by Gina Wilkins
Reed wondered how far Alexander had already taken Celia Carson in her introduction to the fast-lane lifestyle. And then he reminded himself that it made no difference to him. All he wanted to know was how deeply involved Celia Carson was with Damien Alexander’s less publicized financial dealings.
Celia didn’t linger after finishing her coffee. She thanked him politely for the invitation, told him it had been very nice meeting him, and said she had a few calls to make. And then she turned and walked away.
Reed knew where she was going. To the luxurious suite she’d been provided, located directly across the hall from Alexander’s own private rooms. Confident that she had never noticed him, Reed had watched her enter and leave that suite half-a-dozen times or more during the past three days. Always alone.
And the more he’d watched her, the more she’d fascinated him, despite his best efforts to view her as nothing more than another routine assignment. A handy tool for bringing down another dangerous, unconscionable crime organization, an organization Damien Alexander was suspected of masterminding.
He ran a hand through his short, dark hair in self-annoyance. Maybe it was time for a vacation, he found himself thinking. A real one.
Celia took a leisurely shower, blow-dried her shoulder-length hair, then dressed in a brightly colored, short-sleeved cotton jumpsuit with a heavy macramé belt. It felt odd to be wearing summer-weight clothing in November; back home, she’d be more comfortable in a sweater and wool slacks.
She slid her feet into leather sandals, slipped a chunky gold-link bracelet over her wrist, donned a pair of dangly gold earrings and touched her eyelids with taupe eye shadow and her lips with a deep rose gloss. And then she sat on the edge of her bed and wondered what she was supposed to do for the rest of the day.
It was just after 10:00 a.m. Between the softly billowing curtains at her Gulf-view window, she could see that the other resort guests had begun to stir. There were a few in the pool, four or five on the beach, a couple going into the restaurant for a late breakfast. Everyone seemed to be with someone else. Couples, families, friends. No one appeared to be vacationing alone. No one except her, of course, she thought with a wry sigh.
And Reed Hollander.
She thought of the man she’d met by the pool that morning. She’d seen him around the resort a couple of times during the past few days. He’d looked exactly like the accountant he’d claimed to be. His neatly pressed shirts and slacks and sober horn-rimmed glasses had looked odd in contrast to the usual resort uniform of T-shirts and baggy shorts.
He’d been attractive, in a rather ordinary way. Neat dark hair, intelligent-looking hazel eyes, a nice—if somewhat bland—smile. She’d thought at first that he was making a clumsy attempt at a pickup when he asked her to join him for coffee this morning, but he’d been nothing more than politely friendly. Just another self-proclaimed working stiff looking for a little companionship over coffee.
Another misfit among the idle rich.
The unbidden thought annoyed her. Okay, so this wasn’t her usual style, she thought, looking around the exquisitely appointed suite in which she’d been staying for the past three days. Three lonely days.
She wasn’t accustomed to bathtubs that seemed as big as a small swimming pool, or beds the size of the kitchen in her efficiency apartment. The suite Damien had provided for her consisted of the bedroom, with its huge bed, antique fainting couch, enormous old armoire converted to hold a TV, VCR and stereo, complete with a selection of popular videos and CDs; a huge, shamelessly decadent bathroom; a walk-in closet she could have parked her little red sports car in; and a sitting room furnished with antiques that looked so valuable she was almost afraid to touch them.
She certainly wasn’t accustomed to having solicitous staff hovering at her elbow to cater to her every whim, as she was sure Damien had instructed them to do. She wasn’t used to sleeping late, or waking with nothing more to do than to pamper herself. She couldn’t quite grow comfortable with ordering anything she wanted from the restaurant’s extensive menu—without even glancing at the price! Expensive little chocolates left on her pillow, fresh flowers delivered daily to her room, exotic fruits in fancy little baskets flanked by small bottles of champagne with names she couldn’t even pronounce.
Just because she’d never lived this way before didn’t mean she couldn’t learn to like it. Eventually.
If only she had something to do to occupy her time. If only Damien hadn’t been called away. Damien made quite an art of being charming and entertaining.
She was fully aware that Damien also made quite an art of seduction.
Which brought her right back to the “moral dilemma” she’d been battling ever since Damien had extended the invitation for her to be his guest at this resort.
If Damien hadn’t been called away, would she have given in by now to his enticing smiles and skillful kisses? Would she have finally decided, once and for all, whether she wanted to become intimately involved with a man who’d kept the tabloid writers in a gleeful feeding frenzy for more than a decade now?
Celia liked Damien. She really did. Despite her older sister’s reservations—based entirely on overblown tabloid gossip, since Rachel had never actually met Damien—Celia suspected that much of Damien’s reputation had been exaggerated. Not all of it, of course. One had only to look into his wicked blue eyes to know that he had more experience with women than most men dreamed of.
And Celia was well aware that he hadn’t gotten where he was by always being a “nice guy.” Damien could be ruthless in business, thoughtless and sometimes arrogant in his personal life. But he wasn’t the shameless heartbreaker or relentless debaucher he’d so often been labeled. He’d been a perfect gentleman with her from the first time he’d taken her to dinner.
Rachel might not trust Damien, but Celia did, for the most part. She never would have accepted his invitation if she hadn’t trusted him to not force her into anything she didn’t want.
She had been so bored lately, so restless, so hungry for change and adventure in her depressingly routine existence. Still, it had taken her several weeks to decide whether to accept Damien’s generous offer of a free vacation at this resort. He’d made it clear from the first that he expected to be here with her, as a companion, a guide—and a lover, if she’d agree. He hadn’t been pushy about it, but he’d let her know that was what he hoped would happen. Celia had finally accepted, on the condition that he give her time after her arrival to decide if she wanted him as anything more than a good friend.
Of course, neither of them could have known that the question would turn out to be academic, at least for the first few days of her visit. Damien could hardly seduce her from a faraway island in the Caribbean.
She remembered the discomfort she’d felt when she’d told Reed Hollander that she was Damien’s guest. She knew what he must have thought. What anyone would have thought.
She’d been foolish to immediately try to convince him that she and Damien were nothing more than friends. For one thing, it was none of the accountant’s business. For another, why should it bother her so badly for someone to think she and Damien were lovers when she’d been seriously considering making that suspicion a reality?
Really, she thought with a rueful shake of her head. Her small-town upbringing had a nasty habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times!
Celia left her room later that morning determined to do something interesting. Here she was in a tropical paradise and she’d been sitting alone moping! How depressing.
She’d come to this resort in search of adventure. A break from a life that had become so safe and predictable that there were times she had thought she’d scream in frustration. After the weeks she’d spent working up her shaky courage to come, it was ridiculous to spend the whole time hiding in her room, just because she didn’t know how to have a good time on her own.
The first person she saw when she stepped out of her suite was a tall, well-dressed man coming out
of Damien’s rooms. He smiled when he saw her. “Miss Carson,” he greeted her. “Good morning. Is there anything you need?”
“No, thank you, Evan. I was just on my way out to find something to do. I’m rather tired of sitting in my room.” And wasn’t that an understatement?
Damien’s personal secretary’s dark face creased with a worried frown. “Aren’t you having a nice time, Miss Carson? Mr. Alexander told everyone to make sure you enjoyed yourself in his absence. Is there anything I can do to make your stay with us more pleasant?”
Celia shook her head and gave him a reassuring smile. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just wing it for a few hours. I’m sure I’ll have a lovely day.”
“If you need anything—anything at all—just ask one of the resort staff,” Evan reminded her. “The social director has a full list of activities arranged for today. The schedule is posted in the main lobby. If you don’t find anything on the list that you’d like to do, perhaps we can arrange something special for you.”
Celia nodded and thanked him again, biting the inside of her lip against a rueful smile. Damien must have left stern orders concerning her welfare while he was gone. His entire staff had all but turned handsprings to please her. Unfortunately, their attention made her rather uncomfortable.
She simply wasn’t used to this.
She slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose as she stepped out of the relatively small side building that housed her suite, Damien’s rooms and the resort offices. She spotted a few white-jacketed resort employees among the milling guests, but made no move to attract attention. She certainly didn’t want anyone else hovering over her to make sure she was having fun!
She turned and slipped quietly down the path that led to the beach.
Chapter Two
A wide strip of sand stretched from the resort complex to the Gulf beach. The beach was markedly uncrowded in contrast to the plethora of buildings on either side behind her. Farther north, the island was untamed and undeveloped, an eighty-four-mile stretch of federally maintained sand dunes and sea oats, popular with bird-watchers and beachcombers. Yet this part of the not-quite-three-mile-wide island at the southernmost tip of Texas was completely covered with resorts, condominiums, hotels and restaurants.
Damien’s resort—the Alexander—was one of the largest on the island, a huge complex built in a horseshoe shape around fountains, pools, tennis courts, volleyball nets, a lushly landscaped common. A health club, sauna, game room, restaurant, snack bar, and a lounge were part of the amenities provided for the guests; not to mention a variety of activities including horseback riding, parasailing, sailboarding, golf, fishing… Name it, and Damien made sure it was available.
So why was Celia so darned bored?
Standing at the edge of the sandy beach, she looked wistfully at the few couples lying cozily beneath colorful umbrellas, or strolling along the water’s edge, looking for seashells. One romantic-looking duo in the distance were arm in arm as they wandered slowly out of sight.
Celia sighed and kept walking.
Then she stopped again when a familiar figure caught her eye.
She smiled.
The “attractive in an average sort of way” accountant she’d met that morning was standing at the edge of the beach, brushing sand from the hem of his neatly creased gray slacks. His once shiny accountant’s shoes were coated with sand and there was a piece of broken shell stuck in the one-inch cuff of his right pant leg. His only concession to the casual atmosphere had been to turn up the sleeves of his dark gray shirt into neat, precisely matched cuffs.
His crisp, short hair was a bit wind-tossed, so that it ruffled over the tops of his horn-rimmed glasses. She watched as he ran a hand through the recalcitrant lock and efficiently restored it to its rightful place.
“Mr. Hollander,” she said, hoping her amusement at his out-of-place attire wasn’t evident in her voice. “We meet again.”
She appeared to have caught him by surprise. He blinked at her through his glasses, then smiled. “Miss Carson?”
“Celia,” she corrected him, because it seemed ridiculous to be so formal on a beach.
“And I’m Reed,” he reminded her. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Are you having a good time?” she asked with a perfectly straight face.
He exhaled deeply and glanced around him. “I’m trying to. My parents would be terribly disappointed if I didn’t.”
She certainly knew how hard it was to have fun just to keep from disappointing someone. “I hear the social director has a full schedule of activities lined up for this afternoon,” she suggested helpfully.
Reed made a face. “Yes. Parasailing and volleyball. Or for the more sedate guests—a bridge tournament.”
“None of those appeal to you, I take it?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid not. I’ll probably just sit by the pool this afternoon. I brought an intriguing-looking book with me—a newly published account of the invasion of Normandy. This seems like a good time to start it.”
Celia couldn’t think of anything less appealing than sitting by the pool reading a World War II history book. Honestly, this guy was worse than she was when it came to vacations! She forced a smile. “Sounds…relaxing,” she said.
“Yes, though I’m sure you have much more exciting plans.”
Oh, yeah, she had great plans. Walking down the beach envying everyone who wasn’t alone. Counting her yawns. Maybe she’d strike up a fascinating conversation with a hermit crab.
“There’s so much to do here, it’s hard to decide where to start,” she said, wondering if her bright smile looked as fake and plastic as it felt.
Reed looked wistful. “I suppose it must seem that way to most people,” he murmured.
Celia glumly agreed. So much to do…yet, she and this poor schmuck were feeling as out of place as two nuns at an orgy.
Funny, she hadn’t realized how truly unadventurous her life had become in the past couple of years. So much so, she seemed to have almost forgotten how to play altogether.
Her older sister would understand. After being widowed at a young age, left with two small children to raise and her late husband’s business to run, Rachel had had little time for fun and relaxation. But recently she’d met Seth Fletcher, a laid-back lawyer a few years her junior, and Seth had brought fun back into Rachel’s life. Now they were making wedding plans.
Celia heartily approved. She had already grown very fond of her almost brother-in-law. She’d seen the new happiness glowing in her sister’s dark eyes…and she couldn’t quite ignore a touch of envy. Rachel had found love twice, while Celia was still waiting for romance to find her.
Their brother, Cody, the middle Carson sibling, didn’t need anyone to teach him about having fun. He would have hooted in derision at Celia’s inability to enjoy herself in this hedonistic paradise. Though Cody had settled down some since his party-hearty college days, which had ended when he’d quit during his sophomore year, he was still the most spontaneous and energetic member of the family. He was always the joker, always the life of the party, though he was no longer the heavy drinker he’d been before a near-tragic car accident had turned him into a teetotaler. Cody now owned half interest in a moderately profitable country-western restaurant and dance club in which nothing stronger than beer was served to the loyal patrons, but the responsibilities of his job hadn’t dimmed his sense of fun.
Celia couldn’t help wondering what had happened to her own.
She’d almost forgotten that Reed Hollander was still standing nearby until he suddenly cleared his throat and brought her out of her somber introspection. “Be careful of that sun,” he warned. “It’s getting close to the dangerous stage, and you don’t want to burn that fair skin of yours.”
He was studying her face as he spoke. His scrutiny seemed more analytical than personal, an almost scientific assessment of the affects of ultraviolet light on her complexion. Celia thought in wry amusement that the brief time
she’d spent with this man certainly hadn’t done anything to boost her ego. So far, he’d behaved rather like an indulgent uncle.
Which, of course, was exactly the way she wanted him to behave, she assured herself hastily. Damien Alexander—her conspicuously absent host—was the only man she should be concentrating on for now, even if she should find herself suddenly, unexpectedly attracted to someone else.
Not that she was, of course.
Feeling her cheeks going suddenly warm, she took a hasty step away from Reed Hollander. “Enjoy your book,” she said, her tone politely dismissive.
“Thanks. Have a nice day,” he answered cheerily.
Blinking a bit, Celia watched him walk away.
Have a nice day? The man was a walking cliché, for heaven’s sake. He even talked like a tax accountant. He was exactly like the men she knew back in Percy—genial, dependable, hardworking, predictable. Ordinary.
The type of men who made Damien Alexander look so dashing, exciting and fascinating in contrast.
Turning back to her walk, Celia told herself that the only reason she was spending any time at all thinking about Reed Hollander was because Damien wasn’t around. What other reason could there possibly be?
Celia saw Reed again when she returned from her long walk down the beach. He was sitting by the pool, seemingly absorbed in his thick hardcover book. Celia didn’t think he even noticed when she passed within a few feet of his chair on her way to her suite.
Not that she’d particularly wanted him to notice, of course.
She had just stepped through the doors of her building when someone called her name. “Miss Carson! I’m glad I’ve found you.”
She looked around with a curious, lifted eyebrow. She saw Damien’s secretary again, rushing toward her from the hallway that led to the resort offices. “Is something wrong, Evan?”
He shook his dark head and smiled reassuringly. “No, not at all. Actually, Mr. Alexander is on the phone. He asked me to try to locate you. He wants to talk to you. I’ll transfer the call to your suite, if you like.”
