Rub It In. Kira Sinclair

What I need is for you to do your damn job.”

      “I don’t have a job anymore,” she responded patiently. How many times would she have to say it before he got it through his thick skull? Just because she was still physically on the island didn’t mean he could make her do a darn thing.

      He opened his mouth to argue—she could see the stormy cast to his eyes—but a loud explosion rocked the ground beneath their feet, cutting him off before he could say anything else. It was followed by a towering spout of water.

      Simon’s eyes widened. A series of loud curses and raised voices came from behind the main building.

      “What the hell …” he said, moving quickly toward the chaos.

      Marcy tried to stay in her chair. She really did. But she just couldn’t. Someone might be hurt, and while the appeal of teaching Simon a lesson was great, it couldn’t trump her basic human nature.

      Grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her body sarong-style, Marcy sprinted after him.

      Skidding to a halt, she came inches away from barreling into the solid wall of his back. Considering he was close to a foot taller than she was, he blocked her entire view. However, the pandemonium and the loud hiss of escaping water was enough for her to realize whatever was in front of him wasn’t good.

      Bracing her hands on Simon’s hips for balance, she leaned around him. The scene before her was something out of a comedy—a bad one.

      Five big, burly, tattooed men stood around a gushing geyser of water. One of those famous tropical breezes sprayed a fine mist directly into her face.

      And beneath her hands she could feel the steady rumble of anger rolling through Simon’s body. For the first time she realized that her palms had heated through from the warmth of him. But there was something else, a sizzle of electricity that spiked up her arm and into her body to give her heart a little jolt. Startled by the sensation, Marcy jerked her hands away and scooted out from behind him.

      “Don’t worry, Mr. Reeves. We’ll have this fixed in no time.”

      “Define no time,” he said. From the corner of her eye she could see the glare Simon leveled at the single man who’d been daring enough to step forward from the pack. Although Marcy noticed the other four men had taken a rather large step backward, so it was entirely possible that his newfound status as spokesperson hadn’t been intentional.

      The worker glanced down at the bubbling water. At least the geyser had eased off. No doubt the pressure of the explosion had bled off the force pushing at the water.

      “Um …” He scratched his head and glanced up again without actually looking Simon in the eye. “I think we hit the main waterline, so …” His voice trailed off without him actually committing to a time frame.

      “You think? Really? What gave it away? I’m guessing this means you’re going to have to shut off the water?”

      In some perverse corner in the back of Marcy’s mind she had to admit that it was refreshing to see Simon’s signature sarcasm leveled at someone else for a change.

      The other man nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, so we can work on the line. Anything fed by this line will be without water while we repair it.”

      An expletive burst from Simon. “That’s everything but a few bungalows fed by the old water tanks.”

      Soon after coming to the island, Simon had upgraded all the outdated plumbing and as much of the electrical as possible. The few bungalows the staff used had been too far back to tie into the new system, so he’d left them on the reservoir.

      “How long?”

      “One, maybe two days,” the other man said, but his tone didn’t exactly encourage confidence in the estimate.

      “Two days isn’t acceptable. We have a business to run.”

      Marcy decided not to mention that the only person inhabiting that building right now was Simon.

      “I expect this fixed no later than five o’clock this afternoon. And if it isn’t, you’ll work through the night until it is.”

      “But Mr. Reeves, how do you expect us to work in the dark?”

      “I really don’t care.”

      Simon spun on his heel. He stopped midstride, his gaze grabbing Marcy’s. His dark blue eyes flashed. For just a second, beneath that laid-back surf-god exterior, Marcy saw the outline of a driven, take-no-prisoners man.

      “Don’t say a word.”

      She opened her mouth.

      “Not one word.”

      And closed it again.

      Her lips twitched. She tried desperately to keep them straight, but it was a battle she was quickly losing.

      With another growl of frustration, he walked away.

      Marcy tried to stop the words before they left her lips. Really, she did. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.

      “See, that wasn’t so hard,” she called out to his retreating back.