by Gina Wilkins
The frown that darkened his face whenever Damien’s name came up almost seemed to indicate that he was jealous. But why? It wasn’t as though he and she were anything more than friends—casual ones, at that. After all, they hardly knew each other.
But did she really know Damien any better?
She groaned and slapped a hand against her forehead. She could drive herself crazy this way! She should have listened to Rachel, and stayed at home where she belonged.
“Yeah, right,” she muttered aloud. “Might as well join a convent.”
All in all, that might just be the safest choice, she thought with a wry grimace.
The resort lounge was a tropical paradise of exotic flowers, shadowy corners, flickering lights and strategically placed rock waterfalls. The polished, wooden dance floor was in the center of the room, small tables arranged in cozy grottos around it. A band played from a stage nearly hidden in lush greenery.
Celia felt almost as though she’d just stepped out of Texas and into the Caribbean.
“This is the first time I’ve been in here,” she told Reed when they were seated at a table in a secluded corner. “It’s beautiful.”
“Staged romance,” he said dismissively.
Celia frowned at him. “Is there anything about this resort that pleases you?” she demanded, exasperated by his attitude.
He reached out to touch her cheek. “Yes. You’re here.”
She blushed. She was very glad to see the cocktail waitress who approached their table at that opportune moment.
They placed their drink orders, then looked at each other again across the tiny table.
“Did I remember to tell you how nice you look this evening?” Reed asked.
“Yes,” Celia answered with a smile. “But thank you again.”
Reed looked very nice, himself, in a charcoal dress shirt and black dress slacks. He seemed to favor dark colors, on the whole. Maybe because someone had told him how good they looked on him.
Celia looked quickly toward the dance floor. “It isn’t very crowded tonight. Most of the other guests must have chosen to see the film.”
“They didn’t have the option of spending the evening with you,” Reed said.
She blinked. He had been saying outrageous things like that all evening. “Reed, are you flirting with me?” she asked, unable to hold it back any longer.
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Why?”
His smile turned to a chuckle. “Why are you so surprised?” he countered.
“Well…because,” she answered lamely. “We’ve spent several days together and you haven’t flirted with me before.” Unless, of course, one counted those kisses—which she supposed she should.
“Let’s just say I need the practice,” he said lightly, then pushed his chair back. “Dance with me?”
Looking at him a bit warily, she stood and placed her hand in his outstretched one.
The song was a slow, bluesy number. Only three other couples were on the dance floor, locked closely together, oblivious to spectators. Ignoring them in return, Reed smiled down at Celia and took her in his arms.
He held her close, but not so tightly that she was uncomfortable. His hand rested discreetly at the small of her waist, his palm warm through the thin fabric of the white dress. His other hand clasped hers, firmly, almost possessively.
She trembled.
“Are you cold?” Reed asked solicitously, leading her into a slow, swaying rhythm.
“No,” she whispered, then managed to regain her voice. “It’s been a while since I’ve danced,” she added, as though in explanation of her hesitancy.
He made a tight turn, his feet meshing expertly with hers. “It’s been quite a while for me, too.”
She looked at him skeptically. “You don’t dance like you’re in need of practice.”
He gave her a slow smile and then rested his cheek against her hair. “That’s because I’m dancing with you,” he murmured.
“You don’t flirt like you’re in need of practice, either,” Celia muttered, her pulse rate fluttering like crazy.
She’d never thought herself a sucker for a corny line—but it looked as though she’d been wrong. At least, she found herself unable to resist being affected by Reed’s lines, which should have sounded silly, but somehow didn’t.
He began to hum softly along with the music.
“Unforgettable.” Her favorite song. Her knees went weak in response to his sexy tenor.
He sang, too?
It was growing increasingly obvious that she had badly misjudged Reed Hollander.
It was late when Reed walked Celia to her suite. She was wide awake this time, tingling with anticipation of the kiss she was sure would come. After a magical evening of music and candlelight and champagne and dancing, how could she expect anything else?
She was still confused, except for one thing. She knew she wanted Reed to kiss her tonight. Wanted it with an intensity that was almost frightening.
Her key in hand, she looked up at him at the door. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but before she could speak, he fulfilled her prediction by covering her mouth with his own.
There in the hallway, he kissed her with a hunger that first overshadowed, then inflamed her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
His arms locked around her waist, dragging her closer. His tongue surged between her parted lips, coaxing and demanding a response. His heart beat powerfully against hers. Though it seemed impossible, he was obviously as deeply affected by the embrace as Celia was.
It was a very long time before he lifted his head. Celia was trembling again—and she thought Reed was, too. His eyes glittered, and his breath was rapid and uneven.
“You can’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
Celia caught her breath, clinging to his shirt, drawn to his warmth, his strength. Oh, he didn’t kiss like a tax accountant, she thought inconsequentially. He kissed like…like a dream.
“Would you…” She had to stop to clear her throat to speak coherently. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”
He went very still. His eyes locked with hers. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Just…just a drink,” she whispered, her heart racing now in what felt very much like panic.
He winced, then shook his head. “I can’t promise not to touch you again if I come in.”
She bit her lip. She wasn’t sure she was ready to actually go to bed with the man, but she wouldn’t mind a few more of those delicious kisses. If Reed could be content with that…
Her fingers laced tightly in front of her, she asked hesitantly, “Can you promise to leave when—umm—if I ask you to?”
She searched his face while he considered her question. His now familiar face. The face of a man she instinctively trusted. When he nodded, she almost sighed in relief. “Yes,” he said quietly. “That I can promise.”
She smiled shakily and opened the door. “What would you like to drink?” she asked as they stepped through together. And then she stopped in her tracks. “Oh.”
It was impossible to miss seeing the flowers. The bouquet was enormous, seeming to fill the room, dwarfing the small table on which they’d been placed. The heavy scent of roses and assorted other blooms filled the air. The card had been placed on the table, propped against the crystal vase, clearly readable to both Celia and Reed from where they stood.
“Darling, I’ll be with you tomorrow. I can’t wait. Damien.”
Celia looked quickly up at Reed. His face could have been carved from granite. His eyes were dark, shadowed. Unreadable when he looked back at her.
“It’s getting late,” he said, his voice flat. “I’d better go.”
“But…”
“Celia.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “Will you go home? Tomorrow morning, before he arrives?”
Bewild
ered by the sudden change in him, Celia shook her head. “I—I can’t, Reed. I told him I’d be here.”
He dropped his hands. “Then I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe.”
“Reed,” she said when he turned toward the door. “Don’t do this.”
He looked over his shoulder, first at her and then at the flamboyant bouquet. “You’re going to have to make a choice, Celia. You know where to find me. If you want me.”
With that, he was gone.
And Celia began to cry.
He’d been a jealous idiot. Again. Reed paced restlessly down the beach, oblivious to the fragrances or the sounds or the moonlight that had seemed so romantic before. Now they only reminded him of Celia. And of how stupidly he’d acted with her.
Darling. The words of the note had emblazoned themselves on his mind. I can’t wait.
How could Celia fall for that crap? Was she really so utterly unaware of the kind of man Damien Alexander was? Had she had so little experience with men that she didn’t recognize a slick, well-practiced line when she heard one? And how the hell could she fall into his arms the way she had today when she was still planning to spend the rest of the week with Alexander?
He’d known plenty of women who didn’t mind dallying with one man while waiting to warm the bed of another. He just couldn’t make himself believe Celia was like that.
What did she want? Why was she here? Why did she tremble when he touched her if she was thinking of someone else?
But she hadn’t been thinking of Alexander tonight, Reed thought with a sudden vicious satisfaction. Until she’d seen those flowers, Alexander had been as far from her thoughts as he was from her presence. She’d been thinking only of Reed.
And he’d blown it. Again.
He should have stayed with her. Made love to her until she couldn’t even imagine being with anyone else. Until she hadn’t the strength to say any name but Reed’s.
And then, first thing tomorrow morning, he’d have put her on a plane headed for Little Rock. Toward safety. And when this was all over, no matter what she’d done, no matter how deeply involved she’d been to this point, he’d have followed her. And made sure that from now on, any trouble she got in would be with him.
He turned impulsively toward her rooms, deciding to do just that. And then he stopped and slammed a fist into his hand, knowing he wouldn’t.
He remembered the look in her eyes when he’d stormed away from her.
And he remembered every word of that damned note.
He muttered a curse that echoed eerily on the deserted beach. And then he began to pace again.
Chapter Seven
Celia woke with heavy eyes the next morning, after a restless night’s sleep. She wasn’t at all pleased with the reflection that met her in the mirror. She looked worn, dispirited—sad.
She didn’t look like a woman taking a carefree vacation, that was for sure!
She didn’t want Damien to find her looking like this when he arrived. He would only ask questions, and Celia didn’t know what she would have said to reassure him. What could she tell him? That she’d met another man while Damien was away? That she’d suddenly found herself falling for the guy, even though she knew he wasn’t right for her? That she’d all but thrown herself into his arms, only to have him throw her right back out of them?
She’d cried from embarrassment and confusion and weariness, she told herself firmly. Certainly not from any deeper or more serious reasons. Her pride had been bruised, but her heart was intact.
Or, at least, that was what she told herself as she climbed defiantly into the shower and turned the water directly onto her tear-streaked face.
Damien arrived early that afternoon, accompanied by his usual entourage. The group included Maris Cathcart, a loyal secretary in her late forties who often traveled with Damien; Jim Bennett, a very large man usually introduced as head of security, but whose primary function was that of bodyguard; and Damien’s “right-hand man,” Mark Chenault.
They had all met Celia during business trips to Arkansas. Maris greeted her with the distant politeness that Celia had always suspected hid a streak of jealousy. Jim nodded and mumbled something unintelligible—his usual form of conversation. Mark displayed the rather condescending indulgence he always showed her. She had never really liked him, though Damien had repeatedly assured her that Mark was invaluable to him.
His thick, gold-tipped hair attractively disheveled, Damien flashed the brilliant smile that so often graced the society pages. His dimples deepened, his teeth gleamed, his blue eyes sparkled; Damien Alexander was a man who almost pulsed with energy and enthusiasm. And wealth, and power, both of which he seemed to take casually for granted, even as he wielded them so skillfully.
“Celia! I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally join you—or how sorry I am that I kept you waiting so long,” he said as he caught her hands in his and gave her a melting look. “Can you ever forgive me?”
She smiled and leaned forward to return his light kiss of greeting. “We’ve discussed this before, Damien. I don’t blame you for being called away. I understand completely.”
Waving the others off, he tucked Celia’s hand beneath his arm and led her in the direction of her suite. “Have you been completely bored, darling, or has my staff managed to entertain you during the past week?”
“Your staff has been wonderful,” she assured him. “I couldn’t have asked for more attentive, or more gracious service. Please be sure to thank them all for me.”
Damien’s eyes glinted with amusement. “A nice evasion of my question.”
She shook her head reprovingly. “I haven’t been bored. I’ve been doing some sightseeing. Actually, I’ve been spending time with one of the other guests who was vacationing alone. His name is Reed Hollander, from Cleveland. He’s a history buff—you wouldn’t believe how many battlefields and museums I’ve visited in the past few days.”
Celia spoke lightly and confidently. She had no intention of having Damien’s overly watchful staff tell him about the time she’d spent with Reed—as she suspected someone would. She hadn’t been sneaking around with Reed; and she’d be darned if she would allow anyone to make their brief time together seem so sordid.
Damien opened the door to her sitting room and gave her a searching look. “Reed Hollander, huh? Competition?” His tone was light, but she could tell he wasn’t pleased. The sudden glint in his eyes reminded her that Damien was known in some circles as an intimidatingly powerful man.
Her heart fluttered, but she answered easily. “Don’t be silly. Reed’s a friend. Just as you are,” she added as she entered her suite ahead of him. The huge bouquet he’d sent her still seemed to dominate the room. Celia avoided looking at it. The memories those flowers evoked were still too disturbing, too raw.
Damien gave an exaggerated sigh. “Can I help it if I continue to harbor hopes that you and I will soon become much more than friends?”
He really was gorgeous, Celia thought almost dispassionately. Charming, smooth, fun to spend time with. And if he tried to kiss her now, she’d probably hit him. She wished she understood why.
As though he’d read her thoughts, Damien patted her hand and released her. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his lightweight jacket.
She frowned warily at him. She’d made it clear from the first time they’d had dinner together that she would not accept expensive gifts from him. She’d wanted him to know that it wasn’t his money that interested her; she would have liked Damien even if he’d been penniless. He made her laugh. She’d never been bored with him. Those points, alone, would have guaranteed their friendship.
Her frown turned to a smile when she saw her gift. It was a small wood carving—no more than six inches high. A clever little palm tree appeared to be bent by a strong wind; a tiny man clung to the trunk of the tree with both hands, legs straight out behind him, a comical, wide-eyed look on his tiny face.
“I
t’s adorable,” Celia said, cupping the carving in her hands.
“My manager carved it. As soon as I saw it, I begged him to let me buy it for you.”
Celia was startled. “The manager who had both legs broken beneath a fallen tree?”
Damien nodded ruefully. “He carved this in his hospital room. He can’t stand being inactive for long.”
“He must have a wonderful sense of humor.”
“Some would say a sick sense of humor. That’s why I like the guy so much,” Damien admitted with a grin.
Celia laughed, greatly relieved that Damien hadn’t brought her the expensive gifts he was known to lavish upon his “lady friends”—for want of a better term.
“I’m going to make up for every day I haven’t been here with you,” Damien announced, almost rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “We’ll go snorkeling, horseback riding…have you been parasailing, yet?”
Celia tried to imagine Reed dangling from a parachute over the Gulf. Or herself, for that matter. She laughed. “No, Damien. I haven’t been parasailing. And to be honest, I’m not sure I want to try.”
“Nonsense. You’ll love it. I also happen to have two brand-new, top-of-the-line Jet Skis in my boathouse. We’ll take those out tomorrow morning. Do you like to fish? We can spend one day out on the boat. I’ll have the chef prepare a gourmet picnic for us. Last time I was out, I caught a trophy-size marlin. Of course, you can’t expect that every time, but…”
He continued in that vein for some time, eagerly describing all the wonderful things they would do together, all the fun they would have. Celia listened politely, nodding occasionally and trying to look as enthusiastic as he was about the sports he loved. She’d never tried most of them—tennis and swimming were the only sports she participated in regularly at home—but she’d wanted excitement and adventure, hadn’t she?
It looked as though she was about to find them.
