A Match for Celia

by Gina Wilkins

  So why was she here? Why would Alexander invite her here at the same time Novotny was at the resort? Was he using her for cover? Hoping it looked more natural for one to be here if the other was? Or was she more of a business liaison between the man who would like to make her his mistress and her longtime, hometown acquaintance?

  The doubts were driving Reed crazy. His partner was beginning to get seriously concerned—and so was Reed, for that matter.

  For the first time in his law-enforcement career, the woman he’d been ordered to watch was becoming more important to him than his duty.

  Celia was relieved when Damien arrived and Mark and Chuck made their departure. She’d tried to be friendly when they’d come upon her, but it had taken a great effort on her part. She was still stinging from her curt encounter with Mark the night before, and Chuck still tended to treat her with condescending disapproval because she was there, at all. If he weren’t such an important customer of the bank where she worked, she’d be tempted to tell him to stuff his antiquated, unsolicited opinions.

  “I wish I’d known you disliked Chuck so deeply,” Damien said after watching Chuck leave with a curt nod for Celia. “I certainly would have delayed my meetings with him until after your visit.”

  “You shouldn’t have to reschedule your business plans just because of me,” she assured him. “It doesn’t bother me that Chuck’s here. He would probably have heard about my visit, anyway. You know how gossip travels through a small-town grapevine.”

  “He and my assistant seem to be getting along well enough, don’t they? I asked Mark to keep Novotny entertained while he’s here—softening him up for the negotiations, of course—and he seems to be doing a fine job.”

  “Yes, he’s been showing him all around the resort. I think they’d even been to the storage rooms behind the conference center before they joined me here. I’m sure Chuck’s impressed by the efficiency of your operation. I certainly have been.”

  “Thank you,” Damien said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You said you saw them in the storage room area?”

  Celia shook her head. “They were coming from that direction. I just assumed—”

  Damien shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, though I can’t imagine why Chuck would have been interested in seeing holiday decorations and extra resort supplies.”

  Celia smiled. “I can. Chuck’s just naturally nosy. He’s probably examined every inch of this place, whether it has anything to do with him or not.”

  Damien dismissed Novotny with a wave of his neatly manicured hand. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he said, changing the subject. “Evan and Maris told me you’d stopped by the office.”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize you were still in meetings. I love this koi pond, Damien. It’s lovely.”

  “There’s one at each of my resorts,” he said, looking pleased. “I find it relaxing to watch them.”

  “So do I.”

  “See?” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I knew we had a lot in common.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Watching fish isn’t exactly a shared philosophy of life, Damien.”

  “True. But it’s a start. Are you ready for an evening in old Mexico?”

  She assured him he was. And then she wondered how she would find a way to tell him that she wouldn’t be sleeping with him during the few days she had left of her vacation—or ever, for that matter.

  It wasn’t going to be an easy topic to work into their dinner conversation, she thought dryly. But somehow, before the evening ended, she had to find a way.

  As it turned out, the opportunity for a serious conversation with Damien never arose. They were accompanied by two other couples on their night out in Matamoros, so Celia never found the right moment during dinner or dancing afterward.

  She didn’t know why Damien had invited the other couples when he’d seemed so anxious to be alone with her. He hinted to her that they’d sort of invited themselves along. Celia knew that wasn’t exactly true; Damien wasn’t the sort of man to be manipulated. If the other couples had invited themselves, it had been because Damien encouraged them.

  As he had before, Damien dominated the dinner conversation, keeping everyone laughing at his outrageous stories, generally acting the gracious, entertaining host. Celia was beginning to suspect that he was deliberately keeping her from having a serious talk with him that evening.

  Had he started to suspect what she wanted to tell him? Was he hoping the outrageous flattery and megawatt smiles he showered on her during the evening would change her mind?

  Her suspicions grew stronger when Damien drove her back to the resort. Even though they were alone in his car, he kept up that cheery monologue, hardly giving her time to say a word. Whenever he stopped for breath, he turned the radio up loudly enough to fill the void.

  She promised herself that she would talk to him as soon as they returned to her suite. It was well past time that she got this settled—whether Damien wanted it to be or not.

  They had just gotten out of Damien’s car when Evan appeared, a deep frown creasing his usually smooth forehead. “Mr. Alexander. Thank goodness you’re here.”

  Damien sighed heavily. “What is it this time, Evan?”

  “It’s that television actor, Mr. Alexander,” Evan replied with a slight curl of his lip. “He’s gotten drunk or high and started hitting the young woman with him. The police were called, and now the press has been alerted. The woman is not his wife, of course, and his wife is a well-known actress, as well, so…”

  “…so,” Damien cut in, “it’s going to get ugly.”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. The man is already talking about lawsuits against us—though what he could possibly sue us for, I can’t imagine.”

  Us, Celia noted. Evan certainly took his job personally.

  Damien turned to her with a look of apology. “Celia, I’m sorry—damn, I’ve been saying that a lot to you lately, haven’t I?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “And it really isn’t necessary. I know you have to deal with this.”

  “It may take hours, damn it.”

  “I’m sure it will. Let’s just call it an evening, shall we?”

  Damien looked torn, his eyes going from Celia to Evan, who stood impatiently nearby. He exhaled deeply. “Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow—even if I have to bolt the door and disconnect the telephones to do so!”

  Which meant, of course, that Damien was finally ready to have that serious talk that he’d been avoiding all evening, Celia interpreted.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be more relieved or disappointed that the confrontation had been delayed. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to, even though she was sure Damien would make it as painless as possible for her. He was too nice a man to cause an unpleasant scene just because she’d decided she didn’t want to be his lover.

  Still, it wouldn’t be easy for him. He was a man of considerable ego—and with some justification for being that way. He couldn’t be accustomed to being rejected.

  She assured Damien that she was perfectly capable of seeing herself back to her suite. She reminded him that he was needed in his office immediately.

  “Before the press descends,” she added, watching a spasm cross his face in reaction. She knew how Damien felt about the gossip sheets, though he courted them when he deemed it professionally advantageous.

  Damien nodded and brushed his mouth hastily across her cheek. “Tomorrow,” he promised, and rushed away. Evan was at his employer’s side, not even sparing a backward glance for Celia.

  Celia was on her way to her suite when she suddenly changed her mind. She stopped in the middle of the path, her gaze drifting to the tall building in the center of the compound, the twelve-story, multibalconied complex in which Reed was staying. She knew his room number; he’d mentioned it on one of their outings in case she ever needed to call him.

  Was he in his room now? It was just after 10:00 p.m. Not late
—but rather early for a single man on vacation to turn in alone.

  Or was he alone? she wondered with a hollow feeling deep inside. She pictured him on the beach with the beautiful redhead and then in his room with her in his arms.

  The image made her heart ache.

  She suddenly knew she couldn’t go to bed without knowing whether Reed was spending the evening with the other woman.

  She could call his room. Ask if he wanted to join her for a nightcap in the lounge.

  Or she could show up at his door and hope for the best.

  She stood for several long, indecisive moments at the door leading into her building, her eyes locked on the lighted windows of Reed’s building. And she remembered what he’d said to her when he’d left her Sunday evening, after their romantic evening had been so abruptly interrupted by Damien’s flowers.

  You’re going to have to make a choice, Celia. You know where to find me. If you want me.

  She wanted him. But finding him would take more courage than anything she’d ever done in her entire life.

  She took a step toward his building. And then another. And she prayed during that long, slow walk that she wasn’t making an enormous mistake.

  Chapter Ten

  Celia must have stood in front of Reed’s door for ten minutes trying to work up the nerve to knock on it. She knew he was inside; she could hear the television playing and the sounds of someone moving around.

  But what if he wasn’t alone?

  She crossed her arms in front of her and rubbed her hands up and down her goose bump-dotted forearms. Surely he was alone, she mentally argued. He wouldn’t be watching CNN during a romantic interlude, would he?

  But then, again, knowing Reed, he just might, she thought with a feeble attempt at humor.

  She drew a deep, shaky breath and rapped her knuckles lightly on the smooth wood door—so lightly she wasn’t even sure he could hear her over the sound of the television. If he didn’t immediately respond, she’d consider it a sign and she would leave.

  Her heart jumped when the door suddenly opened. She placed a hand against her chest as though to slow its pounding.

  Reed wasn’t wearing his glasses. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, either, only his usual dark slacks. His tanned chest looked even sexier than she’d remembered from the beach. Funny how she only now noticed the few intriguing scars beneath the dusting of dark hair.

  Her heart beat even harder, making it difficult for her to breathe. She attempted a smile. “Hi,” she said in a voice that bore little resemblance to her own.

  His eyebrows rose. “Hi.” There was a hint of a question behind the greeting.

  “I was…er…in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by.” She tried to sound flippant, but she was horribly afraid she only sounded stupid. She bit her lip.

  Reed looked at her a moment, then stepped back. “Come in.”

  His room wasn’t nearly as luxurious as hers. It looked very much like any room in any nice hotel—king-size bed with a green and burgundy paisley spread, coordinating wood-framed prints on deep green walls, thick carpeting, glossy wood wardrobe-entertainment center, desk, table and chairs.

  At least Damien had resisted the temptation to decorate in tropical colors and rattan. This was much more homelike and restful, in Celia’s opinion. Not that she cared about the decor of the room. It was the man who’d been staying in it who fascinated her.

  She wasn’t surprised to discover that Reed was very neat. Not a thing was out of place in the room, no personal belongings scattered around, except for the shirt draped over the back of one of the chairs, the shoes sitting in perfect alignment beside the bed and the discarded glasses on the nightstand.

  She turned to face him as he closed the door behind her. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  He made a wry face and motioned toward the empty room and the flickering television. “As you can see, I wasn’t spending a particularly eventful evening. You aren’t interrupting anything except the late news.”

  She glanced at the TV. “Anything interesting going on in the rest of the world?”

  “No.” He snapped the set off.

  So much for that subject. Celia slid her damp palms discreetly down the sides of her skirt. “I—umm—wanted to talk to you.”

  He motioned toward one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”

  Reed settled onto the end of the bed, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, apparently prepared to listen. Celia perched on the very edge of the chair and wondered what the hell she should say now.

  He didn’t make it any easier for her. He simply watched her, his hazel eyes intent on her flushed face.

  Celia cleared her throat. “Damien was called away this evening. There’s been an altercation here at the resort and he’s trying to avert unpleasant press coverage.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Reed asked bluntly, the mention of Damien’s name making him scowl.

  “Nothing. Well, not exactly. I was—I wanted—”

  She stopped, shook her head in self-disgust and began again. “I had intended to talk to Damien tonight about…well, about us.”

  “Us?” Reed repeated. “You and me?”

  “No. Damien and me.”

  Reed’s scowl deepened. “Well?”

  “I wanted to tell him that I like him a great deal. As a friend. But that’s all it can ever be between us. Friends. Not—not lovers.”

  Reed sat without moving for a moment, though his scowl had vanished, replaced by a faint look of confusion. “What are you trying to tell me, Celia?”

  Her fingers clenched so hard in her lap that her knuckles ached. “You—you said I knew where to find you. If I wanted you.”

  His eyes narrowed. Something flared in them. Heat? Surprise?

  “Well?” he prodded, still without moving.

  It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to say. “I want you.”

  Her voice was little more than a trembling exhalation, but Reed heard it. And he moved with a speed that belied the rigid control he’d exhibited thus far. Almost before Celia knew what was happening, he had her out of the chair and in his arms, his mouth locked tightly to hers.

  It was almost as though a neon sign went on inside Celia’s head. That suddenly, that clearly, that certainly…she knew. This is right. This is what I’ve been looking for.

  All the excitement that had been missing in other men’s kisses, she found in this one. All the passion she’d only dreamed of experiencing before, she felt now. The feelings were almost overwhelming.

  She was aware of his lips, hard and firm against hers. His tongue, wet and seeking. His chest, warm, broad, strong against her flattened breasts. His legs, long and braced, supporting both of them.

  She was fully aware that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

  If there was this much adventure to be found in his kiss, how much more would she discover when they made love? And was she really brave enough, really ready to find out?

  He lifted his head, shifted his mouth to a new angle and kissed her again, his hands cupping her hips to lift her higher against him.

  Yes, she decided, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was brave enough. And she was more than ready.

  Still kissing her, Reed moved, lowering her to the bed and following her down. He lay half on top of her, his legs tangled with hers. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her temples, her throat.

  “Celia,” he murmured, his big, warm hands cupping her face. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  She managed a thin, shaky laugh. “You can’t know how hard it was for me to come.”

  “I can imagine.” He touched his lips to her flushed cheek. “I’m glad you didn’t chicken out this time.”

  She remembered telling him about the parasailing fiasco, and she laughed softly. “I guess I found my sense of adventure, after all. But I’m still scared,” she had to admit.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured, gathering her closer
, his lips only a breath above hers. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be safe tonight. She wanted excitement, adventure, passion, exhilaration. And she wanted to find them all with Reed.

  Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be disappointed with his lovemaking. Instinct told her that Reed would provide her with everything she’d always hoped to find.

  The tiny buttons of her thin cotton blouse opened easily beneath his fingers. His lips followed the slowly widening opening.

  Celia’s hands clenched on his bare shoulders. “Reed,” she whispered, just to hear his name.

  He murmured something incoherent and nuzzled the top of her right breast. She sighed.

  He reached the top of her lacy bra, paused, then nudged it aside. A moment later, his lips closed gently around her nipple. Waves of reaction crashed through her, cresting somewhere deep inside her. Celia moaned and arched upward, her hands locked in his hair to hold him more tightly against her.

  How could she have imagined that anything could feel this good, this perfect? This right?

  He slid one hand slowly up her bare leg, beneath the full cotton skirt that was bunched around and beneath her. His palm was so hot; it seemed to burn a path upward. She reveled in the heat. His fingers stroked her hips, then moved steadily inward, toward the tiny triangle of satin that was all she wore beneath the skirt.

  She drew her leg upward, dimly aware that she must have kicked off her huaraches without even realizing it. Her bare toes curled into the bedspread.

  It occurred to her that there was something he should know before this went any further. She didn’t want him to be disappointed, wanted him to know that she was willing, but uncertain of what to do to please him. And, oh, how she wanted to please him!

  His fingers brushed against her through her rapidly dampening panties and she knew she’d better speak now. She had to—before she completely lost the power of speech. “Reed?”

  He brought his head back up and kissed her. “Mmm?” he asked, his lips moving softly against hers.

  His fingers moved again, and she shuddered in reaction. Her thighs tightened instinctively around his caressing hand. “I—there’s something I need to tell you.”