Kira Sinclair - Rub It In

“I really need a shower.”

Simon’s husky words tripped down Marcy’s spine and she swallowed. Hard.

“Okay, but be quick about it. I have things to do,” she said, just to remind them both where they stood.

Disappearing into the bathroom, his voice floated back out at her, “Like more dancing? I wouldn’t mind sticking around to watch that show.”

“No. No sticking, no show.” Her face flushed hot.

“That’s a shame. I could use some entertainment.” He stuck his head back around the corner.

He was naked. At least what she could see of him. All wide shoulders and taut, tanned skin. The swell of well-defined pecs and just the hint of sculpted abs. A sprinkling of golden hair narrowed to a line down the center of his chest to disappear behind the dark wood of the door frame.

His heavy-lidded eyes searched her face, for what she wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, he found it.

Simon wanted her.

And what Simon wanted, Simon got …

When not working as an office manager for a project management firm or juggling plot lines, KIRA SINCLAIRspends her time on a small farm in north Alabama with her wonderful husband, two amazing daughters and a menagerie of animals. It’s amazing to see how this self-proclaimed city girl has (or has not, depending on who you ask) adapted to country life. Kira enjoys hearing from her readers at her website, www.kirasinclair.com. Or stop by writingplayground.blogspot.com and join in the fight to stop the acquisition of an alpaca.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever read a book where a secondary character caught your attention and just wouldn’t let it go? For me, that’s what happened with hero and heroine, Simon and Marcy.

I knew the minute Marcy hit the page in Bring It On , she’d have her own story. She was feisty—the way I like my heroines—and therefore needed a really strong man. And, oh, Simon fit the bill. He is the epitome of “looks can be deceiving” and I fell a little in love with him myself. Please don’t tell my husband.

My favorite relationships to write about are those where the characters strike sparks off each other the moment they meet. I don’t mean arguing, although these two do plenty of that. But that combination of friction and attraction that you know is just a smoke screen hiding so much underneath. It’s a lot of fun watching the haze clear.

I hope you enjoy reading Simon and Marcy’s story! It was a pleasure to write. And be sure to check out Bring It On and Take It Down —the first two books in my ISLAND NIGHTS trilogy. You don’t want to miss the fireworks leading up to Rub It In . I’d love to hear from you at kira@kirasinclair.com.

Best wishes,

Kira Sinclair

Rub It In

Kira Sinclair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I’d like to dedicate this book to a group of women who have become sisters of my heart—Kimberly Lang, Andrea Laurence, Marilyn Puett and Danniele Worsham. Without you guys this journey wouldn’t have happened—and it sure wouldn’t have been as enjoyable even if it had. It seems like you’ve been a part of my life for as long as I can remember instead of only a few years. Y’all mean the world to me and I hope you guys know that. Love you!

“NO, I CAN’T WAIT until next week for the delivery. You promised it would arrive today,” Marcy McKinney snarled into the phone. Taking a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her lips—because you really could hear it and her dad had always taught her you catch more flies with honey than vinegar—and said, “If you can’t have the building supplies here by tomorrow then I want you to cancel my order and I’ll get what I need somewhere else.”

Slamming the phone back into its cradle would have felt good, but Marcy resisted. Barely. She had no idea where she’d find a store that could fill her rather large order, but she’d figure that out if the dissolute man on the other end of the phone actually called her bluff.

It wasn’t as if hardware stores were thick on the ground in the middle of a secluded island in the Caribbean. Escape—the resort that she worked at as general manager—was actually the only thing on Île du Coeur. St. Lucia was the closest major hub, and it was forty-five minutes by ferry.

Getting the supplies from another island would probably double the cost … but that wasn’t her problem. It was Simon’s.

She should probably feel bad about making Simon’s life difficult. She didn’t. It was his turn, damn it.

The resort would be closed for the next two weeks—their off-season hiatus. In two days she had a job interview for the general manager position at a boutique hotel in New York City. This could be her ticket off the island and back to civilization.

And nothing, not Simon or lost building supplies, defecting security personnel, not even—

“Marcy!”

—whatever was the latest disaster to hit her desk could keep her here.

Tina, the front desk clerk, bellowed down the back office hallway again.

“Coming,” Marcy hollered back, modulating her voice to a pleasantly official tone. Scrambling out from behind her desk, she tried not to panic at the piles of paper, messages she still had to return and color-coded folders that needed her attention. She had so much to handle before she could walk out the door.

And by the time she could mark one thing off her list, three more tasks seemed to crop up to take its place.

The minute Marcy rounded the corner she knew there was trouble. Tina’s normally brilliant smile was tight and as fake as her long red fingernails.

A couple, sunburned and cranky, stood on the opposite side of the counter.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” Tina rolled her eyes. While it wasn’t their main focus, they had their share of Smiths, Joneses, Johnsons and any number of generically named guests who were most likely cheating on their spouses. Marcy didn’t like it, but there was little she could do.

“Thank goodness. I’ve explained to—” the woman leaned forward and squinted at Tina’s name tag “—Tina that we need to extend our stay.” She held out her lobster-red arm, “As you can imagine, explaining how I received a second-degree sunburn while on a business trip to London might be slightly difficult.” The woman sneered, including her companion in her raking gaze.

“And as I’ve told Mrs. Smith …” This time Tina couldn’t help but emphasize the misnomer. Marcy probably should scold her, but she wouldn’t. “We have no available rooms, as the resort is closing for two weeks tomorrow.”

“We’ll pay whatever.”

Marcy’s own smile was tight as she said, “It isn’t a matter of money, ma’am.” She refused to let the false name pass her lips. “The resort is undergoing construction and our insurance company won’t allow any guests on the premises for liability reasons.”