by Gina Wilkins
Saying he was sure Celia was growing tired of the Alexander’s amenities, Damien took her to a different restaurant that evening, an exclusive French restaurant at the top of one of the other hotels. Apparently, Damien had a standing reservation, since he was warmly welcomed and escorted immediately to a very nice table.
Celia had dressed up again, this time in a little black dress she wore with a crystal-beaded silver jacket she’d borrowed from Rachel. It was an outfit Damien had seen before, but she hadn’t felt like wearing the slinky white number she’d worn for Reed only last night. She wasn’t sure she would be in the mood to wear that dress again for a very long time.
Damien was still planning their next few days together during dinner. “I will have to work a little, of course,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “A couple of meetings with potential investors, some paperwork for the insurance company. I’ll try to clear most of it away early to leave us the rest of the days free.”
“I don’t want to keep you from your work. I’m quite capable of entertaining myself for a few hours a day.”
“Have you talked to your family while you’ve been here?” Damien asked inconsequentially.
“Only to Granny Fran. Why?”
Damien’s eyes glinted in the candlelight. “I thought maybe Rachel would have called to see if I’ve thoroughly corrupted you, yet.”
Celia giggled. “She would be afraid to ask.”
Damien gave an exaggerated sigh. “What would I have to do to convince your sister that I’m really a very decent, trustworthy guy?”
Celia pretended to give his question some thought. “Join the priesthood, I think,” she answered at length.
Damien widened his eyes and managed to look amused and horrified at the same time. “Anything but that.”
Celia laughed. “That’s exactly what I thought you would say. Forget it, Damien, Rachel will probably always believe that you’re a jaded, heartless seducer.”
With a rueful grimace, Damien shook his head. “If I’m such a master of seduction, how come I haven’t gotten past first base with you, hmm?”
Tossing her head, Celia grinned. “Maybe because my sister trained me so well?”
“Remind me to thank her sometime,” he murmured gloomily.
Amused, Celia turned her attention to her exquisitely prepared dinner. This, she reminded herself, was why she liked Damien so much. He made her laugh.
Unfortunately, he’d never made her tremble.
Damien suggested dancing after dinner. Celia forced a smile and told him that would be lovely. Her mind filled with images of dancing with Reed; she pushed them ruthlessly away, feeling vaguely guilty for thinking of him when she was out with Damien.
What an awkward situation she’d gotten herself into, she thought in exasperation as she and Damien went into the lounge and found a table. How Cody would laugh that his little sister, who so often complained of boredom, was now finding herself unexplainably involved with two men—one a well-known millionaire, the other a history-buff accountant!
She tried to imagine what Rachel would say. She almost shuddered at the thought. Rachel would be a nervous wreck over the whole situation. She would have to remind Celia how little she trusted Damien, how sordid his reputation was, how worried she was that Damien would use Celia and then abandon her, leaving her ego in shreds and her heart battered.
And then she would surely point out that Celia really didn’t know Reed any better than she did Damien. Sure, he said he was a straight-arrow accountant, a fine, upstanding citizen, Rachel would say, but how did Celia really know any of that was true? For all she knew, Reed could be a…well, an ax murderer or something.
“What’s so funny?” Damien asked after he’d ordered drinks. He was giving Celia a quizzical look across the little table he’d found for them.
She blushed, realizing she’d laughed aloud at her imaginary conversation with her sister. “Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about Rachel.”
Damien looked exasperated. He motioned around them to indicate their cozy, romantic surroundings. “I’m trying to seduce you and you’re thinking about your sister? You really aren’t helping me out here, Celia.”
She only laughed again, not taking him particularly seriously. Damien was always saying things like that. “I was just picturing what Rachel would say if she could see us now,” she prevaricated.
Damien winced. “Don’t even tell me,” he begged. “Your sister is really terrible on my ego.”
“Damien, sweetie, your ego couldn’t be dented with a jack-hammer,” Celia retorted sweetly, making him laugh.
They danced until almost midnight. Damien danced with more skill and style than Reed had, his steps expert and dashing. He murmured teasing sweet nothings in her ear at times, his flattery so charming and outrageous that Celia giggled, making other couples smile indulgently at them. She had a lovely time.
But never once did she tremble in Damien’s arms. Damn it.
Damien had his arm around Celia’s waist as he led her down the hallway toward their suites. He’d had a bit too much champagne in the lounge; his steps were just perceptibly unsteady.
He nuzzled Celia’s temple with his lips as they approached their doors. “I don’t suppose…”
“No,” she said with a smile, completely sober. She’d had only one glass of champagne, herself.
He hefted a sigh. “I didn’t think so. I fully expected to pay for standing you up for a week. You’ve been plotting this for days, haven’t you, darling?”
Celia frowned. “I’m not exacting revenge, Damien. I’m just not ready to—”
“That’s all right, Celia,” he cut in magnanimously. “You don’t owe me explanations. No means no, right?”
“Right. But—”
“Get some rest. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. I’ll clear away my paperwork and meet you in the lobby—say, ten o’clock? You might want to wear a bathing suit under a beach dress or something. Shall I have breakfast sent to your room?”
Trying to follow his quick changes of topic, Celia nodded. “That would be nice.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Surprise me.”
He laughed and kissed her cheek. “I like the sound of that.”
She brushed a quick kiss across the corner of his mouth and stepped quickly away before he could press for more. “Good night, Damien.”
He struck a pose. “Good night, sweet Celia. ‘Parting—’”
She groaned. “Please don’t quote Shakespeare. It’s been such a nice evening. Don’t blow it with a smarmy ending.”
He chuckled. “No wonder none of my patented lines work on you. You never let me finish any of them.”
She put a hand in the middle of his back and gave him a slight shove toward his own suite. “Good night, Damien.”
He left her with his usual good grace. As she let herself into her own rooms, Celia was wryly certain that Damien still believed she was subtly punishing him for keeping her waiting for so long. As much as she liked him, she was aware that he was a rather vain man who was quite certain it was only a matter of time until he charmed his way into her bed.
There’d been a time when she’d suspected the same thing. Now…
Now she wasn’t so sure.
Hidden in shadows at the end of the hallway, Reed watched Celia and Alexander part, obviously for the evening. He discovered that his fists had doubled at his sides; with some effort, he relaxed them.
He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Celia had kissed Alexander at her door, the way she’d kissed Reed only the night before. If she’d given Alexander that sweet, shy smile and invited him inside.
He suspected that he might have torn Alexander’s face off.
He was extremely grateful that he hadn’t been put to the test.
He couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between Celia and Alexander. He’d seen the easy camaraderie between them, the comfortable flirting. And he hated it. B
ut…
He frowned, trying to analyze their behavior. There had been a notable lack of passion—though perhaps not for lack of trying on Alexander’s part. Celia was the one who seemed to be taking pains to keep their relationship friendly and platonic.
If she had no intention of becoming Alexander’s lover—and Reed wished he could be certain of that—then what was she doing with the guy?
Had Kyle been right all along? Was Celia here on business, just as Novotny and Perrelli and the others would be?
Was Celia involved with the ruthless survivalist cult who were allegedly depending on Alexander to supply them with enough weapons and ammunition that they could invade a small country, if they chose to do so? Was she a member of the inner circle, or only using them for her own financial reasons?
Reed couldn’t have said at that moment which role he hated most for her—mercenary arms dealer or Alexander’s pampered mistress.
He only knew it was all he could do to keep himself from pounding on her door right now and taking her in his arms. Forcing her to admit that the passion that seemed to be missing between her and Alexander had been present between her and Reed from the first time their eyes had met that morning beside the pool.
His fists clenched again at his sides. It took all the will-power he possessed to turn then and walk away.
Away from Celia Carson, whoever—whatever—she might be.
Celia changed into her nightgown and carefully hung up her dress and her sister’s jacket. It had been a very pleasant evening. She should have been thinking of Damien, and his insistence that they would become lovers before she left his resort.
Instead, she found herself thinking of Reed. Again.
She hadn’t caught a glimpse of him all day. Had he left? Gone back to Cleveland and his predictable, comfortable accounting practice?
The thought filled her with a quick flood of panic.
Never to see him again…. Never to see his slow smile or hear his deep, reassuring voice….
Her eyes filled with tears.
She blinked them away angrily. She would not cry over Reed Hollander again. He was the one who’d left so curtly last night, after they’d spent such a special evening together. He was the one who’d practically thrown her tentative overtures back in her teeth.
All because he was jealous of Damien.
Jealous? She mulled the word over for a moment, wondering if it was accurate. Reed had certainly acted jealous, but were his reactions only those of a piqued ego? Or had the few days they’d spent together meant as much to him as they had meant to her? Had he, too, been aware of something growing between them?
She groaned. Why was it that the very man who should have been everything she didn’t want was keeping her restlessly pacing her room tonight? Damien was right across the hall, perfectly willing to indulge her with the sort of passionate, exciting, adventurous and carefree affair she’d fantasized about during her long, generally boring workdays. All she’d have to do was cross that hall right now, and he would welcome her with open arms and no strings. Anything she wanted, for however long they both wanted it.
Reed, on the other hand, was a man who probably had a whole pocketful of strings. She remembered their tentative conversation about children. Had he been telling her something then? Testing her, feeling her out about his own hopes for the future?
He was a one-man, one-woman guy if she’d ever met one. Four-bedroom house in the suburbs, two-point-three kids. Dog. And if his reactions to Damien’s flowers were any indication, he was the possessive sort. The kind who would treat his mate very well, but keep a rather close eye on her, too.
Was that really what she wanted? An average sort of life with an average sort of guy? The kind of life her mother lived? It was all her sister had ever really wanted, first with Ray, and now with Seth—but Celia had always thought it would take more to satisfy her.
Because she was afraid to analyze the answers to those searching questions, Celia pushed them firmly out of her head and climbed into bed.
Her dreams were vivid, eerily realistic. In them, she walked slowly through a tropical paradise of palm trees and waterfalls, heavily scented flowers and exotically feathered birds. It wasn’t commercial Padre Island; the place in her dream was a romantic, secluded island retreat.
There was a man at her side. She didn’t look at him, but she held his hand. He drew her into the shadows of a spectacularly flowered tree and cupped her face between his hands. Her eyes closed. He kissed her with a hunger and a passion that made her moan in her sleep and clutch the sheets in feverish fingers.
In her dream, she felt his hands on her skin. On her back, her breasts, her thighs. She felt his muscles beneath her palms, rippling and iron-hard. And she was vaguely aware of her own surprise that an accountant would have a body like that.
Accountant…
The face in the dream suddenly became clear. Reed Hollander lifted his head and gave her a smile that sent a shiver all the way down her spine. He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, clinging as though she’d shatter if he released her.
Locked together, they lowered themselves to the thick, plush grass beneath them. Reed reached for the elastic neckline of the colorful peasant top she wore in her dream, and she arched into his touch. “Reed,” she moaned. “Oh, Reed.”
She woke with Reed’s name still echoing in her mind. Had she said it aloud? Probably.
Her cheeks were wet again. She swiped at them impatiently, calling herself an idiot. She’d never dreamed about Damien that way—what was it about Reed that made her act like an infatuated adolescent?
She really should have stayed in Arkansas, she thought, flopping angrily onto her back.
She should have stayed where she belonged.
Chapter Eight
Celia’s erotic dream contributed strongly to her flustered discomposure when she came face-to-face with Reed the next morning. She had just left her building, having decided to take a walk around the resort while Damien finished his paperwork. Reed was leaving the restaurant, probably having just finished his breakfast.
Celia came to a dead stop on the sidewalk. She felt a blush begin somewhere around her waist and surge upward to the roots of her hair. She hated herself for reacting that way, but she kept remembering the dream. And those kisses outside her door—and the hesitant invitation she’d extended to him afterward. The one he’d rejected so coldly when he’d seen Damien’s flowers.
If Reed shared her inner turmoil, his feelings did not show on his face. The sun glinted off the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses, hiding his eyes almost as effectively as dark glasses would have done.
“Good morning.” He could have been exchanging greetings with a total stranger.
She struggled to keep her own voice as cool. “Good morning.”
“Going in for breakfast?”
“No, I had breakfast in my room this morning.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Oh.”
It occurred to her that he was probably thinking she’d had breakfast with Damien. She automatically opened her mouth to dispel the notion, then changed her mind. It was none of Reed’s business whether she’d breakfasted alone, she reminded herself. So why was she feeling so damned defensive about it?
He glanced down at the floating sundress she wore over her bathing suit. “Big plans for today?”
“We’re going parasailing, I think,” she said wryly.
“Parasailing.” He repeated the word with a slight lift of one eyebrow.
“It sounds exciting.” She had flushed again, remembering how he’d teased her for being a bit wary of the water when she’d gone into the Gulf with him.
But Reed only nodded. “Much more exciting than another war museum, I suppose. Or miniature golf.”
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “Reed—”
He took a step away. “I have a few things to do this morning. Have fun.”
The hand she’d instinctive
ly lifted toward him fell to her side. “Thank you,” she said tonelessly.
He started away, paused, then looked over his shoulder. “Celia?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
She watched him walk away, looking almost as though he’d regretted the words. What had he meant by them? That he wanted her to be careful parasailing?
Was she only imagining that there had been some deeper meaning behind the warning?
“Celia! There you are.” Damien joined her with a broad smile, looking like a model from a catalog in his swim shorts and sporty T-shirt, a jaunty cap on his golden head. “Ready for adventure?”
Celia glanced one last time at Reed’s disappearing back, then turned determinedly to Damien. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”
Celia had thought museum-hopping with Reed had been wearing. That was before she spent a day with Damien, the sports fanatic. The guy was tireless. He was almost fifteen years older than Celia, but it was all she could do to keep up with him. She’d thought tennis and swimming kept her in decent shape—but Damien had the body and the stamina of a teenager. He only laughed good-naturedly when her endurance—or her courage—deserted her.
Celia’s legs felt like wet spaghetti by the time they returned to the resort to change for dinner that evening. Damien was still a bundle of energy.
“What would you like to do tonight?” he asked as they parted at her door. “Dancing again? There’s a great disco where the young crowd hangs out. Much less sedate than the lounge we visited last night.”
Celia wondered what he would say if she told him she thought she’d spend the evening in the whirlpool bath with a nice, dull book. Instead, she smiled and said, “That sounds like fun.”
“Great. We’ll go after dinner.”
She forced a smile. “Great.”
He kissed her quickly, told her he’d meet her in an hour and a half for dinner, then headed for his own suite, whistling what Celia thought was an old Bee Gees disco number between his teeth.
Celia walked straight through the sitting room of her suite, entered the bedroom, and fell facedown on the bed, not caring that her clothing was still wet, sandy and salty. Damien could certainly afford to replace the bedspread, if necessary.
