running down her arms standing at attention.
She’d never in her life responded that way to a man touching her. It was overwhelming and she didn’t like it at all.
Taking a step back, she put much-needed space between them. Simon simply followed, towering above her. She was sensitive to her small stature, sometimes overly sensitive. But she was used to people—especially men—looming over her. She didn’t let it bother her. She couldn’t afford that kind of weakness, not in the hotel business, where she had to handle not only prickly executives but also pushy guests.
Simon bothered her. Standing in front of her, his body curved slightly as if he could completely engulf her at any moment… She wanted to fidget, to slip out from under him and stand on her tiptoes. But that would show her vulnerability and she refused to do that.
Instead, she dropped her head back and stared up, up, up into his eyes. She would not let him intimidate her.
He set the plates onto the counter on either side of her. His arms stretched around her as he leaned closer. Her lungs filled with that damn scent—crisp and clean and somehow wild… . Although tonight there was something new beneath it, floral and sweet. The combination made her picture the two of them together. Naked. She tried to hold her breath so she wouldn’t pull any more in. Surely now that his hands were empty, he’d move away.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he gripped the counter. The heat of his body melted into her. It should have been irritating, but instead, her muscles responded. They went lax and she was suddenly glad for the edge of the counter that pressed into the small of her back and kept her from hitting the floor.
Marcy swallowed and looked up into Simon’s eyes again. Her throat went dry at what she saw there. They were dark, the smoldering blue almost completely obscured by his expanding pupils. Gone was the jovial, irreverent expression that seemed to be his constant companion, replaced by a calculating intensity that scared her senseless.
She wanted to say something. To make him stop looking at her that way because it made her body do unfamiliar and uncontrollable things. A throbbing ache settled at the apex of her thighs.
This was not good.
She wanted to move, but she couldn’t. Her feet were frozen to the floor.
His eyes searched her face, for what she wasn’t sure, but whatever it was he found it. Leaning closer, he nuzzled the curve where her neck and shoulder met. No, nuzzle was the wrong word. He didn’t actually touch her, but she could feel him there.
The drag of air across her skin as he pulled it deep into his lungs was almost more devastating than if he’d actually touched her. That she could have fought against. At least, that’s what she told herself.
“Lavender,” he whispered, the word stirring strands of her hair as they tickled her cheek.
Her lips fell open. She couldn’t help herself. Her mouth tingled and pulsed with a need she didn’t want.
His lips pressed against hers. He didn’t overwhelm her as she might have expected he would. He didn’t even press inside the open invitation of her mouth. Instead, he simply savored the connection, brushing his mouth lightly across hers.
Her fingers tightened around the counter. She wanted to reach for him, but still had enough brainpower to realize that was a bad idea. One step a little too far.
As kisses went…it was disappointing. Not because it wasn’t devastating, but because it was. It was so perfect and sweet, so unexpected, that Marcy found herself wishing it would go on forever. And it didn’t. That was the disappointing part.
He sighed as he pulled away from her. His eyes were heavy lidded, sexy. They glittered at her with a heat that belied the softness of what he’d just done.
Simon wanted her.
It was obvious.
And her body agreed. It wanted to do whatever he wanted. Lightning sensations licked across her skin, crackling and zinging and making it hard to catch her breath.
“Thank you for dinner,” he said, taking a small step away.
This time when her hands clenched it was because she wanted to reach out and pull him back to her. To plaster him full-length along her naked skin and rub against him in an effort to find some relief for the fire he’d built deep in her belly.
But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded her head and watched as he walked away.
The quiet click of the door was like a gunshot, finally galvanizing her into action. She crossed her home in three strides, snatched the door open and rushed out onto the tiny covered porch.
He was already several feet down the path leading back to the main buildings of the resort. But he must have heard the sound of her door, because he stopped and turned to look at her.
The island was dark, the moon only a sliver that did little to dispel the night. His entire face was in shadow, but somehow his eyes still managed to flash.
His body, usually loose and languid, was straight and tight. She could see the tension in his muscles as he took one step toward her. She knew what he thought—that she’d rushed outside to stop him from leaving.
Instead, she shook her head, one quick motion that had him pulling up short.
There were a lot of questions swimming around inside her head. She didn’t know which ones to ask. Which ones she really wanted an answer to. She settled for the most obvious—and hopefully the least dangerous.
“Why did you do that?” Her voice was low and rough, almost unrecognizable to her own ears.
His white teeth flashed in the darkness, their quick appearance her only indication of his smile. It was the first thing that felt familiar. She’d seen it often, that irreverent, self-deprecating, unapologetic twist of his lips that usually drove her crazy because she knew it wasn’t real.
Taking several steps backward, he finally answered, “Because I wanted to.”
6
“BECAUSE I WANTED TO,” Marcy grumbled to herself. Of course he did. The man didn’t care what anyone else wanted or thought. Did he ask her first if he could kiss her? No. He just went ahead and took what he wanted.
Marcy, after a restless night of tossing and turning, was building up a healthy head of steam. She was also trying to convince herself that if he had asked first she would have said no.
But the little voice inside her head called her a liar.
She ignored it.
The problem was that he didn’t really want her. He didn’t find her sexy. If he had, he would have shown some sign of it before now.
She ignored the hypocrite that reverberated through her brain. She’d been fighting her own awareness of the man
for the past two years and hadn’t given any indication of it. At least until last night.
He just wanted to fluster her. To set her off center. He probably hoped to use her reaction in some harebrained attempt to convince her to come back to work.
It wasn’t going to happen.
Her interview had gone very well this morning. It had been difficult considering her laptop screen was small and four people—Mr Bledsoe, and three of his executives—had been present. But they’d asked tough questions and she was happy with her answers.
And to make sure Simon couldn’t convince her to do something stupid—like stay—she intended to get as far away from the resort as physically possible.
Grabbing a tattered backpack from her closet, Marcy filled it with several things—a soft blanket, some paperbacks, a couple sandwiches, snacks and several bottles of water. Beneath the cutoff jean shorts and stretch-necked T-shirt, she wore her bathing suit. Including yesterday, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d worn the thing since coming to the island.
Over the next few days she planned to remedy that.
Starting with a hike out to the waterfall tucked into the heart of the jungle on the uninhabited side of the island. How many times had she heard the guests gushing about the beauty of the secluded spot? How many times had she pointed a couple to the head of the path and promised them a wonderful time?
The problem was she had to take everyone else’s assurances of that because she’d never made the time to go there herself. As if she ever had an afternoon free for hiking. Or a massage or a ballroom lesson or a few quiet hours on the beach.
She flung the pack over one shoulder. Habit had her reaching for the two-way radio that sat on the charger on the small table next to the door. Her fingers brushed across the plastic before she caught herself. Pulling her hand back and cradling it against her body as if it had been burned, she stared at the thing.
Taking it would be smart. It was unusual for anyone to get lost out in the jungle, but it did happen. Just a few months ago, Colt and Lena, guests who were being photographed for an Escape ad campaign, had been stuck out there overnight. And she was hiking alone. Being able to contact Xavier if there was an emergency wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Rub It In Page 6
