A Match for Celia

“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.