“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—”