Rub It In. Kira Sinclair

heard rumors that he and his wife were divorcing. A year later, when he began asking her out, she assumed the divorce was final. Shame on her for not checking!

      The humiliation of discovering—in the middle of a crowded ballroom filled with industry professionals—that his wife was very much still a part of his life was something she’d never forget. Neither was having champagne thrown in her face and obscenities rained down over her head. Marcy had never thought of herself as a home wrecker, had never wanted or planned to be one.

      Being lied to by someone she’d trusted was terrible enough, but then he’d had the audacity to fire her. And blackball her with every other reputable hotel in the city …

      She’d taken the first job that she could—Simon’s offer—as far away from the city as she could get. She’d needed the time away. She’d desperately needed the job. And she’d needed the line on her résumé—a buffer between the debacle and whatever would come next.

      But that was all behind her now. And this interview was the opportunity to make a fresh start. Surely, over two years later, everyone would have moved on to juicier gossip. She’d gotten the interview after all.

      This job was her ticket back home. Back to civilization and structure.

      A frown on her face, Marcy looked at her watch again. The tropical sun was baking her scalp and exposed legs. If she’d known she was going to sit here for a half hour she would have put on sunscreen. The ferry was definitely late. Standing, she walked to the edge of the dock and craned her neck to see if the squat vessel was visible across the water. It wasn’t.

      This was exactly the kind of thing that drove her crazy! The entire place ran on island time and she was so sick and tired of it. Didn’t anyone respect punctuality anymore? The ferry was routinely late. People waited five, ten, even fifteen minutes on occasion, but never this long.

      Maybe the ferry crew figured that with a skeleton staff and no guests to deliver, there was no hurry. With a scowl, Marcy returned to perch on top of her bag. They were going to get an earful from her whenever they did finally arrive. She had a plane to catch. Thank God she’d built some “disaster” time into her schedule.

      SIMON STARED out the window at Marcy. He’d left his apartments and walked around to the far side of the building so he could watch her. Part of him couldn’t help but chuckle at the agitated way she kept jumping up from her seat on that coral-colored suitcase to pace along the length of the dock, only to sit back down again.

      The suitcase was unexpected—he would have thought she was more of a traditional black or brown kinda girl—but her reaction wasn’t. The only reason Simon was standing there watching her was that he was a coward.

      He’d meant to go down there at three, to cut her off as she reached the dock and explain that she wasn’t going anywhere because he’d called and canceled the ferry service for the next two weeks. But he’d gotten involved in a scene. The words had flowed, and considering that hadn’t happened in the past few days, he’d been reluctant to walk away.

      And now he was going to pay the price. No doubt a tongue-lashing was in his future. Was it wrong that he sort of enjoyed riling Marcy up?

      When she was angry her blue eyes flashed, reminding him of sapphires turned to catch the light. Her skin tinted a pale pink color and her jaw tightened so hard that he wanted to kiss her senseless just to startle her into letting go.

      But he wouldn’t allow himself to go there. She was too valuable as his manager. He had a policy of never seducing employees. And he had no desire for a relationship. He’d never been great at them before Courtney. And after, the idea of trusting someone that much again didn’t sit well with him.

      Marcy spun on her heel, knocking the smallest of her suitcases over and starting a domino effect that ended with all her luggage hitting the dock. He couldn’t hear the bang from behind the protection of the glass, but he could imagine that it—and her growl of frustration—had been loud.

      Logically, he realized the longer he waited the worse the explosion was going to be.

      Taking a deep breath, he schooled his features into a mask of indifference and headed out into the afternoon heat.

      Tucking his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts, Simon ambled toward the dock. He broke through the line of rich tropical foliage to find Marcy had righted her bags and was staring in his direction, no doubt having heard his feet on the path.

      “Simon,” she said, her face twisted into a frown already. Not great. “What are you doing?”

      Propping his hip against the wooden railing that surrounded the dock, he said, “I came to tell you that the ferry isn’t coming.”

      “What?” she exclaimed. The already high color on her cheeks flamed even brighter. She looked behind her over the water, as if the ferry might turn a corner and prove him a liar at any moment. “The ferry comes every day. Twice.”

      “Not today.”

      “What happened? Was there an accident? Is anyone injured?”

      Simon felt the pinch of guilt as he realized that her first assumption was only an accident could stop the one form of transportation on and off the island. And she was worried about other people more than her own inconvenience.

      He had to come clean.

      “No, no accident. I called and canceled the service.”

      Marcy swung her eyes back to him. They were wide with confusion. The cloud of her long blond hair, usually pulled tight into a smooth ponytail during work hours, floated around her face. He liked it down and couldn’t remember a single time in the past two years that he’d seen it this way. Free. Not exactly a word he would have normally used to describe Marcy. His gaze traveled down her body and he realized she wasn’t wearing her trademark suit, either. Instead she wore a pale green polo—every button done up to her throat—and a pair of crisp khaki shorts. Had he ever seen her legs bare?

      Shaking his head, he jerked his mind back to where it should be. “Why the hell would you do that?”

      He shrugged, knowing the inevitable shitstorm he was about to release. “Because I couldn’t let you leave. I need you here, Marcy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here for the next two weeks.”

      “You … you …” she sputtered, her eyes turning hard and sharp. “You canceled the ferry?”

      “Yep.” While he tried to maintain the relaxed air he’d adopted the minute he set foot on the tropical island, his eyes stayed clear and focused on Marcy. He honestly had no idea what she might do. “You gave me the idea.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “You’re the one who suggested I kidnap you. I always try to take your advice.”

      She growled low in the back of her throat. It was the same sort of sound the pit bull he’d had as a child used to make when a stranger entered their yard. A warning. Only this time he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one about to have his hand bitten.

      “You do no such thing. Ignoring me has become a sort of hobby for you and we both know it.”

      Well, he had, but until this moment he hadn’t realized she’d been aware.

      “Fine,” she said, her jaw hard and tight. “I’ll call Rusty for a private launch.”

      He debated whether or not to let her make the call. He knew what Rusty’s answer would be—his and that of every other private boating service on this side of St. Lucia. He’d called them all and promised to pull the resort’s business from them if they accepted Marcy’s request.

      And where that kind of threat hadn’t worked, he’d used bribery instead, offering to pay for their refusal to provide service to the island for the next two weeks.

      Details were his thing, and he wasn’t about to bend over backward to keep Marcy on the island only to let her