Rub It In. Kira Sinclair

      He had the sudden urge to take every single power suit out of her closet and burn them all. They were doing her a grave disservice and he thought it might be his duty to men everywhere to rectify the situation.

      Marcy was tiny. But she’d definitely taught him not to judge a book by its cover. That little body packed a punch … he just hadn’t realized the punch was aimed straight for his gut.

      Simon couldn’t help himself; he had to look at her. As his eyes traveled up the length of her body the heavy weight of arousal settled at the base of his spine. With nothing more than a view of her gleaming skin, his cock turned semi-hard. It had been a long time since he’d been embarrassed by an erection—he did not like revisiting the sensation.

      But this was Marcy.

      And he was supposed to be upset with her.

      “You’re blocking my light. Could you move?” The soft, lazy tone of her voice was so out of place that it honestly took him several seconds to realize Marcy was the one who’d spoken. Although it wasn’t as if there was anyone else around.

      Clearing his throat, Simon managed to surreptitiously adjust his fly and desperately tried to dredge up the irritation he’d stomped out here with.

      It was damn hard. Along with the rest of him. Especially when she turned to look at him, pulling down her dark tinted sunglasses just far enough to glare at him over the rims. She looked like a pissed-off pixie and he suddenly had the urge to kiss her until she forgot why she was angry.

      He bit down onto the inside of his cheek, asking, “What are you doing?” instead.

      “I’d think that would be obvious. Sunbathing.”

      “Sunbathing,” he parroted like an idiot. As if the condescending tone of her voice hadn’t been bad enough. Shaking his head, and hopefully reawakening his brain, he said, “I mean, why are you out here and not in your office?”

      “You fired me, remember?”

      “I most certainly did not. I threatened to fire you. Big difference.”

      “Great, well then, I quit.”

      “You can’t.”

      “Oh, I can.” With a wicked smile on her lips that he’d never seen before, Marcy pushed her glasses back up, pillowed her arms behind her head and leaned back against the lounge chair. The pose stretched her body, pushing the round swell of her breasts against the tiny squares of material covering them. Her stomach muscles pulled tight, drawing his gaze to the tempting little dimple of her belly button.

      She was entirely too pleased with herself.

      “What’s it going to take to get you back to work?”

      “Nothing, but an apology never goes out of style. And now that I think about it, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you say those two little words before.”

      That was because he really didn’t like them.

      “I’m sorry,” he offered, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. But they were worth it. He’d tell her whatever she wanted to hear, just so long as it meant she’d start handling all the crap in his life so he could focus on his writing.

      With a single finger she slid the glasses back down her nose and glared at him again. “That was pathetic, Simon.”

      He was frustrated, exhausted and slightly sick to his stomach. “What do you want, Marcy?” he bellowed. “I’ll give you whatever you want. You have me by the balls—just name your price.”

      “I don’t want your balls, Simon, and I never have.”

      He reached down and pulled her up out of the chair. He had no idea what he intended to do—maybe march her back inside the building and handcuff her to her desk. Hell, it had worked for his friend and former head of security, Zane. The one and only time Zane had handcuffed someone on the island he’d ended up falling in love with her.

      Only, Simon had no intention of falling in love with anyone, least of all Marcy. What he did want was his damn manager back.

      “Let go of me,” she growled at him, deep in her throat.

      “Not on your life.”

      Somewhere along her upward journey, her glasses had been knocked off. Her eyes blazed. Her face was flushed, not with the warmth of the tropical sun but the passion of her anger.

      He found himself letting her go anyway, unwrapping his hands from around her arms slowly. The inside edge of his fingers felt scalded where they’d touched her skin. He wondered if she’d been out in the sun too long, but didn’t want to risk touching her again to find out. She didn’t look burned….

      Once she was free, instead of pulling away as he’d expected, she pushed forward, crowding her body into his space. His chest tightened.

      Her pert little nose reached just to the hollow at the base of his throat, but that didn’t stop her from spearing him with her gaze. The tips of her breasts, barely covered by the pale yellow excuse for a bathing suit, pressed into the upward curve of his belly. Some sweet, floral scent mixed with sunscreen enveloped her.

      The sudden vision of him rubbing the stuff into her soft skin filled his mind. He sucked a breath deep into his lungs, then regretted it when that scent swelled inside him, consuming him from the inside out.

      The erection he’d somehow managed to get under control stirred again. Simon took a step backward in order to hide it from her.

      “It’s about damn time you had to learn how to handle this stuff on your own. I’m tired of watching you gallivant around this place like it’s nothing more than a beach oasis that somehow manages to run itself. Maybe if you get a taste of what a single day of my life is like, you’ll appreciate whoever comes in to take my place when I am finally gone.” She returned to the lounge chair, stretching out.

      “I appreciate you.”

      “Empty words. And since you’ve given me no choice but to sit here for the next two weeks, I’ve made it my mission to change that. I consider it my civic duty.”

      All Simon could think was Oh, shit.

      MARCY STARED UP AT SIMON. She had to admit the bemused expression on his face was somewhat rewarding.

      She wasn’t nearly as upset this morning as she’d been yesterday when Simon had announced he had her trapped on the island.

      She’d made a phone call to Mr. Bledsoe, the owner of the hotel in New York, and when she’d explained that she was stuck, he’d agreed to arrange a video interview with the selection committee. Tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. with any luck she’d be well on her way to a new position.

      In the meantime, she’d decided to take advantage of the resort amenities that she’d never had the opportunity to use before. It had been a long time—a very long time—since she’d sat on her rear and done nothing all day. She had to admit, at first, she’d been a little restless. Sitting idle wasn’t in her nature.

      She’d gotten the hang of it pretty darn quickly, though. She’d made a huge dent in the Cooper Simmens thriller she’d hoped to read on the plane and had managed to take a little catnap in the sun. As long as she didn’t burn, those two activities seemed perfect enough to keep her busy for the next two weeks.

      If she could survive Simon.

      First, he honestly didn’t think he’d done anything wrong by forcing her to stay on the island and screwing up all her plans. He figured he wrote her paycheck, so that made her his slave. Yeah, right.

      Second, his frustrating lack of interest in the resort drove her up the wall. He kept saying he had things to do, but in two years she’d never actually seen him do anything but mess with his computer, snorkel and surf. It wasn’t as if the man had another job. He just wanted this place to make money so he could fool around.

      He