Rub It In (13 page)

She tried not to be hurt, but it was a difficult thing. Of course his reluctance had nothing to do with her personally or the affair they’d begun. She’d been an idiot to even consider it for the few minutes she had. They’d both been clear from the beginning that it wasn’t going anywhere permanent.

It still stung to hear him say her value to him was in keeping the complications of running the resort from disturbing him.

“You don’t have much more, do you?” she asked.

“No. I should be able to finish by the end of next week.”

“Well, I promise not to leave before you’re done.”

“What about Mr. Bledsoe?”

“Surely he’ll appreciate integrity in a future employee. I’ll just tell him I can’t leave you high and dry.”

Simon’s fingers brushed softly against her cheek. Her first instinct was to lean into the caress, but something stopped her. The ease and comfort they’d found together over the past couple days had been marred by his reaction.

She shouldn’t let it bother her, but she couldn’t help it.

“Thank you,” he said, the corners of his lips lifting for a moment before going flat again.

Shaking his head, he flashed her another smile, but this one didn’t go all the way up to his eyes. An ache settled in the center of her chest.

“We need to celebrate. I’ll call Chef and ask him to prepare a special meal. Go home, put on something beautiful and meet me in the dining room in an hour. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

A shiver snaked down Marcy’s spine. A romantic dinner sounded perfect. She knew it wasn’t, but she wanted desperately for the special celebratory feeling to be real.

How long had it been since she’d planned that romantic welcome dinner for Lena and Colt, the couple who were supposed to pose for their advertising campaign? At the time she’d been so wrapped up in the details and worried about something going wrong—which it had—that she hadn’t really thought about what she was doing.

Afterward, when everything had fallen apart, Colt refusing to let her use the photographs and threatening to get an injunction against them, she’d looked at the pictures from that night and felt this bone-deep longing for what Lena and Colt had.

Sure, it had taken them longer than it should have to realize they loved each other and belonged together, but their love had been obvious to anyone who’d seen those photographs. She’d definitely recognized it.

Tonight she wanted that. And she wanted it with Simon. The problem was, she knew she shouldn’t. Because even if tonight was perfect…it wouldn’t be enough.

13

W
ITH
THE
POWER
FINALLY
restored, the restaurant no longer looked like a creepy, deserted building harboring serial killers around every corner. Instead, soft candlelight flickered over the empty tables, glinting off crystal and expensive silverware.

Simon could probably count on one hand the times he’d ventured inside the room. At least, once everything had been set up and the resort opened. After that, he’d left things to the talented chef and maître d’ he’d hired. Rarely did he feel the need to sit at a romantic table by himself, especially when the kitchen would deliver to his apartments.

Now Marcy sat across from him and he realized he should have done this much sooner.

Although she probably wouldn’t have agreed to it then.

She was beautiful, an intriguing mix of soft and hard. Wispy blond hair curled around her shoulders. The sloping line of her jaw begged him to lean across the table and take a bite of
her
instead of the food sitting in front of him. But the sharp, direct, intense eyes that strayed over to him again and again made a mix of emotions tumble through his body. Awe, desire…and if pressed he’d admit a little bit of fear.

Marcy was a force to be reckoned with. He’d seen her in action plenty of times, and while going toe-to-toe with her always brought on a delicious burst of adrenaline, it also challenged him.

He didn’t want her to leave.

And that made this night bittersweet. They were here to celebrate a job offer that would eventually take her away from the resort. Away from him. And the thought made him crazy. He wanted to yell at her, to forbid her to leave, to force her to stay.

And that had worked so well before. Acrid sarcasm curled in the pit of his stomach. He put his fork down on the edge of his plate, unable to eat any more. Chef was not going to be happy.

Simon couldn’t ask Marcy to stay. The expression of sheer joy on her face when she’d hung up that phone had punched him in the gut. Leaving was what she wanted. And he’d known that.

Falling in love with her was his fault. His problem to deal with.

The thought formed, at once surprising but also completely easy and somehow right. Of course he loved her. Who wouldn’t? She was intelligent, sexy, strong and confident.

In the time they had left, he was going to put on the best game face he could find and pretend a happiness he didn’t really feel. The one thing he couldn’t handle would be seeing pity in her eyes before she walked away from him.

“The replacement construction crew will be here in the morning,” she said, glancing up at him through the shield of her lashes.

Simon shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about the resort, Marcy.”

She mimicked his move from earlier and precisely laid her fork on the edge of her plate. He noticed she’d eaten only about half of her food. He was going to have to smooth some ruffled feathers in the kitchen for sure. But that was a problem for later.

Pushing her plate away, she folded her arms on the table in front of her and leaned forward. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

He’d spent the past two years with Marcy. They’d fought. They’d loved. A warm river of desire melted into his blood along with the hope that he’d have her again in a few short hours.

But all he knew about her was what she’d put on her résumé. And what he’d picked up here and there as they’d interacted. He had no idea if she had sisters or brothers or if running a resort had always been her life’s goal. He might know what college she graduated from, but not if she’d enjoyed the experience and reveled in the freedom as he had.

And that made him feel a little sheepish. He knew the color her skin turned when she was frustrated, the way her breath caught in her chest when he touched her, the warm sound of her laugh. But he hadn’t taken the time to
know
her before he’d set out to seduce her.

And while that had never bothered him in the past—what difference did it make if he knew those kinds of details about a woman he had no intention of seeing again?—he found with Marcy it did. She was so much more to him.

“How did you get into hotel management?” he asked, settling back into his chair. He needed to put some distance between them so that he could concentrate on her answers.

“My dad,” was her succinct answer.

He waited for her to elaborate, and when it became obvious she wasn’t going to, he prompted, “And…”

“And he was a hotel manager. My mom died when I was young.” He watched as she played absentmindedly with the gold ring on her right finger. “It was just the two of us.”

Okay, so no siblings. He could relate.

“With him, life was always an adventure. We lived in big cities with museums and gardens and theaters. Hotels were my playground.”

“Like Eloise.”

She smiled. “Now, that’s something I never would have imagined.”

“What?”

“Cooper Simmens, fan of little-girl storybooks.”

“Hey, it’s all market research. Besides, I have friends with small children.”

She laughed, the sound tingling down his spine.

“You’re close to your father.” It was a statement, not a question. He could see the happiness and connection she had with her father shining from her eyes. “How come he’s never been to visit you?”

The brightness dimmed, clouding with a sadness that he wanted to kick himself for causing.

“He died five years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a slow, sad smile. “Thanks. I try to remember the good times instead of the bad. He was sick for a while at the end.”

Simon wanted to see that brightness again, so he asked, “Tell me about one of the good times.”

She considered him for several seconds. Her fingers fluttered atop the table, a “thinking” gesture that he’d noticed she had. She couldn’t sit still, even when her mind was whirling.

“I think you’ll like this one. Dad was always a reader. One of my earliest memories of him involved the two of us cuddling up on the couch before bedtime, Dad reading me a story. As I got older we’d each have our own book.

“I remember the first time I picked up his, wondering what kind of story interested him. I think I was probably twelve or thirteen. I can’t even remember what it was now, but I do vividly recall him telling me that it would scare me and that I couldn’t read it until I was a little older.

“I pestered him relentlessly until he finally gave in. I don’t doubt he started me out on something easy, a psychological thriller that kept me up half the night turning pages. I quickly progressed to Stephen King, which he regretted when it kept me up worrying about evil clowns and rabid dogs.

“Even when I’d made friends and was spreading my wings, Dad and I always came back to reading. It was something we shared.”

Simon watched as she reached for her wineglass. She’d barely touched it, but now it seemed to be the most interesting thing in front of her. She ran her fingers up and down the stem, staring into the clear glass instead of at him.

“We read your first book together.” She darted a glance at him through her lashes before jerking her gaze back down to the mesmerizing wineglass. “Actually, I read it out loud to him during his first stay in the hospital. He was too weak to hold up the book himself at first.”

She laughed and he couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at his lips.

“Your books got him through three more trips to the hospital and hospice care.” She looked up at him, unshed tears making her blue eyes glisten. “Thank you for giving him a little peace.”

Simon swallowed. He’d gotten those types of letters during his career and they always meant something to him. But this was so much more. This was Marcy sitting in front of him, sharing pieces of her life, telling him how his work had given her hurting father a few moments away from the pain.

It was more than he’d expected. And he didn’t know what to say. He used words to make his living and for the first time in his life couldn’t find the right ones.

Dropping her head into her hands, she rubbed at her eyes for a moment. Her voice was muffled behind the curtain of her palms, but he heard her anyway. “God, how depressing. I’m sorry.”

“No.” He reached for her hand, pulling it away from her face so that he could see her eyes. “Thank you. I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. I’m just sad you had to go through that.”

Marcy sighed and waved her hands as if to clear the air of the whole thing. “I had lots of great years with my dad. We were really close. Not everyone has that. I’m lucky and I know it. And I wouldn’t trade a single minute of the time we had together. He taught me to appreciate what I’ve got, and the best way I can honor him is by remembering that.”

God, she was strong. If he hadn’t known it before, he would after hearing her say that. He admired her for that strength and integrity and wished he could be more like her.

“Enough about me. How’s your book coming? Has Francesca figured out who’s trying to kill her yet?”

If he’d known talking about his book would be the thing that put fire, excitement and a happy glitter back in her eyes he would have started there rather than making her recall something difficult. They sat in the restaurant for hours, picking at every single dessert on the menu, talking about not just his work but other books they’d both read and loved.

It was something he hadn’t done for a very long time, and until that moment Simon hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. The freedom to talk with someone about the story, how it was going, where it was wrong, what questions had cropped up during his creative process… It was exhilarating.

And when she left he’d lose that, too.

Once again he’d be locked alone with his secret. When he’d moved to the island without telling anyone three years ago, it had felt like the right decision. Sitting across from Marcy, he was no longer certain that was the case. He was afraid that without her, it wouldn’t be the same.

* * *

“M
ARCY
.”

The voice startled her and she jerked her head up from the computer screen she’d been staring at for the past few hours. Realizing if she didn’t leave Simon’s apartments he’d never get any work done, she’d come downstairs to her office. She’d needed to begin the long process of finding him a replacement manager and preparing a detailed accounting of the responsibilities she handled for whomever he ended up hiring.

She tugged self-consciously at the red striped T-shirt she’d grabbed out of her drawer when she’d visited her bungalow this morning. She couldn’t believe it had been days since she’d slept there, and that she wasn’t missing the sanctuary she’d always found in her small home one single bit. She’d discovered something better—Simon.

For about three seconds she’d tried to talk herself into putting on one of her trademark suits, but that hadn’t gone very well. She was on vacation, sort of. The resort had no guests and she was the only person who worked in the front office and was still on the island.

She looked up at Nicole, one of their massage therapists, and tried to work up the guilt she would have felt last week at being caught behind her desk without all her professional armor in place. But it just didn’t come.

“What can I do for you?” Marcy smiled at the petite brunette. Marcy had never taken the time to indulge, but guests raved about Nicole’s magic fingers.

“Not a thing.” Nicole smiled back. “But I can do something for you.”

Marcy raised a single brow. “Oh?”

“Simon told me to take you to the massage hut and give you an hour.”

She started to protest. “That’s very nice, but not necessary. You’re on vacation. Simon shouldn’t be asking you to work.”

“I don’t mind. Really, my fingers need a workout or they’re going to get lazy. Simon said you’d try to refuse, though, and he told me I couldn’t take no for an answer.”

Marcy felt a flutter of anger brush through her body. “Well, Simon doesn’t get to dictate what I do.”

Nicole laughed softly. “He said to tell you he wouldn’t let you see what he’s been working on if you refused.”

Bastard,
Marcy thought, but she had to give him credit for the maneuver. The sneaky man knew she was dying to read his latest pages. It was blackmail, pure and simple, but he was, after all, trying to do something nice.

She was making a mountain out of a molehill, but old habits died hard.

“All right,” she said reluctantly. “Let me finish up here. I’ll meet you at the massage hut in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

“You won’t regret it,” Nicole promised.

“I’m sure I won’t. I have a file almost an inch thick of guest feedback singing your praises.”

She shrugged. “I’m good, what can I say?”

Several minutes later, Marcy was heading down the path toward the beach. Massage hut was probably not the best name they could have given the place. Hut didn’t do it justice at all. The structure was impressive. Large and round, built high on stilts, it jutted out over the tempting blue depths of the Caribbean Sea.

Deep-colored panels of polished local wood ran around the room, but went only halfway up. The top half of the room was completely open, providing the soothing lap of water against sand and a calming view of the sea. A tall thatched roof rose in the center, the rustle of the straw only adding to the atmosphere of relaxation.