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A Match for Celia
Gina Wilkins

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.