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A Match for Celia
GINA WILKINS
A VACATION TO REMEMBERThis vacation was supposed to bring a little excitement into Celia Carson's life–so why couldn't she shake her attraction to a staid, reserved accountant? And yet, she also couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye….Federal agent Reed Hollander's undercover role was working a little too well for his liking. He'd believed Celia to be the key to bringing down a dangerous criminal organization. But he couldn't help wondering, was she the small-town innocent she seemed–or the sophisticated woman he suspected she really was?



A Match for Celia
Gina Wilkins


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

GINA WILKINS
Bestselling romance author Gina Wilkins has written more than ninety books for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. A lifelong resident of Arkansas, she is a four-time winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, presented by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of RT Book Reviews, including a nomination for a Lifetime Achievement Award.
For my husband’s aunts, who have made me part of their special family: Nadine Jaggers, Marene Austine, Edith Rose, Marcelle Wood and June Wilkins. With love.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue

Prologue
Frances Carson and her longtime friend, Lila Twining, were spending an exciting Friday evening together. Ignoring the boring diets their physicians had recommended, they had ordered a large pizza—with everything, of course—and were eating it from paper plates in Frances’s living room. They’d rented a video. It starred Mel Gibson, and for a good portion of the film, he appeared without a shirt. Though they were in their seventies, neither Frances nor Lila had lost appreciation for a fine male chest.
The telephone interrupted their avid viewing. Frances sighed and pushed the pause button on the remote control. “I’ll be right back,” she promised her friend.
Lila shrugged and helped herself to another slice of pizza. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
The voice on the other end of the telephone line was young and slightly husky, instantly recognizable to Frances. The caller identified herself, anyway. “Granny Fran? It’s Celia.”
Delighted as always to hear from her youngest grandchild, Frances glanced at one of the photographs lining the top of her old upright piano, a picture of a beautiful woman in her early twenties, dark-haired, blue-eyed, dimpled. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you?”
“I’m fine. And you?”
“Never better,” Frances answered cheerily. “Lila and I were just scarfing pizza and drooling over Mel Gibson’s bare chest.”
Celia laughed. “Granny Fran, what are we going to do with you?”
“Arrange a weekend with Mel?” Frances suggested hopefully.
Celia laughed again. “You’re incorrigible. And I love you for it.”
“I love you, too, darling. So what’s wrong?”
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” Celia countered, the laughter leaving her voice.
“I know you too well. Would you like to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to interrupt your evening with Lila. I’ll call again later.”
“Nonsense. Lila doesn’t mind if you and I talk for a few minutes. Tell me what’s bothering you, Celia.”
“I, uh, I guess you could say I’m having a moral dilemma.”
Frances waited patiently for her granddaughter to elaborate. She could hear Celia draw a deep breath on the other end of the line, as though working up the courage to continue.
“Damien Alexander has asked me to be his guest for a couple of weeks at one of his exclusive resorts,” Celia finally blurted out. “He’ll pay my airfare, provide a suite, all my meals—anything I want.”
“How very generous of him,” Frances said noncommittally.
“He, uh, he promises to be a perfect gentleman if I want him to be, but I can tell he’s hoping I won’t want him to be. I’m sure he hopes that he and I will…you know.”
“Become lovers,” Frances supplied.
“Yes. Rachel is very much against this, of course. She doesn’t want me to go. She’s never trusted Damien. She tends to believe everything she reads about him in those sleazy tabloids. I’ve told her she’s just being an overprotective older sister, but she’s still opposed to it. Of course, she’s been busy with her wedding plans and everything, so we haven’t had time to really talk about it, but I know she won’t change her mind.”
“You’re twenty-four years old, Celia. You don’t need Rachel’s permission to go on a vacation.”
“I know,” Celia admitted with a faint sigh. “But I wish she wouldn’t be so adamant about her disapproval.”
“Have you spoken to your mother?”
“No. To be honest, I haven’t quite had the nerve the last few times she and I spoke on the phone. I have a feeling that she’ll feel the same way Rachel does about it. Cody’s staying out of it, but I can tell he doesn’t like it much more than Rachel does. I thought maybe you could give me a more objective opinion.”
“What do you want to do, Celia?”
“I’m not sure I know.”
Celia sounded so confused that Frances’s heart twisted in sympathy with her granddaughter.
“I’ve just been so…so bored, lately,” Celia added. “My life has become so dull, so predictable. The men here in Percy are nice, but so unexciting. Damien’s different. There’s nothing dull or predictable about him.”
“Are you in love with him?”
This time Celia’s hesitation was more pronounced. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I like him a lot. He’s charming and fun, but I really don’t know him all that well. We only go out when he’s in the area, and with his other businesses all over the world, that hasn’t been often. He said we could use this time together to get to know each other better.”
“I have to ask again—what do you want to do, Celia?”
“I think…I think I want to go.”
Frances moistened her lips, tasting pizza and deep concern. It was difficult for her to be objective, but there was only one thing she could say. “You should follow your heart, dear. No one else can make a decision like this for you, not even those who love you and want only the best for you.”
“You think I should go?”
“I didn’t say that,” Frances answered quickly. “I said you should make your own decision. But, Celia—be careful.”
“I will, Granny Fran. Thank you.”
“I love you, Celia.”
“I love you, too. Tell Lila I said hello, will you? I’ll let you get back to your dirty movie now.”
“It’s not a dirty movie. It’s only rated R,” Frances countered lightly, though her levity was forced.
She hung up the phone a few moments later and rejoined her friend. Lila looked up from a magazine she’d been leafing through. “Everything okay?”
“I hope so,” Frances answered slowly, a bit worried about what she had just done. “I sincerely hope so.”

Chapter One
A pleasantly warm breeze caressed Reed Hollander’s face as he sipped his coffee. He sat at a poolside resort table, beneath the shade of a gaily striped umbrella.
The morning couldn’t have been more beautiful, or the colors more vivid. Bright, clear blue sky. Crimson, yellow, orange and white flowers against dark, scrupulously tended greenery. Sparkling turquoise water in the pool, and in the Gulf of Mexico that stretched to the horizon. Brilliant, mostly primary colors, ones a child might have chosen to paint the scene.
Reed felt a bit out of place in his dark gray shirt and lighter gray slacks. No child would have picked such somber shades. The woman swimming laps in the pool, however, fit in beautifully with her surroundings.
Her slender, peach-toned body was encased in a sleek scarlet maillot. Reed knew that her eyes were a bright, crystal blue and that her thick shoulder-length hair, when dry, was a glossy dark brown shot through with red highlights. A potent combination with her delicately oval face and enticing dimples.
He should know. He’d been watching her for three days.
He pulled his attention away from her for a moment to glance around. They were still the only ones out this morning. It was off-season—the first week of November—so the exclusive, South Padre Island, Texas, resort wasn’t full, and the other guests generally preferred to sleep late. Reed and the pretty swimmer seemed to be the only early risers on this particular morning.
She reclaimed his attention by flipping into a turn and beginning another lap. She was obviously in very good shape. Not that he’d needed to watch her swim to know that.
He had just finished his first cup of coffee when she called it quits. He knew she was unaware that he’d been watching as she emerged from the pool by way of the steps closest to his table. Water streamed from her slender limbs, dripped from her hair. She looked young, pretty and sweetly appealing. Innocent.
Reed had reason to believe she wasn’t quite what she appeared.
He slipped on the horn-rimmed glasses that had been lying at his elbow and stood, reaching her just in time to place a towel into her outstretched hand. “Here you are.”
“Thank you,” she said, and buried her face in the luxuriously soft towel for a moment. When she looked up, her face dry and vision cleared, she saw him and her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. “I thought you were a resort employee.”
“No. I was just sitting here having coffee and enjoying the morning. Will you join me for a cup?” He motioned to the carafe in the center of the table, and the extra cup sitting beside it.
During the past three days, he had made sure she’d seen him a time or two. He had made a point of smiling and nodding, letting her get used to seeing him as just another resort guest, but this was the first time he’d actually spoken to her. He wondered if he’d misjudged the timing.
Glancing at the table, the woman hesitated for a moment, then shrugged lightly. “Sure. Why not?”
She snatched a short, white terry-cloth kimono from the back of a chair and belted herself into it. Reed was aware of a faint sense of regret. The maillot fit her so nicely. Oddly enough, she was just as intriguing when wrapped in terry cloth, her wet hair plastered to her head, her face free of makeup and glowing from her exercise.
“I’m Reed Hollander,” he said, courteously holding a chair for her. “From Cleveland.”
“Celia Carson,” she replied, settling comfortably onto the colorful cushion of the wrought-iron chair. “From Percy. Arkansas,” she added with a smile.
“Percy, Arkansas?” he repeated, as though he hadn’t already known where she was from. “Is that anywhere near Little Rock?”
“An hour’s drive north. Have you been to Little Rock?”
“No,” he lied, thinking briefly of the two investigative trips he’d made to Arkansas in the past three months. “But I’ve heard it’s a nice place to visit.”
He was very good at that. Lying. He didn’t even have to think about it much, anymore.
“I’ve never been to Cleveland, either. I haven’t traveled much,” she said, and he wondered if she was as skilled at deception as he was.
“Are you enjoying the resort?”
“It’s a beautiful place. The staff is very nice.”
He didn’t bother to point out that she hadn’t exactly answered his question. “Quiet this morning, isn’t it?”
She glanced around them at the otherwise deserted pool area. “Very quiet. We seem to be the only ones who aren’t sleeping the morning away.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m having a hard time breaking that up-early-for-the-office routine.”
She smiled. “Yes. So am I. This is my third day here and I still feel as though I should be doing something constructive with my time.”
“I know the feeling. It must take awhile to get used to the life of the idle rich.”
Celia tossed her dark, wet hair back over her shoulder and gave him a raised-eyebrow look. “So you’re a working stiff, too?”
“Tax accountant,” he replied with a faint sigh, as though aware that it wasn’t the most interesting career in the world.
“I work in a bank. Assistant loan officer.”
“Do you like your work?” he asked. He knew what she did for a living. Knew exactly how long she’d worked there. He wished he knew a few more details about her—like, just how involved was she with Damien Alexander?
Celia shrugged. “I like my work okay. It’s a job, and it pays well enough, compared to the average salary in my hometown.”
Reed poured them both a cup of coffee, handed hers to her, then lifted his own in a mock toast. “To all the working stiffs who had to punch a time clock this morning.”
She smiled, and lifted her own cup. “Bless their little hearts,” she added and took an appreciative sip of the steaming brew.
Satisfied that they’d gotten off to a good start, Reed set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. “This resort isn’t my normal style of vacation,” he admitted. “The trip was a birthday gift from my parents. They said they’re trying to get me out of my usual boring routines.”
“And what do you usually do on vacation?” Celia asked, probably just to be making casual conversation.
“I’m not sure,” he confessed, a bit sheepishly. “I haven’t had a vacation in so long I’ve sort of forgotten how.” That part, at least, was the truth. “What about you?”
“I usually spend my vacations visiting my parents in St. Louis.” She motioned around her. “This isn’t my usual style, either. I’m here as a, umm, as a guest of the owner.”
Reed lifted an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Damien Alexander? You’re a friend of his?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
Reed shook his head and gave her a wry smile. “I’m a working stiff, remember? I don’t usually mingle with the rich and famous. I’ve read about him, though, in the business and society pages.”
He could have sworn Celia’s cheeks pinkened, though she looked away too quickly for him to be quite sure. “He and I met through business,” she explained. “We’ve become friends. I haven’t even seen him since I arrived. He was called away for an emergency at one of his other resorts the same day I flew in.”
There was a bit of a stammer in her explanation. A touch of self-consciousness, as if she were worried about what he might be thinking.
She was either a very talented actress, or nothing more than the quiet-living, small-town woman his background checks had indicated her to be. In which case, Reed rather pitied her. Alexander had a reputation for being attracted to innocent, unsophisticated young women. By the time he lost interest and moved on, they were neither innocent nor naive, though they were often considerably better off financially. Alexander had never been accused of not being generous with his…friends.
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.”
Celia agreed and hurried toward her rooms. Maybe Damien was calling to tell her that he’d be rejoining her this evening, she thought hopefully. She envisioned an evening of dinner and dancing, strolling on the beach—all the things she’d looked forward to when she’d accepted his invitation.
“Celia?” Damien’s whiskey-smooth voice flowed through the lines between them. “I hope I haven’t called at a bad time.”
“No,” she assured him. Since she didn’t want him to ask for details about what she’d been doing to entertain herself in his absence, she asked, “Are you still in the islands?”
“I’m afraid so. And it looks like I’m going to be held up here for another forty-eight hours. The storm has all but devastated the resort, and I have to make sure all the repairs are underway before I can leave. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this, darling. If there was anything at all I could do to be there with you now, I would certainly do it.”
Though she was disappointed, Celia tried hard to be gracious about it. “I understand, Damien. You certainly had no control over the weather. I’m only sorry so much damage was done to your resort. Was anyone hurt?”
“My manager was trapped beneath a fallen tree and suffered multiple fractures of his right leg. His injuries were the most serious anyone suffered, but he’s expected to make a full recovery. Fortunately, there was enough warning to evacuate the resort before the storm hit. Only a few staff members remained behind—by their own choice.”
“And the buildings?”
“Major damage,” Damien answered with a sigh. “It will be at least a couple of months before we’re able to reopen.”
“This sounds like a terrible time for you to be away from your business, Damien. Maybe it would be better if I go back to Percy. We can try this another time.”
“Celia, you’ve already taken two weeks vacation from your job. I’ll be there Monday morning, at the very latest. That will still give us a week to spend together. You have full run of the resort in the meantime. Please, take advantage of it. Enjoy yourself. Unless you aren’t pleased with the facilities?”
Celia hastily assured him that the resort was beautiful. Everything anyone could want. She couldn’t possibly tell him that she’d been bored out of her mind. He would never understand. She wasn’t sure she understood.
“Then you’ll stay?” He sounded very anxious for her to agree.
She swallowed a sigh, and tried again to sound gracious. “I’ll stay.”
“You won’t be sorry. I’m going to show you a great time, I promise.”
Though she knew he couldn’t see her, she forced a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The problem was, she wasn’t at all sure she was looking forward to it. The more time she spent alone here, with Damien so far away, the more she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of accepting his invitation in the first place. Though she wouldn’t go so far as to say that the tropical storm had been an omen directed solely at her, it still felt oddly like a sign. She didn’t fit in here, wasn’t comfortable in Damien’s world.
Of course, she hadn’t been particularly comfortable in her own world lately, either.
She hung up the phone with a dejected sigh.
This vacation definitely wasn’t turning out the way she’d hoped it would.

Reed turned another page of what surely had to be the most boring history ever written of any battle ever fought. He glanced over the top of the book toward the building into which Celia had disappeared over half an hour earlier. She spent a lot of time in there by herself. On the phone, perhaps? Taking care of Alexander’s illicit side business while Alexander dealt with the crisis at his island resort? She certainly didn’t act like a young woman on a vacation.
He was confident that she hadn’t seen him following her during her leisurely stroll down the beach. Nor could she have known that he’d settled into this chair behind his book less than ten minutes before she’d returned.
Celia hadn’t talked to anyone during her stroll, hadn’t done anything except walk and look pensively out over the Gulf. She hadn’t looked particularly happy. Trouble in paradise? And, if so, was it business or personal? Was she pining for Alexander?
Reed scowled, wondering why he hated the idea so much. If Celia Carson was involved in what he suspected, she certainly didn’t deserve his sympathy. And if she wasn’t—if her only involvement with Alexander was a personal one—then she was still off-limits, as far as he was concerned. Reed had no interest in picking up the pieces of one of Alexander’s shattered conquests. No matter how beautiful that conquest might be. No matter how appealing her sweetly dimpled smile.
His scowl deepened and he turned his attention doggedly back to the book. He would do well to keep his distance from Celia Carson during the rest of this assignment. He’d never gotten personally involved in a case during his entire federal law enforcement career. He had no intention of doing so this time.

The paperback hit the wall of Celia’s sitting room with a resounding splat. She shoved herself off the dainty little sofa and pushed a hand through her hair. “This,” she said aloud to the empty room, “is ridiculous.”
It was just before noon. She’d been sitting alone for over half an hour, trying to concentrate on a glitzy saga that was just too overblown and pretentious to stomach.
She had just turned twenty-four and she’d been acting twice her age. No, scratch that. Granny Fran was over seventy and she wouldn’t have wasted time sitting in her room with a bad book when she had a tropical paradise right outside! Granny Fran probably would have spent the past three days sightseeing or beachcombing—or sailboarding or parasailing, knowing her adventurous grandmother.
And what had Celia been doing? Moping. She snorted in self-disgust and headed determinedly for the door. She was on vacation, darn it. Her first one in ages. She was going to have fun if it killed her.
Reed Hollander was still sitting by the pool, carefully shaded from the “dangerous” sun, his nose buried in the thick book. Celia stopped and stared at him. Pathetic, she thought with a shake of her head. He was a young man, nice looking, seemed pleasant enough. Yet he was wasting this beautiful day reading a book that looked boring even from where she stood.
Without giving herself time to think about it, Celia walked up to him, reached out, plucked the book from his hands and closed it without bothering to save his place. Later she would wonder at her actions—she never did things like this!—but for now, it seemed the right thing to do.
He blinked owlishly at her through his horn-rimmed glasses. “Er…?”
“How old are you, Reed Hollander?” she demanded, staring aggressively down at him.
Looking thoroughly bewildered, he cleared his throat. “I’m thirty-three. As of yesterday, actually.”
“Congratulations. And I’ve recently turned twenty-four. So what the hell are we doing?”
“I’m not sure I—”
“Look around us!” she said, warming to her subject, swinging an arm to direct his attention outward. “There must be a gazillion things to do around here. Everyone else seems to be having a great time. So why aren’t we?”
“Well, I—”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready for a rocking chair and a shawl. I want to have fun while I’m young enough to enjoy it. And you are going to have fun, too, Reed Hollander.”
His eyebrows rose. “I am?”
“Yes. Your parents can thank me later. Now, come on, get up out of that chair. We’re going to play.”
“But—”
She lifted an admonishing finger. “No arguments,” she warned. “You’re going to have fun, even if I have to drag you screaming and kicking.”
His firm mouth quirked into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “That should be an interesting sight.”
“Want to bet that I won’t try it?”
“No,” he said hastily, his smile deepening. “I’m sure you would. But it won’t be necessary. I accept your graciously extended invitation. I was only going to point out that I don’t have a car.”
She dug into her pocket and dangled a key ring in front of him. “I do.” Damien had taken care of that, of course. “So what are we waiting for?”
“Not a thing.” He took the book from her hands and laid it on the table. “Lead the way.”
“Don’t you want to put your book away first?”
He shook his head. “Anyone who would go to the trouble of stealing it will get exactly what he deserves.”
She chuckled. “Then let’s go.”
He made an old-fashioned “after you” gesture, then followed closely behind her when she moved toward the garage where Damien kept his cars.
She didn’t allow herself to dwell on a nagging suspicion that she had just done something very foolish.

Celia was a bit startled to learn that the vehicle Damien had left for her use was a sleek, glossy black Mercedes convertible. She gulped at the thought of being responsible for a car that cost more than she’d make at the bank in three or four years, but she managed to hide her trepidation from Reed.
They were setting out to have an adventure, she reminded herself firmly. Might as well do so in style.
“Nice car” was all Reed said as he climbed carefully into the passenger’s seat, folding his long legs in front of him.
“It’s Damien’s,” Celia admitted.
“I thought it might be. He won’t mind if you and I…”
“Of course not,” Celia cut in airily. She started the engine, flinched at the resulting powerful roar, then shoved the gear-shift into Reverse.
She nearly gave herself and her passenger whiplash.
“You…er…always drive like this?” Reed asked mildly as they sped away from the resort. He held one hand to the back of his neck, as though checking to make sure her jolting takeoff hadn’t done any permanent damage.
Celia gave him a rather sheepish look of apology. “Sorry. I’m not used to this car. I have a sports car back home, but it’s just a little four-cylinder. I think this one must be a six.”
“Eight,” he corrected her, wincing as she narrowly missed a palm tree that leaned toward the road. “Quite powerful, actually. It would be rather easy to lose control.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Celia assured him, spitting a lock of whipping dark hair out of her mouth. “I’m a great driver.”
A spray of sand, gravel and crushed shells showered upward when the two right tires left the pavement and hit the shoulder. Celia overcorrected, swerved, cursed beneath her breath and brought the car firmly back under control on the right side of the road. She didn’t look at Reed, though she saw that his hands were clenched on his knees, the knuckles conspicuously white.
Reed released his knees to reach for his seat belt. He fastened it with a loud snap. “Yes,” he said, just loudly enough for her to hear. “I can see that my life is in good hands.”
Feeling a bit guilty that her restlessness had made her reckless, Celia eased up on the accelerator. “Sorry. I’ll slow down.”
He murmured something that might have been a thank-you. He didn’t say anything else until Celia guided the car onto the Queen Isabella Causeway, the curving, two-and-a-half-mile bridge that spanned Laguna Madre Bay to provide access between South Padre Island and Port Isabel on the mainland.
“Do you have any particular destination in mind?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as they left the resort behind.
“You like history, right?”
“Yes.”
“According to the tourist pamphlets I’ve been looking over during the past couple of days, this area’s crawling with it. The Port Isabel lighthouse. Fort Brown. A bunch of battlefields from the Mexican War and the Civil War. Lots of museums and stuff. Any of that sound interesting to you?”
“Yes,” he admitted with a smile. “But what about you? Are you interested in history? Military history?”
“Not particularly,” she answered candidly. “But anything’s better than sitting in my room with a dumb book. I might as well broaden my mind, since I have nothing better to do.”
Reed chuckled.
Realizing how ungracious she’d sounded, Celia groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. She placed it back on the wheel quickly, to Reed’s obvious relief. Both of them were aware that the long, busy bridge was no place to start swerving again.
“I’m sorry, Reed. I didn’t really mean that I’ve kidnapped you for the afternoon for lack of anything better to do. I just thought since we’re both here on our own, and both having trouble finding anything to do at the resort, maybe we could keep each other company for a while. I suppose I should have given you a chance to say something.”
“I’m glad you’ve kidnapped me,” Reed assured her. “I’d like to see the local sights with you. As I said, I’m not very good at this vacation business.”
Celia slanted him a smile. “Neither am I.”
He smiled back at her, and she thought again that he was a very attractive man. She liked his smile and his nice hazel eyes. She wondered if he had anyone waiting for him back home in Cleveland. And if he did, what was he doing here alone?
Their gazes held for a moment. And then Reed cleared his throat, tapped the dash and recalled her attention to her driving. “I think we’ll enjoy ourselves more if we arrive in one piece,” he suggested teasingly.
Celia laughed and turned her full concentration to her driving. “I’m sure you’re right. Hang on, friend. We’re off to have fun—even if it kills us.”
“What a pleasant thought,” Reed remarked wryly, but he seemed to relax when she did.
Maybe this would be fun, after all, Celia mused with a faint smile.
It was always nice to make a new friend.

Chapter Three
Reed proved to be a very pleasant companion for an afternoon. Polite—almost excessively so, at first—considerate, interesting when he finally relaxed enough to carry on a conversation.
He hadn’t been kidding about his interest in history, Celia thought at one point during the afternoon. It seemed to fascinate him. Just show him a historical marker or a battered old weapon or a scrap of hundred-year-old paper covered with faded, indecipherable writing, and those nice hazel eyes of his lighted up like beacons behind his sensible glasses.
She had rather expected to be bored. She was almost surprised to find out that she wasn’t. Using a map they picked up at a visitor information booth, they scouted out several local tourist attractions. Reed seemed almost comically worried that Celia wasn’t having a good time; she assured him repeatedly, and quite sincerely, that she was having a lovely day.
“Celia,” Reed said as she drove away from the final museum late that afternoon. “We’ve been exploring sites of interest to me all afternoon. Surely there’s something you’d like to do before we go back to the resort.”
Glancing at the many tourist attractions around them, Celia nodded. “Actually, there is.”
“What is it?” he asked encouragingly.
She spun the wheel of the Mercedes, swinging into a parking lot. “I want food,” she said with a grin. “And not that elegant cuisine served in the Alexander’s restaurant. I want something greasy and fattening and totally non-nutritious. A cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate milk shake.”
She parked in front of a building decorated with the universally recognized golden arches. “Perfect,” she pronounced.
She looked at Reed, who was looking back at her with a solemn expression. She frowned. “Fast food doesn’t appeal to you?” Don’t tell me he’s a strict vegetarian or a health-food nut. She groaned inwardly.
“Well, there is one change I’d like to suggest to your menu,” he said diffidently.
Probably wanted to add a salad to appease his conscience, Celia thought wryly. “What change would you like to make, Reed?” she asked patiently.
“Could we make those double cheeseburgers? Preferably with bacon? And I really prefer strawberry milk shakes to chocolate.”
Celia laughed. That made several times during the afternoon that he’d surprised her with a dry sense of humor. “Double cheeseburgers with bacon,” she agreed, reaching for her door handle. “And you may have a strawberry milk shake if you like—but I’m having chocolate!”
After they’d placed their orders at the counter, Celia insisted she pay for the meal. “After all,” she reminded him, “I kidnapped you this afternoon. So, it’s my treat.”
He nodded. “Thank you,” he said politely.
She liked it that he didn’t argue with her. A lot of guys felt threatened when a woman bought their dinner. Celia sensed that Reed was a man who was completely comfortable with his own worth, his own masculinity. He didn’t appear to be trying to prove anything, or to impress her. He was just being himself. And she liked him all the better for it.
They found a booth at the back of the room, as far as possible from the corner in which a small child’s birthday party was in noisy progress. Celia bit into her burger with a sigh of delight. “Mmm,” she murmured. “That’s exactly what I needed.”
She looked up to find that Reed was watching her. He hadn’t even unwrapped his own burger, yet. “Reed?” she prompted. “Aren’t you hungry?”
He blinked. “Oh. Yeah.” He picked up his burger and fussed with the paper covering, seeming to avoid her eyes for a moment.
Celia thought in some amusement that he looked embarrassed. Why? Was he worried about table etiquette or something silly like that? At a place where two kids were climbing the light fixtures and another was eating french fries that had fallen on the floor?
He really was a very sweet man. A bit staid, but sweet.

Remember the job, damn it, Reed told himself angrily as he bit off a corner of his dripping burger. Remember the job.
He didn’t know what strange quirk of fate had made Celia choose him to entertain her during the afternoon; he certainly hadn’t been trying to compete with her dashing boyfriend or any of the wealthy guests currently in residence at the resort. But now that she had, instead of taking advantage of the chance to subtly find out more about her dealings with Alexander, he found himself sitting in a fast-food restaurant booth fantasizing about having her wrap her lips around him with the same frankly sensual enthusiasm she’d displayed for her hamburger!
Not smart, Hollander. Damned stupid, in fact.
He was confident that he’d carried out his role believably enough during the afternoon. Celia had no reason to think he was anything other than what he’d told her he was—an ordinary tax accountant with a passion for history. She seemed to trust him.
But she still hadn’t given him any clue as to what she was doing at Damien Alexander’s resort while Alexander was taking care of business elsewhere.
The thought of Damien Alexander made Reed strengthen his resolve to keep his distance from Celia Carson. No matter how attractive he found her, no matter how invitingly she looked at him, no matter how seductively she walked or how intriguingly she smiled—he still had no intention of making a play for Alexander’s woman.
That, he reminded himself flatly, could only lead to disaster. Professionally—and personally, if he wasn’t careful.

When they left the fast-food restaurant, Celia mentioned that there was one other thing she’d like to do.
“What is it?” Reed asked, perfectly willing to indulge her.
Celia smiled and pointed to a gaudy, colorful place across the street from the burger joint. “That.”
Reed followed the direction of her pointing finger, then frowned. “Miniature golf?”
“Yes. Looks like a great course, doesn’t it? Look at that windmill. And the castle. I bet that’s a tough one.”
Reed was still frowning. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Haven’t you ever played miniature golf?”
He seemed to consider the question for a moment. “If I have,” he said at last, “I’ve forgotten.”
“Well, that settles it, then. We have to play. You can go home and tell your parents that you tried something new on your vacation. They’ll be delighted,” she assured him.
He didn’t look convinced. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”
“Don’t sweat it, Reed,” she told him, tucking a companionable hand beneath his arm. “Everyone’s a little nervous the first time. But I promise, I’ll be gentle with you.”
She gave him a bland, innocent smile when he looked at her with suddenly narrowed eyes. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to the double entendre; she hadn’t been able to resist finding out.
Reed cocked his head, stroked his jaw, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’m yours. Take me.”
This time it was Celia who lifted an eyebrow in response to the unexpectedly sexy growl in which he’d spoken. “Er—”
“Take me to play golf,” he said, his smile wicked. “That’s what I meant, of course.”
She resisted an impulse to fan her suddenly warm cheeks with one hand. He really did have a tendency to surprise her at times, she thought.
In fact, there were moments when she wasn’t at all sure that he was quite as mild-mannered and innocuous as he’d seemed at first.
It was after eight that evening when they crossed the causeway again onto South Padre Island. Reed was behind the wheel this time, Celia having declared that she was tired of driving. As she’d expected, particularly after knowing him for a few more hours, he handled the powerful vehicle competently, confidently—and cautiously.
The same way he’d played miniature golf, she thought with a suppressed sigh. He’d slaughtered her at the game, even though he swore it had been his first time.
From beneath heavy eyelids, she studied the gleam of lights on the now blue-black waters of Laguna Madre. A mile ahead of them, the closely nestled buildings on South Padre Island gleamed brightly against the darkened Gulf horizon. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured.
“In a glittery way,” he hedged. “I usually prefer a more natural landscape, myself. Moonlight on undeveloped beaches. A campfire glowing in a clearing in the middle of a forest. A fireplace burning in a cabin high up in the Rockies after a snowstorm.”
Celia lifted her head from the leather seat and stared at him. This didn’t sound like the pragmatic, history-buff accountant she’d spent the afternoon trailing at several historic sites. “Why, Reed,” she said. “You sound almost like a closet romantic.”
He shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “Nah. I just meant I usually vacation in less luxurious surroundings. Padre’s got a lot to offer, of course, which makes it so popular. Did you know there’s evidence that the Karankawa Indians wintered here more than four hundred years ago? Which means the island has always been seen as an ideal—”
Celia interrupted him with a groan. “Please. No more historical tidbits. My brain is already on overload with all these perfectly useless facts.”
“Like what?” Reed asked, smiling.
“The Port Isabel lighthouse was constructed in the 1850s and abandoned in 1905. The construction of Fort Brown in 1844—”
“Forty-six.”
“Thanks. In 1846, then, precipitated the beginning of the U.S.–Mexican War. The last land engagement of the Civil War was fought at Palmito Ranch near Brownsville, a month after Lee’s surrender. The battle was won by Confederates who didn’t know the war was already over, and afterward the victors became the captives of their former prisoners. That was sort of interesting, actually.”
“I thought so,” Reed murmured, his voice underlaced with amusement.
“I know you did. You just ate that stuff up, didn’t you? I bet you made all As in history in school.”
“Yeah, but don’t ask about my grades in composition and literature.”
“I was good at math and sciences, but history always put me to sleep.”
“Then you had the wrong teachers.”
“Maybe I did,” she agreed, smiling at him. “You made it very interesting this afternoon. Maybe you should have been a history teacher instead of a tax accountant.”
Reed’s smile seemed to fade in the shadows. Before Celia could decide why, he shrugged and said lightly, “I thought about it. Then something more interesting came up.”
Celia lifted her head again. “Tax accounting is more interesting than teaching?”
He cleared his throat. “At times. Are you hungry?”
It took her a moment to switch gears. It had been several hours since they’d indulged in the burgers and shakes. Even now, she shouldn’t be hungry—but she discovered that she was. “Now that you mention it, I am rather hungry,” she said. “It’s hard to believe after all we ate this afternoon, but I could eat again.”
“So could I. Will you join me for a late dinner in the resort restaurant?”
“I’d like that.”
“Should we change first?”
Celia hesitated, thought about how grubby and windblown she felt after a day of sightseeing in a convertible, and nodded. “I’ll make it quick. Meet you in the restaurant lobby in, say, half an hour?”
“You’ve got a date.”
Celia swallowed in response to his wording. She hadn’t really thought of this as a date. For some reason it was easier to think of it as a friendly outing between two amiable acquaintances. She didn’t bother to correct him. It seemed better to just let it go.

Reed’s message light was flashing when he entered his room. His accommodations were nice, but much less luxurious than the suite Celia had been provided. He called the message desk, then dialed the number he’d been given, keeping one eye on the clock. He didn’t want to be late for his dinner date, he thought, as he listened to the faint buzz of the other phone ringing.
“Kyle Brown,” a familiar voice answered.
Reed didn’t bother to identify himself. “What’s up?”
“There’s been another delivery.”
Reed tensed. “Any leads?”
“Nothing new. All arrows still point to Alexander. Every major transaction we can trace during the past two years has taken place in an area where Alexander was conducting business. We’ve had two sources mention his name in anonymous tips. We have solid evidence implicating at least one of his employees. Rumor still has it there will be an important meeting on Padre Island sometime this week between Alexander and two of his current customers. Apparently, it was put off a few days because of the storm that damaged his resort in the Caribbean.”
“Leaving me cooling my heels here when I was expecting to be witness to the meeting two days ago,” Reed grumbled.
“As I said, there’s every reason to believe the meeting is still on when Alexander gets back there.”
“He’s due to return in a couple of days,” Reed said, repeating something Celia had casually mentioned during the afternoon.
“Yeah. Novotny’s discreetly making arrangements to be there.”
Reed felt the tension low in his neck, a sure sign that the case was nearing a resolution. All the major players were coming together, and he would be here when they gathered.
“The woman still there?”
Reed shoved a hand through his wind-tossed hair. “Yeah.”
“Keep an eye on her. She could be setting everything up on that end.”
“Or she knows nothing about any of this,” Reed cautioned.
“C’mon, Reed. We know she’s been seen several times talking to our suspects in her hometown. And she’s been photographed with Alexander on several occasions.”
“Dates, not meetings, as far as we know. As for her talking to the other suspects—well, it’s a small town. She’s lived there a long time, works in the town’s only bank. She probably knows everyone there. It could only be a coincidence that she’s been seen with our suspects.”
“Maybe.” Kyle sounded skeptical. “But you know how I feel about coincidences.”
“She’s spent the past few days taking walks and swimming and sightseeing. She’s hardly spoken to any of Alexander’s staff. No suspicious meetings. No mysterious disappearances. She claims she’s nothing more than a friend of the owner, here on a vacation.”
“If she’s nothing more than Alexander’s newest bed toy, why is she there now, when he’s not even in the country? Why would he want her hanging around when he’s about to set up a transaction of this magnitude?”
As much as Reed didn’t want to think of Celia being involved with Alexander’s unsavory sideline, he was even less enthused about hearing her referred to as a “bed toy.” He’d spent the whole afternoon with her, damn it. His instincts about people were usually directly on target. And all his instincts told him that Celia Carson was exactly what she appeared to be. Good-natured. Restless. A bit naive. Honest.
But—rare though it had been—he had been wrong before. “Damn,” he growled, wishing for a moment that he had become a history teacher.
“What’s the matter, Hollander? Don’t tell me you’re starting to share Alexander’s tastes in PYTs?”
PYTs. Kyle’s dry, uncharitable way of referring to the pretty young things that Damien Alexander had made a hobby of collecting and discarding. Pretty young women like Celia Carson.
Innocent bystander? Eager mistress? Or calculating business associate?
Reed found, to his self-disgust, that he wasn’t nearly as certain as he should be about which label best fit the woman he was meeting for dinner in fifteen minutes.
“I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly. “Anything else you wanted to tell me?”
“No. I’ll be there when Alexander arrives.”
“Right. See you then.”
“Have fun, Reed. But watch your back.”
Reed growled a response and replaced the phone. He wasted another few minutes cursing himself for forgetting, even for a couple of hours, the careful objectivity he’d always prided.
It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again during this assignment, he promised himself.

Dressed in a royal blue silk T-shirt and a gauzy print skirt, Celia entered the restaurant lobby only five minutes later than she’d intended. She didn’t see Reed at first, though she quickly spotted the resort manager, Enrique Torres, and his wife, Helen, who were entering the restaurant at the same time as Celia.
“Miss Carson.” Torres greeted Celia with an overbright smile probably reserved for VIP guests. “Are you enjoying your stay with us?”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Torres,” she replied. Oddly enough, she meant it this time. She’d had a better time today than she had since her arrival. “Your staff is very friendly and efficient,” she added, because he still looked a bit anxious. “I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this resort to any of my friends for their vacations.”
His smile relaxed fractionally. “That’s very kind of you. Were you on your way in to the dining room?”
“Yes. I’ve been so busy sightseeing this afternoon that I’ve just now gotten around to dinner.”
That, too, seemed to please him. The guest was keeping herself entertained. He nodded toward his wife, who was chatting with another guest across the lobby. “Please, won’t you join us at our table? Helen and I will enjoy your company.”
“Thank you, but I’m meeting someone. As a matter of fact,” she added, when a hand fell lightly on her shoulder, “he’s here now.”
She smiled up at Reed, who returned the greeting with a slight nod. “Mr. Torres, have you met Reed Hollander?”
“Only briefly,” Torres replied, extending a hand. “Are you enjoying your stay with us, Mr. Hollander?”
Celia thought with a stifled smile that he must automatically ask that question of all his guests.
Reed shook the manager’s hand briefly. “I’m enjoying it more all the time,” he said.
Celia glanced up at him, to find him smiling down at her in a way that made his words somehow directed toward her. She felt her cheeks warm a bit, and quickly looked away.
Torres was watching them with a tiny frown between his dark eyebrows. “Er—well, enjoy your dinner. Please let me know if anything is unsatisfactory.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine, as always,” Celia assured him.
Torres managed another strained smile, murmured a good evening, and returned to his wife, giving them one last, worried look over his shoulder.
“He doesn’t like it that I’ve joined you this evening,” Reed commented.
“Don’t be silly. Why would he care?”
“Maybe because his boss wouldn’t like it?”
“Damien wouldn’t care, either,” Celia replied firmly, though she wasn’t as confident as she tried to sound. “Let’s go in, Reed. I’m starving.”
She slipped a hand beneath his arm, an almost defiant gesture that earned her a quizzical look from him and another faint frown from Torres. Reed didn’t say anything, simply put a hand over hers and led her to the doorway. He kept her hand on his arm as they were escorted to a table by the rather surprised-looking maître d’, who’d become accustomed to escorting each of them to tables “for one.”
Celia had just noticed how firm and muscular Reed’s arm was beneath his thin, white cotton shirt when they reached the table. Surprisingly muscular for an accountant, she mused as she slipped into her seat. Served her right for stereotyping.
The table was Celia’s favorite in the beautifully decorated restaurant, which was another indication of her preferential treatment, since the restaurant was fairly crowded on this Friday evening. The table was small, private, candlelit, set cozily into a bay window overlooking the Gulf. The full moon reflected softly off the rolling waves and nearly deserted beach. A night made for romance.
Celia glanced at Reed from beneath her lashes and tried to imagine Damien sitting across from her. Damien, with his thick, precisely-styled blond hair, his gleaming, dark-lashed blue eyes, his flashing dimples and killer smile. The image kept fading in contrast to the reality of the man sitting across from her. Reed Hollander, with his neat dark hair and grave hazel eyes, his horn-rimmed glasses and cautious smiles, his muscular arms and fact-crammed brain.
Reed, who was becoming more intriguing to her all the time.
She mentally shook her head. Talk about confusing situations! Here she was at this glamorous resort with tentative plans to begin an affair with a dashing, exciting man, only to find herself suddenly attracted to another man who was all too much like the men she’d left behind, the ones she’d thought too ordinary to interest her. And she was even less certain than she’d been before that she wanted to become intimately involved with Damien.
Now this was a moral dilemma!
“So, what’s your decision?” Reed asked from across the table.
Celia blinked at him over her menu, wondering if the man could read her mind. “I…er…beg your pardon?”
He nodded toward his own menu. “Have you decided what you want for dinner?”
“Dinner. Oh, yes, of course. I’ll—um—I’ll have…” She glanced down at the menu and read off the first entrée that caught her eye. “Baked snapper.”
“Sounds good,” Reed said, closing his own menu. “I’ll have that, too.”
They placed their orders, selected a wine, were served salads and bread. A noticeable silence fell between them when they were alone again. Celia found her eyes turning once again toward the inviting expanse of moon-washed beach. She could so easily imagine herself walking hand in hand along that beach in that soft moonlight. Problem was, she couldn’t seem to decide whose hand she’d most like to be holding.
“You’ve gotten very quiet,” Reed commented, reclaiming her attention. “Tired?”
“A little,” she admitted. “I was just noticing how beautiful the beach looks tonight.”
He followed her gaze. “It is nice. Would you like to take a walk after dinner?”
She almost choked on a bite of bread. “Maybe,” she murmured after taking a quick sip of wine.
“Tell me more about yourself, Celia. All I know is that you live in Percy, Arkansas, and you work in a bank. Have you always lived in Percy?”
“Since I was a toddler,” she replied, sternly telling herself to stop being foolish and just talk to the man. “I was born in Little Rock, but then my dad had a chance to go to work for a small counseling center in Percy. He’s a psychologist,” she added.
“You said you have an older sister?”
“Rachel. She’s eight years older than I am, very serious and responsible, but we’ve always been close. When I was just finishing my junior year of high school, my dad took another job in St. Louis. I couldn’t bear to move away before my senior year, so I stayed in Percy with Rachel and her first husband, Ray, and their baby daughter, Paige. It worked out great.”
“She still lives in Percy?”
“Yes. Ray died in a car accident a few years ago, leaving her with two small children to raise, Paige and Aaron. She’s had a rough time, but she’s getting married again soon and she’s very happy about it. His name’s Seth Fletcher, he’s an attorney, and he’s crazy about Rachel. I’m thrilled for her.”
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“A brother, Cody. He’s five years older than I am. He’s single, and part owner of a country-western dinner and dance club in Percy. He’s a real joker, always cutting up and doing impulsive things to make the rest of us laugh. You’d like him. Everyone does.”
Reed studied her face in the candlelight from their flowers-and-tapers centerpiece. “And what about you? Are you more like Rachel or Cody?”
“That should be obvious,” she answered wryly. “As much as I’d love to be more like Cody, I seem to be more like Rachel all the time. I mean, Cody would have found lots of things to do here alone. He’d already know everyone, probably would have organized beach parties and volleyball games and exchanged addresses and phone numbers with all the other guests. Rachel, on the other hand, would have taken long walks alone on the beach and read a good book or two—which is basically what I’ve been doing.”
Reed chuckled. “Not quite. You did kidnap me this afternoon, and you hardly know me. That sounds more like Cody.”
“True,” Celia said, brightening. “Rachel never would have done anything like that. Of course, Rachel wouldn’t be here in the first place. She was really opposed to me—” Suddenly realizing what she was about to reveal, she stumbled and fell silent, reaching quickly for her wineglass again.
Reed had lifted an eyebrow. “Rachel didn’t want you to come?” he prodded gently, a bit too casually.
Celia shrugged. “She doesn’t particularly like Damien,” she admitted.
Reed definitely looked interested now. “How come?”
Shaking her head, Celia tried to downplay the admission. “It’s silly, really. Rachel’s never even met Damien. For some reason, they’ve never been in the same place at the same time.” She didn’t bother to add that she’d invited Damien to meet her family on more than one occasion; Damien had always politely declined, adding ruefully that family gatherings always made him nervous. “She’s simply been reading too many juicy scandal sheets. I keep telling her they’re exaggerated, but you know how overprotective older sisters can be. Brothers, too. Cody’s almost as bad as Rachel.”
“No, I really don’t know about older siblings. I was an only child.”
“Your parents’ pride and joy, I’d bet,” Celia teased, relieved to turn the conversation away from herself.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, they did give you this vacation. Quite a nice birthday present.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Have you ever been married?”
Reed seemed startled by the question. “No. Why?”
Celia shrugged. “I know less about you than you do about me now. Only that you’re a tax accountant from Cleveland and that you like history. What else would I find interesting?”
“Nothing much,” Reed answered self-deprecatingly. “I live a quiet life, on the whole. I have a few good friends with whom I socialize, and a job I enjoy. I like to read and visit museums and historical sites, as you already know. I do a little wood carving, but I’m not very good at it. Just an average sort of guy, I guess.”
Celia almost sighed. An average sort of guy. Just as she’d suspected.
She wondered if any of his “few good friends” were women. She wondered if there was any woman who was an especially good friend. She wondered why she couldn’t seem to stop wondering.
“You’ve never been married, either, I take it?” Reed asked after their entrées had been placed in front of them.
“No. Not even close.” He probably wouldn’t believe how little experience she’d actually had with men.
And all because she’d been waiting so long for one who was so much more than “average.”
She suddenly discovered that she wasn’t quite as hungry as she’d thought when she’d placed her order. She picked up her fork and made a determined effort to eat, telling herself she was being silly.
What possible reason could there be for her to suddenly feel restless and discontented? As though there was something she needed, but couldn’t quite name. And it was especially foolish for her to think that Reed Hollander could do anything about it.
Celia was just beginning to regain her equilibrium when Reed asked, from seemingly out of the blue, “How long have you known Damien Alexander?”
Again, Celia felt herself growing self-conscious, and inexplicably anxious to clarify her relationship with Damien. “Almost a year now. We met when he started coming into the bank where I work. He’s thinking about building a new resort near Percy, and he wants to involve the local businesses as much as possible.”
“An Alexander resort in Percy, Arkansas?” Reed sounded skeptical. “Forgive me, but that wouldn’t have been a location I would have expected.”
“I know. Everyone’s been surprised that he’s even considering the possibility. But it makes sense the way Damien explains it. The area is really beautiful—unspoiled, natural, with several beautiful lakes and rivers available for water sports, lots of golf courses, and mountainsides for hiking and hang gliding. It’s reasonably close to Little Rock and Memphis for shopping and dining, only a couple of hours away from the riverboat casinos in Tunica, Mississippi, and from Branson, Missouri for the music shows that are so popular now. Damien says it’s a location with a great deal of potential.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Reed conceded. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.”
“You’ve never been to the area,” she pointed out. “Arkansas has a lot more to offer than most people suspect—or than the national press has led them to believe, lately.”
“Is that why you’ve stayed so close to home? Because you love the area?”
“That, and to be close to my sister and brother,” she replied. “But lately…”
“Lately…?” Reed urged when she fell quiet.
She shrugged. “Lately I’ve realized that there are a lot of other places to see and experience.”
“Places Damien Alexander could show you?”
Celia couldn’t quite read Reed’s expression. He looked suddenly distant, disapproving. Much like Rachel did whenever she mentioned Damien. And Celia reacted the same way with Reed that she did with Rachel. Defensively.
“Damien and I are friends. We have dinner together when he’s in town, see an occasional show in Little Rock, talk on the phone occasionally when he’s busy at his other resorts. When I told him I’d heard about this area and had always wanted to see it, he asked me here as his guest. We’re hardly trotting the globe together just because I’m visiting one of his smaller resorts.”
“Don’t be so prickly. I was just making conversation.”
Celia cut irritably into her fish. “I wasn’t being prickly. I was just…explaining.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“I’m well aware of that.” She avoided his eyes as she concentrated on her dinner.
They picked up the conversation a few minutes later. They kept it light, impersonal, and carefully avoided any mention of Damien Alexander.
After dinner, Reed asked again if Celia would like to take a walk on the beach with him. Maybe visit the lounge, which provided live music for dancing on weekends.
Standing beside him on the path outside the restaurant, Celia hesitated, wistfully replaying her earlier fantasy. And then she shook her head. “I have a few calls to make this evening. Thank you for going sightseeing with me, Reed. I had a very nice afternoon.”
“So did I. I’m glad you kidnapped me.”
She smiled. “Good night.”
“Would you like me to walk you to your room?”
“No, that’s not necessary.”
He nodded, not bothering to argue. “Then I’ll see you around.”
“Yes, of course. Good night,” she repeated, and turned away. Reed made no effort to detain her.
As she walked alone to her elegant suite, she tried to convince herself that she hadn’t wanted anything more from this evening. Or from Reed Hollander.
Her life was complicated enough at the moment.

Chapter Four
Reed ended up walking the beach alone after discreetly making sure that Celia did, indeed, return to her rooms after dinner.
He stayed right at the edge of the gently lapping Gulf waters, his shoes sinking slightly into the wet sand beneath them. He was aware of the fragrance of nearby flowers, the taste of salt in the steady breeze, the sounds of the waves and the glow of full moonlight. He knew he wasn’t the only one out enjoying the evening, but the few others kept to themselves, reinforcing the illusion of solitude.
He was well aware that, had he been a bit more tactful with Celia, he wouldn’t be walking alone.
He shouldn’t have sounded so judgmental when they’d talked about Damien Alexander. Celia had already claimed the guy as her friend; was, after all, here as Alexander’s guest. Reed had already known she became defensive about him. But still, he’d found himself going cold and stiff when Alexander’s name came up, and Celia had obviously noticed.
Real smooth, Hollander.
His job was to observe, not to form judgments. He was supposed to subtly pump Celia for useful information, something he had no hope of doing if his behavior set her guard up. Celia wasn’t going to let anything slip about Alexander running illegal shipments of stolen military weapons if she was too busy depicting him as just a nice, upstanding guy who’d been viciously maligned by the gossip sheets.
Reed was having one hell of a time getting a handle on her. She’d admitted that she’d been bored, restless with her sheltered, small-town life, which could indicate that she’d turn to the quick money and exciting subterfuge to be found by cooperating with Alexander. Yet he’d seen how uncomfortable she’d been here for the past few days, even with Alexander’s entire staff all but standing on their heads to please her.
She hadn’t asked for special treatment, hadn’t ordered the most expensive items from the restaurant menu, even though it had been made clear that her meals were on the house. She hadn’t even visited the expensive gift shop, at least not that Reed had seen.
She’d spent the entire afternoon with him, touring historical sites. And she’d seemed as happy eating hamburgers as she was with Alexander’s gourmet cuisine, as comfortable playing miniature golf as lounging by the resort pool. Why? Because she really was bored, lonely, feeling out of place?
Or—he scowled—was it possible that he’d somehow raised suspicions? That Celia had been instructed to find out more about him, the same way he was trying to find out more about her? Had she been pumping him for information when she’d asked questions about him, rather than displaying any personal interest?
The possibility made his fists clench.
Damn it, he should have thought of it before.
Not that he’d told her anything she shouldn’t know, of course. His fascination with her hadn’t made him that careless.
Movement from his left caught his attention. Without turning his head, he checked it out. A couple stood beneath a scraggly palm tree, locked together, mouths fused, hands roaming. Reed turned his eyes forward and kept walking. And continued to think of Celia.

Celia woke early again Saturday morning, facing another day with nothing in particular to do. Though she’d spent the evening before telling herself to stay away from Reed Hollander in order to avoid any unwanted complications, she found herself thinking of him before she’d even finished her shower. She knew he, too, would be at loose ends today. He would probably be agreeable to spending time with her again.
“Some liberated woman you are,” she grumbled at the dark-haired, blue-eyed woman in the bathroom mirror. “Can’t you have a good time all by yourself?”
But the problem was, she couldn’t. Celia just wasn’t a loner.
She could find someone else to spend the day with, of course. Yesterday morning she’d chatted for a few minutes with two middle-aged sisters who were vacationing together, and who’d hinted that they wouldn’t mind if she joined them for a shopping jaunt into Mexico or a couple of hours bird-watching on the untamed central section of Padre Island. She’d probably have a very nice time with them.
Of course, she’d had a very nice time with Reed yesterday.
Shaking her head in frustration at her own behavior, she did her makeup, dressed quickly in a navy-and-white, blouse-and-skort outfit, and brushed her hair into a gleaming, straight curtain to her shoulders. She was hungry, she decided. She would think about her plans for the day during breakfast.
She was detained twice on her way to the restaurant. She had hardly left her building before she crossed paths with Enrique Torres, who greeted her warmly and then tried to talk her into joining him and his wife for an afternoon of local sightseeing. Celia graciously declined, fibbing that she’d already made plans for the afternoon.
Torres was frowning worriedly when Celia walked away; she wondered if he suspected that she would be spending another day with Reed. And if he did, why should he care? Surely Damien didn’t expect the resort manager to chaperone any women friends who happened to be at the resort without Damien!
Celia had taken only a few more steps toward the restaurant when the resort social director, Mindi Kellogg, all but chased her down from across the common, calling her name in a shrill voice. “Miss Carson! Miss Carson!”
Celia paused reluctantly, aware of a faint grumble of protest from her stomach. “Yes?”
“I want to personally invite you to join a group of us for an excursion this afternoon. It’s going to be so much fun. We’re visiting the University of Texas–Pan American Coastal Studies Laboratory at Isla Blanca Park to see the aquariums and the shell collection. From there we’ll be stopping at Sea Turtle, Inc. to learn about endangered sea turtles. It’s a fascinating afternoon, I can assure you. One of our most popular activities.”
“It sounds like a lot of fun,” Celia said, “but—”
“If that doesn’t interest you, we have a shuttle that will take you to Matamoros, Mexico. It’s only a thirty-minute trip. Have you been, yet?”
“No, I—”
The blonde grinned and patted Celia’s arm. “Oh, you’d love it. The markets are fascinating, and the museums are very interesting.”
“Thank you, Mindi, but I—”
“Or perhaps you’d rather take a guided horseback tour of the island. The stables provide a—”
“No, thank you,” Celia interrupted, trying to speak firmly without actually being rude. She was growing increasingly irritated by the staff’s efforts to keep her occupied. She didn’t like feeling as though her actions were being monitored, her choices limited. “It’s very nice of you to offer, but I have other plans for today.”
“But, Miss Carson, we—”
“Celia.” A familiar deep voice overrode Mindi’s squeak of protest. A large, warm hand fell on Celia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m late. Must have overslept. Are you ready for breakfast?”
Celia looked up gratefully, meeting Reed’s sympathetic smile. “Yes, I’m starving,” she said fervently.
He nodded to the openmouthed social director. “Good morning, Miss Kellogg. Nice day, isn’t it?”
He left her sputtering an answer as he all but towed Celia toward the restaurant.
“You looked as though you were in need of rescue,” he said before Celia could speak, as soon as they were out of the social director’s hearing. “What was she trying to do, sign you up for a talent show or something? A bungee jumping tournament?”
“No, she wanted to introduce me to endangered sea turtles or take me shopping in Mexico,” Celia corrected ruefully. “I’m sure both would be interesting, but—”
“But not with Mindi standing on the sidelines cheering you on, right?”
“She is a bit cheerleaderish. I’m sure she means well, though,” Celia added quickly, feeling guilty for making fun of the other woman.
“Too perky for my tastes,” Reed said with a shake of his dark head. “All that bubbly energy and enthusiasm makes my teeth hurt.”
Celia giggled. “I was trying to be nice,” she reproved him.
He shrugged. “I’d rather eat. Are you really starving, or was that just an excuse?”
“No, I’m really hungry. I was just on my way to breakfast.”
“There’s no reason for us to eat alone, is there?”
She hesitated, and looked up to find him watching her with an intentness that belied his light tone. Since she couldn’t think of any good reason why they shouldn’t have breakfast together—none she could have explained, anyway—she smiled and shook her head. “No.”
Reed looked pleased with her answer.

Reed seemed to go out of his way to be entertaining during their leisurely breakfast, and he succeeded. Celia found herself forgetting her reservations and chatting with him as easily as an old friend.
They had almost finished their meal before she realized how closely they were being watched.
The staff was being discreet—sort of. They weren’t exactly staring at Celia and Reed. But they were watching, and Celia wondered if this shift had been told that she and Reed had been together for dinner last evening. Were they speculating whether she and Reed had spent the entire night together?
The only restaurant employee who didn’t seem overly curious was their waiter, a good-looking young African-American with an engaging smile. The service he gave them was nothing more than briskly professional—which was a great relief since Celia was so painfully aware of the more open curiosity from the others.
This was getting ridiculous. She was not the personal property of Damien Alexander, despite what his staff might think. Or was she being completely paranoid?
She looked across the table. “I need to get away from this place today, Reed. Are you interested?”
“Tired of being the center of attention?”
She widened her eyes. “You’ve noticed it, too? That everyone seems to be watching us? I thought—I hoped I was imagining it.”
He shook his head. “You aren’t imagining it.”
“I don’t know why they’re doing this. It’s not as though I’m all that interesting.”
“They’re guarding the boss’s interests,” Reed explained with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
She frowned. “That’s stupid. Damien and I aren’t—we haven’t even—we’re only friends,” she concluded awkwardly, wondering how many times she had to repeat it. And whether Reed believed her any more than anyone else seemed to.
Reed studied her for what felt like a long time. And then his smile deepened, becoming just a shade more genuine. “Where would you like to go?”
“Anywhere,” she said in quick relief. “How far are we from San Antonio?”

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