Читать книгу A Match for Celia - GINA WILKINS - Страница 8

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.