Rub It In (10 page)

Eventually he had to come up.

And when he did Marcy was there to meet him. Pushing her fingers into his wet hair, she dragged him up to her mouth and devoured him. The taste of her desire exploded against his lips. She didn’t even let him wipe the water from his face, instead letting it rain down over both of them.

Droplets clung to her eyelashes, tiny glittering diamonds in the moonlight. Her legs floated up around him, bringing their bodies tight together. The heat of her center slid against his pounding erection.

Reaching down, he spread her open wider. His fingers slipped through the evidence of her desire, thicker than the water that tried to wash it away. She gasped, jerking tighter against him when he found and teased the swollen button of her clit.

He’d meant to bring them closer together, to tease them both, but he couldn’t do it. Not now that he’d touched her. Sliding his fingers into her white-hot depths was inevitable.

He pushed one inside, and then another. Her muscles pulsed around his invasion. The same rhythm echoed deep inside, hammering through his blood. This need for her had somehow become a part of him, melding with the pieces that fit together to make him the man he was. Something that had never happened with another woman.

Marcy’s head flew back. She clung to him, the water holding them both up. Her breath was fast. She trembled. He worked her, letting his fingers move in and out.

She was wild. So slippery that without her arms and legs clinging to him it would have been difficult to hold on.

Raising her head, she speared him with her gaze. Her eyes smoldered, hotter than her body wrapped so tightly around him. She licked her lips and said, “Please tell me you have a condom stashed somewhere.”

Simon stilled. And groaned, a sound that had almost nothing to do with the fist she’d just wrapped around his cock.

“In my pants.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, looking up to the sky. Her fingers drifted lower, began to caress the heavy orbs hanging from his body. He really hated to stop her, but…

“At the bottom of the pool.”

This time they both stilled. He could count her pulse by the throbbing beat at the center of her body where his hand was still buried deep. Her grip on him tightened somewhere just this side of painful. Together, they slowly turned their heads toward the shallow end.

Marcy laughed, a low, aching, sexy sound that rolled through him. Pushing away, she disentangled their bodies. He realized she was putting space between them to thwart temptation. But the primitive animal that had somehow inhabited his body wanted to howl a protest and haul her back to him.

“Which one of us is going down after it?”

“What you really mean is you’re the idiot who let the condom sink to the bottom of the pool, so get your ass down there.”

Her eyes glowed. It was different from the smoldering desire that had been there moments before. Although that glitter was still there, too. But now there was more. An…ease that had never been between them before.

“Since you put it that way.”

Taking a deep breath, Simon dived, then pulled the soft cotton back up behind him. Slipping his hand into the pocket, he retrieved one of the tiny, important foil packets. Holding it up triumphantly, he turned to Marcy. Water dripped, landing noisily on the surface of the pool.

She frowned. It wasn’t exactly the response he’d been hoping for.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I’m just trying to remember everything I’ve read about water and condoms. Does a good soaking weaken the integrity?”

He stared at her. Seriously. “Weaken the integrity? Jesus, Marcy, who talks like that?” Were they really having this conversation? In the middle of the pool. Naked.

While his body burned with a need for her.

Even floating in the deep end, with her feet nowhere close to a solid surface, she somehow managed to place her hands on her hips, cock her head to the side and give him that “Marcy stance.” He’d long ago realized fighting her in this mood was like bashing his head against a brick wall—he was the only one who ended up in pain.

Ripping into it, he held up the perfectly dry condom. “Dry as the desert.”

Her eyes flashed and she crossed her arms over her chest. He was absolutely sure she had no idea of the effect. The edge of the water lapped tantalizingly against her protruding nipples. His stomach muscles clenched hard and beneath the surface his cock jerked painfully toward her.

“Yeah, but for how long?”

“Huh?” he asked, unable to follow the conversation. Not while fantasizing about what he was going to do to her. Glancing behind him, he imagined her stretched out beneath him across the gleaming white steps leading out of the pool.

“Dry. How long is it going to stay dry? In the pool.” She gestured offhandedly to his completely submerged groin.

Surging toward her, he grasped her around the waist and pulled her hard against him. “I don’t care,” he growled. “All I know is if I don’t get inside you now I’m going to explode.”

She looked up at him. Innocence mixed with mischief, a complicated combination that set him off-kilter. “Isn’t that kinda the point?”

Had she just made a joke? He didn’t think he’d ever heard Marcy do that.

Picking her up, he fought the pressure of the water, walking to the steps where he’d envisioned her just moments before. She didn’t protest. Instead, when he laid her out on the wide ledge several steps up she stretched, undulating her body.

The shrewd look in her eyes told him she knew exactly what she was doing. And that was sexy as hell. He’d always been a sucker for a powerful, self-confident woman. And there was no one more confident in her own skin than Marcy.

Water lapped softly against her body, submerging her legs from the knee down. The waves they’d created in the empty pool teased against her hair, swirling it around her head one minute and leaving wet fingers of it trailing down the stairs the next.

The water reached just above his knees, but left the rest of him blessedly free. Somehow the condom had miraculously remained dry and he rolled it quickly down his pounding erection.

She watched his every move, those intelligent eyes missing nothing. Reaching out, she trailed a single fingertip down the latex-covered length. A strangled sound erupted from him, the combination of constricting latex and throbbing desire almost too much to bear.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

Marcy spread her thighs before him. Water caressed the swollen pink slit of her sex. He wanted to be there. Doing that to her instead.

“If you mean am I satisfied that the condom is dry and not going to break, yes. If you mean am I satisfied with
you
—” her eyes flicked up to his before settling back on his erection “—I never thought you were the kind of man who fished for compliments. Does your ego need stroking?”

He growled deep in his throat. “No, but I damn sure know something that does.”

She laughed, the tinkle of the sound settling somewhere in the middle of his chest and burrowing there. It itched and pinched and warmed him with a pleasant ache that had nothing to do with the fact that she was naked in front of him.

Reaching for him, she pulled him down on top of her. For a minute he worried about grinding her into the edge of the stairs, but the moment she wrapped her hand around him and guided him to the entrance of her body he forgot all about it. She didn’t seem to mind.

He slid home inside her in one easy stroke. She arched beneath him, pushing their bodies tighter together and taking all of him.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held on tight. Each time he pushed high and hard against her, tiny bursts of air tickled his ear. They urged him on.

And so did her words. “You feel perfect inside me,” she groaned as he pushed them both relentlessly to the edge. His body strained. His muscles shook. And she was with him every step of the way.

Her teeth latched onto his shoulder, holding on. Her labored breaths puffed against his skin. Every muscle in her body drew tight beneath him, a taut bow just waiting to snap. He relentlessly pushed them both, driving into her over and over.

Their bodies slapped together. Water rocked violently around them.

Marcy let go of him, falling back against the stair. With her eyes closed in ecstasy, her mouth opened wide on a silent cry that didn’t, couldn’t last.

She fell apart in his arms, bucking, writhing, a scream finally rolling up through her body, erupting at the top of her lungs.

Seeing her wild was an experience he’d never forget.

And he let himself fall behind her. A fiery ball of heat built at the center of his spine, exploding out to engulf all of him. His hips surged. The ravenous need that had built inside him spilled out and into her, his own guttural cry mixing with her scream.

He couldn’t breathe. It felt as if he was down in the deep end again, his lungs straining, drowning in her. And just like then, he didn’t care.

He might have stayed there forever, their legs and arms tangled together and his body buried deep inside her.

Except a voice interrupted the moment.

“What the heck was that?”

He recognized Paul’s deep voice.

And Christine’s higher one. “Don’t you mean who? Sounded like sex to me.”

“Maybe it was a jaguar?”

“That was no jaguar.”

Marcy stirred beneath him. Still connected, their hips ground together and her breasts brushed his chest. Her body was tense, not from unspent desire but from the realization that their privacy was about to be invaded. And he had no doubt she did not want to be found stretched out naked on the stairs of the pool. With him.

Some perverse voice in his head suggested he should stay right where he was, let Paul and Christine find them like this so everyone on the island would know she was his. But that would be stupid. And definitely not what she’d want.

Simon gathered his spent body beneath him, meaning to roll away from her and provide a distraction if necessary so she could escape.

He was surprised when she reached up and stopped him. Her eyes hot and intense, she looked him straight in the eye and whispered, “Hell, yes, I’m satisfied.”

He knew she didn’t mean anything other than the face value of the words. But that didn’t stop male pride from mixing with the buzz of satisfaction in his blood.

Scooping her up, he paid no attention to the water that rained down both of their bodies. Striding across the complex, he didn’t stop until the door to the main building closed behind them. Everything was dark and silent. Marcy squirmed in his arms, silently ordering him to let her down.

He ignored her. He dragged his finger over her swollen bottom lip and said, “Of course you are. Your satisfaction almost got us caught.”

10

S
HE
WAS
MORTIFIED
.
Although she fought the urge to cover her tingling cheeks with her hands. She twisted harder against Simon’s hold and he eventually put her feet to the floor. It was cool against her skin and for the first time she realized she was completely naked.

Yes, it seemed like a silly revelation considering what they’d just done. Twice. But she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t in the habit of running around public places without a stitch of clothing on.

Even if the guy she was with owned the place. Or maybe especially since the guy who owned it was with her.

She watched Simon. His blond hair was dark, flopping into his eyes. Where was the lazy man she’d worked with for the past two years? Somewhere over the past two days he’d disappeared, to be replaced by the man before her. Even the line of his jaw somehow seemed tighter, stronger.

Droplets of water rolled lazily down his chest to pool on the floor at his feet. She really should clean that up.

She’d thought she knew Simon. Apparently she was wrong. She’d believed the same thing about her old boss, as well. Dread twisted in the pit of her stomach. Marcy pushed it away. She didn’t work for him anymore. She was not making the same mistake. Simon wasn’t married. Was he?

“You don’t have a wife tucked away somewhere, do you?”

Simon’s eyes widened with shock, before narrowing slightly. He studied her for several silent seconds before finally answering. Or not answering. “I think that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Yeah, she knew she was being an idiot. But she couldn’t help herself. Spinning to hide the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, Marcy disappeared behind the check-in desk and returned with several towels. She’d stopped long enough to wrap one around her sarong-style.

Silently she handed one to Simon. He rubbed it over his hair before slinging it haphazardly around his neck.

Shaking her head, Marcy crouched down and began mopping up the mess they’d left on the wooden floor. It would be ruined if they didn’t get rid of the water.

She didn’t get far. Simon reached beneath her arms and pulled her back up. Spinning her to face him, he drilled into her with his gaze and she thought maybe he saw more than she’d realized. It definitely felt as if he could see straight into her soul. She didn’t like that at all. She had plenty of secrets she wanted to keep.

“What was that about?”

She opened her mouth, but closed it again before actually saying anything.

He waited. Not pushing her. Not wheedling for an answer that she was obviously reluctant to give. He didn’t try to charm her or belittle the seriousness of the situation. He just calmly stood there, waiting.

And that’s why she told him. “I dated a married man.”

This time it was her turn to wait for the condemnation that usually came…that she deserved. But it didn’t come.

“I didn’t know he was married.”

Simon nodded his head once, succinctly, as if that was all there was to say about the situation. As if her lack of knowledge was a given.

“It, um…” She cleared her throat nervously and hated herself for the show of weakness. “He was my boss.”

Simon’s jaw clenched. “He took advantage of you.”

She laughed, a broken sound that gurgled up from deep inside her chest. “Hardly. Do I look like the kind of woman who’d let herself be taken advantage of?”

“At the moment?” His hand cupped the back of her head and his thumb skimmed softly down the side of her neck. The caress was different from the rest. Oh, the sizzle was there, but it was muted, overlaid by an understanding that surprised and humbled her.

She shook her head, not wanting him to say anything else that could make her care about him more than she already did. It was bad enough as it was, this connection she was suddenly allowed to explore.

“You look like a woman who’s been hurt. And that makes you more human and accessible than all of your skill and competence and order.”

A lump rose in her throat. She swallowed it, conscious of the way his thumb continued to stroke her skin.

“Accessible is overrated.”

“So is being alone.”

He pressed his lips to hers, a soft brush of skin to skin. And asked, “Do you think you’re the only person who’s ever been hurt?” against her mouth.

She tried to look at him, but he changed the angle of their kiss so that she couldn’t see his eyes. She wanted to see the honesty there. To know the truth.

When he wouldn’t give it to her, she pulled back again and asked him point-blank. “You’ve been hurt?”

She found the idea laughable. Simon Reeves, charming, sexy, roguish. He epitomized one-night stand. Although she had to admit that she’d never actually seen him take a lover from the many guests who’d thrown themselves at him during her time here.

But that didn’t mean he’d had no meaningless affairs. It just meant he didn’t poach from his own backyard.

She tried to imagine the man standing before her, unapologetically naked, going two years without a lover and almost laughed out loud.

He must have seen the suppressed flicker in her eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

While she tried desperately not to dissolve into fits of laughter, his eyebrows slammed together.

“Fine, I was trying to remember the last time I’d seen you with a woman and couldn’t come up with one since I’ve been here. And then I wondered if maybe you’ve been without one for the past two years. And that thought was funny as hell.”

“I’m glad my dry spell in the bedroom could entertain you.”

“Please,” she said, finally giving in to the bubble floating through her chest.

He wrapped his hands around her waist and jerked her hard against him. His mouth settled roughly over hers. Heat suffused her, only this time it had nothing to do with embarrassment. She went under easily, dragged there by Simon’s overwhelming need for her.

It felt as if his fingers burned through the cotton to brand her skin beneath. He let her go. She gasped. Her towel dropped heedlessly to the floor.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I haven’t slept with a single woman since you stepped foot on this island.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Her mouth went dry. She searched his face for some sign that he was lying. Or joking. Or playing one of his games.

But he wasn’t. He was serious as a heart attack.

Something pinched sharply in the center of her chest.

He reached for her again, pulling her back into his arms, and she let him.

This time when his mouth claimed hers the aggression of a moment before was gone. Replaced by something else, something softer and more persuasive.

“Not laughing now, are you?”

* * *

S
IMON
STARED
at the ceiling. It was still dark out, probably somewhere between two and three in the morning if he had to guess. And he couldn’t sleep.

Beside him, Marcy breathed softly and evenly. She’d been out for at least two hours. And he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d come so many times. Not even during his wild college days. His reputation had been legendary, all of his partners more than satisfied. But one or two rounds a night had been his limit.

Not with Marcy. With her, it didn’t matter if he’d had her three hours or three minutes before, he wanted her again. Immediately. He couldn’t get enough of her.

Which was part of the reason he was still awake.

His mind was going in circles. She was leaving. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. A few days ago he’d wanted her to stay because the resort couldn’t function without her. Now his need for her had nothing to do with her job as his manager and everything to do with wanting her in his bed. Today, tomorrow, three months from now.

And that made him restless.

He hadn’t let anyone in since Courtney. He hadn’t trusted anyone. He hadn’t even trusted himself or his ability to judge character.

The ones on the page, the ones he created, were easy to read. He knew them inside and out. Even his villains, sadistic and evil as they were, did only what he wanted them to. Outside that comfort zone, anything could happen. And he couldn’t manipulate the situation to his preference.

His eyes strayed to Marcy. She’d pulled the covers up to her nose, her crown of blond hair the only thing sticking out. Reaching over, he pulled a lock between his fingers, the silky texture of it a caress.

Even if he wanted her to stay, she was leaving. The only reason they’d let this happen was that she wasn’t working for him anymore. And after hearing her confession downstairs, he understood now why that was so important to her.

He fought a surge of pointless anger when he thought of the bastard who had hurt and used her.

He wasn’t going to solve anything lying here, staring at the ceiling. And he wasn’t going to sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life he’d pulled an all-nighter. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time this week.

Pushing quietly from the bed, he tried not to jostle Marcy. His office was to the right of his bedroom. It was actually bigger, with a better view and several large windows open to the Caribbean Sea. Most people might have made it the master, since the bathroom actually connected to both rooms, but he’d saved the best room for where he spent most of his time.

Sleeping was an annoying necessity. And since he hadn’t taken a lover lately, that was the only thing his bed had been used for. Closing the door behind him, he settled into the soft leather chair behind his desk. He reached automatically for the button on his computer, only to remember there wasn’t any power.

Today he was firing that crew. He’d fly another one in from Jamaica if he had to. Of course, that meant he’d have to call the ferry back to the island. He wondered briefly if Marcy would take the opportunity to leave, and then decided he’d find some way to convince her to stay. Even if it meant keeping her naked and occupied until the boat was gone.

His lips twitched at the thought. It definitely had potential. He wondered if he could convince her to experiment with handcuffs. Maybe that was taking it a little too far, though.

He was in a much better mood when he pulled out the printed copy of his latest manuscript, lit a candle his decorator had probably intended to be only for show and settled onto the couch. He might not be able to work forward, but he could take the opportunity to go over what he already had.

* * *

M
ARCY
WOKE
ALONE
. She knew it without even opening her eyes. She reached across the bed, the cool sheets telling her she wasn’t wrong. Cracking her eyelids open, she rolled her head so she could see the other side of the bed. It barely looked rumpled.

How could he already be awake?

After the day and night they’d had, she’d been so exhausted she’d felt drugged.

Groaning, she pushed herself up out of the warm cocoon of covers, searching for an alarm clock. There wasn’t one. What kind of person didn’t have a clock beside the bed?

Frowning, she realized who she was talking about. Simon didn’t care anything about business hours. He surfaced whenever he wanted to.
Must be nice.

There was definitely sunlight coming through the window. Judging from the brightness, it was probably late morning. Ten, she guessed, climbing from the bed.

Her brain felt stuffed with cotton. She desperately needed coffee, but without power or water that wasn’t going to happen. Marcy found a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around herself. It smelled like him. Clean, warm and male. It was soft, well-worn, and she pulled it tighter around her, letting the material hug her body.

Walking into the kitchen, she opened the small refrigerator and settled for caffeine in the form of a warmish coke. Not her first choice, but better than nothing. Leaning her hips back against the counter, she took several slow sips.

The fuzziness began to clear. She frowned, sweeping her gaze across the kitchen. She’d bet it hadn’t been used in days. Possibly weeks. She ran a finger over the top of the backsplash and came away with a glob of dust.

She needed to get housekeeping in here stat.

It was a knee-jerk reaction, one she immediately countered. No, that wasn’t her job anymore.

Where was he?

She wondered if maybe he’d gone outside. But surely the door closing would have woken her. She wasn’t a heavy sleeper normally—the hazard of living where you worked meant you were on call twenty-four hours.

But she’d been so exhausted that maybe she could have missed him leaving.

Since she’d been standing there, she hadn’t heard any noise from the rest of the apartment. But before she went tromping across the resort in Simon’s bathrobe, she decided to check to make sure.

The door to his office was closed, but she was used to seeing it that way. Although when she thought about it she realized it had been open when they’d come in last night.

She’d long ago gotten out of the habit of knocking on Simon’s door. He never answered when she did, choosing to see a knock as more of a suggestion than a request—one he usually ignored.