by Gina Wilkins
Celia smiled and nodded, wondering what he expected her to say next.
He shifted his weight, looked suddenly self-conscious, and tugged at his neatly knotted tie. “Well,” he said heartily. “I’d better get back to work. There’s some paperwork I have to finish this afternoon.”
“On Sunday?”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Alexander is a very busy man,” Evan said gravely. “He can’t be bothered with all the detail work that I handle for him.”
“But don’t you ever take time off?”
“Of course I do. But with him having been gone this week, we’re all a bit behind. I’ll take extra time off when we catch up.”
“You’re a very dedicated employee, Evan,” Celia told him, as somber as he was. “Damien’s lucky to have you working for him.”
Evan permitted himself a smile. “I consider myself very fortunate to be working for Mr. Alexander. All his employees feel that way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to it.”
Amused, Celia watched Evan hurry away. Nice guy, she thought, but borderline hypertensive.
“Blind loyalty. Nice quality in an employee, if you can find it,” Reed said dryly from behind her.
Celia swung around so quickly she almost ended up in the fountain. Reed reached out to steady her with a hand on her arm. “You startled me,” she accused him unnecessarily. And undeservedly, she reminded herself guiltily. Hadn’t she just been hoping he would appear?
“Sorry.” But he didn’t look particularly repentant. Actually, he looked great. His close-fitting, pale blue knit shirt emphasized his dark tan and nicely developed muscles, and the loose-fitting jeans hinted that he was in excellent condition below the waist, as well. At the moment, he didn’t look at all like her concept of the average tax accountant.
“What are you doing?” he asked, while she was still surreptitiously admiring him.
She cleared her throat and looked hastily toward the fountain. “I was just watching the fish.”
Reed glanced at the koi, then across the compound, and then turned back to her. “Cheerleader alert.”
Celia blinked, then suddenly understood. She looked over her shoulder. Mindi Kellogg, the determinedly cheerful social director, was making a beeline toward them across the compound, clipboard in hand. “Oh, God. Now what?”
“Want to get out of here?”
“Yes,” she said immediately.
He held out his hand. “Let’s go to the beach.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea.” She placed her hand in his.
Chapter Six
Even though it was a weekend, the beach was pleasantly uncrowded. Reed claimed a large umbrella and two beach chairs, making one of his typical comments about keeping Celia out of the sun.
“You’re tanned,” she remarked, nodding toward his brown arm. “Why are you so concerned about me getting some sun?”
“You’re lighter skinned,” he replied promptly. “Statistics show that people with fairer skin tend to burn more easily, leading to a higher incidence of cell damage and skin cancer. One out of every—”
“Enough.” She held up her hand in laughing protest. “I should have known an accountant would have a wealth of statistics to support his arguments.”
Reed gave her an apologetic smile. “Job hazard.”
“Yes, I’m sure. But if it makes you feel any better, I slathered myself in sunblock this morning. The waterproof kind that’s supposed to last for hours.”
He nodded gravely. “Regular use of sunblock is a smart habit, of course. But it still doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
“Are you ever not careful, Reed?” she asked just a bit wistfully.
He seemed to give her question deep consideration before he murmured, “Most of the time I am.”
“And just what happens when you’re not?” she asked, trying to tease.
He didn’t smile. “I’ll let you know.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense to her. She started to ask him to explain, but he forestalled her by asking if she was hungry. “We should have arranged to bring a picnic basket.”
She shrugged. “We’ll get fast food later. I’m not hungry now, are you?”
“No. Is that a bathing-suit strap peeking out of the neckline of your T-shirt?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“Want to swim?”
She glanced at his shirt and jeans. “You’re hardly dressed for it.”
In answer, he stood, kicked off his shoes and peeled off his shirt and jeans, revealing brief black swim trunks beneath. “Race you to the water,” he said, and loped toward the surf.
Celia was left lying beneath the umbrella, her mouth open, her eyes wide.
For an accountant, she thought dazedly, Reed Hollander had one hell of a great body.
The water was cool, she discovered when she waded into the lapping waves until the water reached her knees. Reed was already some distance out, swimming steadily. He motioned for her to join her.
Celia hadn’t mentioned it to him, but she’d never been swimming in saltwater before. She’d waded into plenty of freshwater lakes and creeks back home, had her toes nibbled by fish and turtles, dodged a water snake or two—but those were familiar creatures. She knew nothing about saltwater creatures, except what she’d read.
She pictured crabs and stingrays and jellyfish and fish with sharp teeth. She knew all of them were native to this area. Did they come this close to shore?
The sand shifted beneath her feet with another wave and she stumbled for balance. Her right foot came down on something hard. Something that moved. She squealed and jumped.
Reed was at her side instantly. “What is it?”
“I think I stepped on a crab.”
He relaxed. “Hermit crab, probably. They’re harmless.”
“Oh.” She minced cautiously a few feet deeper, letting the water lap at the bottom of her scarlet maillot. And then she stopped again. “Reed?”
He was watching her with an odd light in his hazel eyes. “Yeah?”
“Are there…er…sharks or anything around here?”
He laughed.
She scowled at him and planted her fists on her hips. “Don’t laugh at me.”
He motioned some distance down the beach, to a family of four or five kids who were splashing through the water like playful dolphins, while their parents watched closely from the sand. “Would those people let their kids swim out here if there were sharks?”
Feeling stupid, Celia shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He shook his head. “Don’t tell me this is your first time all week to come out to the water.”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I’ve been swimming in the pool.”
“You can swim in a pool back home in Arkansas,” he teased, tugging at her hair. “You really aren’t the adventurous type, are you, Celia?”
She sighed deeply. “I’m trying to be,” she reminded him.
His sudden grin was positively wicked. She didn’t have time to interpret it.
A moment later, she was underwater, having been bodily lifted and tossed lightly into a cresting wave.
She came up spitting salt and blinking furiously, her eyes stinging from the unfamiliar grittiness of the water. “Reed!” she wailed, slinging wet hair out of her face. “That was a really lousy thing to do.”
He was still laughing. “Just trying to be of service, ma’am,” he drawled. “You can’t be adventurous half an inch at a time.”
Her open palm hit the water at a slashing angle. His laugh turned to a sputter when the resulting stream hit him squarely in the face. And then he dove for her.
A laughing, gasping water battle ensued. Celia was at a definite disadvantage, due to her smaller size and her unfamiliarity with rolling waves and shifting sand. But she held her own, she decided in satisfaction.
Taking advantage of a perfect opportunity, she hooked a foot behind Reed’s leg and tugged. He went down like a rock. But not before catching hold of her an
d dragging her with him.
They came up together, laughing, rolling in the waves, clinging to each other for balance.
And then the laughter faded.
Reed regained his footing slowly, his gaze locked with Celia’s.
Her eyelashes beaded with water, her hair streaming down her back, she became suddenly aware of the feel of his wet, slick skin beneath her palms. He was warm. Hard. Strong.
His tan extended over every inch she could see of him. Water clung to the light dusting of hair that spread across his chest and narrowed downward toward his swim trunks. His wet hair clung to his head, darkened to almost black. Without his glasses, his hazel eyes were bright and piercing. Almost as though they could see right into her.
Celia was mesmerized, unable to move if she’d wanted to. Waves shoved gently against her, but Reed held her steady. She felt safe. And yet, at the same time, she felt deliciously panicky, her pulse racing, her skin tingling, her breathing shallow and rapid.
It seemed inevitable that he was going to kiss her. If he didn’t, she thought she’d surely shatter from disappointment.
He didn’t disappoint her.
He drew her closer, giving her every opportunity to pull away. She didn’t even try. Her breasts brushed his chest, then he pulled her closer still, their wet bodies plastering together. The water lapped around Celia’s rib cage, hitting Reed just above his waist. If there were any crabs or stingrays or jellyfish—or even sharks—Celia no longer cared. For all she knew just then, she and Reed could have been standing on a deserted island.
His mouth was cool, wet, salty. His tongue was warm and seeking. Celia parted her lips and welcomed him inside.
She didn’t worry about who might be watching them. She didn’t think about Damien. She didn’t even ask herself what might happen next.
She simply enjoyed.
Reed drew away first. He sighed, kissed her nose, then lifted his head. “Celia?”
She was still drifting, her cheek resting now against his pounding heart. “Mmm?”
“Let’s have a taco.”
She blinked and frowned. “What?”
He loosened her arms from around his neck. “Lunch,” he said firmly, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m starving.”
How could he possibly think about food? Here she was in his arms, a quivering bundle of soggy hormones, and Reed was talking tacos!
It took a moment for her to recover enough to appreciate his common sense. This was certainly not the time, or the place for necking, she reminded herself as she stumbled back toward the beach with him, steadied by his arm around her waist.
Maybe before the day ended, they would find the right time. And the right place.
She swallowed hard and concentrated on getting back to the beach umbrella without having her suddenly unsteady knees buckle beneath her.
They bought tacos and ate them on the beach. Celia tossed the trash into a convenient waste can, but kept the bag from the fast-food Mexican restaurant. “I want to find some shells to take home to my niece and nephew,” she told Reed. “Want to help me?”
He agreed. “How old are your niece and nephew?” he asked, his eyes on the sand at his feet as they strolled along the edge of the water.
Celia pounced on a promising-looking shell, then tossed it aside in disappointment when she discovered that it was broken on the bottom. “Paige is eight and Aaron’s six.”
Reed handed her a pretty little pink shell. “Do you spend much time with them?”
Celia admired the shell, wishing she knew more about the creature that had made it. “This is a pretty one. Paige will love it. And, yes, I do spend quite a bit of time with them. Actually, I spoil them terribly, according to Rachel. I just can’t resist buying them cute clothes and toys I know they’ll like. They always thank me so sweetly. Rachel fusses at me, but she doesn’t really mind. She’s such a good mother that she’s able to compensate for my indulgences. She keeps warning me that I’ll have to change my ways when I have kids of my own, or I’ll find myself with a houseful of greedy little monsters.”
“A houseful?” Reed asked with a smile. “Is that how many you’re planning?”
“Just a figure of speech. I think two or three would be plenty for me,” Celia replied, rinsing off a gray shell she’d dug out of the sand. She was pleased to find it in excellent condition. She added it to the sack.
She glanced up at Reed. “What about you? When are you going to settle down with your own little brood?” she teased.
He grimaced. “Now you sound just like my mother. She’s been dropping broad hints about grandchildren since I graduated from college. She even comes right out and demands some occasionally. I told her I have no intention of having kids until I find someone I wouldn’t mind raising them with—and that just hasn’t happened, yet.”
Celia nodded in sympathy. “I know the feeling. I don’t want to get married and raise children until I’m absolutely sure I’m ready. How could I teach them anything about life if I haven’t even experienced it myself, yet?”
Reed was watching her with that thoughtful, assessing expression again. She blushed, suddenly aware of how personal the conversation had become. She turned away. “Here’s another one,” she said quickly, bending to dig up a shell and hoping her activity would hide her sudden embarrassment.
It was very late that afternoon when they returned to the resort. The paper bag clinked with the shells they’d gathered for Paige and Aaron. Both Celia and Reed were windblown, slightly sunburned and liberally coated with sand. Celia’s hair had dried in a salty tangle, and her makeup was long gone. She didn’t care.
She’d had a blissfully wonderful day.
Reed hadn’t attempted to kiss her again, but there had been a new warmth in his eyes when he looked at her—which he seemed to do a lot. His touches had been casual—brushing back a lock of her hair, steadying her on the sandy beach, a touch of hands when he handed her a particularly nice shell—but each time, he seemed in no hurry to break the contact. He’d lingered just long enough to make her fully conscious of his warmth, his strength, before he drew away.
He walked her to her suite, but he made no attempt to enter. Celia was tempted to ask him in for a drink from the fully stocked wet bar, but she found herself hesitating, uncertain how he would take the invitation. Not quite sure what she wanted, herself. After those kisses in the surf, she wouldn’t blame him for thinking she was offering more of the same—and then some.
But was she really ready for that?
While she hesitated, Reed touched her cheek, brushing away a bit of sand. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he said, and it wasn’t exactly a request.
It would be their last night together, Celia thought, suddenly pensive. For the first time in hours, she remembered Damien. He would arrive tomorrow, and she would be obliged to spend time with her host. She sensed that there would be no more leisurely afternoons with Reed once Damien appeared, determined to entertain her and make up for lost time.
The thought of saying goodbye to Reed elicited a tug of sadness somewhere deep inside her.
She was growing more confused with each passing hour. She wondered if Damien’s presence would make her more certain of what she wanted—or if he would only confuse her more.
“Celia?” Reed said, sounding impatient. “Dinner?”
“Yes,” she said recklessly. “Give me a couple of hours to shower and change and rest a bit. I’ll meet you in the restaurant at seven-thirty.”
He nodded, and the lines around his mouth seemed to relax slightly. “There’s a live band in the lounge this evening. Maybe we’ll listen to them a while after dinner—dance a bit, perhaps.”
She thought of the film that would be shown in the resort theater, the one to which Evan had personally invited her. Popcorn and a movie—or dancing with Reed? She realized there was little contest. “That sounds nice,” she said.
“Then I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”
“Fine.” Sh
e placed her hand on her doorknob.
Reed hesitated, his gaze focused intently on her mouth. She could feel her lips tingling, almost as if he’d already kissed her. She resisted a strong urge to moisten her lips with her tongue.
The taut moment seemed to stretch for a very long time. And then Reed took a quick step backward, and hooked his thumbs in the back waistband of his jeans. Keeping his hands out of trouble, perhaps?
“Later,” he said gruffly, then turned and walked away.
Celia had already closed herself inside her suite before she finally remembered how to breathe normally again.
On an impulse, Celia dressed up that evening. Her sleeveless white dress fit closely at the bodice, then flared softly from the hips to sway flirtatiously at her knees. She added strappy white sandals, glittering earrings and bracelet, then swept her dark hair up and secured it with a sparkling rhinestone clip. It was an outfit she’d purchased with Damien in mind; but tonight she wore it for Reed’s benefit.
The woman in the mirror looked very different from the windblown beachcomber of the afternoon. Celia studied her reflection thoughtfully, wondering which image came closer to the Celia Carson she wanted to be.
Jeans and T-shirts and fast-food restaurants suited the life she lived at home in Percy, and she’d been happy in that life. Most of the time. Expensive dresses and sparkling jewelry were more of what she could expect should her budding relationship with Damien Alexander continue to develop. She’d almost convinced herself that she wanted that more glamorous, more adventurous lifestyle. Until she’d met a so-called “average” tax accountant named Reed Hollander.
She sighed and shook her head. Was she really so fickle, to come to this island half prepared to begin an affair with one man only to find herself craving kisses from another? Who would believe that she, who had always been so careful, so fastidious, would find herself in this situation?
Part of the problem, she decided, trying to be objective, was that she wasn’t entirely sure what Reed wanted. He’d certainly made himself available to spend time with her—not that he’d had any better offers, apparently. He’d been a perfect gentleman, for the most part, and yet something about the way he looked at her…
