A Match for Celia

Celia frowned. “I’m not exacting revenge, Damien. I’m just not ready to—”

“That’s all right, Celia,” he cut in magnanimously. “You don’t owe me explanations. No means no, right?”

“Right. But—”

“Get some rest. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. I’ll clear away my paperwork and meet you in the lobby—say, ten o’clock? You might want to wear a bathing suit under a beach dress or something. Shall I have breakfast sent to your room?”

Trying to follow his quick changes of topic, Celia nodded. “That would be nice.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Surprise me.”

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “I like the sound of that.”

She brushed a quick kiss across the corner of his mouth and stepped quickly away before he could press for more. “Good night, Damien.”

He struck a pose. “Good night, sweet Celia. ‘Parting—’”

She groaned. “Please don’t quote Shakespeare. It’s been such a nice evening. Don’t blow it with a smarmy ending.”

He chuckled. “No wonder none of my patented lines work on you. You never let me finish any of them.”

She put a hand in the middle of his back and gave him a slight shove toward his own suite. “Good night, Damien.”

He left her with his usual good grace. As she let herself into her own rooms, Celia was wryly certain that Damien still believed she was subtly punishing him for keeping her waiting for so long. As much as she liked him, she was aware that he was a rather vain man who was quite certain it was only a matter of time until he charmed his way into her bed.

There’d been a time when she’d suspected the same thing. Now…

Now she wasn’t so sure.

Hidden in shadows at the end of the hallway, Reed watched Celia and Alexander part, obviously for the evening. He discovered that his fists had doubled at his sides; with some effort, he relaxed them.

He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Celia had kissed Alexander at her door, the way she’d kissed Reed only the night before. If she’d given Alexander that sweet, shy smile and invited him inside.

He suspected that he might have torn Alexander’s face off.

He was extremely grateful that he hadn’t been put to the test.

He couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between Celia and Alexander. He’d seen the easy camaraderie between them, the comfortable flirting. And he hated it. B

ut…

He frowned, trying to analyze their behavior. There had been a notable lack of passion—though perhaps not for lack of trying on Alexander’s part. Celia was the one who seemed to be taking pains to keep their relationship friendly and platonic.

If she had no intention of becoming Alexander’s lover—and Reed wished he could be certain of that—then what was she doing with the guy?

Had Kyle been right all along? Was Celia here on business, just as Novotny and Perrelli and the others would be?

Was Celia involved with the ruthless survivalist cult who were allegedly depending on Alexander to supply them with enough weapons and ammunition that they could invade a small country, if they chose to do so? Was she a member of the inner circle, or only using them for her own financial reasons?

Reed couldn’t have said at that moment which role he hated most for her—mercenary arms dealer or Alexander’s pampered mistress.

He only knew it was all he could do to keep himself from pounding on her door right now and taking her in his arms. Forcing her to admit that the passion that seemed to be missing between her and Alexander had been present between her and Reed from the first time their eyes had met that morning beside the pool.

His fists clenched again at his sides. It took all the will-power he possessed to turn then and walk away.

Away from Celia Carson, whoever—whatever—she might be.